#foggy canyon

[adrianl4u]

Fog inside the biggest canyon in the Solar System! This is Vallis Marineris, on Mars, seen by ESA's Mars Express probe

[abirddogmoment]

What a change from the last time I was here!

[stonedwitchery]

It’s time.

Taken by StonedWitchery on iPhone 14 pro.

[peregrine-rnendicant]

different biomes my beloved

[writers-potion]

Could you give any advice for "descriptive" writing of any scene or action scenes or mapping out the scenery (Mountains, forests, streets etc) - i believe this is a struggle for Non-English speaking writers due to lack of vast vocabulary.

Common Scenery Description Tips

Vocabulary is clearly an important part of description, but it doesn’t have to be a limit. The most important thing about description in fiction is picking the right details to mention:

How does the details add to the mood of the story? A mountain ridge will be dark, gray and foggy if the overall mood is meant to be mysterious/brooding. In contrast, a mountain can be brilliantly snow-capped, lush green and “smiling down” upon the character if they’re out for a light stroll.

How are the contrasts/complementary aspects being brought out?

Are you using the five senses? You can even combine the senses, ie. blue ringing of the church bells

(If you have the POV character) what 

Some other tips for setting description:

Use similes and metaphors. Creative figures of speech always get my attention as a reader. 

Mention story-specific elements. For example, “The sky was the shade of Zoes’ eyes” or “the mountains looked like a group of trolls sleeping on one another” 

Be concise. Today’s readers don’t want to read paragraphs and paragraphs about one landscape. Outline the larger elements in the scene, their location and general mood. Add some details, then move on. 

If the same location appears multiple times, differentiate the description little by little as you write, instead of trying to lay out one scene in too much detail at once. 

That said, here are some helpful words/phrases:

Forests/Mountains

Color: bone-white, phantom-white, hazy gray

Sound: rumbling, booming grumbling, bellowing clapping, trundling, growling, thundering

Shape: crinkled, crumpled, knotted, grizzled, rumpled, wrinkled, craggy, jagged, gnarled, rugose  

Action: sky-punching/stabbing/piercing/spearing, heaven-touching/kissing, snow-cloaked/hooded/wreathed/festooned

Sloping sides, sharp/rounded ridges, high point/peak/summit

Majestic, gargantuan humbling, vast, massive, titanic, towering, monumental, mighty, vast, humbling

Mountains having faces, etc. 

Seas

Color: blue-green, crystal-clear crystalline, emerald, frothy, hazy, glistening, pristine, turquoise

Size: boundless, abyssal, fathomless, unconquerable, vast, wondrous

Sound: billowing, blustering, bombastic

Action: boisterous, agitated, angry, biting, breaking, brazen. Churning, bubbling, changing, brooding, calm, convulsing, enticing erratic, fierce, tempestuous, turbulent, undulating

Alluring, blissful, betwitching, breezy, captivating, chaotic, chilly, elemental, disorienting

Deserts

Sight: A landscape of sand, flat, harsh sunlight, cacti, tumbleweeds, dust devils, cracked land, crumbing rock, sandstone, canyons, wind-worn rock formations, tracks, dead grasses, vibrant desert blooms (after rainfall), flash flooding, dry creek

Sounds: Wind (whistling, howling, piping, tearing, weaving, winding, gusting), birds cawing, flapping, squawking, the fluttering shift of feasting birds, screeching eagles, the sound of one’s own steps, heavy silence, baying wild dogs

Smell: Arid air, dust, one’s own sweat and body odor, dry baked earth, carrion

Touch: Torrid heat, sweat, cutting wind, cracked lips, freezing cold (night) hard packed ground, rocks, gritty sand, shivering, swiping away dirt and sweat, pain from split lips and dehydration, numbness in legs, heat/pain from sun stroke, clothes…

Taste: Grit, dust, dry mouth & tongue, warm flat canteen water, copper taste in mouth, bitter taste of insects for eating, stringy wild game (hares, rats) the tough saltiness of hardtack, biscuits or jerky, an insatiable thirst or hunger

Streets

Dusty, fume-filled, foul, sumptuous, broad, bucolic, decayed, mournful, seemingly endless, empty, unpaved, lifeless, dreadfully genteel, muddy, nondescript, residential/retail

Bleach, flimsy, silent, narrow, crooked, furrowed, smoggy, commonplace, tumbledown, treeless, shady

The blacktop streets absorb the spring sunshine as if intent upon sending heaven's warmth back through my soles.

The streets absorbed the emotions in the air, the city as the steady and reassuring mother.

The streets were a marriage of sounds, from bicycle wheels to chattering.

In the refreshing light of early daytime, the streets had the hues of artistic dreamtime, soft yet bold pastels.

Cobbled streets flowed as happy rivers in sunlight.

