#bad day folks. its. been a rough one

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Had a terribly great thought! The Ghoul and reader traveling together. She's a brat but loyal as a dog to that man. They get into a pretty bad fight and she storms off and he's too proud to follow after her, struggling with coming to terms that he's actually soft for her even though he's mean as hell. She finds him some days later, with her tail tucked between her legs. He's not surprised, comparing her to a female dog often. 👀 still, he's going to make sure she's sorry. Lots of groveling on her part, maybe some face slapping, boot licking, he gets off, she doesn't. Ends with her in his lap. Hair petting and praise for coming back to who she belongs to.

As A Dog

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Word Count: 7,085

Warnings: smut (18+), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Jealous!Cooper, canon-typical violence, intimacy issues, angst, insecurity, slightly fucked conceptions of love and loyalty, pet play-ish activity, hard drug use, forced intoxication, shotgunning, slapping, boot licking, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, rough sex, riding, cannibalistic thoughts, orgasm denial (female), breeding kink, creampie.

Notes: I had several pieces in line in front of this one and then this prompt reached through my screen, sunk its teeth into my brain, and shook me until this came out. It really is a terribly great thought. Tagging heavy, since the themes/Cooper's mentality may be triggering for some. It is what it says on the can, folks.

I dunno what unholy demon you've unleashed on me here, Anon. But bless you for it. Another Coop POV because I have a problem. Thanks for the patience on this one; I've been doing some admin stuff the last few days, including setting up an AO3 that you can find here, where I'll be uploading all the long-form stuff. Enjoy!

Cooper's trigger finger was itchier today than it had been for a long time.

He was fully aware that he'd never be able to stop every man left in the world from talking to his little vaultie companion, but boy, he sure would love to try. On an average day, he struggled to hold his tongue as she drove away her own sun-baked suitors, standing silently aside until called up to defend her, no matter how badly he wanted to reduce whomever was bothering her to nothing.

Today was a worse-than-average day, and the girl wasn't helping anything, herself.

"Are you gonna be ready to go any time soon, princess?" he asked her acerbically as she passed by him for the millionth time, tossing his current cigarette down to the ground.

He'd intended to stop at this shitty little settlement, little more than a dingy bighorner ranch at first glance, for a few minutes at most, just long enough to unload some things and check to see if they had any vials on hand. Here it was, nearly four hours of glad-handing and chit-chatting and unnecessary gun repairs later, and he was still leaning against the same crumbing wall, still angrily smoking. She was pushing it.

"Oh, be patient." she shot back, rolling her eyes as she turned to saunter back to the little ramshackle counter. "I'm waiting for my gun back and I was having a nice chat with the mechanic. Try to be pleasant for five minutes, would you?"

She was so full of shit, he thought as he snuffed the still-glowing smoke butt out beneath the toe of his boot with just a little more force than necessary. Typically, she shied away from male attention at her most demure, refusing to acknowledge most advances, playing innocent, playing dumb. The big doe eyes and soft voice didn't hurt on that front, but usually didn't deter the more steadfast predators.

He preferred the days where she had a little extra spitfire, when she told them clearly and loudly to fuck off, no doubt emboldened by having the rather intimidating ghoul hanging over her shoulder, silently encouraging her as she did it. In the past, she had proven that she wasn't above evoking his capacity for violence as a threat when the desert trash was persistent, and it gave him a thrill he couldn't identify, one that ruminated deep in his gut.

That same gut feeling was burning him now, eating a hole in his patience as he watched her listening attentively to the third scrawny young man who'd approached her as she waited around the repair hutch to yap her ear off. She nodded and smiled politely, even laughed from time to time (the sound of which made him want to shoot he kid between the eyes just for that), but kept a respectful distance. Clearly, she'd finally learned that the sort of over-friendliness that she'd been raised with in the vaults could be read differently up here. The young buck, however, continued to try and dance into her space as he spoke animatedly, and, eventually, she reached out and quickly touched his chest.

The old cowboy was stomping across the sand to her before he was even aware he was moving.

His logical brain could see very clearly what had happened: the boy had advanced into her space for the half-dozenth time and she'd put her palm out to gently rebuke him, distracting him from the rejection with a laugh at whatever he'd said. But that part of his brain was rather quiet after a long afternoon of watching her rather blatantly flirt with the asshole she was having repair her plasma pistol (something that she would typically have him do, since it wouldn't cost her anything, and he almost certainly could do with equal or superior adequacy), and letting every other little piss-ant farmhand in the next mile radius chat her up.

"We're hitting the road in five. Get your shit and let's go." he hissed to her, ignoring the little scowl she shot him as he interrupted her newest conversation with the willowy, greasy mechanic, who was sliding her her pistol back across the knotted wood of the semi-exposed countertop. Flashing him that brilliant smile, the one that he wanted to be only for him, she checked the thing over before tucking it back into the holster she kept on her hip, pushing a stash of caps in a metal tin back his way. The old cowboy watched with inflamed indignation as the fucker opened the box, dug out a massive handful, and tucked them back into her hands, letting his own linger across her skin as he placed them back into her palms.

Frankly, he was impressed he was able to let her drop the things back into her bag before he grabbed her by the arm, none too gently, and wordlessly began to yank her back down the road, back in the direction they'd originally been heading in. He could've shoved the damn things in himself and just dragged her along; it wasn't like he was unfamiliar with where she put them. The long, sleepless nights could be boring, and early on, he'd been curious enough about her to nose through her things once or thrice. That, like this, had been quite illuminating.

"Oh, you're being such a prick today!" she yelled, yanking at his grip in an attempt to free herself. He humored her, dropping her arm and turning to face her, unpleasantly surprised as the last farmhand she'd been chatting with, the one she'd touched, came running up.

"Hey, leave her alone!" he yelled. Or, he would have, if he'd had a chance to finish.

The sound of Cooper's rifle butt cracking into the kid's face was incredibly satisfying, collapsing him into a limp, useless pile on the ground, deep crimson pooling around where he lie face-down in the dirt. The girl didn't scream, probably surprised that he hadn't outright shot him, but her hands did fly to her mouth in a quick moment of silent shock before she kneeled to quickly check his pulse, rolling his ugly mug to face the sun. Blood poured from his obviously broken nose, leaving the old ghoul wiping at his face to cover the smirk it sent twitching across his lips.

"What did you do that for?!" she demanded, frustration clear in her voice.

"Oh, my apologies, sweetheart. Your little boyfriend there was trying to join a party he wasn't invited to." he replied, though she was clearly ignoring him in favor of turning the boy onto his side and examining him.

His little companion let out a huff, casting a look between the body on the ground and the little cluster of buildings they'd just left. After a moment, she grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt the best she could and began to drag him back towards where he'd come from. The ghoul watched her pull him about five feet, red and huffing by the time she made it there, rolling his eyes deeply.

"Leave him. He'll be fine."

"He won't be if no one comes over to collect him soon, and you know it." she snarled, and her tone sent him seething, snatching the kid up over his shoulder like a sack of spuds and stomping ahead of her, depositing him unceremoniously against the ranch's handmade sign before yanking her along with him once again.

"Y'know, if you'd have just gotten in and out like I told you, that wouldn't have happened." he said eventually, dropping her arm once more.

"Oh, fuck you!" she hissed. "I was trying to see if I could talk him down on the price. And sometimes people know useful things, you know!" she yelled, exasperation clear in her tone as she threw her arms up in the air.

She pretended to be ignorant, but clearly knew what he was upset about before he specified. Interesting.

"Oh, I'm sure. Y'know, I'd wondered how long it was gonna take you to start sellin' that little ass of yours. Figured it would be for something nicer than a pistol repair or some bad intel, at least." he sneered. He could feel himself slipping further from rationality.

"What are you talking about? It wasn't even like that!" she insisted, an edge of something more worrisome creeping into her voice.

"Quit playin' dumb, doll. You make it seem too easy." he said, watching her entire face light up bright red in frustration. She was tersely quiet for a minute, the gears in her head clearly turning hard and fast as she worked to contain herself and formulate a response at the same time.

"I'm sick of you getting pissed off and treating me like I'm the stupidest person you've ever met." she spat, eventually, madder than he'd ever seen her. "I'm sorry that I haven't spent enough bitter fucking years walking around the desert and killing things and being an asshole to know everything like you do, Coop. I'm sorry I still have human emotions and desires. My sincerest fucking apologies."

That was it: the argument had officially become about...something else.

Honestly, he'd assumed that she was going to leave him a few days back, when they'd stayed in a rare hotel room waiting for a bad dust storm to settle, the little thing getting just a tad too tipsy on some whiskey he'd given her before trying to kiss him. He'd rebuffed her, though not as gently as he wished he had, and, feeling bold, she'd pushed back with surprising fervor, basically demanding to know why he wouldn't kiss her more, why he wouldn't sleep with her.

True, he felt closer to her than he'd felt to anyone or anything in a long while, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but, as embarrassing as it was, the idea of being expected to perform sexually so suddenly made him feel a seizing sense of panic that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.

What he'd wanted to say was "I care about you so much, but I'm not sure I'm ready to take that step." Instead, what had come out was "Why are you buggin' me about this? I said no. Fuck off." followed by him storming out to spend several hours smoking in the decrepit, junk-walled-in parking lot.

When he'd returned, she'd been asleep, her poor face tear-swollen and red. He'd waited for her to rouse and hash it out with him, but she'd slept through the night, and, the next morning, didn't bring it up or seem amenable to discussing it. She hadn't seemed angry, necessarily, perhaps a little sad, but in the few days that had passed since, she had definitely been colder, poutier than usual.

It seemed, to him, that she was punishing him now for not doing what she'd wanted, and it was pissing him off.

It didn't matter that he hadn't fucked her yet, that he didn't feel ready to expose the most vulnerable parts of him, inside and out, so openly. She was his; she belonged to him and she knew it as much as he did. The fact that she was even still traveling with him after all this time, after what happened at the hotel that night, was proof. She proved it every single time she came back from one of her little stomp-offs every time he ticked her off, lacking the wherewithal to ever even move fully out of sight before slinking down to pout awhile, inevitably peeking out from whatever she was hiding behind to see if he was still there. Despite her lack of proper training, she was a loyal little bitch.

The fact that she suddenly didn't want to act accordingly sat entirely wrong in his mind, wriggled under his skin like when his stash ran low.

"All's I'm saying, princess," he growled, throwing out the nickname he knew she loathed once more, "is that you're too fucking friendly for your own good, and you shouldn't be shocked when it gets people hurt."

"Why would you give a shit who I'm friendly to, anyway?" she spat, suddenly pushing her way right into his bubble and sending him baring his teeth.

"I wouldn't. Didn't I made that clear enough the other night?"

He knew that this particular barb would hurt her, but he genuinely didn't expect what she did next.

"Alright, then." she said; her voice was trembling noticeably, as was her lower lip. With that, she snatched her backpack up from the ground, jammed her arms into the straps, turned, and began to walk back towards the way they'd come from. He watched her silently, waiting for her to duck back into the ranch, but she didn't; instead, she kept walking, as long as he could watch her, until she disappeared over the hill that fed into the horizon.

The old man watched her go, dumbfounded as she actually continued to walk instead of stopping as she always did. For a while, he hung around, waiting for her to come huffing back, but she still hadn't by the time the sun had fully sunk out of the sky. Eventually, he resumed moving himself, stopping after about a mile in their original planned direction, settling down for a grating night of looking out over the road at every little noise.

She'd never even looked back. He couldn't shake that thought from his mind as he sat there resting overnight. It was basically the only thought he had for hours, plaguing him as he puffed his inhaler and watched the world around him brighten with the rising sun.

When the next day started in full, he'd resolved to hit the road, to resume his travels as he would be resuming his existence before the girl had come along. Compared to how long he'd been exploring the desert solo, she'd been but a brief blip in his life, and there was no reason to fret so much over where she'd gone or what could happen to her without him around.

For some reason, he only covered about half the ground he would typically cover on a day like this, and he found himself beyond unreasonably frustrated...with himself. Nothing about the conditions was slowing him down; he didn't run into more trouble than usual, and he was fine on supplies, vials, but for some reason he found himself hypervigilant, looking for any excuse to move up high and scan the road with his binoculars.

By the time it was too dark to safely continue, he was seething once again, but at his weakness, at his cowardice. After he chose a tucked away little corner to settle down in for a few hours, he quite literally couldn't dig into his stash fast enough, doing line after line, hit after hit of whatever he had on him, until the horrible pain he felt behind his breastbone melted away into a familiar, soothing numbness.

But his numb mind liked to wander, and soon he found himself thinking about the softness of her voice, her skin, her lips against his that night...

And, quickly, he was back to pain and anger, but an irrational anger fueled by a far-more than reasonable dose of basically every kind of stimulant known to Wasteland man. This pain, too, was chased away with more and more chems, until he was so fucked up that he could barely keep his eyes focused and open.

She truly did plague him now, just as she had all the months she'd traveled with him. She plagued his thoughts at all points in the day, plagued his worries about the future, and even as he attempted to snort and huff himself free of the thought of her, she plagued him, dancing up along beside him in a quiet, stalking creep, watching him daintily from the end of the rotted log he sagged himself on, his back wedged against the large rock cluster behind him. At some point, he'd tugged his gloves off and shucked them somewhere nearby, leaving him feeling quite naked as his hands fretted with themselves absentmindedly. Against his will, he thought about running them through her hair like he'd wanted to for so long, and the unpleasant flip his stomach did made him sigh.

"I'm sorry." came a voice on the breeze, so much like hers. The visions of her were persistent, annoyingly so, the one staring hauntingly at him from the side really starting to unsettle him. He was no stranger to visual and auditory hallucinations when he was this far gone, but she was so solid-looking out of the corner of his eye, watching him so close. Judging him and what a fuck-up he was.

He squeezed his eyes shut hard, willing her away, willing himself to go back a few days and redo this entire thing differently.

"Aren't you...gonna say anything?" came the soft, timid voice once more, this time from beside him. Firmer, realer.

He narrowed his eyes in her ghostly direction, focusing as best as he could on her blurry, swimming visage.

"Huh. Didn't know that was really you."

When had she arrived, exactly? Fuck, he was dangerously gone if she'd been able to sneak up on him like that.

She frowned at that, leaning close and sizing him up with worrying eyes. Gingerly, she placed her palm on the back of his bare hand.

"Jeez, Cooper. How fucked up are you?" she asked, her tone sincere, almost apologetic.

Her glaring worry burned into him as judgment, harsh and stinging, and he struck out in response, yanking his hand away.

"Mind your fuckin' business." he slurred, forcing himself to sit up straight enough to point his full anger in her direction, growing with each passing moment. "Think you're better'n me? Hmm?"

He'd fully expected this to ignite another yelling match between the two of them, but she didn't scream back; instead, she quietly dropped her head, avoiding his eyes as she gazed around where he'd chosen to bed down. Truly, he was quite impressed she'd managed to find him at all, let alone in the dark. Turns out he was rubbing off on her even more than he'd thought. The idea left him bitter.

A big part of the anger he felt, the ugliest, most violent part, was the Jet; he knew this. The stuff had gotten him into more than his share of scuffles through the years, making him even meaner than usual, his sharp tongue exact and piercing. However, beneath the amphetamine fog, there was a nugget of true bitterness, an open wound of insecurity that pained him into lashing out when she tried to come close. He'd lashed out in such a way that night at the hotel, despite how hard he'd tried to hold back his sour words.

There was a fear there that he'd felt before, but never so strongly as when he'd watched her disappear over that hill. If she'd tried to leave over that relatively small argument, when would she try to leave again? He wasn't a pleasant man to be around, even when he actually tried to be, a lot of the time. Hell, he wasn't even pleasant to look at; if he'd been a giant prick in his old life, at the very least, he had been handsome.

Increasingly, since she'd come into his life, he tried to reach deep, deep into himself and pull out whatever remained of the old him, the one who was kind and hopeful and actually knew how to talk to women, but the process was infinitely more difficult and painful than he'd imagined.

She clearly wanted and needed intimacy from him, on more than one front, and the pressure of feeling like he couldn't give her what she needed was increasingly getting to him in a way that embarrassed him more than he could possibly say (not that he'd ever say it out loud). Centuries of time had passed, and yet, here he was, still dealing with the same anxieties and feelings of inadequacy that he had before, just dressed up in a new, uglier face.

When would he finally succeed in pushing her away, in frightening her away from him 'for her own good'? The walls around him had never failed him before, for better or worse.

Things were quiet between them as she fidgeted in her spot, the tension of an inescapable conversation in the air, but the desert's constant score, the hiss of sand across corroded asphalt, the soft rattle of the wind in the rocky hills, played on. His muddled ears played tricks on him, making him hear murmurs and distant gunshots and the crack of his rifle butt into that farmhand's face, but he tuned them out, focusing on her steadying, but increasingly heavy breathing, his eyes unable to leave her mouth..