Parties

Some extra tips for locations like parties, where lots of action is going around practically everywhere:

Focus on the important characters - where they are, who they’re with. 

Provide some overall description of the structure of the party scene (a pool, a two-storey house with yard?), then move on to details. 

Don’t try to describe everything. 

whirlwind of laughter and music, a symphony of joyous chaos.

It was a gathering that shimmered with the glow of twinkling lights and echoed with the rhythm of dancing feet.

The air was alive with excitement, buzzing with conversations and the clink of glasses.

Every corner held a story waiting to unfold, a moment waiting to be captured in memory.

It was a tapestry of colors, a mosaic of faces, each adding their own brushstroke to the vibrant canvas of the night.

Laughter cascaded like a waterfall, infectious and unstoppable, filling the room with warmth.

The night was a carnival of senses, with aromas of delicious food mingling with the melodies that filled the air.

Time seemed to slip away in the whirl of the party, moments blending into each other like colors on a palette.

The energy of the crowd was electric, pulsing through the room like a heartbeat, binding everyone in a shared moment of celebration.

It was a celebration of life, where worries faded into the background, and the present moment was all that mattered.

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Sex on the Beach

Pairing(s): Shawn Mendes x male reader

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: bottom male reader, top Shawn Mendes, Shawn fucks like a feral animal, spanking, some dirty talk, ass eating, and beach sex 

Summary: You and Shawn have steamy sex at a private beach. 

Hello, my 🍓Little Strawberries🍓! I’m not dead! I just lose motivation quickly. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this!

XxXxXxX

You sigh in comfort, laying down on your stomach as you feel the sun beam down upon half of your body, the other half underneath the shade of an umbrella, and the wind cooling your body as you lay on the soft blanket that covers the hot sand. You could hear seagulls squawking in the background. 

Those creatures are most likely fighting over food. 

Loud ocean waves crash against the nearby rock formations, and the gentle waves crash against the beach sand. 

It was an amazing day to go to the beach. You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard your boyfriend coming close. “M/n!” 

You turn your head to the right as you see Shawn wearing nothing but his swimming shorts. You couldn’t help but admire his body. 

His lean-muscular body had some hair around his pecs and abs. His body glowed in the sunlight. He looked like he came out of a beach scene from a romance movie. You unconsciously licked your lips. 

“You like what you see?” Shawn said as he noticed your long stare. Your face turned red as Shawn chuckled before taking his place next to you. 

“You know, you need sunscreen to protect yourself from the sun! Here, let me help you.” Shawn said, pulling out the cream from the container near the umbrella. 

Shawn squirted some before getting behind you. You could feel his hands and long fingers massaging the cream over your back. 

You moan as Shawn continues massaging the cream, but that changes as you feel Shawn press his crotch against your ass. Smirking deviously, you begin to grind against his crotch. Feeling his cock getting hard.

Shawn freezes as he feels your bubble butt. He growls as his hands move down and grab your ass and knead it like it was dough. You whimpered but continued to tease him. 

“So, you wanna tease me with his fat ass?” Shawn pulls your shorts and begins to slap your ass. He smirks at the recoil and the red hand marks. You moan loudly as Shawn continues his attacks on your ass. 

Suddenly, you felt your lower half pulled up, your ass now in front of Shawn’s mouth. Shawn was salivating at the sight and dived into the canyon. You gripped the blanket tightly as Shawn’s tongue penetrated your hole.

Shawn ravaged your ass like a wild animal. Spreading your asscheeks apart and slapping them. One of his hands slowly begins to stroke your aching cock, already leaking pre-cum from the head. 

Your mind was getting foggy and it felt like your brain was turning into mush as Shawn continued to stroke your cock and eat your ass. Then, Shawn heard a loud moan when his tongue hit a certain part inside you.

‘So, that’s his prostate?’ With the new knowledge, Shawn repeatedly assaulted your prostate. Soon, you were a moaning mess as your cock throbbed in pain, needing a release. Shawn could sense you were close and began to stroke faster.

“Ahh⁓” You moan as your cock throbbed before shooting it load all over Shawn’s hand and the blanket. You were allowed to calm down for a moment before Shawn flipped you over onto your backside. 

Shawn pulled down his shorts along with his striped boxers to reveal his throbbing cock. You were mentally drooling at the sight of the thing.

His cock looked to be 6 inches (15.52cm) with some thickness as well. A prominent vein running down the center along smaller ones, nicely trimmed pubic hair, and nice egg size melons. (Melons - balls.)

“See what you do to me, baby?” He then proceeds to slap his cock against your already hard one. Shawn positions himself right in the middle, putting both of your legs to the side of his waist. 

“Are you ready for me, baby?” Shawn says, aiming his cock to your entrance. You nodded your head. Shawn slowly pushed his cock inside you. His eyes and head rolled back in pleasure as your tight heat swallowed him whole. 