He let himself drink in the fact that she really was there, sat on her knees in the dirt before him and already begging him for his forgiveness, for his acceptance; corporeal, flesh and blood and her sweet smell and that wet, warm place between her legs. Only in his drug-induced private fantasies had he felt it, but he knew he wanted to bury himself there, as deep as possible, and never let her pull away.

"I really am sorry, Coop." she whispered, those big, round eyes brimming with big, wet tears. It wasn't difficult to see her sincerity, even as he struggled to focus. But that hot coal of bitter anger still smoldered in his gut; not replaced by the lust he felt, but fed by it.

Slowly, his own movements labored under the weight of too many substances, he reached out and ran the thumb of his sullied glove along her smooth, smooth cheek. Smearing the trail of wetness there until he was tracing the outline of those pouty lips, he pushed it into her mouth.

"Prove it."

She let out a pitiful little retch, though whether it was from the taste of the incredibly filthy material, or because he was shoving her tongue back in her throat and gagging her with it, he didn't know. What he did know was that the sound made his cock twitch, which was already more blatant sexual desire than he'd felt in ages.

"How?" she asked, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand as he pulled his own away. The wetness that trailed from his thumb, from her lips, made him feel feverish, and he quickly knotted his hand into the thick, soft hair at the back of her head, yanking her so close that their noses would've been touching, had he still had one. When her wide eyes met his, not so much as a sound escaping her lips at the sensation in her scalp, he finally gave in and harshly mashed his mouth to hers, swallowing the sigh that escaped her as he did.

Cooper was unsure how long they kissed, how long he plundered her swollen, eager mouth with his tongue before she stumbled onto her knees, pulling back slightly to pull air into her lungs. As she hovered there, eyes closed as she attempted to gather herself, he dug deep into the pocket of his duster and withdrew a Jet container, giving it a shake to prime it as she righted her breathing. Once she was steady once more, he cupped the back of her head again, bringing her to him and lifting it to her mouth. There was hesitation in her eyes, then disgust as the chem filled her lungs. It touched him with a twinge of amusement, knowing how badly the stuff tasted, watching her retch harder than before. He let her cough for a few seconds, allowing her a few half-cocked breaths of air before shoving the thing back between her lips and holding it down even longer.

By the time she managed to stop sputtering and drooling, he'd had a hit of his inhaler and started stroking his increasingly hard cock through his pants, watching her closely as she raised her now bleary, glassy eyes towards him. He waited for her to mouth off, to complain, to remark on anything that had happened, but instead, she sat there, unmoving, waiting for his instructions. She was the picture of obedience, but nevertheless, he could still see that glint of outrage behind her gaze, waiting to argue with him the moment she sensed an opportunity.

It pissed him off more than he thought possible, and, before he could even think to stop himself, he lashed out and slapped her across the face, the blow landing squarely in the center of her cheek and making her head turn away from him slightly. Surprising him again, she didn't make a sound, but she also didn't correct her head to look back at him.

Pulling a long drag off of the Jet inhaler himself, he held it deep in his lungs as he grabbed her by her long hair to kiss her again, exhaling the stuff right down into her lungs. She kissed him back until she choked on the sensation, leaning away to spew and cough more.

"Wanna prove you're sorry?" he hissed, his brain buzzing with the fresh hit as she leaned against his knee. "Clean my boots, vaultie. Show a little humility for once in your life."

His words were mean, meaner than he should be right now, but she didn't seem to register their full weight as she struggled to focus her eyes on the boots in question. When she lifted those dark, glassy pools back to his, he could see she knew what he meant, a heavy blush staining her cheeks and neck. Of course she knew what he meant; she was a smart girl, and her brain worked so much like his, even if she wouldn't freely admit it.

She looked up at him so dreamily through those thick lashes, though whether it was real affection in her eyes or simply the haze from all the Jet he'd forced down into her lungs, he couldn't tell.

In truth, his boots weren't as filthy as they could've been, as he'd cleaned the farmhand's blood off of them the night she'd taken off to get rid of the smell. But it wasn't about cleanliness; no, she'd humiliated him, her and her spoiled, entitled vault-dweller attitude, when she ran off, and he wanted to see her humiliate herself a little in kind.

The woman kneeling before him didn't hesitate as much as he'd thought she would, the red outline of his palm and fingers seeming to glow on her cheek in the dying firelight as she cast a vaguely-seeing glance around her, measuring her space before pulling herself into a sort of downward dog position, her round ass in the air as her marred cheek rested softly on the sandy ground. There was a moment of quiet tension as she seemed to study it, planning her approach before rather timidly leaning forward and running her tongue along the side, swiping a clean stripe across the tarnished black material from ball to toe. She gagged at first, likely from the dryness of the dust, but, again, she didn't complain.

He didn't have to tell her to clean the other boot; she did it with no prompting as soon as the first was finished, gagging less as she ran her pretty pink tongue all along the sullied, scuffed leather, and he couldn't believe how much it turned him on while equally failing to quell his indignation, his disappointment. Before she'd really finished her work, he yanked her up by her hair again; this time, she let out a slight yelp of surprise as he dropped her onto her ass, gesturing to her shabby, scavenged armor with one hand as the other began to wrestle his ammo belt, then his actual belt, open.

"Take that shit off."

Again, she did as he asked with only a moment's pause, placing all the little pieces of boiled leather and metal off to the side, her eyes flitting to him for a heartbeat before she proceeded with the rest of her clothes, quickly exposing herself completely. He could see her well in the moonlight, but not as well as he'd have liked, leaving her standing there, vulnerable and shivering ever-so-slightly as he took a good, long look at her. He was painfully hard at this point, desperate to have at least some minor relief from the confines of his trousers, but he was also uncharacteristically nervous at the idea of exposing himself to her this way. Beckoning her forward, he used her distraction as she kneeled once more to pull his cock free, grateful for the darkness and her weaker eyes.

"Suck me." he growled.

While he wasn't exactly pleased at how entirely fucked up he'd been going into this, he was sort of grateful that he couldn't feel almost anything with any vivid detail across the expanse of his body; the visual of her wrapping her dainty little fingers around him and obediently leaning down to take him into her mouth alone would have been enough to finish him if he'd have been able to feel her properly.

The way she went about it also seemed to indicate she wasn't entirely experienced, simply sliding her mouth down over his cock and setting to finding a pace that she could handle, as everything was surely spinning for her. For a while, he let her do so, fingers knotting into her hair again, before his patience wore thin and he began to push her head downwards, the sound of her gagging once more sending a thrill up his spine. Even with the numbness from the most recent hit seeping through him, he wasn't able to keep it up long before he yanked her back, taking in the drool hanging down from her swollen lips.

Cooper gave his spit-slicked cock a few firm tugs, hissing from between his worn teeth at her as he sat back, making room for her on his lap.

"Now get up here and show me you know who you belong to."

She didn't even look towards her bag, towards the condoms he knew she kept tucked deep inside her little toiletry pocket, as she quickly and sloppily pulled herself up into his lap. A part of him knew that he'd have stopped her if she did try to put one on him.

He tried so hard to not think of Barb as the pretty young thing on top of him began to sink down and envelop his cock in her heat, tried so hard to not feel guilty for giving himself to another, and he failed miserably. She felt heavenly, tighter and warmer and sweeter than he could've ever imagined, and he hated himself for how much he loved it, for how alive it made him feel when for so long he'd simply been existing. The choked noise that left his dry throat as the aching head of him fully breached her wasn't a sob, but he wouldn't have known what to call it.

It must've seemed to her, he thought, that he was forcing her to do all the work out of anger, wanting her to fully prove that she wanted him, that she was his; this was true, but he was also terrified, deep down, of how he would react if he allowed himself to freely touch her the way he wanted. He feared he would literally rip her limb from limb in his intoxicated state, sink his teeth into her pillowy flesh until it bled, tear a chunk off of her and swallow it so that she could be part of him forever.

He couldn't tell if the way she huffed and whimpered her way down his length was because she was high and hypersensitive or because she'd never been with a man this way before. That thought was quickly and harshly banished from his brain, however, his hands finding the plush fat of her hips, fingertips digging hard into the soft, supple flesh.

"Good pup." he breathed out when he eventually felt her ass rest on his thighs, fully sheathing him inside her.

The whimper she let out in response, her tight little clasp quivering around him as she clumsily reached out and braced her hands on his shoulders, made him throb hard, leaving him at least slightly grateful for his intoxication once again. If his numbed brain and body had been able to feel her fully, he knew he would've absolutely shot his load already.

Cooper struggled to stay still as she moved experimentally on top of him, lifting and lowering and grinding herself a few different ways before she found a rhythm that made him let out a throaty moan, the ghost of a smile flashing across her sleepy face as she rode away at him for a while.

What he really wanted, deep beneath all the unwanted feelings and unanswered questions about things he didn't want to think about right now, was to knock her up. For so long now he'd thought of her as his, and now that he'd claimed her, he wanted nothing more than to see her round and full to the brim of him. He wanted her to need him, to be completely dependent on him to provide for her and keep her safe.

He wanted her too vulnerable to get away from him.

On top of him, her movements were rapidly losing all coordination as her glossy, heavy eyelids drifted shut, her head nodding violently as she struggled to maintain her pace. He'd given her too much for someone who didn't use regularly, someone her size, and she was crashing out, falling asleep against her will right there. Poor thing.

He slapped her again, the sound ringing out across the vast, empty desert, watching closely as she startled back into a fully upright posture, her hips stilling for a moment before slowly beginning to churn again, her gaze unfocused.

"Mmm." she murmured groggily, leaning forward and placing her forehead against his shoulder, her arms winding around his neck as she tried her best to keep in some sort of motion.

This gesture, the way she cuddled up to him and sought comfort, support from him, even after the way he'd treated her, the fact that he'd literally just slapped her awake, was the only thing she'd done thus far that truly quelled the ugly, raging anger inside him.

"Thought this stuff was s'posed to wake you up." she sighed into the crook of his neck. She was entering the peak of her high, her body pitifully liquid against his chest as she clearly struggled to stay upright.

Personally, Cooper was reaching the un-fun part of his comedown, where everything started to feel grating and the mind began to uncloud, providing an increasingly painful level of clarity, but the senses remained muddled in a way that provided more discomfort than relief.

"Usually does. You had too much, baby." he responded, the mild chastisement in his tone doing a poor job of hiding the guilt behind it. His naked hands stroked reverently at her back, at the long, wind-swept hair that flowed down it, mindful to hold her so that she wouldn't lilt too far to one side as he attempted to soothe her.

Familiar with the unpleasant swimming sensation too much Jet could give you, he let her relax fully against him, the small sigh she let out one of gratitude as her whole body sagged even further. But she didn't stop grinding against him, probably out of some sort of pleasure for herself, he figured as he could feel her greedy insides tugging around him. He hid his grin again, this time in the crook of her neck as his hands found her hips once more, easily lifting her a few inches before dropping her down again, bouncing her on his cock as she rested.

Things went on like that for a spell, him bobbing and rocking her naked, lax body on top of his as she curled up on his shoulder, cooing and nodding off from time to time. As his high wore off, the sensitivity in his body was returning, and it made her feel more and more overwhelming as he continued to fuck her, her hot, wet little cunt leaking all over him as he continued to use her body to get himself off.

She seemed to be more conscious now than before, though barely, jostled awake by the increasing force of his thrusts up into her, bare breasts heaving with the movement. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to trace his lips down her chest, sealing them around her puffy, erect nipple and swiping his tongue along her slightly salty flesh. In response, her arms tightened around his neck, holding him on her breast as she clenched around him hard.

"Cooper." she whimpered, and that single little sound pushed him right into what felt like the most powerful orgasm he'd ever had, his fingers digging into her hips far too hard as he dropped her full weight onto him, grinding her down onto his cock and yanking her against him. His head dropped back, dead weight as he let out a feral snarl, tapering off into a throaty moan.

As he throbbed his gift up inside her, she squirmed at the feeling, tucking her bright red face into the side of his neck in what read as slight embarrassment, giving little huffs and whimpers as he continued to fill her. Another, smaller wave of guilt nagged at him as she clung to him, as he held her as close as he possibly could, struggling to regain control of his breathing; even if she'd had sex before, she'd never done this.

He held her as long as she could tolerate, her grip around him loosening slowly as she moved closer to real sleep. His girl was exhausted through and through, lightly snoozing against his chest.

For a few minutes, he let her rest uninterrupted, scanning her over to assess how badly he'd fucked up. She seemed fairly intact, though certainly more bruised than before. Eventually, he went digging into her bag, knowing (hoping) that she would have Radaway somewhere, and letting out a small sigh of relief when he found some jammed into the bottom.

Only one dose; he would have to find her more, and soon. This would be enough to see her through the next day, though, and he was pleasantly surprised to note that she wasn't showing even minor signs of radiation sickness as he found a vein in her arm, starting up the intravenous line to administer the thick, yellowed solution. Surprisingly, she didn't rouse fully when he slid the included needle into place, but she did begin to stir and groan mildly as the stuff began to effuse. Dimly, he remembered being given it when he'd been in the service, and how shitty it could make you feel.

Softly, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his bare knuckles before setting to jabbing her with a Stimpak from his bag around where she'd stuck some staples in her belly, making a note to ask her what had given her the several inches-long laceration he saw there.

He hesitated, though, when he moved to give her a dose of Med-X he'd dug out from the depths of his saddlebag. Most of the Wasteland's mind-rotting and pain-soothing substances were on the table for him, and in great amounts, but he hated the way the opiate made him sluggish and sleepy, reducing his accuracy in a fight significantly. The pain relief it provided wasn't worth it if he ended up dead anyway.

Smoothskins loved it, though, so he usually kept a few syringes on him for bartering purposes. Never did he think he'd be happy to give so much of his stash away for free.

He knew she must be hurting, or, she would be when she woke up, whenever that was. But he was hesitant to give her anything else, both for fear of how she would react, and, somewhat selfishly, because he knew a proper dose would make her sleep even longer, and he was desperate to actually get to speak with her again.

If she asked for the stuff, he'd give it to her. But...tomorrow. After they'd gotten a chance to discuss everything that had happened with cooler, more sober heads. After he was sure she wouldn't wake up in the morning and hate him for what he'd done to her.

His fingers played softly in her mussed hair as the indigo cover of night faded into the periwinkle of twilight, washing her nearly grey in his arms. She slept hard awhile, undisturbed until the awkward angle of her neck made him gently resettle her into a more comfortable-seeming position, letting her slip down until she was curled up in a ball on her side in his lap, her head supported in the crook of his elbow. Lying this way, he'd have to hold her up while she slept, but he found himself strangely excited at the prospect.

"M'sorry I ran away." she murmured suddenly after a long period of silence, readjusting herself in his lap to curl closer.

"I know, kid. I forgive you." he replied after a moment of hesitation, the words soft and strange as they formed on his lips. He petted her hair as gently as he could manage. "Did a good job findin' your way back to me, pup. Proud of you."

"Mmm. Please don't be mad at me." she echoed his own thoughts softly, so slurred as she finally began into unconsciousness that it was barely intelligible, her face buried in his side.

"I'm not." he said, fully, completely honest for once in his long life. He let his eyelids rest, his hand on his gun, ready to stop anyone who would try to ruin this quiet moment under the fading stars. "I promise. Now, get some sleep, pup. I know you came a long way today."

She sighed at that, as if to say "You have no idea." before flopping loosely into his arms, and was snoring lightly within a minute. He allowed himself a small smile at this, at how earnest and adorable she was.

"Good girl." he murmured.

[freakassfemme]

MWAH wishing u a speedy recovery!!!!! listen u always do my requests sm justice YOU JUST GET IT, i will always crawl back into ur askbox i am patiently waiting while kicking my feet :3

original ask YOU ARE SO SWEET! I appreciate you. here u go, i have brought you a gift <3 unfortunately my only explanation to 'getting it' is that I am always having or striving to have filthy nasty lesbian and queer interactions. or I am writing or reading about it. my sole purpose on this earth is to curate queer experiences. hope that helps <3 btw I wrote this from 6 - 9 am so bare with me wc: 2.9k warnings: metaphorically consuming each other as a form of desire, yeah I know I switched present/past tense its a bad habit of mine but I *don't care* nor do I care about consistent capitalization, I'm crazy for this woman obviously, rough sex, f/f, vagina/breast anatomy, biting, overstimulation, crying, maybe I get a little too poetic about gay sex, proof read by only me one singular time and it was mainly to see if the music fit the vibe, penetration, scissoring, I love pussy, orgasm denial x1 (?), slight size kink and worship but really that's in all my fics

see how it shines [smut] ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ

playlist: it will come back / be / abstract (psychopomp)

(yeah we r bringing hozier into this </3)

eighteen fucking hours. that's how long you'd been clocked in at the medical bay for what seemed to have been maybe the third or fourth time this week, and it was only Thursday.

the truth was, medics and doctors were dropping like flies these days, going AWOL and leaving the remaining staff to work what would need twenty sets of hands with maybe seven or eight. with the seraphites becoming more aggressive everyday, the peace in the stadium and other bases for the WLF had been short-lived, and many understandably weren't holding up well to the pressure, especially with the way the cleanup crews had been hauling back nonstop truckloads of friends and loved ones, and requests to be stationed elsewhere other than the stadium and two were immediately denied at this point.

so yeah, you were pretty fucking tired. at this point in the staffing shortage, they were having to send the folks on watch on additional rounds just to bring food to medics, on duty or at home, because they were simply too exhausted to go down to dining.

no one even acknowledged you as your blood and mud-ridden boots skidded across the concrete floors, your eyes practically closed even as you walked through crowds to get back to your dorm. the soldiers, civilians and staff alike parted like water around you, making an avoidant path and trying not too hard to look at you or the posters on the wall, outright begging people to sign up for medical classes.

you kicked the food delivery box inside of your dorm as you unlocked it, hands fumbling with your forehead pressed against the cold metal. inside, you quickly stripped out of your uniform top and boots, and crashed out on the couch.

abby herself was exhausted when she trudged into your shared living space hours after you, having just come off of a 48 hour rotation. her eyes wandered over the little trail of belongings leading to you on the couch, the boots left a few steps after the other, your button up discarded over the railing and the abandoned delivery box just a few feet from the door, which she didn't notice until she nearly slipped over it, causing a loud thump that had her wincing.

her eyes flicked to you, where she could only see the back of your head, and when she decided you weren't going to stir, she let out a sigh of relief and began stripping herself of her own uniform.

on her way over to the bathroom, she stopped next to you, taking in your splayed out form. your hair was a fucking mess, and you still had drops of (hopefully) someone else's blood across your forearms, one thrown against the back of the couch and the other hanging over the side. your pants were halfway undone, like you had tried an attempt that you decided wasn't worth the energy, and you looked pale as a ghost.

as much as abby wanted to let you sleep, wanted to let you get the rest you needed, she couldn't leave you like this. it'd been at least three days since she last saw you for more than a fleeting lunch break, and she couldn't find it in her to take care of herself and not you, especially when you had been eating away at yourself providing the undying care to strangers who wouldn't want to return it even in several lifetimes.

she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before she nodded, crouching down and grunting from the soreness of her own body as she scooped you up.

when you groaned and gave a small shove back, she hushed you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"c'mon, sweet girl, it's just me. i got you."

you hadn't put up much of a fight when abby propped you up on the sink. you leaned the back of your head against the mirror as she shimmied your pants and socks off of you, stripping your shirt and undergarments next until your cold skin was left against the glass and stainless steel, and you began to shudder. abby was quick about turning up the hot water in the shower though, allowing the steam fill the room before she helped you to your feet, letting you lean against her and whisper weak protests as you climbed into the hot shower.

instantly, you relaxed against her, and she ran her fingers through your hair, fully saturating the dirty strands as you sighed, wrapping your arms around her firm waist to steady yourself.

you stayed like that for a while, pressed against your girlfriend's tone form as you slowly collected your own strength, letting her gentle hands and soft voice lull you back from your weak state until you could help her wash you both up, even if it took a bit longer than usual.

"lean your head forward f'me, angel," abby murmured, one of her large palms warming up your spine with gentle caresses as she held a half-formed braid of your hair in the other. you obeyed quietly, letting abby tie back your now managed hair into something similar to how she usually kept hers, though she left her own loose.

when she was done, abby shifted closer behind you in the bed, her arms slipping underneath your borrowed shirt to hold you against her. she buried her face into your neck, letting you curl into her until you were turned on your side and entirely wrapped in her strong arms.

her nose nudged yours, and your eyes weakly fluttered open to meet abby's soft gaze, her seafoam eyes almost hauntingly bright against the cool illumination of the moonlit windows. it spooked you a bit, in all honesty, to have her this close to you again after so many days, days where you had considered the other possibilities in which she may come back to you.

you weren't any less unnerving to her -- she could tell you hadn't been eating nearly enough since she had been gone, and in just a few short days you already looked withered enough to drop like a limp daisy. your skin was ghostly, its usual warmth dampened from a lack of sunlight.

still, she was your girl, and you were hers, even in your worn states. and god, she had missed you.

abby's pine soap filled your nose as she pressed her lips into yours, the warm skin hesitant under your cool, cracked ones, and you accepted her gratefully, even if just for a moment it was as useless as whiskey on a winter night.

but then, of course, like any decent drink, the buzz hits.

and even though your limbs are screaming against you as you do so, your fingers curl into abby's loose hair, and you turn your head just a bit more. when you kiss back, abby's shyness, her gentleness quickly melts away, replenished by a hunger matching your own as you desperately search for more of her, pulling her against you like you hoped to swallow her whole.

your teeth crashed against her soft skin, tugging at her lip and making a slot for your tongue to force its way into her mouth. instantly, she shuddered, groaning into you in a way that you could feel the vibrations in her chest. it was like an open invitation, a warm meal laid out just for you, and you accepted it greedily.

you pulled abby on top of you by her hair, whining back when she moaned against your lips again. her own hand snaked up your body, squeezing at your thighs and hips as she fell on top of you, then pushing your oversized shirt over your chest, exposing your chest and making a clear pathway for herself. still, as starving as she was, she tried to take her time with you, wrapping her fingers around your jaw to hold you in place, and only stiffening up when you parted your legs, wrapping them around her and shoving your bare cunt against her firm stomach.

"wait," she whispered against your lips, "wait f'me, baby. let me have some."

you whine and protest as abby's strong arm holds you down by your throat, her other coming down to pin your fighting, impatient wrists to your stomach.

"baby, baby please," you're crying between broken moans as her tongue runs up your neck, stopping just so you can feel her heavy breathing against the shell of your ear when she slowly begins to work her hips against yours, the fabric of her boxers smearing your arousal across her thighs.

"fuck, baby I know," she groans, and if it wasn't for the way she gritted her teeth, you'd think she was annoyed rather than desperately holding herself together.

"abby, I --"

abby's hand on your jaw slips up some so she can shove two of her fingers in your mouth, and she lets out a stupid, desperate moan when she feels you choke around them for a second. then your eyes roll back just when she looks up, checking on her little angel, and she can't help but grunt louder, slamming her hips into your core in a way that makes you keen and your back arch, your smaller fists squeezing underneath her grip.

"god, shut up," she's practically begging as her hips rut into you. "please just, fuck, be quiet for a second, shit -"

she buries her face in your neck again, trying to satiate herself and regain some of her sanity, but your legs are now locked around her, pulling her against you in a way that has her clit brushing deliciously against the seam of her boxers. her head spins every time, and she lets out broken whines as she feels herself already tipping dangerously towards that edge as your body fights to consume her.

and god, it's torture for her, but for you, you just can't get enough. your fucking beast of a girlfriend trying so futilely to hold it together from just this stupid game of dry humping, when you're so, so willing to give her so much more.

let me have you, let me have you, you're chanting in your mind, your ankles pushing at the hem of abby's boxers.

you swallow around her fingers, and that seems to do it for her, granting you some edge as her other hand releases your wrists and flies to the side to hold herself up as her back arches against you with a loud groan.

your hands rush on to her back, your nails finding purchase just below her shoulder blades and ripping down the muscle until her fingers tear from your throat to slam against the bed and she stifles a cry by biting down on the base of your neck so hard that for a moment, you're worried she might draw blood.

"fuck," you rasp out against the pressure.

abby's shaking in your arms, moaning between the prettiest sobs as she gives in. she's pliant when your hands slip down to grab at her ass, and she lifts her hips to help you slip her boxers off, kicking them behind her.

she leans back, her blonde hair dripping onto your exposed tits. the cold water makes you shudder, and you let abby shove her bare cunt between your legs and slotting one thigh over you.

your lips fall in a open-mouthed gasp and she swears as her entrance rocks against your throbbing clit, one of her hands coming down to steady your hips and the other to hold her shirt up over her stomach so she can see the way you're making a mess of her thighs.

she stays there for a minute, brutalizing your bundle of nerves for her own pleasure. your head falls against the mattress, and you let out ridiculous whines, your hands fisting and slamming against the sheets below you, even coming up to claw at her strong thighs that kept you pinned so tightly in place.

"fuck, fuck, 's too much," you're choking out, and now it's your turn for the waterworks while abby only chuckles, laughing breathlessly as she presses down harder.

"no, no baby," she coos between her own moans, running her tongue over her teeth as she shudders. She slips her hips down some until you're fully rutting against each other again, the sheer wetness making it that much more difficult for your brain to process. "'s not, sweetheart, you can take it. i know you can baby."

you shake your head, and abby rolls her eyes, quickening her pace until your cheeks rouge and your whining grows. your hips twitch beneath her, uncontrollably bucking up to kiss her pussy again and again and again despite your pleas.

"what's wrong?" she purrs, her hand coming from your hips to run itself down from your neck, to your chest, to the back of your thigh. "thought you wanted it, thought you were begging for it, baby."

you whine again, shivering under her touch as she leans down, her mouth capturing the meat of your thigh as she rocks against you. she bites harder with each push and pull, and your tired body can't take it. it's too easy to get worked up for her like this.

"abs, ohmygod, stop, 'm gonna-"

abby's all to keen, knows exactly what you're going to say before you can even finish your sentence.

"shit, fuck, no you're not," abby grunts, ripping away from you in an instant.

your arched back hits the mattress with a full on sob, and you can feel your unsatisfied arousal leaking onto the sheets, the sickness between your thighs and on your stomach, the smell of abby, abby, abbyabbyabby until you jolt back up, letting out a small cry at the sudden impact against your clit.

she does it again and again, slapping your swollen cunt until your body is on the verge of cumming just from this. you're already so pent up, so touch-starved that you'd probably cum just from her biting you again, and she knows it, knows you're both like that right now.

your arms prop you up as one of her hands holds open your parted thighs, and her lips are consuming yours again as she growls with every spasm and whine she pulls from you. she doesn't stop until she really thinks you might burst, when you're starting to lift your hips for more instead of trying to hide away.

"god, you're filthy, baby," she groans against your mouth, and you only nod dumbly, knees shaking as you try to catch your breath. she's kneeling between your legs, ready to worship her sweet slice of heaven, ready to piece you back together.

abby's hand comes down gently this time, just the tip of her middle finger tracing over the mess between your legs until she's prodding it against your entrance so delicately that your brain nearly short-circuits.

she looks back up at you, her chest heaving from some sort of late-onset restraint and with such devotion filling her dilated eyes that you almost can't move, can't breathe. her eyes rake over you, holding every detail for an extra moment to commit it to memory, and when it's clear you're too awestruck by her, too overwhelmed by the sight of her poised in reverence, she speaks for you.

"gonna let me in, pretty girl?" abby asks, the words dripping off of her tongue like a velvety chocolate. you nod stupidly, your head bobbing in a way that's a little too eager, but she doesn't say anything about it.

instead, she hums, licking her lips as she wraps a hand around your head, pulling you so that her nose bumps against yours. abby presses her lips against yours, and one of your hands shakes as it finds its way up to grasp at her bicep. she's much more gentle this time, much more cautious as the tip of her finger begins to delve inside.

you pull away from her lips with a gasp when she intrudes, turning your face to hide it in your shoulder. you can't help but squeeze around the single digit, your knees already trembling.

"uh-uh," she tsks softly, her raspy voice echoing against your ear. she kisses your temple, and her hand slides down some to turn your face back towards her.

"let me see you," she whispers, sucking in a gasp as she pushes her finger farther into you, curving her palm to fit snugly against you.

your eyes flutter up to hers, almost shyly as you feel your ears burn and your eyes threaten to water as she holds your gaze. she nods when you do, curling her finger inside of you as she praises you, the ridges of your walls clinging to her finger so tightly that she's taking small, shallow breaths now.

"that's it," she murmurs, holding your head in place so you have to look at her. "that's my girl."

you let out a small whimper, the embarrassment running straight to your core as she begins to work her finger in and out, guiding it further each time until the base of her thumb glides over your clit. when it does, she groans, and can't help but push her hand harder against you until she's practically shoving you into the mattress and you swear you can feel her in your throat.

stars flutter around the blurry edges of the halo that is her golden hair, and the tears in your eyes begin to slip again between the way she's carving a god damn signature inside of you and how she's holding you so tightly against her.

you open your mouth, trying to speak but hopelessly interrupted by a mixed sob and moan. she chuckles softly, but it's tender and sweet, and she nods, brushing her thumb over your temple.

"I know, sweetheart, I know."

[dailyadventureprompts]

Scragglmop the Destroyer

Once feared throughout the land, a great and terrible dragon grew tired of being endlessly hunted for his hoard and faked his death with the aid of a glory-hungry gnomish bard. Living on for centuries in the guise of a street cat, the dragon is now a hair's breadth from resuming his rampaging ways after the bard's descendants have lost the fortune he gave over to them for safe keeping.

Adventure Hooks:

A series of unexplained fires has wracked the city in recent weeks, which has both the guard and the populace on edge. Rumours swirl blaming arsonists, saboteurs from a rival kingdom, even an illegal duelling society of mages, but none have yet put it together that all of the workshops and businesses were all patronized in one way or another by the famed Candlebright noble family.

Coincidentally, Hignatta Candlebright, young head of that same noble house has sent an invitation to the party to join her at a famed teahouse to discuss a delicate matter involving the retrieval of stolen property. Hignatta has all but taken over the teahouse and its guestrooms since her own family home burned down near the start of the panic, and the party might begin to draw a connection when half way through their meeting the teahouse begins to fill with smoke, panicking patrons, and a booming, sourceless voice that demands "WHERE IS MY GOLD, CANDLEBRIGHT?!"

If you really want to mess with the party, consider introducing them to the fluffy street cat completely independently of the arson plot, making a nuisance of himself in the market while they're trying to shop, or catching mice in their store-room should they have acquired a residence in town. Have them befriend the cat as they might any bad-tempered stray, only to realize after the adventure is half way through that the mice he catches are always somewhat charred. Also imagine the looks on their faces the moment the party's home is broken into by an enemy and their housecat incinnerates a wave of intruders for disturbing his nap.

Background: Everyone knows the story about how the legendary hero Gailen Candlebright saved the realm from the tyrannical dragon Slaggrath, a beast known to devour whole armies and raze kingdoms in search of treasure. It's the ubiquitous tale against which all adventurers are measured against, made all the more ubiquitous thanks to the fact that the deed is memorialized in drinking ballads, children rhymes, and even a few folk operas. Gailen was a troubadour of not insignificant skill before he became a legend, and he had little trouble using that skill and hardwon fame to ensure his deeds would never be forgotten.

As with many tales told by the bards, Gailen left out quite a bit of the truth when concocting his tale: It was a late night in a roadside tavern and the young Candlebright was approached by a sourfaced man with a tangled beard and clothes that might have once been quite fine. Gailen had sung for his supper and then some, his hat was overflowing with tips from a long night's work and a greatful crowd, and the old man wanted to know how it was exactly that the Gnome hadn't yet been robbed; The roads were full of all sorts of rough types who thought that their strength entitled them to others' wealth, bandits yes but worse yet kingsmen, who took what they wanted sure that that they were above any kind punishment.

Seeing that the old man had fallen on rough times, likely having been robbed himself, Gailen spoke from the heart: He'd been robbed a few times yes, but he got by looking like someone that no one would bother to steal from, dressing in his fine clothes only on days he'd perform, and keeping most of his riches in the safe keeping of others, such as the caravan masters he frequently traveled along with.

The old man considered Gailen's words and the two sat up drinking through the night debating the merits of the Troubador's duplicity. Was it not better, asked the old man, to defend what was yours with strength and reputation, That everyone might learn from the failure of those that had trifled with you before?

Gailen looked at the many scars the old man bore and countered that fools never learned their lesson, they just thought themselves better than the last fool who risked it and they'd keep risking it till luck won out or they went to join all the fools that had come before.