“Shawny⁓” you moaned, gripping the blanket harder and arching your back. You slowly pushed back until swallowing his entire cock. Biting your lips, feeling the large cock throbbing inside. 

“F-fuck…” His nails dug into your hips as he could feel your ass clenching around him. Shawn leaned down to your neck, leaving kisses and hickies. “Fuck me like an animal.” you whispered into his ear. 

Shawn growls before pulling back, leaving only the head, then gives one big thrust. You moaned at the top of your lungs as if all the oxygen was knocked out. Shawn kept repeating the action, his cock always hitting your prostate. 

Your brain was turning into mush, the surrounding area becoming blurry. The constant abuse of your prostate was sending so many signals through your nerve system as if it was about to go into overdrive. 

It felt like you two were the only ones there, it was a private beach so of course you’re gonna be the only ones. You could hear both loud moans and groans along with the wet squelching sound of Shawn pounding your ass like an animal in heat, and skin slapping skin.

Both of your orgasms were close as Shawn thrust harder into you. You could see a small stomach bulge appearing. “I-I’m… close…” Shawn said, pulling and bringing your whole body closer to him.

“Me too!” wrapping your arms around Shawn’s neck. After a few more aggressive thrusts, Shawn gave one final thrust, flooding your insides with white. Cock throbbing inside your tight heat, kept spurting more. 

You also came to an orgasm, your cock spurting load after load onto Shawn’s abdomen, balls tightening and throbbing. 

“We should do this more often.”

THE END

A/N: It's been so long since I’ve written smut! I hope this fic was good! Bye, my 🍓Little Strawberries🍓!

[prisiidon]

Sea Stallord

Originally an ancient colossal ocean leviathan (non-zora) back when it had skin. Having been defeated by ancient Caerulian Zora, it fell into a wide foggy canyon surrounded by brinepools. Deep critters picked it apart til nothing but bones were left, until eventually it became a Sea-Stallord.

Deepsea zora in that area saw it as a fallen god despite its weakened state. This deity however, had ate sacrifices prior to being felled: promising power and protection in return if it was kept protected and sated while it regained power.

But this magic was now corrupted and dark, and so the followers practices became corrupted and dark, deciding to hide it amongst themselves in the canyon's cavern system beneath the fog lest those above found out. This is Archon's (the current leader's) domain.

/expanding lore but need a name for their cult-like domain! more info on Archon's profile! Caeruleis has a secret treaty with them >:)

Contrary to the creed’s original desire to revive the Sea-Stallord to its former glory, Archon, (also arch-priest of the Stallord), wishes to keep it subdued and in rest-mode to maintain their own power over their people… and gain power over the Stallord itself.

The Stallord however will still rouse to remove any large threat before laying back down again. So the threat of the annihilation of an entire sea is still very much there if it had more energy, and could cause mass panic if the public knew this thing wasn’t that far away.

[roe-and-memory]

lightning is always up early, earlier than most of the town — except for maybe flo and red.

he never knows what to do in the mornings, though, so maybe he’ll wander the town, go out a little bit into the desert and look for things long buried in the sand.. some mornings he’s even found himself at the canyon, staring down the crack in the earth and watching the way all the long-gone items, lost by town members and travellers alike, glisten in the morning sun.

on those mornings he finds himself daydreaming. daydreaming about what his life wouldve been like if he’d grown up here, daydreaming about how much better his life is now that he IS here.. he dreams about that morning he’ll pop the question to the love of his life, sally, and he’ll dream of days past.

however, on the mornings he sleeps in — usually in the colder months after the seasons over, where snowfall clouds the morning sun with a foggy haze as it blows over the mountains, usually when his body can go into a proper rest mode that, although isn’t always free of nightmares, lets him sleep a little calmer than the average night during the racing season — he’ll wake up to find doc sitting at the dining room table, newspaper in hand and a coffee alongside him.

it becomes a routine. lightning likes routines.

in the summer months he wakes up and wanders, in the winter ones? he takes a gatorade out of the fridge, throws some ice into a cup, pours in the bottle, and joins doc at the table.

they talk sometimes. or, lightning will stare out the window and watch the town come to life — the cold but sunny blue sky above, the shades opening, the signs changing from “closed” to “open”, lizzie stepping out onto her front porch and taking a seat in her rocking chair, still in her pyjama pants, but she dons one of stanleys jackets, or sally coming outside the motel office in one of lightnings sweaters and a pair of his pyjama pants, her arms crossed over her chest and her chin buried in the neck of it as the chill breeze bugs at her already chilly bones..

he stares out the window, and he feels at home.

[dewedup]

would you be so kind as to provide us with a Mountain sick-fic bc I have the Flu and I'm projecting on my tall guy 😔🙏

please enjoy sick!Mount, pack dynamics, tour travel, and a concerned Zephyr 🖤🖤🖤

as per usual a huge and loving thank you to @jimothybarnes for betaing and making me feel like I wrote the next great novel 🥰

(i may or may not have started a part two of possessive mount breaking zeph's heat when he's feeling better, it ties into the ending of this one so if that's something anyone's interested in reading let me know!)