It was dawn when the two parted ways, Gailen tottering off to bed thinking he'd given council to a reformed bandit chief, the old man slipping out of the inn and taking to wing thinking he'd concocted a brilliant scheme with the help of his newest, and perhaps first, friend.

i was a week (and one pants-shitting revelation over the old man's true draconic nature) later that the legend of Slaggrath came to an end: Gailen walking into that very same tavern bloodied, burnt, and with the broken off horn of the great wyrm held above his head as a trophy. The news spread like wildfire, the name Candlebright ascended to the shortlist of the realm's great champions, and not a soul questioned when the newly knighted Gailen comissioned the construction of an elaborate series of vaults beneith the castle he'd just been awarded. The bard had everything he wanted, and in return he and his family would hold the dragon's horde in trust, not touching a single copper and adding a little to it each year out of respect for the wyrm's generosity.

Future Adventures:

Even before he charmed his way into unexpected riches, Gailen was an ardent follower of Garl Glittergold, god of ambition, wit, and wariness. Genresavvy bard that he was, he understood that this fabulous windfall wasn't just some gift from his god, it was a test, and that to keep his good fortune going he'd best abide by the exact deal he'd struck in that tavern. Gailen kept Slaggrath's treasure under lock and key all his life and made sure his children did the same despite never telling them where he got it, in accordance with his pact with the dragon . Feeling that the Candlebright family has sat on its laurels for far too long (especially since practical and buisness minded Hignatta has been increasingly questioning why her late grandfather insisted on keeping a giant pile of money in their basement and never spending it), the god has seen fit to shake things up, ensuring that some long lost blueprints for the vault have fallen into the hands of a group of thieves, who broke in and cleared the vault though the very same secret passages Slaggrath used to pop in every decade or so and make sure the count was up to date. The dragon is pissed, convinced Hignatta has reneged on her family's deal.. and all the while the thieves get closer and closer to escaping.

Depending on how the party handles it this situation could break bad in any number of ways: The dragon could give up on being Scragglmop and go on a rampage forcing the party to put him down, they could intercede on Hignatta's behalf and ensure the treasure is returned possibly earning themselves a cushy position as retainers of house Candlebright, perhaps most dangerously they could earn the attention of Garl Glittergold himself and end up being singled out for their own unstable blessing.

In addition to being motivated by the prerequisite desire to get rich, the thieves were hired by an ambitious mage who has long desired to get his hands on Gailen's Horn, the draconic trophy the bard thereafter used as the sigil for his house and hollowed out into a heavy instrument through which he channelled his most showy magic. The mage has designs on the horn as the centrepiece of a ritual drawing on the object's history of power and triumph. Given that the horn is in fact the centrepiece of a giant con it's going to bring some very unaccounted for variables into the mage's ritual which is liable to set off its own chain of problems down the line.

Art

[factual-fantasy]

22 asks!! :DD 💖💀🎉💖

@bunny-coffee

@elegysonnet

AAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! AND YOOOO IM DEVOURING THIS IDEA FRFR-

There's so much sadness! So much angst! AND JEVIL COMFORTING FRISK BY MAKING HER LAUGH?? PERFECT!!!

Now I may be not able to apply this idea word for word.. but I LOVE so much about it! Would you mind if I yoinked some of this? Its great!! :DD

:DD Happy new year!🎉🥳🎉 And thank YOU for sending me a kind message! I endlessly appreciate it 💖💖

@bunny-coffee

:00 Really? Thank you!! :DD I was actually pretty unsure of that detail for Jevil.. Making him round and squishy kind'a made him look too young to me.. but I'm so glad you like it! Maybe his squishiness isn't so bad! :D

:DDD Happy new year!! 💖🎉🥳🎉💖

XD Its been a while since I watched the movie. But I think my reaction was something along the lines of:

"..oh?.... OH..?.... OH YOOOOO---" *excited for angst noises XDD*

Thank you!! :DD As for his knuckle scars, there isn't really one specific way he got them. It just shows that he's rough and tough. He's been through a lot and has been on many dangerous missions.

You know, scraping his hands on rocks, dealing with sharp teethed and dangerous creatures every day.. Your hands would naturally get beat up a lot of you lived like Kwazii.

Aww! How fun! I'm sure Foxy wouldn't mind the company! :}

Foxy: "Oh? Are you a new animatronic?"

Calico Jack: "BIG TALKIN ROBOT-"

Now usually I would say Calico Jack. And its probably still true.. but considering how I'm trying to structure my Octonauts AU.. Inkling might actually be the one who's studied up more on folk tales and mythologies.. 👀

@rockbott0m47 (huh.. in all my days I don't think I've ever received a question like this XDD)

I try to be as factual as possible.. but in all honesty, my factual stops where the lazy begins-

XDD You're welcome?? Ah- Sorry for your loss?? XD I'm not sure how you feel about this realization but none the less thank you! I'm so glad you've liked my artwork! :DD

@nevereatingpeas

:DD THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I'm so glad you like my deign!! :}}💖

AAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! 😭😭💖💖💖

(Post in question)

WAAAAAHGG THANB YIU SO MCUH!!! ITS SO COOL TO ME THAT YOU SAW ALL THOSE DETAILS!!

Yes exactly! Shellington's "VEGGIE DAD" shirt, Kwazii's bent whiskers and scars.. AND YES YES! THE CAPTAIN IN FULL UNIFORM!! I was thinking that he is an early riser and was up before everyone else was. He's not intending to eat later- he's just already had breakfast! :0

AND YES!! The meals were all correct but one <XD google says that sea otters eat crab. So I googled "crab meat meal" and drew one of the things that came up. It might be a salad thing..? Or a crab pasta thingy.?? Not sure <XDD But MAN the potatoes would have been a good idea too-

One detail that I was fond of was the steam coming from everyone's cups. Though Peso and Barnacles have no steam, because they're drinking cold drinks! You get it?? Becuase they are cold creatures?? Don't like warm things??? I'm so smart 🤣

@itschrisboys

YOOOO THIS IS A REALLY SOLID IDEA!! She could have the guilt of having killed everyone, while also trying to give everyone their happy ending.. Cool! Would you mind if I used this idea? Or at least part of it? Its really neat! :00

@britneyt

:DD Thank you! I'm glad you like that design detail of his XDD

Also thank you again! Happy new year!! 🎉🥳🎉

@beryl-shade

XD My first thought was Glamrock Freddy; "HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HIDE YOU NOW GREGORY??"

I do! I'll have to draw them sometime-

@tallchest13-blog

Thank you! I'm so glad! :DDD

@natewithacake

:DD Thank you so much!! I'm glad you like the designs I've given them! :}}}

[edream93]

I think it's time...(WLTF Outline)

So, for my Descendants folks, I'm sorry to say that I think it's time to call it. Though I know exactly how I want the story to go, I've unfortunately lost a lot of motivation for "We'll Light the Fuse" and most of my other unfinished Descendants stories.

Post D2, being part of the fandom, especially the Huma/Sea Three Side of things was so inspiring. I vibed with a great group of mutuals and for the first time I engaged in a fandom outside of just being an observer. I'm not sure exactly what I'm trying to say, but I just want to thank my readers and other Descendants mutuals. Y'all unknowingly go me through a pretty rough time in my life. I hope you're all doing well ❤️

Anyway, I said I would give an outline of how I wanted WLTF to go. If you use any substantial bits, please reference me and also let me know! I'm not doing much writing but I'm still reading!

Neverland Arc/Hooked Intermission Arc:

Uma, Mal, and the others run into Tiger Peony and the remaining Lost Children who have hidden in an underground bunker away from Pan. Tiger Peony let them know that the spell that kept Pan asleep was broken due to the blood of Hook.

--- Long story short (and this would have been told throughout the arc, not just in one scene), Neverland always needs AT LEAST a Pan and a Hook to keep the island alive and thriving. The Pan (and technically the Captain Hook) that we see in this story is just the latest one. It's kind of one of those things where technically each Pan is unique in their own way but in the end all of their collective memories and experiences come together. When King Adam and the rest of the heroes got rid of/reduced the use of magic, it caused a magical blockage for Neverland as one of the few sources of pure magic in Auradon. It also was causing the current Pan to lose himself in thoughts and memories, like he would just space out. Sometimes he would forget entire conversations or days. It was shortly after Tiger Lily became leader of Neverland that people started noticing changes in Pan. Playing less. Spending time alone. Voice getting deeper...the Boy Who is Never Supposed to Grow Up getting...older... Around that time, the island was dying and the fairies were dying out. The Isle is Pan and Pan is the Isle. The Council of Magic (more on them soon) decided it was best to put Pan to sleep to halt his aging and to also naturally unblock some of the magical build up that he was unintentionally causing due to his unexplained growth.

---Not everyone was happy with it, especially those of Neverland but it was a time where unity was needed and Neverland, a historical site was dying (due to King Adam's decision to get rid of magic but no one really wanted to talk about that) so it was an agreed upon decision. Pan was put to sleep by the Council of Magic led by Fairy Godmother and Yen Sid, his loyal and faithful fairy Tinker Bell sealed away because they feared that she would find some way to wake him up. All very humane...Not.

---What people didn't realize, except for maybe Tiger Lily and her people is that Neverland is not inherently a Good place. It's also not inherently a Bad place. It's neutral, and with everything in life, has its good and bad. With Pan being asleep and Hook held prisoner under the barrier, there were no filters for the magic to go through and though it may have seemed like the magic was once again settling, it was actually building up dangerously. As stated before, Neverland always has a Pan and it always has a Hook. Even with Pan asleep, the delicate balance was skewed and magic will always find a way to get balance back, whether its outcomes are liked or not.

Anyway, back in the current timeline, Tiger Peony tells the Auradon gang that Neverland is forcing balance once again but unfortunately, the years of being asleep as well with his deteriorating mind has warped Pan. He has killed her mother and has put most of the island under his control. Tiger Peony was able to get most of the Lost Children (the kids who live in Neverland) into the underground bunkers under the hollowed old tree of Pixie Hollow the no longer spills out pixie dust. Since the Neverland fairies have long ago disappeared (around the same time Pan was put to sleep and Tinker Bell was sealed away) beneath Pixie Hollow has been turned into a disaster station.

Tiger Peony is grieving her mother and her home and angry for ever trusting CJ and thinking that she could be better than her father. She tells Mal that she did her duty and got High King Ben and Royal Counselor Evie back. Uma quickly notices that Harry, Carlos, Sammy Smee, and Big Murph are not present. Tiger Peony's make shift lieutenants (who were supposed to be heavily implied to to be either be the descendants of or were actually the three kids from the Nightmare Before Christmas - more of a world building addition/head nod than actual important part of the story) report that they thought the remaining boys were the few Lost Children under Pan's control.

Obviously Uma and Mal are not happy.

Across the Isle, Pan is not happy. He woke up to find Evie gone (there's a reason he's so obsessed with her) and CJ lost the Boy King (Ben). Thankfully he still has his Hook (Harry.

CJ is slowly starting to realize that maybe she isn't on the same page as Pan. She wants to be great and make a name for herself but Pan seems to be ordering her around worst than her siblings did on the Isle.

Harry tries to talk sense into her one last time but Pan (because he's connected to the island) realizes that the Auradon gang are now on the Isle and that causes CJ to get angry again at the thought of Uma and Mal coming in to ruin her fun and glory again.

Eventually, Uma, Mal, and the others find Pan. Pan tries to control Harry and make him his new Hook but Harry is so freaking devoted to Uma that despite having the blood of Hook (which basically means he's more susceptible to Neverland's influence), he easily breaks free of Pan's control like swatting a fly. (The power of simping compels him and all that jazz. I mean, there's an actual reason that'll be explained but that's what it comes down to basically, Harry's loyalty and devotion to Uma and vise versa.)

---"Why follow yer scrawny ass, when I have a goddess as a Captain?"

Obviously Pan is not happy and basically throws the world's biggest tantrum. The sky darkens, the waves rise high and crash violently against the shore as a storm begins to brew. Decides that if he can't have Harry as his Hook then he'll takeaway his thimble (aka kill Uma)

Back at Auradon, Audrey, Jane, and the left behind isle kids try to cover up for the others but Fairy Godmother and Mickey soon realize where they've gone.

Back in Neverland, though Pan may seem out-numbered, he has the Neverland mermaids and the Lost Children that he does have under his control. Basically a fight starts. Uma is trying to make sure she gets Harry, Gil, and the rest of the isle kids under her protection off this damn island but is struggling with her instincts which is to just destroy everything and take Harry and Gil away, somewhere safe.

In the midst of all of this chaos, Evie suddenly "knows" what to do to put Pan back to sleep and tells CJ that she's the only person who can help them do that.

At some point Mal turns into a dragon and goes rawr, flames, rawr trying to stop Pan.

Uma, while fighting Pan gets pushed into the water where all the Neverland mermaids are waiting to tear her to shreds. They pull her down into the murkey water and soon all that's seen is blood, rising from the depths.

The others try to fight Pan but he's too powerful.

Harry gets hurt. Like bad. Like might lose a hand bad.

Evie uses magic (her magic that smells likes roses - IT'S A CLUE that I've been sprinkling all throughout the written story so far as to what's going on with Evie and who Pan thinks she is), telling CJ that she's the only one who can stop Pan.

CJ blinks and suddenly she's alone and surrounded by darkness. With a far off light ahead. She walks and finds a fairy which she eventually realizes is Tinker Bell. -below is a scene I had typed up years ago because I loved it so much-

Silently, CJ watched Tinker Bell stroke the rusted surface of the thimble. 

“He was perfect. Made all up of starlight kisses and the wind’s laughter. Unwavering belief and the feeling of warm sand between your toes,” Tinker Bell smiled brokenly, her none-bent wing fluttering slightly. “My boy. My Peter Pan. Mine. My starlight asked me, so I gave him my heart.”

“The acorn,” CJ thought, heart lead in her chest.

She sank down to her knees before the fairy. She bit her lip, unsure of what to say. 

“But was it worth it? Was it worth the years stuck here? Broken? Trapped? How could you stand to be in a place like this all alone?”

A lone tear fell down the fairy’s cheek, but her smile never wavered. “Because he is my greatest happy thought. Even if he didn’t have my heart, I would shred my wings for him if it meant he would be happy.” Tinker Bell’s beautiful fae face twisted into something simultaneously cruel and longing. “That Wendy girl would never do that. Only me. Only Tink.” Her features smoothed out, and she looked at CJ with sudden new wonderment. “You understand...don’t you?”

The shadows around them shrieked and clawed, and CJ swore as the already small circle of light that surrounded them grew smaller. 

“Tinker Bell,” she desperately clasped the fairy’s hands, careful not to touch the almost tarnished thimble held so tenderly in Tink’s hands. “If you don’t help me, there won’t be a happy thought left of your darling Pan. And my brother-” CJ bit her lip, trying to hold back the sob that was threatening to claw itself from her throat. 

She was a pirate, dammit! No time for tears! 

“I’m not good at this mushy feeling crap,” she chuckled wetly, thinking back to Harry, her idiotic, brash, overprotective, heart on his patched-sleeve brother. She wondered if she would ever see him again. If he would ever forgive her...“Probably should be the last person to talk about this, but,” CJ gripped Tink’s hands tighter, willing what little warmth was left in her into her hands, “holding out like this, keeping him in this limbo instead of letting him pass along, you’re not helping him. You’re hurting what little is left of your boy.” 

“NO!” Tinker Bell shook her head vehemently, trying to pull her hands away from CJ’s firm grip with little luck. “No. No. No. No. Nonononono. He’s mine. He’s mine! My Pan. My Peter. My-”

Tink froze in shock as CJ’s arms wrapped around her, careful of her broken wing, in an awkward but firm embrace. “It’s okay to let him go,” CJ whispered softly. “It doesn’t mean you stopped loving him. Doesn’t mean you failed. But sometimes...letting go is the best thing...because holding on tight, no matter what you intended...it’s just hurting him.”

The withering shadows and breathing darkness pressed further against the perimeter of the circle and CJ could nearly taste the smell of decay and rot and death at their backs.

“CJ?” Tink murmured, leaning into her embrace. “I’m...I’m so tired, CJ. So so tired…”

“Then sleep,” CJ whispered, holding the broken fairy in her arms. “Sleep and dream of your boy, made up of starlight and laughter and belief and the feeling of warm sand between your toes. Sleep, and when you wake up, it’ll be a whole new adventure waiting for you.”

The darkness was now licking at her skin, threatening to consume her until nothing was left. She would embrace it. It was what she deserved. 

Slowly, so slowly that CJ didn’t even notice as the darkness crept higher until the only light that remained was the dull thrum coming from the rusted thimble as Tinker Bell turned over her hand, letting the small item fall into CJ’s. 

“Laugh always. Have many adventures. Cry just as much in laughter than in fear. And...cherish your happy thoughts...even when you grow too big for them,” Tink blessed as she pressed a kiss, as soft as fluttering butterfly wings on CJ’s forehead, just as they and the darkness shattered, until all that was left was faith, trust, and pixie dust.