1.8k of fluff, comfort and cuteness below the cut or on AO3 HERE

It starts with a tickle in the back of his throat. Mountain finds himself clearing it periodically throughout the day, but never getting rid of the foreign feeling when he swallows. It’s a small thing though, something he can push to the back of his mind while he focuses on sound checks, travelling and performing- basically everything related to being on tour.

He wakes up a day or two later and feels exhausted. His bones ache, his brain is foggy, the cold grip of a headache approaching from the edge of his consciousness. The tickle has doubled down in its presence, now tender and sore with every breath, word, or swallow. He feels like getting hit by a vehicle on the highway they’re driving down would be swifter and less painful than the illness working its way through his immune system.

He’s like a zombie, sleepwalking through the motions. Luckily, it’s just a travel day, spent moving from their last location to the next venue. He’s stuck on the bus for the entirety of the day, tries to spend time out in the lounge area with everyone else. But Phantom is loud and overly excited, peering through the window in utter delight as he points out the unofficial eighth wonder of the world.

They’re driving past the Grand Canyon, which honestly isn’t that grand, Mountain’s seen bigger canyons in Hell. Being a ghoul of the earth means he’s very fluent in geographic abnormalities, erosion and rocks. Instead of giving Phantom a lesson in his rocky background, which Swiss seems to be anticipating, if the roll of his eyes as he looks at Mountain is any indication, Mountain simply pats Phantom on the shoulder. He mutters good ghoul under his breath, and retreats to the sleeping bunks.

His rest is pitiful, he’s hot and sweaty, then he’s kicking the blankets off only to be greeted with a chill that seeps into his bones, limbs shaking at the abrupt changes in temperature. He never succumbs to complete sleep, lingering in a half-state of lethargy and just feeling poorly.

It might be minutes, hours or days later, when he feels a cool hand press against his forehead. He’s hallucinating now, because it feels like the hand of his mate, the same one that’s still at home, a disgusting amount of distance between them. He knows it’s not real, their sweet scent of licorice and fresh linen doesn’t fill his nostrils. But then again, he’s pretty congested, hasn’t been able to smell anything in the last day and a half.

Mountain whines as the touch moves from his forehead, shifting down to his equally heated cheek and offering the tiniest bit of respite from the fever. He’s sweating again, wants to rip his own skin off to escape the burning inside of him, when a light breeze seemingly appears from nowhere. It dances across his body, giving him the first sense of relief since he laid down in his bunk.

“Pietra,” the demon caressing his face coos, and Mountain truly must have died and went to Hell, because there’s only one soul who calls him the Italian word for stone.

He squints open an eye, meeting the concerned face of his mate.

“Zeph?” Mountain’s voice wobbles, cracking on the singular word, as tears threaten to fall. Zephyr takes a second to assess their situation before climbing right into the bunk beside Mountain, pulling their mate close.

Mountain rests his head on Zephyr’s chest as he lets out a few pathetic sniffles, mainly just feeling sorry for himself.

“We’re at the hotel, love. The others went inside, they didn’t want to wake you. My flight landed early so I’ve been here for a bit, setting up our nest.”

Nest. That’s right, in Mountain’s deteriorated state he forgot Zephyr was scheduled to go into heat any day now. The Ministry opted long ago to pay for a flight for them if Mountain was away, rather than deal with an aggravated air ghoul who would take their frustrations out on the abbey and all who stumbled across their path.

If Mountain let out a few extra tears at the thought of his mate, already on edge from their own rising hormones, putting their needs aside to care for him, well, neither of them speak on it.

Eventually, Zephyr convinces Mountain to leave the safety of the bunk and retreat to their hotel room. It involves a lot of gentle encouragement and a few filthy promises for when he’s feeling better. Mountain can’t smell anything, so he misses the slight bite to Zeph’s scent, the telltale sign of the beginning of a heat that they push down forcibly with sheer willpower, knowing Mountain is in no shape to fulfill their needs at this moment.

They share a bath, slightly hotter than Zephyr would prefer, but the steam helps to clear Mountain’s congested airways and the warmth soothing the aching in his bones. It’s intimate in a nonsexual way, how Zephyr lathers up a washcloth and takes their time rinsing the sweat and sickness from Mountain’s skin.

Mountain’s soon dry and in his pyjamas, a steady hand at the small of his back guiding him to the bed in the centre of the hotel room. True to their word, Zephyr had created a fine nest, bringing blankets from their den at home to create a soft spot for them to connect with each other. Mountain falls into the pile, burrowing his way to the perfect spot and collapsing into the down pillows.

Zephyr seamlessly joins Mountain, wrapping their arms around him in a big spoon position. It is something Mountain usually takes up in their shared bed, but his need for comfort is apparent and Zephyr isn’t too put out by getting to hold their mate in their arms like this.

Mountain falls asleep to the soft hums vibrating from Zephyr’s chest, his own purrs mixing in at the same tempo, every single part of their being made for each other.

_________

Mountain wakes up, lying awkwardly on a couch too small for his big frame. He’s confused, disoriented, and doesn’t remember where he is for far longer than he’d like to admit.

His brain feels foggy, his eyes landing on a bottle of water left on the table in front of him, the condensation having dripped to the table, creating a small puddle of liquid around the container.

The bottle brings back the memory of Zephyr braiding his hair on this very couch, enthusiastically agreeing with Rain as the water ghoul tried to force some cold medication in Mountain’s mouth. He remembers putting up a good struggle, managing to knock Rain back a few steps before Dew intervened. With Zephyr yanking on his hair, tilting his head back and Dew lying on top of him, bodily restraining his movements, Rain was able to slide home a few of the abnormally large pills. Mountain fought valiantly, but Rain pulled a demonic move covering his mouth and pinching his nose until he was forced to swallow, begrudgingly and with a promise of murder in his eyes. 

Apparently, the cold medication was exactly what he needed. While he isn’t at one hundred percent, he feels the best he can remember feeling for the last week. His achy bones are no more, and he can even breathe through his nose a little, picking up the lingering scent of his mate all over his body.

A loud noise from out the hallway catches his attention, and Mountain realizes that he had the best nap of his life in the green room of the venue they were set to perform at tonight.

Except, no one else is hustling around in the usual pre-show panic.

The green room is usually filled with excitement and adrenaline, packed with bodies, as Swiss hogs the mirror to apply his black lipstick. But it’s empty, the remnants of the pre-show hurricane evident.

Mountain hears the opening rift of Kaisarion and bolts up from the couch, looking around wildly for his costume, but it’s nowhere to be found. He can’t believe they didn’t wake him up, what the actual fuck is going on. 

He gets to the side of the stage much quicker than he would have in the state he was mere hours ago, looking out from the wings as his band feeds the energy to the crowd before them.

His eyes shift over his pack, watching as they back up Papa who’s already pandering to the sea of people. A crash of cymbals pulls his attention to the back middle stage, to his drum set.

It’s like a punch to his gut, but in the best way possible, seeing who is undeniably his mate, in his costume, playing his kit.

Zephyr isn’t a small statured ghoul by any means, it’s just that Mountain’s well… Mountainous.

His costume fits his mate poorly, they’ve rolled the arms up, displaying the sleeves of delicate illustrations depicting the fall of Christ, ink woven in their skin that Mountain has spent countless hours admiring. The pant legs bunch up where they fall, too much extra material with nowhere else to go.

Mountain’s heart skips a beat when he realizes Zephyr is shoeless, exactly how he normally performs.

It shouldn’t surprise him that Zeph is a natural, they’ve spent long hours in the rehearsal room with Mountain, watching him work through tricky sections or just putting his own twist on Papa’s work. He’s filled with love, admiration, and just an all-around feeling of mine while watching his mate perform with his pack.

Mountain eventually just settles on the ground of the side stage, sitting cross-legged and just enjoying the show from his secret little viewpoint. He laughs along with the jokes Papa pulls out of his ass, his smile unshakeable as he watches Dew tease Rain from this angle. Swiss is chaotic, he usually only sees him leave his platform from the corner of his eye, unsure of what exactly the multi ghoul gets up to, but now he has his answers. He’s usually so focused on his own performance he doesn’t get the chance to just sit and watch the magic happen, and it is magical, the atmosphere they craft together and the beautiful music they create.

During Miasma, Zephyr opts out of a solo in favour of handing Dew and Phantom a drumstick each. Mountain grins wildly, watching lovingly as Zeph orchestrates with their free hands while keeping rhythm with the kick drum. They encourage Dew and Phantom to bang away at the snare and cymbals, Mountain cringing slightly at the force of some of the hits. A little wear and tear won’t tarnish the memory working its way into the deep recesses of his brain though, as the utter joy and happiness bubbles over into a delighted, trilling laugh when Zeph tosses him a smirk and secret little wave.

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 32: The Palace

Din used his bounty hunter skills to track you down, now he just has to get you out. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-31 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and a bit beyond. Torture. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 4.1k

“You’ve been with us for 36 hours now.” 

You were back in the chair. You had been for a while, though you weren’t sure exactly how long. They’d injected you with serum again, keeping you conscious and your body in a heightened state of sensitivity. 

Though you’d been in that state so long, the agony from where they’d taken skin had faded to a dull roar. It had been too loud and too constant for too long to still mean something, that part of you fracturing off. That pain had been deemed unimportant, like white noise. 