(Note: ) Somewhere in all of this chaos, I would explain, drop hints that CJ's mother (because the Hook siblings all have different mothers) was Zarina, a fairy like Tinker Bell that fell in love with Captain Hook and when all the villains were forced onto the Isle, she gave up her wings and became human to be with him. Obviously did not end up well for her. Hook was horrible to her and around the time she had CJ she was deathly ill. Not sure if all of that was going to be explained in the story or not but basically my idea was that even though Zarina looked like a human, she was still a Neverland fairy, and unlike other fairies like Maleficent, Neverland fairies have such a strong, almost symbiotic relationship with Neverland. Essentially she died because she was cut away from magic.

CJ appears back - now with wings and more fae like features - in Neverland with the thimble Tinker Bell gave her that basically would put Pan back to sleep. (Essentially, Tinker Bell gave Pan her heart to try to fight against the deterioration of his mind due to the magic restriction. It ties into the bigger idea of magic is not something you can control and in its own way is kind of it's own entity, but essentially the magic of Neverland fed off of that exchange in a toxic way.)

Around the same time, Uma emerges from the water in her giant Sea Witch form looking like a goddess, the bodies of the dead Neverland mermaids turning into sickly foam around her.

The wind picks up, thunder and lightning pick up, and with CJ, Mal, and Uma (and Mickey though they don't know it) working together they are able to beat Pan and put him back to sleep.

Mickey arrives on a slightly newer boat than the steamboat they stole from them, basically giving the Auradon gang a ride back to the dorms. He also has Baymax with him who Harry who is slightly woozing from blood loss is surprisingly happy to see.

CJ apologizes for all the trouble she caused and asks Tiger Peony if she can stay to help restore the island. With Pan back to sleep, she wants to make sure that the magic of the island is actually balanced and as someone with the blood of Hook, she can influence that balance more now that she's aware of it and now that Pan is back asleep. Though still grieving her mother, Tiger Peony agrees.

The arc ends with Uma, Mal and the others returning back to school, hoping that's the end of all the weirdness.

Other things that were supposed to happen in this arc that I couldn't figure out where to put in the above:

Sammy Smee and Big Murph die under Pan's control which though she wasn't close to them, causes a lot more greif than Uma initially expected because 1.) she was supposed to keep them safe and 2.) she sees how it impacts Hadie and Diego

Carlos is fine but he's left with feelings of helplessness. He felt like such a damsel in distress all throughout this experience and that's going to have impact later on in the story.

Jay starts displaying more latent magic.

I hadn't decided when exactly it was going to happen but either in this arc or towards the beginning of the next arc, it would be revealed that Evie is the Sorceress (also known as Circe) from Beauty and the Beast reincarnated. She reincarnates every few years to make sure she's always experiencing new things and not getting stuck in her ways like other people. coughcoughFairyGodmothercoughcough.

Also, the remaining parts of this arc would have probably been another 3 or 4 chapter depending on how I broke things up with one of the chapters being a last Hooked Intermission. This was supposed to be happening during the same time the others were fighting Pan.

---Basically a riot happens on the Isle starting over by the docks but quickly spreading. Right before that though, Harriet runs into Anthony's mother, Anastasia, who warns her she should go somewhere safe to protect the baby. Though she appreciates the concern from the only adult who seems to genuinely care about her (despite her being her ex's mom) Harriet, with the help of Gil's brothers, Jonas, and surprisingly Sophie (Yen Sid's assistant) - who is back on the main part of the isle after checking the generators that partially help maintain the barrier - try to stop it. Harriet quickly realizes that the riot was started by Hook who is acting strange, even for him, almost possessed. They sword fight on the Jolly Roger. Harriet gets hurt but before Hook can deal the final blow, Anthony pushes her out the way and takes the fatal blow. Anthony gets a line out about how he was never good for her before dying. Some has lit the gunpowder that's on the ship and Sophie pushes Harriet into the water before jumping in herself before the Jolly Roger explodes. It's unclear who survives but it's implied that briefly the barrier was down.

---Back at Hades's place, while all this happens, the god of the underworld is paid a visit. He seems to expect it, going to his hidden stash and asking the uninvited vistor if he would like some wine. He doesn't get a response back so decides to drain the bottle himself pittering around his home wistfully murmuring: "'She will be a child of the sea; Chained to fae land, godly blood made mortal. Death’s attendant will be kind to her, protect her before his last breath. A coat of blood red will follow in her wake. And when the second star has risen. Then the realm of the dead and the sea shall be hers . And then the throne of Zeus will be hers, bringing upon a pantheon anew.' Or something like that, right sweetheart?"

---Hades says a few more things, basically implying that even though he knows the person with him in the room is going to kill him, that he'll come back again in another form. Death always needs attending to after all and death is one of the few things that humans still fear, still give power to. The person kills him, and just before he dies, Hades smiles, pressing a trembling kiss to Peresephone's lips as she pulls the dagger from the place where his heart would be if he were truly mortal.

And...that's how the Neverland arc would end! I'll come back and write the outline for the final arc if that's something folks are interested in.

Sorry again that I can't actually commit to writing this all out but I do have some scenes here and there written out that I had been saving.

Let me know your thoughts! Did this arc go the way you expect it to?

Also, remember, you can use some of these ideas, just give me credit and share so I can read and give you all the likes and kudos!

Eternally grateful for all the support ❤️

[aihoshiino]

hello!!! you have no idea how hard it is (for me at least haha) to find a blog that talks about ai even semi consistently let alone analyze her this closely so i enjoy ur blog very much! thank you for feeding my ai brainrot :D

anyways any thoughts on ai and hikaru’s relationship? or just speculation since theres not much on it rn? its pretty fascinating to me, they were both children who were abused and exploited as a whole (that and their own respective fucked up relationship and idea of sexual intimacy which might be one of the catalysts for them jumping to sex so quickly despite both (i think?) being aware of the consequences with them being relatively active in the entertainment industry and what not) so its not too hard to imagine them potentially bonding even if it never quite reached genuine love romantic or otherwise

HAPPY TO PROVIDE, ANON! <3 I fully admit that my ramblings are mostly for my own benefit because if I don't talk about Hoshino Ai at least twice a day I will turn into the Oshi no Joker but it's always so nice to hear folks are glad to be along for the ride.

Hikaru and Ai's relationship has always been really fascinating to me, though! It's kind of an interesting subversion on some of our and Aqua's ingrained assumptions about the kind of person the twins' father would be – there's this sort of implicit, unspoken understanding based on the way Aqua focuses primarily on men who were already adults when Ai got pregnant that Ai was victimized in some way which resulted in the twins. Finding out who Hikaru is and the fact that he and Ai were peers immediately casts all of Ai's decisions regarding him in a hugely different light and raises a lot of questions about things that we otherwise assumed went without saying.

That said, given that we know so little about both their relationship and Hikari himself as a person, it's kind of hard to make solid guesses! I sort of have a rough shape of what I imagine it was like in my head just based on Hikaru's emotional function in the story VS what we know about him specifically as a person – Hikaru is very clearly intended to be a sort of bad end/dark mirror of Aqua, so I like to think that his and Ai's relationship probably contained echoes of the two main Aqua romances we see play out in the present. I had like a huge and honestly kind of incomprehensible ramble here originally while I tried to define what I meant by that but then I realized the series itself already lays it out...

In Hikaru, Ai found someone she thought would finally understand and accept her.

In Ai, Hikaru saw light.

Ai is tied to stars and light constantly through the series while also being tied to Kana pretty strongly as well, so I think it makes sense for her to be the Kana/light equivalent in this relationship. Uh, of course, I think I have accidentally implied that this means Akane is paralleling Hikari, so let's move on................................

It's also interesting to take into account 45510 when trying to pick up some info about how this relationship went. The stream at the center of this story is dated just after Ai came back from her hiatus following the birth of the twins, so around when she was 16/17 years old -- closer to the latter and so likely two or three years after her relationship with Hikaru fell apart. With that in mind, Ai's words here feel kind of... I guess, accidentally revealing? In some interesting ways.

When asked to describe her ideal type for a lover, Ai says: ""I guess I'd like to be with someone who doesn't lose their cool with me when I mess things up, ‘cause that happens a lot! Someone who gets all worked up over every little thing would probably get tired of me pretty quick. It’d be unfair for them, so I'd rather be with someone who's not like that.""

And unprompted, she continues from there with this: ""Love is all about trust, isn't it? They call it... 'recipricity', I think? Like, if someone showed me they love me, I'd feel the same way about them. But, I'm a bit of a scaredy-cat. It's tough for me to really believe in words like 'love' and 'like.' I've never actually fallen in love with someone before, so I'm not even sure what it means, you know?""

This is FASCINATING knowing this is Ai on the other side of her relationship with Hikaru. We know that this is Ai's true feelings because even the 45510 narrator, who calls her a liar every time she so much as breathes, admits that she knows Ai is probably telling the truth here. If this is the case, then this basically confirms that however intense the HikaAi relationship was, she didn't feel as though she loved him, which matches with the snippets we've gotten from the DVD and the movie where Ai's parting/break up with Hikaru was centered on Ai admitting that she couldn't love him.

Of course, this doesn't necessarily mean that their bond wasn't genuine or that they didn't have real feelings for each other – I totally agree with your take that they probably gravitated towards each other as victims of abuse generally and CSA specifically and found a sort of comfort and solidarity in recognizing and licking each others' wounds. But obviously, things didn't work out and I think we have a lot of clues already what this fundamental misunderstanding was.

When Ai tells Hikaru "I can't love you" this is an apology, an admission of weakness and self-blame. What Ai is saying is I can't love you, because I'm broken and I can't love anyone.

What Hikaru likely hears is I can't love you because you're broken and nobody could.

That sense of rejection, combined with the trauma he already carried from his abuse would have been bad enough but that Ai got pregnant and broke up with him was likely hugely retraumatizing for him, ripping open the scars of his abuse at Airi Himekawa's hands. He may have even misconstrued Ai's actions as an act of abuse similar to Airi's and everything went spiralling from there.

I don't have any really solid shots to call, unfortunately! So much about Hikaru is up in the air right now, but I think he's a super interesting character and his and Ai's relationship is something I really, really want to eventually see more of.

[avissapiens]

Jockbull Summer Week 4 Set C (3/12/23-10/12/23)

Model used is Onome Egger

1.

I have continued the trend of fasting+cardio day. It’s actually not that bad. What was bad was the decision to bake while fasting. It’s not that I wanted the food. I don’t eat most of what I bake. But I couldn’t realistically test things too much to make sure they came out well. Luckily they were quite good the next day. Only half of one. It’s still cutting season.

2.

I got two in again! The first one was just kind of a general muscle flash. Brain producing lovely images for myself. Who needs AI when your head is already so full of muscle.

The second one however was a deeper introspection done together with Abg. We’re both POC but in many senses we are atypical. And yet still the presence of stereotypes still kind of gets in the way of both of our minds, and in particular our muscular journeys. We are both dead-set on breaking stereotypes and still coming out on top, so that was the seed for this meditation. There’s a lot of stereotypes for Black folks. And I know they are nonsense because not only do I not embody them, but most of my friends, relatives, peers etc from back home don’t either. But every time that one encounters a situation where you do meet that stereotype in yourself or in others, you pause for a second. Because especially while living in a mostly white country, you become extremely aware of the fact that everything you do is a form of ambassadorship for anyone who looks like you and visa versa. Which is a shitty burden to bear. Even after coming from a background of Black excellence in the Caribbean, there’s still so many stereotypes that come to mind. The perception of black people being unattractive, or if we are, it can only be in a brutish, animalistic, unrefined non-aesthetic way that doesn’t adhere to societal norms.

The mental stereotypes of underperformance and stupidity. The lack of ambition.

So many stereotypes are strangely contradictory too

That we're just needlessly loud and confrontational all the time but still get portrayed as servile slaves.

That we can only be good at sports but still deserve to be excluded from them. That we can't perform well at anything else. The strange juxtaposition of the athletic achievement that many POC are forced into because they lack the resources to pursue other interests and the idea that Ethnic food is unhealthy, dirty. And the very real reality of unequal access and outcomes for healthcare. The idea, often reinforced within the community, that we do not belong in certain places. In certain professions. In nature, in the world at large. That we should remain forever in this conservative slave mentality while we exist in the west.

Frankly, I see muscle and hypnosis as ways of outgrowing and defeating these stereotypes. Of changing perceptions not only for me but for my community. Perception is everything because it means that those who come after can see something different for themselves.

3.

Anyway on a lighter note. Yup, we’ve entered an edging period. It always feels so fucking good after a full week of building that erotic energy. It takes you to new and darker places and makes you vulnerable to things you might not have been before. Sometimes thats good. Sometimes its dangerous. But even that danger comes with a certain appeal.

4.

Its been a rough and busy week working on the first comm. I have some ideas brainstormed with Jockrs for an avis abstraction, it’s just always a whole different story putting pen to paper. Wish me better luck for the next week.

5.

So this one’s been interesting. It’s less been a process of drafting and then sticking. More a progressive building of momentum. Incorporating more and more things until the morning and myself feels more whole. I’ve ordered a bunch of supplements to take. A bunch of skincare stuff to harden my routine. I’ve expanded my already existing routine and even incorporated some new concepts from the world of Looksmaxxing. Truthfully, there is this deep desire in me to grow so much more in so many dimensions.And the himbo programming has definitely made one of those dimensions my aesthetics. Not for anyone else’s pleasure but for my own. I already know i’m gorgeous to other people. I want to be brilliant for myself and to be able to use that element of me like a tool and a weapon.

[abalidoth]

whats your fav album/albums??

Like anyone else who was sentient and within earshot of a radio in 2012, I was aware of Call Me Maybe. It was inescapable, virulently catchy, an icepick of bubblegum straight to the tympaneum. As mocked as it was beloved, as society is unable to tolerate anything feminine.

I don't strongly remember my feelings about it at the time. I was probably self-aware enough at that point to not explicitly shit on it -- that was right around when I was making my first tentative steps towards not identifying as a guy. But my musical taste at the time skewed more towards They Might Be Giants and Imogen Heap so it wouldn't have been anything I sought out.

Flash forward to the summer of 2015. I'm in a bar in Ames, Iowa with a bunch of other mathematicians, there for the Graduate Research Workshop in Combinatorics. After a hard day of bootstrap percolation and RNA folding and graph discharging, we descended on this little college bar's trivia night like a swarm of LaTeX-using locusts. Combinatorists tend to be eclectic sorts, so trivia comes naturally to us, and I'm no exception; our four mathematician teams took the top four spots that night, and my team was first among those. There are a few other stories that came out of that night, but the relevant one is that I heard a little song over the speakers called I Really Like You.

Like Call Me Maybe, IRLY was uncompromisingly girly. But I was at a stage in my life where that was a balm to my aching soul. I had been slowly growing in my femininity month by agonizing month, living in the freezing wastes of Laramie, Wyoming. I wore skirts around the house, went by ze/hir pronouns online, but nobody in person knew. Every Friday afternoon my wife would paint my nails, and every Sunday evening I'd scrub the authenticity out of myself with acetone and a cotton ball. So the femininity of the song was appealing to me.

So, too, was the lyrical content. It was self-awarely about a liminal state in relationships, that hazy limerence where actual commitment isn't in the cards, but the feelings are strong, so why don't we ride them while we can? It's not that it hasn't been done before, but Carly Rae did it well. I added the song to the mp3 app on my phone and didn't think much more of it.

Cut to the summer of 2016. Brexit had just happened, I had just found out my dad was planning to vote for Trump. The sun over the Rockies was bright, but the world was feeling small and hostile. We were spending the week with my parents and some family in a mountain town in Colorado. Emma and I aren't the hiking sort, so when the rest of the folks went out in the wilderness, we decided to explore some of the little towns in the area. In one of those towns was a record store, and in that record store was a CD copy of E-MO-TION.

I recognized it as the album that had that song I liked from last summer. We listened to it in the car on the way back up to Laramie, and I liked it a lot. Now, we usually listened to music on the old iPod that was connected to our aux cable, rather than the CD drive. So that CD just kinda stayed there in the car.

November rolled around. Trump won the election. My dysphoria and my fear and my seasonal depression blended into a eutectic misery, greater than the sum of its parts, a suffocating miasma of soul-deep pain, that I had to keep off my face for the sake of my students.

I started listening to that CD in the car more and more. I memorized the track numbers, I knew exactly what stretches of songs were best for which emotions. That album became a lifeline for me. When I was driving an icy road in the dark on three hours of sleep, stressing about my lack of progress on my dissertation, and the intrusive thoughts came in that maybe, it wouldn't be so bad if the car spun out on the black ice?