“I’m sure you’d like to eat something,” the woman said. “Drink something. Sleep.” 

You scoffed, even though your mouth was dry and your body kept trying to put you under and failing. Even hunger pains were magnified with this drug, the ache in your stomach violent and gnawing.

“You really think that’s what’s going to do it?” Your voice was raspy. “Food, water, sleep?” She shrugged. You rolled your eyes. “Maker, you really are new at this, aren’t you?” 

The man pressed the electroshock probe to your side. You would have screamed if it didn’t make your whole body seize, the pain of it radiating down every nerve ending. It felt like you could trace a map of your nervous system with the agony of it, so all consuming and clear cut. He took it away and you went limp with a whimper. 

“Sounds like we’re getting closer,” the woman smirked. You panted for breath. 

“You know,” you managed. “There is one thing you haven’t tried. It’s how I know you haven’t done this much, at least not with anyone who can withstand it.” 

“What’s that?” She asked, her brows raised. Your brain was foggy, you couldn’t get enough of a bead on her to know if she was being serious or humoring you. 

“You haven’t asked if there’s anything I want outside of the obvious,” you watched her. “Food, water, sleep. Freedom. Death. All obvious. You should ask if there’s anything else I want and what I might be willing to trade you for it.” 

She looked you up and down for a moment, considering. Or, at least, you thought she was. You were starting to feel yourself fracture in your mind. The things you’d locked away - your rebellion secrets, your real name, the most important things like Din and the child - were safe. Everything else felt like wet sand, loosely held together but malleable, easy to break away, threatening to crumble at the slightest provocation. 

“What would you like?” She asked after a moment, curious. “Besides the obvious, of course.” 

“Some information,” you replied. “Some that probably wouldn’t matter to your organization at all but matters to me.” 

“And what would you give me for that?” She asked. 

“Information in return,” you said. “Not what you’re really looking for, of course. But things that can give you insight. Maybe be of use. Almost certainly of greater value than what I’d ask for.” 

She looked you over again and you tried to make sure you looked strong, durable. Like she wouldn’t get anything out if you for a long time otherwise. 

“What do you want to know?” She asked eventually. 

“When you moved into the area, you cleaned up some messes for the Hutts to get in their good graces,” you said it, didn’t ask it. She nodded once. “Was the Barktan family one of those messes? Moisture farmers, only a few clicks outside Beggar’s Canyon.” 

She gave you a cocky half smile. 

“You were right about the information not mattering,” she said. “Yes, they were. What information are you willing to trade?” 

“We weren’t in Beggar’s Canyon looking for your stash,” you said. “I’m guessing you’ve got, what, thermal detonators and disintegrators stored in the caves? Could not care less about those.” 

She frowned. 

“What were you looking for then?” 

“What did you do to the Barktan family?” 

She considered you again. 

“What we’ve done to you,” she said after a moment. “Though they couldn’t withstand what you have. The Hutts were interested in a daughter. We couldn’t find her. The man died first, he was weak. The woman held on for almost a day. She never gave us anything. We never did find the girl.”  

You fought to keep the fire from your eyes. You had to look neutral, even though it felt like your body was going to burn with rage, the hateful ache of it snarling and chewing at your chest. 

“You’re the daughter, aren’t you?” She cocked her head slightly. “I think I can see it now. You look like your mother. Got her will, too. Is that what brought you to the canyon?” 

“No,” you said. Your voice shook. “No, I didn’t know you had anything to do with them when we came here.” 

“Why did you come here?” 

“You wasted your second question,” you said. You wanted to hurt her. You wanted to do it with your bare hands, with your teeth and your nails. You wanted to taste her blood, rip at her flesh. 

“The Hutts will still pay for you,” she said. “Alive or dead.” 

“They’re mercurial creatures, those slugs,” you replied. “Smarter to leave me alive. They’ve had years to change their minds about what to do with me. You can’t bring me back once you’ve finished me.” 

She crossed her arms and slowly walked over to you so her face was only inches from your own. 

“If you weren’t so subborn,” she said. “I’d want to keep you.” 

“If I weren’t so stubborn, you’d have no use for me.” 

She smirked and jerked her head at the man who pressed the probe to your side again. Just as he pulled it away, the floor shook. 

For a moment, you thought you’d imagined it. It would make sense, your nerves relaying false information to your decaying mind. But the woman’s eyes went wide and she looked toward the door. There was a crackle of a com link. The words were fractured. 

“Attack… coming… armed…”

The man and woman looked at each other. 

“Stay with her,” she ordered him. “Don’t you dare fucking kill her.” 

The building shook again. She went for the door. The man looked nervous. 

“Something have you worried?” You asked, smirking a bit. He glared. 

“She said I couldn’t kill you,” he snapped. “Didn’t say a damn thing about anything else.”