I'd put on Making the Most of the Night. Carly Rae knew I was having a rough time, and here she was to hijack me, hijack me.

[lurkdragonstuff]

It is 2022, and there is time for Potion Permit.

Maybe not, like. A lot of time. But enough.

In this twist on the farming sim genre, you are a chemist (read: alchemist) from the capital of a vaguely steampunk country, sent to the remote island of Moonbury as an olive branch to the community. Many years ago, chemists wreaked havoc on the island's flora, and the bad blood still lingers.

As the new local chemist, you spend your days gathering ingredients from the local flora and fauna for your potions so you can treat the townsfolk when they fall ill. The townspeople are pretty standard vaguely-steampunk folks, though out in the boonies and so more reliant on traditional trades than it's implied the big city folk are. Like any good farming sim, there's a dating sim element, too: some of the townsfolk are romancable.

It's all very cozy and reminiscent of the early days of a Stardew Valley game, where gathering wild resources provides a supplement to your farm as you get your feet under you.

Except...

Well, that really is all the game is built around. To explain, it's a very shallow experience compared to your Stardew Valley or your Harvest Moon/Story of Seasons. In particular, it really suffers from the lack of any real in-game calendar.

One of the big draws of these kinds of games - farming sims and close relatives - is the wish fulfillment of getting out into nature and feeling its rhythms. And on the nuts-and-bolts gameplay side of things, these kinds of games rely on the feeling of time passing and natural cycles to break up the monotony of the gameplay loop. For example: sure you might still be farming the same nine squares you tilled in spring, but it's autumn now and the harvest festival is around the corner, and after that will be winter so if you don't have a greenhouse you'd better be ready for mining.

Potion Permit does have an in-game week and the characters have schedules based on it, but there's no real sense of time passing. It doesn't have to be a four-seasons temperate climate or anything (the development team is the Indonesian MassHive Media, so a wet/dry season system would've been pretty cool) but without it, the game becomes an unending samey drone after a while. There are no festivals or birthdays to look forward to. Potion ingredients don't cycle. Hell, diseases don't cycle: characters just come down with random ailments that usually don't have anything to do with each other.

As for the townsfolk themselves, eh, they're fine. There were, I think, a few baffling decisions about who's romancable and who isn't (whyyyy is the farmer not romancable, his mother is even trying to get him hooked up with somebody), and I sense some amount of 'swing and a miss' with their handling of sensitive topics and mental health concerns. Still, it's a small indie team, and for me at least I can forgive it as a sincere effort with some rough edges.

That said, the relationship system is pared down compared to other games in the genre. No one has any favourites: everyone gets the same gift of the local tea, which you earn for treating patients and for completing relationship quests. The romances never advance past dating, either. And the event flags for the main quest and for relationships are completely decoupled: I dated my former rival and got his relationship to that point before doing a few endgame things, and this wasn't acknowledged At All. It does let you romance whoever you want regardless of gender, at least, and perhaps because of the shallow system you can date multiple characters without issue.

Speaking of the endgame, the game just kind of... peters out, storywise. Oh, there's a party when you Become The Local Hero, but it doesn't take any ingame time and you don't even rest after it. There isn't even a credits roll. You're just booted out of the party cutscene to outside of the tavern with the same ingame time as when you started.

For all my misgivings, though, I enjoyed most of my time with Potion Permit. I don't think I'll be buying it (I borrowed it from the library for my Switch), but it occupied the time and felt nice while it lasted. Not really recommended, but not really not recommended, either.

[evolutionsvoid]

I should start this entry by immediately clarifying what we are talking about here. This is because saying the word "penanggalan" brings up a very different being to most folks' minds. The usual image is of a severed woman's head flying around, dragging her entrails with her. A rather bizarre form for a vampire, but that isn't what I am discussing in this entry. Would be hard for me to talk about it, because magic is heavily involved in the creation of a "human penanggalan." That is what I am going to call it to differentiate it from the subject of this entry. Those born of dark magic and feasting on human blood are the "human penanggalan," while the species I am writing about is just the "penanggalan." Now I know other researchers often refer to this species as the "false penanggalan" or "pseudo penanggalan," which is indeed a decent name, but it always makes me feel a little bad. It is a fascinating species, and then it gets labeled as a fake, a phony? I don't know, feels a bit unfair, and like we are undermining the poor thing. So keep in mind that those names above are ones attributed to this species, but for the rest of the entry I will simply refer to it as the "penanggalan." It deserves it!

So what is a penanggalan? Well, it is when a dark ritual is used to allow one to sever their own head and- NO! That is the human penanggalan, you fool! What the penanggalan species is is a colonial organism, one made of dozens of smaller parts and pieces! Every sac, tendril and bulb on the penanggalan is its own creature, but they grow and clump together to form this mobile colony. There are different castes among the colony, with some used for creating the gases need for floating, others for collecting food and then ones specialized to digest said food! They need one another to make the whole colony function, and when they are together in one form, they work together so seamlessly that most folk assume it is just a singular organism! These colonies live in the forests and jungles of their home region, silently floating through the air. They are a nocturnal species, hunting and traveling during the night, while hiding in the shadows and branches when the sun is out. Despite the constant comparison to the vampire, the penanggalan is not harmed by sunlight, they just prefer the cover of night. However, they have been seen out during the day on rare occasions, if hunger or any other disturbance forces them from their hiding place. It is believed that their dark tangle of tendrils atop their "heads" helps protect them from the harsh rays of the sun when forced to travel by day. These colonies produce a gas that lets them float, and changes in concentration can allow them to rise and fall as needed. Releases of gas and trapped air propels them, and the use of their tendrils can also pull them along or anchor down if the weather is rough.

While the species can seem to drift about aimlessly, they are carnivores and they don't rely on blind luck to score them a meal. The penanggalan has sensory tendrils that help it "taste" the air around it, to locate the signs of prey. It isn't as in depth as like a snake or wolf, rather they use these senses to find places where prey populations are the densest. Areas where food can commonly be found, where their chances at snaring prey is higher. Despite their scary appearance, the penanggalan typically eats smaller animals, usually aerial or arboreal critters. Birds, bats, monkeys and snakes can be on the list, and they don't stand a chance if a colony gets a hold of them. The red fuzzy looking tendrils that dangle from its "body" are actually loaded with venomous stingers, which inject a high powered paralytic in those it touches. These tentacles may seem slow and lazy, but when prey is detected, they lash out with frightening speed. That is their typical deception, as the penanggalan moves so silently and slowly that other animals don't pay them mind or think they are an easy threat to escape. When the colony gets within a certain distance, a rapid blast of air and the quick swipe of its tentacles quickly closes the gap and tangles the prey in stinging tendrils. The venom typically kills smaller prey instantly, as the powerful neurotoxin shuts down their whole body. Even if some are alive and frozen, the tendrils will pull its body upward, where the polyps and smaller tentacles will bathe it in digestive fluids. Prey is swallowed up in its membranes and melted down, the nutrients later shared amongst the individuals. While their acid is powerful, the penanggalan typically spits out bones and harden pellets of tough materials. Given time, its enzymes would break these down, however, the colony doesn't want to sit around and wait for that while these waste products weigh them down.

The unfortunate part to mention is that while the penanggalan often goes after smaller animals, they may try to eat larger prey. Even if they don't succeed in that, coming in contact with one of these colonies is a pretty big danger. In some cases, the penanggalan may target a deer, or even a human, creeping up with its stealthy floating. It will lash out with its paralytic tendrils, but when prey is immobilized, it cannot swallow them. The food is simply too big to gulp down, so the colony essentially latches on and lets its acid slowly eat away at them bit by bit. The tendrils will pull up softened chunks, eating what it can before it will inevitably have to abandon the body. Though they sport a nasty venom, penanggalan can be vulnerable to predators and parasites. Sitting in one spot and eating a corpse over the course of days leaves it wide open, so sooner or later it will let go of the unfinished meal and vanish. Typically, scavengers or other predators get a whiff of the dead flesh and come snooping around for a free meal. Their presence is often enough for the colony to abandon their claim. However, the penanggalan can be a danger even if it doesn't want to eat you. The stingers on its tendrils activate instantly on contact with living flesh, they have no say when they go off. So accidentally blundering into one will get you stung, and getting too much venom in you is a death sentence. Small doses are extremely painful and can freeze your limbs, but if there is help close by, they can administer an antidote and carry you off somewhere safe. If you are alone and get stung, you are kind of done for. The jungle is no place to be left frozen and defenseless. If you get multiple stings, the higher amount of venom will straight up shut down your organs and you will asphyxiate. So this is a species that just screams "DO NOT TOUCH!"

Obviously, with their connections to the vampire and their venom coated tendrils, the penanggalan is a feared species. Folks are always warned about traveling the wilds at dark, as these colonies are out and about. Their deadly reputation has certainly caused them to be hyped up in local legends, often given powers and abilities that the species doesn't have. Some folk say they can lift a grown man and carry him away, but that isn't true. They are not nearly that strong. If they grabbed a human and the person could still move and run, the penanggalan would just be a helpless balloon bouncing and bobbing as it desperately held on to the flailing victim. The species has been rumored to have the power of hypnosis, which is often attributed to the "eye" that can be seen peeking out from the dark tendrils from time to time. This isn't an eye, more of an organ within the floating bell, and they do not hypnotize prey. The stories of prey freezing in their tracks and the penanggalan descending upon their helpless unmoving form is probably due to them getting dosed by the venom. Legends say they go after small children, which may have some weight to it. I guess the better way to say it is that children are more likely to fall victim to the penanggalan, as they are both a smaller prey item they target and children can sometimes be unwary of the dangers before them. I have heard of a tale where a group of youngsters found a drifting penanggalan out during the day, and they decided to have some fun with it. Throwing rocks, poking it with sticks and of course the favorite event of "who can stand closest to the weird creature?" So caught up in their games and impressing their friends, they will be caught by surprise when the colony surges forth with previously unknown speed and smothers one of their buddies in its deadly embrace. This is why educating our children about nature and the wonders and dangers it brings is vital! Let them know how amazing the natural world is, while also knowing it is not something to mess around with!  

Now of course this brings up the ever looming question of which came first: the species or the vampire? Some argue that the monster had to have come first, in order for the name to come around to apply to the species that shared the image. After all, who would see this floating squishy animal that brought to mind a head and organs then just call it "penanggalan" out of nowhere? But then folk have pointed out the bizarre coincidence that would have to go down in order for a flesh monstrosity to be birthed, only to later find that there is this species out there that shares a frighteningly similar look. I, for one, go with the idea that this species came around first, but perhaps there was a different name given to it. Later down the road, some twisted individual came up with the ritual to become a penanggalan, and this new creation had its name granted to the species after. I mainly say that because I cannot imagine this animal would see a human penanggalan and decide to mimic that appearance, doesn't make much sense. But obviously my own idea has its own holes and questions risen, showing that this debate will probably be unending.

Chlora Myron

Dryad Natural Historian

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

"Penanggalan"

The perfect fit for the spooky season! Also, I have to say I really like penanggalans, I find them both cool and charming. Might just be my style, but I think every one I draw comes out kind of cute.

[starseneyes]

Strength in Softness, Softness in Strength

Getting vulnerable, again, but there's a lot on my mind, these days. And while sharing is insane, it's also part of my healing process.

Growing up, I wasn't allowed to cry. If I was caught crying, I was yelled at and berated. If I started to cry during a berating, then I was yelled at more until I stood stiffly, sniffling and struggling.

I was told I needed to toughen up. That I was too soft. That the world was too rough for someone as soft as me. And this sums up why my parenting approach is the complete opposite.

By the age of 14, I used my own money to buy Visine and under-eye makeup at the drug store to stash in my bedroom. Why? My face turns red in three places when I cry—under each eye, and along my storks bite birthmark on my forehead. It's near invisible unless I've been crying.

The best way to avoid an attack was to present as "fine". To appear unflustered. To not show the anguish swimming beneath. It didn't mean I would avoid the tongue-lashing altogether, but dramatically reduced the possibility. Yes, as a teenager, this was how I had to think.

TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide / Suicidal Ideation

Because by 14, I was already considering killing myself.

Ooph. Yeah, this is a tough one, folks. But I would sob into my pillow at night convinced that nobody would attend my funeral, that nobody would miss me if I was gone, because nobody cared that I was alive.

Home life was rough. I was bullied by students, teachers, and even the guidance counselors! There was manure in my backpack, my books being stolen, my desk turned around. I was tripped. Slapped. Punched.

I'd report it. I'd ask for help. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. And so my thoughts turned to the darkest depths of who I was.

And I had nobody to tell except my dear friend [name redacted] who was going through the same thing. She died a decade ago of a drug overdose, and to this day the only reason I'm convinced it was accidental is because she left no note. That was the thing that broke her heart the most about her husband's suicide a year beforehand—he left no note.

Now, I'm so glad that I chose life. So glad. My life has not been easy, by any measure, but it has been filled with love and light.

My three children and husband are the most incredible family I couldn't fathom back then. To have a functional relationship? And to be raising our kids in a completely different way to break generational cycles of abuse? Yowsa!

// END TRIGGER

I was taught to be strong. And, damn, I am good at being strong. I can tend to an open wound without fainting or hesitation. My first job at 19 was reviewing 9/11 and Iraq War footage in its entirety and marking which parts were usable for broadcast and which weren't. I can power through the worst of times without crumbling.

But, damnit, I never learned how to cope. I never learned that it was okay to feel big emotions. That I needed time to process and recover.

I was taught that being "soft" was a hindrance and "strong" was an asset. Sure, an asset, but also a barrier, at times.

Because "strong" alone doesn't leave room for healing. It doesn't leave room for processing trauma. It doesn't leave room for anything but a hard edge void of warmth.

I never lost my softness. Not really. But I have met many people in my life who did, and I honestly feel bad for them.

Perhaps they had the same upbringing as I did. Perhaps they were hurt so badly they closed themselves off, defaulting to "strong" as their identity.

But soft has its merits, too.

Soft doesn't mean incapable of surviving in this world, like I was told. No, soft is the part of us that keeps us empathetic, understanding, considerate of others and their needs, as well as our own.

Sometimes there seems to be a fight between strong and soft. But I really think you can be both. At least, I know that I am both.

There are time when my strength carries me through the worst of times. And, oh, we have been hit by them. Just today my husband remarked on how much we've been through these past few years... how much so fast. So much we have lost. So much we have struggled. So much we have suffered.

But we did not lose who we are.

We still poured out what kindness we could on those around us. We still offered compassion and encouragement to anyone whose lives touched ours.

And our loves reached back to us with support beyond imagination when we reached our lowest point. This October, I posted a GoFundMe to help with our insurmountable medical bills. I hoped and prayed for $500 against the thousands and thousands in medical debt.

I'd gone the "strong" route for a year—taking on extra clients, extra jobs, working day-and-night, never going out, never seeing friends, doing whatever it took to be a machine that felt none of the pain and kept going.

But it was never something we could do alone. It was too much for us to carry. So, I posted the link and walked away from the computer to sob for 15 minutes about what an embarrassment and failure I was because I wasn't strong enough.

I returned to the computer expecting judgment. I found love. So much love. So much compassion. So much help.

And while we aren't out of the woods, I can see the clearing in ways I never could before.

It would never have happened if we had not been vulnerable about our financial situation in the wake of our kids' medical bills. MRIs, neurology, rheumatology, optometry, psychiatry. Tests. Bloodwork. Evaluations. Medications.

And while I felt so weak and frightened when I reached out, folks responded saying how strong we were to be vulnerable.

Strong. Vulnerable. Soft. Hm.

See? It's okay to be both soft and strong. Because there is strength in softness and softness in strength.

Take care of yourself, loves, and remember that you don't have to be ONE thing. Ever. Be you. You're beautiful just as you are.

P.S.: The sensational @always-coffee posted a Story up on Instagram that inspired this post, so thank you for the inspiration, lovely.

[iding-rollercoasters-in-posts]

do my followers care if i stray slightly from my gimmick to give a trip report? its still rollercoaster themed so im doing it.

i had a six flags america day! it is technically my home park but i rarely go because i dont know anyone who really likes it(the sfa experience). the last time i went was over a decade ago, and i wasnt a rollercoaster person then, so these were all new credits for me! i went with my partner, who came into town for my birthday (it was on the 9th) and my brother. today was the first day of fright fest, but all that stuff didnt actually start until after dark- we got there shortly after opening and nearly everything was a walk-on.

they renamed the mind eraser to skywinder, i didnt know that lol. i skipped out on that (its an slc can you blame me.) and batwing because the whole laying down aspect kinda intimidated me. someday soon!

heres a brief review of the others, in the order i rid them in:

firebird: woof, this one was a headbanger. i was very determined to try and keep my head steady but i was still getting slammed back and forth into the restraints. i think its got a fun layout tho! if this had different restraints we’d get along fine, im sure.

roar: ive heard so many bad things but i actually really liked it. not sure what else to say, i just had a good time!

ride of steel: definitely not the smoothest hyper ive ever been on. ive seen a lot of folks say the helixes are boring and i definitely agree, but the rest is pretty fun, with nice pops of airtime on the hills.

the wild one: this one was just boring honestly. there was also a really painful transition at one point that had me go ‘ow!’ out loud. i did enjoy the helix at the end, at least.

joker’s jinx: this one was closed earlier in the day so we went on it in the latter half in the day, when a lot of people started coming in for fright fest and actually had a line, though it wasnt too bad. not sure what else to say again, it was great. (also i loved how our ride op just gave a casual ‘bye’ when she hit the launch.) if i have to complain about anything, the corkscrew was a little rough and you come to a pretty painful stop before pulling into the station, really wish that was a smoother stop.

ragin’ cajun: this one also had a line. im not usually a wild mouse person, but this one was just a lot of fun. my partner said they wouldve marathoned it if not for the line! it also gets points for the gator theming, because crocodilians are my favorite animals.

[aliatori]

Light as a Feather, Dark as Brine

The Forsaken and the Forsworn | Early Years | Hugo Melançon | 3k words | T rated

The true heat of summer proves an unwelcome guest on the shores of Watcher’s Cove. Whether it’s because of the preternatural damp of the Umbra and its fog-wreathed waters or some consequence of the storm wards lingering off the coast remains a mystery to Hugo.

Today, it’s a mystery he does not care to solve.

Sun cracks through the velvet grey clouds and bathes the black sands in gleaming light. Warmth permeates past his rough-spun, Fold-made shirtsleeves and straight to his bones, chasing off the deep and lingering chill within them. The ink of his bondmark is as new as the flatness of his chest this Rising; his sanctified skin tightens as if recoiling from the light, but Hugo quickly dismisses it as a flight of fancy. The Fury has more important matters to concern herself with than a single young man barely initiated into her mysteries.

So he’s been told.

Were he alone, Hugo would indulge in a moment of forbidden idleness away from prying eyes—stretch out in the sun, light a roll of smokeleaf bartered from his fellow deckhands back aboard the Boiling Brine. But he’s not alone, and there’s work to do.

There’s an older acolyte from the Siren’s Maw with him. Camille. For guidance, so the Furysworn claim, but Hugo’s not so easily fooled. Only the novices like him—the ones whose inductions to the fold were borne in force or violence—are subjected to ‘mentorship’ when about their roster tasks at the fold. It’s one of the many reasons he’d rather be aboard the Brine.

Still, she’s not bad company, as far as his minders go. She doesn’t share Hugo’s reservations about enjoying the unexpected summer day either. Stripped to the waist, her bondmark undulates across her muscles as she raises her free arm and shades her eyes, black ink a void against her brown skin. The bucket full of oysters clacks like a sack of bones where it dangles from the other.

“About halfway through the best stretch,” she says, shaking her bucket for emphasis. “We keep harvesting this good, there might be a free evening in the offing for us.”

“Seems unlikely.” Hugo looks down at his own bucket, battered pilfered metal heaped heavy with clusters of oysters. An ache thrums through his tendons in anticipation of the repetitive task of shelling them, of digging for precious Fury-black pearls beneath their slimy tongues.

“Not if I have anything to say about it. I’ve got plans after sundown I intend to keep.” Camille takes a deep breath. She faces west, brushing sand from the gentle slope of her breast as she thinks. Then she turns to Hugo, eyebrows lifted in conspiratorial arches. “Follow me. I’ve got an idea.”

Inwardly, Hugo bristles at the command, but he’s learned well these past four Risings the importance of obedience to those more blessed with Xeheia’s favour than him. He flicks his fingers in silent agreement, pursing his lips at the salt-crusted state of his brown leather gloves; soon, they’ll be fit only for the scrap pile.

He follows Camille for a quarter of a turn, he guesses. His boots, necessary to avoid jagged cuts and paying unintentional salt prices during such harvests, crunch along the sand. A sea wind gusts in from the water and whips his hair, now down to mid-back and in dire need of cutting he’s yet to earn, into a frenzy, lashing at his lips and eyes. Hugo pauses to tie it back though it means breaking into a light jog to catch up with Camille by the time he’s finished.

She stops at the point where the beach curves around the sheer cliff face, the area pockmarked by tidepools before dropping off to the seafloor proper.

“Most folks don’t come this far or want to get waist-deep wet just for some oysters. They love clustering on the long stretch of rock on the opposite side. It’ll be enough to finish these and earn our keep for one day.” She runs her finger along an invisible line, pointing to the middle distance.

Hugo also doesn’t want to trudge back to the Cove in sopping clothes, wet and sticky and deeply uncomfortable, but there’s no point in voicing his objection. There never is here. He sets off towards the area Camille indicated, bucket in tow, resolved to finish this as quickly as possible.

“Hold a moment,” Camille says, lifting a hand. Hugo clenches his jaw and stops. “I’ll help a different way, this time.”

She shakes her arm until a bone-laden bracelet slides from her forearm to her wrist, draped over enough of her palm for her to curl her fingers backwards and clasp it. Camille closes her eyes as she runs her fingertips along its jagged surface. A frisson of the Fury’s magic along his newly marked skin confirms Hugo’s suspicions—it is Camille’s focus, and she’s using it to dip into communion with Xeheia.

Moments later and the pull of the Fury’s tide becomes frustratingly apparent; Hugo’s flesh and spirit surge towards it, denied and out of reach of the Watcher’s embrace due to his lack of a proper focus. Camille opens her eyes, ink-black and luminous, and Hugo hungers—not for her, but for the power she teems with.

“It’s tough to keep hold without the brine, but I can get enough hold to do…” Camille trails off, gesturing in supplication to the water.

Hugo watches as the grey waters of the Umbra retreat further from the shore, rippling backwards as though blown back by a strong storm wind. There’s a narrow gap just big enough for the two of them to fit, granting them access to underwater portion of the rocky beach—and its copious amount of oysters, as Camille promised.

“Hurry,” Camille says. The eldritch twist to her rich voice, the evidence of the Fury’s presence, sends a bullet of yearning tearing through Hugo’s core. “I can’t keep this up for long.”

Hugo steadies himself, nods, and jumps down into the gap with her. They work quickly, boots squelching in the wet seafloor sand as they strip every inch of the miniature wall, oysters clacking and pinging into the buckets in a staccato rhythm. Hugo focuses on the pervasive smell of the sea—salt, rot, fish—with every breath, trying to ignore the way his bondmark sizzles like lightning made flesh.

Once his pail overflows with his harvest, Hugo reaches high above his head to balance it on the edge of the tidepools above him, then climbs back up, careful to avoid cutting himself on the jagged edges. Camille wordlessly hoists her bucket in his direction; he takes both towards the shore as she makes her own climb out.

As soon as she joins him on the shore, she releases her focus and her grip on the Fury’s magic. It echoes through Hugo like the deep crack of a spine, punching a breath of relief and exhaustion out of him. Camille sways on her feet. He offers her an arm and a questioning eyebrow, but she shakes her head.

“Thanks be to the Fury for her storm and her sea,” Camille intones.

“Thanks be to the Fury,” Hugo echoes, his part of the call-and-response.

They make it back to the Cove without incident to deliver their bounty. True to her word, their combined harvest earns them both a reprieve from evening duties. Camille inclines her head, offers a wink when Furysworn Barbier has her broad back turned, and slinks off into the twisting tunnels of the Cove for her own pursuits. Some social engagement, no doubt. Hugo pays enough to attention to know Camille’s popular amongst her cohort of shipmates and acolytes.

As for Hugo? His plans have changed.

-----

By the time Hugo gets back outside the Cove and descends to his favourite beach, the sun sets in a dazzling display, red spilling across sky and water like blood.

Time and time again, Hugo’s presented a crux for his focus for approval, the last step in his initiation, and time and time again, Furysworn Eloi has denied him. The Fury demands sacrifice, he tells Hugo. She demands a salt price worth the taking. What sacrifice is there in the bits and trifles he’s embarrassingly brought to the Fury’s altar for consideration?

Hugo will no longer be denied.

He bears her mark, he senses her presence, and he deserves her gifts. Why else would they have bothered to bring him here at all? Xeheia is his as much as anyone’s here, and if she wants a sacrifice, a sacrifice she will get.

Secret caves and smuggler’s nooks abound around Watcher’s Cove. Hugo knows the path to his favourite by heart.

He finds the hideaway as he last left it: the lean-to constructed from pilfered driftwood, blankets appropriated from the scrap heaps to soften the ground, a rusted lantern with dimly glowing fauna scraped from the walls of the Cove. It’s salt-rotted and damp, but it’s his.

Creature comforts are not what Hugo’s in search of tonight, however. Tonight, he looks for creatures of the literal sort.

The signs are there. On a natural shelf carved into the dark grey rock of his nook, offerings of a different sort rest: a bronze coin from foreign shores stamped with a face he doesn’t recognize, a discarded triangle-shaped gold earring, and three buttons of varying sizes and shapes. Hugo’s befriended the unkindness of ravens that also call Watcher’s Cove home, and in return, they leave him bits and baubles they’ve found, including the hoop now pierced through his own ear.

He can remember the mainland books his mother read him better than he can recall the shape of her face or the colour of her favourite dress. In a flight of fancy, he named the ravens after characters in those stories, the last remnants of a different life: Reyr, Skafti, Finnur, Eldmey. One in particular, the one who leaves the trinkets, bonded to Hugo swiftly.

It’s only now Hugo’s intent sinks into his body, spreading like delayed poison. Nausea churns in his stomach, and a suspicious ache tightens in his chest, a familiar one, a pale imitation of what he felt after a different slaughter in a different place. Red and black, black and red, spreading across a distant deck.

Can he really do this?

He scoffs aloud, disgusted by his own weakness. No wonder the Fury’s found his propositions lacking. Xeheia’s influence and power are as boundless as her very Depths, Depths Hugo has only glimpsed in brief through brine-hazed ritual.

He won’t be kept from them longer. He’s no longer a shaking child with a stolen gun. He will be—is—a force to be reckoned with. On his terms.

Cold salt spray kisses his ankles and soaks his worn-out boots as he scatters his handout. Bits of oyster, thinly sliced with the knife hanging at his hip, spread from the entrance of the cove to where Hugo sits and waits.

It could have been any of the ravens swooping in from the distant cliffs.

But of course, it’s Akkeri.

Perfect.

Hugo schools himself to stillness as Akkeri pecks at the flecks of fresh shellfish, gobbling them up in greedy tosses of his head. He was ten-and-three the first time he escaped to this nook, the first time he found the unkindness living here. Akkeri had been a fledgling too, a bold scavenger, wary of Hugo but determined to steal the bone buttons right off his shirt nonetheless.

Now, he’s even more fearless, tilting his head at a crooked angle and fixing Hugo with a gimlet eye. He lingers just out of arm’s reach. Hugo can’t catch a full breath, like his lungs are full of water.

You don’t get something for nothing. This was a lesson imparted to Hugo long before Watcher’s Cove, before creche and brine and deepest dark. The fold only heightens the stakes:

You consume, or you are consumed.

Akkeri caws, raucous and impatient. Hugo hands over the last of the oyster, a cool sliver in his palm. Stone joins the water his lungs. Tension bleeds through his chest which has nothing to do with the fresh scars across it.

Hugo pounces.

Lulled by longstanding trust, Akkeri doesn’t struggle much in his grip at first, aside from the cawing protests at his newfound confinement. But as the moments pass, he begins to thrash; Hugo’s hands tighten in a vise-like grip, barely big enough to hold him. Akkeri’s nearly the size of a hawk, and realizing the imminent danger, struggles with all his might, talons glancing and wings thrashing.

Hugo knows the feeling.

And he knows the swiftest way to end it.

Akkeri fixes Hugo with one black eye. His body’s almost hot in Hugo’s grasp, his tiny bird heart beating in frantic pulses against Hugo’s palm. It’s like the Fury herself guides Hugo’s hand to Akkeri’s neck. He calls out louder, his cries echoing off the cavernous walls.

The caws stop when Hugo twists his wrist and snaps Akkeri’s neck in a near-effortless motion. The hollow crunch echoes through Hugo’s spirit like Akkeri’s final cry throughout the cave.

In an instant, he’s a warm, dead weight in Hugo’s hand. A promise and an offering.

As Hugo reaches for the knife in his belt, his vision blurs, smearing the cavern into shades of blue and black and bleeding red. Hugo blinks hard to clear it and only then realizes he’s crying. There’s no matching pang in his heart or ache in his chest— only the traitorous shake of his chest and shoulders as sobs he can’t control hiccup through him. Only darkened speckles of stone where his tears fall.

A salt price is a salt price. Let the Fury have two this evening.

Hugo walks to the mouth of the cave where twilight spreads across the sky, Akkeri’s body cradled reverently in one hand. He kneels on the stone beside the ocean, gazing out at the salt-dark of Xeheia’s sea, and withdraws his knife from his belt.

It’s easy, too easy, to invert Akkeri’s body, his clouding eyes unseeing as they face the water. To tuck the blade against his neck and slit his throat with one firm pull. To hold him upside-down over the Fury’s altar and watch the steady flow of red as it vanishes in the sea. Smaller droplets join the waters from the tears still coursing down Hugo's cheeks.

Despite his foolish crying, his voice does not crack or waver as he declares, “Xeheia, Watcher of the Depths, accept this sacrifice given in your name. Let this salt price be a gift worthy of your blessing.”

----

The next time Hugo presents his would-be focus to Furysworn Eloi’s black, unblinking gaze, there’s no doubt in his mind of the Fury’s approval.

Long hair braided, eyes painted, and garbed from head to toe in Fury-black, Hugo presents a painting of the perfect aspiring acolyte.

The necklace he fashioned by hand drapes across his collarbones. Leather cord and punctured shells form the bulk of it, accented by long, black feathers that brush the skin of his bare chest. Akkeri’s skull, picked clean by the members of his own unkindness and the Fury’s tide, sits in the center, its weight tucked beneath the hollow of Hugo’s throat.

Eloi sneers. “Feathers? They’ll be worn down by salt and sea faster than you can ask the Fury to forgive you for your carelessness.”

Hugo inclines his head in the deference Eloi expects, even if his words don’t match. “If I have to make another, I will, and consider it her due worship.”

“Then go on. Let’s get this over with.”

Without the ceremony Hugo deserves—and with a grave trespass even for a novice—Eloi grabs at Hugo’s focus. His fingers close around the raven skull. Hugo fights down the nausea of being touched at all, let alone so intimately violated.

A heavy pause descends like the heartbeats counted between lightning and thunder. Hugo’s bondmark thrills with an electric surge as the eddies of the Depths rise within him.

Eloi gasps, releasing the skull as though burned—and he has been burned, by an errant spark of the lightning dancing along Hugo’s skin.

Because Hugo’s called to the Fury.

And the Fury has finally answered.

[mobblespsycho100]

YOU DONT GET IT. HOW INSANE THIS IS MAKING ME.

I mean. Jing Yuan met Yanqing when the latter was fighting. As far as I know, the exact circumstances aren't revealed. It was something against the public opinion. His lineage is listed as unknown. There's no family to claim him, so what else could Jing Yuan do but take him under his wing? He was still young and already talented, so only a century or two of training and he would be an amazing swordmaster. The general had already lived 700 years, it wouldn't be long until he would start seeing the effects of mara.

Of course that's an amazing prospect to Yanqing. The more he watched the general fight, the more amazed he got. Every cloud knight training session he sat in on was like a movie. He wanted to do that. He wanted to do it quickly! These people were already so good. And the general remarked at how young some of them were, so he had to catch up.

Yanqing was probably seven or eight at the time. Maybe he knew about the ling lives of the xianzhou people. maybe he didn't. Maybe he didn't know about his own finite one. But regardless, he practiced like he would die the next day. The calluses on his hands grew thick, until a particularly rough swing would tear them off the skin. And even still he would practice with bleeding hands. When Yanqing was able to practice on his own, Jing Yuan could go many nights without seeing the boy return home until the morning only to drop into bed like a brick, still gripping his sword.

It was only after several days of seeing bloodstains where Yanqing's hands had touched, ghosts of his presence in the house, that Jing Yuan became concerned. Yanqing trained hard, yes, but not so much he should be injured like this so often. the friction burns should only take a few days to heal, and the torn skin even faster. Perhaps the rigorous training was too much. Perhaps Yanqing worked so much he didn't give himself the chance to heal.