***

The location the woman had given Din was vague enough that it took him hours to find the palace. He’d been right, much of it had been swallowed by the sands, only a single, domed roof with a makeshift entrance visible through the dunes. It would have taken him who knows how long to find on his own, the hot sand muting the heat signatures inside the walls. 

There were guards stationed immediately around the entrance - all camouflaged - but it wasn’t more than he could handle. 

He put the child in the pod, his chest tight. The baby cooed, his eyes wide, ears low. 

“We’re going to get her,” he said gently. “We’re not leaving here without her.” 

He cooed again. Din gave him the toy you’d gotten him on Nevarro and the small silver ball from the Crest. 

“You’re staying in here,” he said. “You’ll see her soon. I promise.” 

Din closed the pod and put it under an arm before igniting his jetpack, flying high before moving closer to the palace. The guards weren’t looking up. 

He dropped into them, releasing the pod the second his feet were on the ground. He kicked the first guard, who just stood there looking at him in shock, in the chest, sending him stumbling back before he grabbed his blaster and shot him. One down, five others alerted to his presence. 

One of the fools threw a thermal detonator and Din swatted it away. He glanced down and watched it roll down the dune, far enough away that it wouldn’t do damage to him when it went off. He continued on.  

The first blaster bolt pinged off his armor and he didn’t even need to look to return the shot in kind, catching sight the man as he fell out of the corner of his eye. The thermal detonator blew, the sands shaking and shifting. 

“We’re under attack,” the man furthest from him fumbled with his com. “Don’t know how many are coming, they’re armed with…” 

Din cut him off with a shot to the head. 

A staff struck him in the side, catching him where the armor wasn’t there to protect him. He shifted focus. The man came at him quickly, swinging the staff for his more vulnerable points. Din caught it and shoved him back before shooting him. 

The strike from behind was harder, a knife to the leg. It was an indirect blow but was enough to rip his flight suit and cut his skin. He barely felt it. He’d barely felt anything since you’d been taken. It was a flash of shock more than pain, something his mind filed away to do deal with later, once he had you. Nothing else mattered until he had you. 

He rounded on the man with the knife. The man was familiar, young. It took him a moment to realize that it was the bounty, the whole reason you’d gone into the desert to begin with. The reason you’d been here to be taken at all. He backed away from the Mandalorian with fear in his eyes and an almost pitifully small blade in his fist. 

Din hit him, hard, dodging the man’s second strike with the knife. He sprawled into the sand and started scrambling to get up, the ground shifting below his feet. The Mandalorian stalked over to him, standing over him for a moment, his head cocked to the side. 

“Warm or cold,” he said. “You’re worth the same.” 

He shot him and the man slumped into the sand. 

The next blaster bolt pinged off his helmet. He rounded on the final man, blaster drawn. He backed away, fumbling at his belt for a thermal detonator. He threw it at the Mandalorian who just swatted it away again, into the building. Din shot him. The detonator blew, a hole opening in the roof of the dome. 

Din called the pod alongside him and peered into the dome. The Palace was either sparsely populated or the syndicate had taken cover, the room below empty. He dropped inside, the pod following close behind. 

He kept his weapon drawn, moving silently as he looked for signs of someone who could give him directions. He switched his helmet to heat sensor mode, the interference from the sand no longer a problem now that he was inside the building that was buried by the dune. There was a cluster of people in an antechamber to his left, huddled at the back, likely trying to avoid detection. He stalked to them, weapon drawn. 

There was a hail of blaster fire when he walked in, the shots ringing off his armor. He knew he should feel the impact of each one and part of him could, but they mattered so little. All they were was an obstacle, something to be overcome to get to you. 

There were more than a dozen people here, so he raised his wrist and fired the whistling birds, the tiny projectiles flying forward, finding their targets and sending them collapsing to the ground. Three men were left standing. They kept shooting. 

He shot one before he spoke. 

“I need information,” he said over the sound of blasters. They stopped shooting. “Tell me where interrogation is and I’ll let you leave this room with your life.” 

The men looked to each other for a moment before one shot him again. Din sighed, shooting him and then pointing the blaster at the other man. 

“Where is it.” 

The man swallowed. His weapon was still drawn. He looked over the Mandalorian. 

“Sublevel one,” he said quickly. “Center of the level…” 

The Mandalorian stepped to the side. The man ran. The moment his feet crossed the threshold of the room, he shot him. He’d left the room with his life. It was all he had been promised and more than he deserved. 

Din pressed on. 

***

The man seemed like he wanted to test just how long an electroshock probe could run before it needed to be activated again. Without the woman to rein him in, he kept it against your side until your body thrashed and your eyes rolled back in your head, only removing it for a moment before starting again. 