But Yanqing didn't know what the general was saying. He was fine. His hands were rested enough, and wrapped with an annoying level of gauze to keep them safe. "I guess I've always healed slowly" he said, "I mean those cloud knights get back into action so quickly!" Although, Yanqing mentioned, that was probably just from the alchemy commission's medicines.

But Yanqing never complained about pain during training, and he took Jing Yuan's harsher lessons with stride, so there could be nothing to worry about. just slow healing and fast training.

Yanqing progressed at astonishing speeds. Most Cloud Knights don't even begin to train until they're in their teens, and before that Yanqing had already joined their ranks. his skill was impossible to ignore. In strategy he was a genius, and in swordplay he had no equal. His body had been trained from a young age for both strength and agility, and it showed clearly in his movements.

Martial arts were his weak point. By no means was he bad at it- the average recruit didn't dare spar with him unless they wanted to spend their day in the hospital. But without a sword in hand, his movements felt awkward and restrained. It was hardly a surprise when a match ended with a broken arm.

It was slightly more surprising when he stayed in recovery the next day, and morbidly terrifying when he was still gone a week later.

The kid was young, not even 13 yet, so his body was at its prime for healing small fractures like that. Maybe he had fallen a little hard, but to stay out of training for so long? it wasn't like Yanqing. And seeing the Arbiter-General take time out of his day to bring him to the Alchemy Commission personally? rumors began to spread about his immanent death.

Yanqing didn't get it either. Despite the everyone's insistence that an injury like this didn't warrant a trip to the Alchemy Commission, his arm just wasn't healing. Even the older folk would already be fine by now, but Yanqing still couldn't grip his sword without pain shooting through his arm and shoulder. Even the fatigue of using his qi blades was too much to handle for long. And he had never seen the ever-calm general so worried. Confused, maybe. His face was too hard to read, but when Jing Yuan would examine Yanqing's arm as the boy tensed in pain, his expression was furrowed and intense. There was no way this boy could be...

"He's not a Xianzhou Native?" the healer asked, bringing out a cast for Yanqing, "I never would have guessed the youngest Cloud Knight recruite would be an outworlder. I'm surprised I haven't seen him more often."

Yanqing had only splintered memories of his parents. He had lived with them once. There was a vague recollection in his mind of a house he had with them. More of a room. More of a soldiers quaters. And he was always moving from place to place behind them. Planet to planet, always chasing something. Or running from it. Who could tell. The last time he remembered them was on a battlefield.

Maybe he should have known he wasn't a human cursed by Yaoshi. Maybe he should have recognized that the first language he learned wasn't that of the Xianzhou. But he was so young that it all blurred together, and the Xianzhou Natives were the closest thing to him. Who wouldn't assume he was one of them?

But the Alchemy Commission served mostly outworlders. All the long-life species of the Xianzhou healed too quickly to go for anything less than an emergency, so the healers seldom saw them. Outworlders, with their slow healing and fast lives were their most common customers. When they cut their skin, it had to be bandaged more thoroughly, the wound being exposed for much longer than if it belonged to a Vidyadhara. Bad muscle sprains could require weeks of rests, compared to a foxian's few days. A broken arm would cost a regular human months of leave where a Xianzhou Native wouldn't take more than a week. They knew which one an injury like Yanqing's belonged to.

augh. hang on . hang on a moment

[moles-and-freckles]

Marco Bodt's Past and Family Headcanons!

Hi guys, my first post, just my headcanons for my boy's past and family! Maybe a WIP, trust me it is long (2k plus words) but I think I got the gist of it. Some small details, I decided that all their names start with a M but they have very dumb silly nicknames just like my family does. I come from like a very big family of 7 so I put my own personal experiences and quirks here. I tried to give them all their own unique personalities especially his parents to explain how he is the way he is. And I kinda fell in love with them, they are just so wholesome! I used a lot of Pinterest fanarts and headcannons for reference I will credit them when I have the time!

Parents & Background

I'd like to imagine Jinae was a warm place snuggled up in the southern countryside very far off from camp, taking days to visit. wheat, hay, and fields everywhere that Marco and his siblings often got lost in. Life there was pretty simple and everybody was tight-knit country folk who worked on the big farms the lords owned. There was not that much to do there, just as plain as the plains that surrounded them. 

Hid parents met on the farm they worked and lived at ever since they were young, she was the one to mostly make the move, and ever since then, they had been in love despite their off personalities. Everybody was shocked that the shy meek loner got the giddy talkative gf haha. 

His father, Manuel, works in the fields. The well-off landowners he has worked for ever since he was a young lad were generous enough to let him and his family settle on a small meager humble patch on the outskirts of their big farmland, and he gets most of the leftover wheat with permission to build and support his wife with their little run of the mill bakery which was their abode.

Manuel is like an old workhorse, tired and stern,  with rough scarred hands, but gets the job done. Marco definitely has his chubby long face and eyes but Manuel has this more tired-lidded look to it.  He was born with a delicate condition that affected his work and health a lot but he also was still diligent when it came to providing for his family even when it cost him at times. 

He's a gentle thoughtful stern man who is quiet and only speaks a few yet wise words, but that never stopped him from being a bad father, he was rather sweet and mellow, and he was always good at reading people and his children and wife’s needs. Probably that guy who always says “yes honey” to his always-correct wife. 

Now we go onto Miriam. Marco got her freckles and his red nose from her definitely thank her for that! She’s extraverted and Giddy, but She has a kind gentle mellow soul who you definitely at first glance would say is a mother. She liked to fill her kids' stories up with dreams, fairy tales, and lullabies and fill up their bellies with delicious food. Shes the main manager of their whole bakery along with a housewife, but things had been hectic given the family's size so she thought the kids were thought to help as well.

So in the end, I'd like to think Marco got his dreaminess and positiveness from his extroverted mother. while he has his father's thoughtful, observant, and understanding nature and why he cares a lot about duty! Combine both and you get this sunshine right here!

Siblings 

Marco grew up the oldest of 6 kids, 3 daughters and 3 sons.  It was a rowdy bunch and sometimes times were rough due to the money, but he loved it there and his big family, he’d often tell the stories to Erna, and it always made 

 I don't know who started the headcanon I've been seeing since 2013 that Marco is a big brother, but its absolute canon now to me it makes perfect sense given his personality, always being the giver rather than the receiver…

The Twins, Matteo “Teo” and Mattea “Tea (pronounced Te-yah)”  would be born, when Marco was about 4. 

Teo is a cheeky little bastard, blunt with his words, and often got into trouble with others and older folks which Marco often had to be in his side to restrain or put him in his place. Marco kinda sees Matteo in Jean a lot,  Snarky and smug but honest and loyal deep down. Probably why he was adamant about being on good terms with Jean even if the boy seemed like a jerk to Marco at first.  

While Tea is the opposite of Teo, she’s more like her father, tired and gentle, she’s very well-read, preppy for a country bumpkin,  and observant but she prefers to keep her mouth shut, but when she doesn’t, it's always something wise or snarky. She would rather die than admit she is as full of herself as Teo haha.  She had to keep up with the likes of Matteo ever since she was born so she’s mostly done with everybody’s bs. 

The twins' dynamic sorta reminds him of Jean and Erna’s a lot due to them always bickering and bantering wittily,  so it brings  a chuckle out of him sometimes, they were like their family to him when his were so far away from home

Micaela “Mica” and Monica “Nica”, aren't twins but they are close to age enough to be mistaken and they are all kind of called that in their family. 

Mica is a tomboy and has a thirst for fun and adventure, she's very carefree friendly, and ditzy, unlike Matteo who's sly and snarky. She butts heads with Tea a lot for being an improper lady.  The closest to her the most is her little sister Nica and Marco, they're one of the few people who can keep up with her hype.   She’s very dreamy and curious and loves to play with others and Marco. Normally the rest would type her off as that weird hyperactive kid. 

On the other hand, I'd imagine Nica would be a shy meek yet equally dreamy girl. She always looked up to her elder siblings, especially Marco, they both loved to play and imagine, and he was the one she wanted to do with the most. She's a bit mellow and very quiet and tired due to not being born with the best genes like Marco did, barely even saying a few words across a day. So, Marco was very protective of her growing up. 

He was like that to all of his sisters. Braiding their hair, making sure they were safe. He was taught to respect wamen from the very get-go from his mother and he was a big mama’s boy so it was second nature to him to be a gentleman. 

Lastly,  Manuel, or “Manny” is the baby of the family,  who is named after their father. He and Marco have a 12-13 year age gap, Marco enlisted a few months after he was born, so they didnt spend that much time together, something Marco regrets. Manny doesn't remember a lot about Marco other than the stories his mother gave, and the short visits he had on holidays. 

But Marco seemed otherwise, cherishing every detail of him. A core memory for the two brothers, Marco and Teo is when they were begging that their mother's baby would be a boy when they huddled around her belly because it was unfair for another girl in the girl’s team, they didnt want to be outnumbered haha and they coincidentally got their gift lol. 

Manny is studious just like Marco albeit a bit more timid than his older bubbly brother. It brings an ache yet fondness to Miriam’s heart how similar he is to her first boy,  it was like a little gift fate gave her to him to soothe her heart when he went away for camp…then forever.   

After that, He never had that many father figures to look for in life. Marco went to the military right after he was out of his mom’s stomach. Then His father died from a broken heart after what happened to Marco when he was just aged 5,  and his older brother Matt was just too immature for that role so he had a lot of unanswered questions in his life and was the source of his problems and insecurities. 

Childhood

Marco was born just a year after their marriage. Miriam loved children but due to his troubled birth she decided to focus more on Marco for the years to come and that explains the age gap compared to the rest of his siblings. Matteo and Mattea are born 4  years later while the rest of the Bott siblings' ages are 1-2 years apart away from each other at most. 

He was born rather sickly like his father, he had a frailer body than most, and fevers often caught him as a a baby. So he knew from the very get-go what it felt like to be weak. Due to that,  he was babied a lot by Miriam he turned into a chubby kid from her smothering.  

His mother tried to protect him from anything bad in the world after that. His sheltered-ness was always a reason for him to prove himself in front of everybody and be of help instead of being a burden. Always trying to do chores like milking the goats and cows, cleaning, and helping raise his siblings!

 He was the first born so he knew he had a lot of responsibilities on his shoulders to keep up with that he often felt like caught up to him. Even if his parents were not that strict and loved him unconditionally,  He always felt that pressure to be that golden child to pay back. He often tried to help his father with farmwork but that was rare given Miriam’s pestering, so most of the time he’d help his mom keep his wild siblings in check and lead them. 

So to summarize, Marco always had experience being the family therapist and peacemaker, being a big brother and the eldest son made him want to put others' needs before his and his and take his responsibilities seriously. And sometimes he shoulders too much that it costs him…

His social standing as a child was he was shyer and meek than he was in his trainee years but he loves  people, to spend time, help, and listen to them like his mom did, he was just really awkward due to not being treated the best by the other kids and teenager stuff  

He had trouble making friends his age, he was too much of a goody-two-shoes haha he would definitely be that kid to snitch on other kids' secret cursing clubs. And, he didnt have a single friend his age outside of his family up until his trainee years.

His health issues prevented him from playing with other children outside their family. Plus, They often picked on him for his pudgy weight and silly imagination and dreams, and that kinda of stuck with him a lot and was the source of his many insecurities under his dimpled smile.  

But He was a sweet boy so the grandma and other moms loved him for being the boy next door who always helped. Their Bakery was small and the only one in their town, so Marco knew almost everybody there.   

I kinda wanted to have a cute reason as to why he wanted to be a MP… 

As a child he was always interested in stories and playing as a dutiful knight protecting the king or some princess, he loved to play those stories with his siblings especially. And that made him set his sights on wanting to join the MP’s to serve the true king instead of make-believe.  

Even if it wasn't specific, he always wanted To dedicate himself to a bigger purpose. To be responsible,  maintain peace and order, all that jazz. He knew he wasn't that special or outstanding in life on his own, but if he could serve someone or be some helpful cog in the machine, make someone happy like he does with his family - that was enough.

Authors Note, I decided he had a pretty normal childhood because the whole abusive family with dead people then someone turns out to be perfectly fine is done to oblivion even if it is inspiring, and I’ve seen this done so many times with people’s headcanons for Marco. I don't want to traumatize him…yet.  I like the idea of Marco being a preety normal boy,  and most of his isues like his naivety and sometimes insecurity still stem from him being sheltered and bullied as a weird naive kid. 

Marco’s Enlistment

His dreams would always stay even when he was reaching to be a young man.  He felt there was honor in making bread and feeding people by making them happy. But he felt like he was made for more than that and to do great things for the world.  

The fall of Wall Maria hit hard on everybody, nobody was doing well and drought hit badly in the following 2 years crops from overfarming for the refugee’s rations. The Bodt’s had to keep selling most of their livestock, some of the chickens to make eggs, some cows and goats they had to make milk, and their old horse. To make things worse, Manuel got sick often due to overworking making Marco to be the one to plow the fields at most times but even his weak body wasn't enough. 

The Bodt’s could barely feed their already big family after that and they had to go to desperate measures so Marco thought of something. As soon as the year’s training batch was over and there was an opening, he went to enlist secretly. Everybody was doing it and most of the boys who messed with him went there as well to make a name for themselves. 

He felt lonely and selfish for the decision but If it meant having one less mouth to feed for his loved ones it was worth it. Plus, he wanted to make the dreams he had since he was a child a reality. 

His mother was disappointed in him for his decision a week before he would go, and she pestered him a lot for it, and begged him to stay. Most of his family and siblings didnt want him to go as well. Nobody said it especially, his family His parents and siblings but they all thought he was naive at best, and most of the ther townfolk given that he was weakling making a fool of himself and he would quit months later. 

His mother was usually optimistic and believed in him, but given the diire situation they were in, she felt out of hope and just wanted to let whats left of her family to stick by. Even if they were poor, things could only work would get through together she thought. 

And he was still her little boy all this time, she was protective that he wouldnt come back the same and be hurt in such a big cruel  world compared to their warm little town. 

But Marco with a heavy heart, disobeyed her for the first time in his life. He promised to visit and write to the family as much as possible. The next few days were somber and Miriam couldnt help but stop crying silently, the siblings were less chatty and rowdy, they tried to keep things normal without addressing the elephant in the room but Marco tried to comfort them. 

The day then, He said his farewell to his father, and all his siblings huddled up near him as he was about to go out.  Just before he would go out of their fence, his mother told him something, “Not everybody will want what you give to this world like we do,  my sun…When you find someone who loves you as much as we do, keep them and don’t let go” She reminded him, not wanting him to be alone. Marco smiled and hugged her tight, getting teary-eyed but promising he would and he’d come back safe…

[dragontamerno3]

DS9 Watchalong

I had another few days of bad health and ended up watching episodes 3 and 4 back to back but didn't feel up to a recap. So there might be pieces of them that I missed.

Honestly, I thought both of them were a bit middling so these might be good ones to miss a full recap on lol

S3 E3 - House of Quark

Klingons aren't my favorite antagonist but its always going to be a dramatic time whenever they show up. This one felt a little sloppy though. The idea of honor was constantly shifting and it all felt silly.

I did love Rom in it, though. He was sweet at the very end and he was Quarks ride or die from the beginning. He might have been my favorite part but it's a close second to Quark literally winning a fight on his knees.

It was fun to see Quark win a battle through finances, too.

On the opposite side, it was super sweet to watch Miles go out of his way for Keiko. I hope he still ends up building the arboretum because that really would be a great way for Keiko to spend her time when she is on DS9. That said, it was nice to follow Miles through his various friends and the relationship talk with each of them only for him to realize that Keiko needed a job not a hobby. I'm dubious about the part where he's sending Molly with her for 6 whole months cause that sounds rough but Miles is a good man and a great husband for even considering it.

6/10

S3 E4 - Equilibrium

Okay, Odo trying to learn how to stir anything let alone a soufflé was kind of adorable. He tried so hard. I agreed with Kira that it was cute, even if I'm not a fan of their potential romantic relationship.

Also, just wanna say how sweet Jake is with them all. He's so at ease with his dad's coworkers. Everyone on the station is part of this family now.

I appreciate Jadzia's willingness to believe something is wrong the second she notices mood swings cause far too often people in shows/movies hide it for far too long. She just fully said there is a logical reason for this and my family can help.

I'm not surprised it was the Trill folks that caused it all, the few we've had a chance to interact with so far have been kind of arrogant dicks so a mind wipe would be right up their alley. Having a murderer as part of a past life, though, must be unnerving for Jadzia and I wish we would have touched on that a bit more. I don't need a full PTSD unraveling but she's just accepted it and is just living with the memories like it's no big deal. That feels... awkward? It left something to be desired at least.

5/10