“Can’t kill me now,” he snarled. “Thought you were strong when you killed him, thought you could fuckin’ scare me…” 

He pressed the probe to your side again, a small scream managing to make it through your lips before that part of you seized up. Crying out wasn’t the relief you’d hoped it would be, the pain still consuming in spite of it. He kept the probe against you until you started to feel it in your heart, the electricity making it stutter against your ribs. 

“Mandalorian!” The single word came through his com link. You weren’t sure if it had been preceded by anything else. Everything around you was muddy, you couldn’t discern much. But that word it seemed like you would always hear. He pulled the probe from your side. You panted for breath. He held the com to his lips. 

“The hell do you mean a Mandalorian?” 

You smiled, your head lolling to the side. You weren’t able to hold it up, unsure if you were exhausted or if your body had just stopped working. 

“He’s here for me,” you managed. The man looked at you, skeptical. You just held his gaze. “You should run.” 

*** 

Any other time, Din would have been concerned about being so outnumbered. He’d faced odds this bad before and survived, of course. But it was dangerous. The only reason it crossed his mind at all now was because of the pod at his back. If it weren’t for the child, he doubted he would have even noticed the numbers. 

He’d made it to sublevel one and so, it seemed, had the rest of the syndicate. He’d killed several dozen men so far and there were dozens of others standing between him and you. They were keeping you from him. They had taken you. He activated a thermal detonator he’d taken from a body, waiting as long as he could before he threw it.

“Shit!” Someone screamed before it blew, the palace shaking, sand and plaster falling at his feet. He couldn’t bring himself to care about that, either. 

The detonator had charred the walls of the corridor, bodies blown apart. He didn’t care. He was nearly to the center of the structure, judging by his scans, nearly to you. You were close. If the first man had told him anything remotely accurate, you were close. 

He heard you before he saw you, a small, strangled cry before you went silent. He snarled, running for the sound. He almost collapsed when he saw you. 

The man beside you had an electroshock probe pressed against your ribs and your body shook with it. Your face was bloody and bruised, skin had been stripped away from your stomach and the man beside you twisted the probe, grimacing as he did. 

Something took over him in that moment. It was like the moment on Garqi, seeing your husband hurt you. It consumed him, the need to protect you, to avenge you. He roared, the man jumping in shock and pulling the probe from your side. He lunged for him, tackling him to the ground. The man punched Din in the helmet, serving only to rattle the Mandalorian and fracture the man’s hand on his beskar. He went to put the probe to Din but he knocked it away, sending it flying before bringing his fist down on the man’s head. 

The man scrambled, managing to get a grip on the Mandalorian and sending him onto his back for a moment as he tried to pull a blaster, but Din was too fast. He leapt to his feet, freeing his knife as he went, and brought it down into the center of the man’s throat. His eyes went wide as he dropped to his knees, blood pouring from him and spilling onto the ground. Din panted for breath as he watched the man crumble, not moving until he landed in a heap on the floor. He turned to you then, your eyes hazy but finding his below the helmet. You were always able to find him, always able to look through him. 

“Cyare,” he breathed. You smiled slightly. 

“Hi,” you said.

He reached out and cupped your cheek and you pressed your skin into his palm. 

“You came for me,” your voice was hoarse. “Shouldn’t have done that… Told you not to…” 

“My hunt, my call,” he replied. “I’ll always come for you.” 

The building trembled around you. He glanced around, plaster falling to the ground. The thermal detonators were too much for this structure. He needed to get you out of here. Now. 

He went to the controls for the chair and released them. You slumped forward and he jumped to catch you. You cried out when he touched you, grimacing. 

“They’ve got me drugged,” you gasped. “Heightens pain, makes it so I can’t pass out… Old Imperial shit…” 

“Is there anywhere…” 

“No,” you shook your head. “It all hurts, I can take it, I just need to get out of here…” 

“Can you walk?” He asked. It hurt seeing you like this, like someone was tearing into his chest seeing you struggling and in pain. 

“Put your arm around my waist,” you were looking at the ground, grimacing. All he wanted to do was touch you, hold you, comfort you. It would only hurt you now. “Try to not touch where they cut me…” 

He obeyed, trying to bury the white hot fury that was swelling in his chest. He wanted to rip and tear for you, he wanted to destroy for you. It would have to wait. The building shook again. Your hand was on his chest, your fingers bloody. There was skin missing at your arm, too. You took a shaky step but managed to stay upright, a gasping groan escaping from you. He went to pick you up but you shook your head. 

“Walking is better,” you said quickly. “I can’t fight right now, don’t think I can shoot, I can’t see straight, you can’t carry me.” 

“We need to find a ship,” he said. “Can’t get you to Mos Eisley on a bike in this condition…” 

“I’ve only seen this room and a cell not far from here,” you managed as you started off. You hissed when you took a step. “I’m not even positive we’re still on Tatooine, but I think we are.” 

“We’re in an abandoned palace in the northern Dune Sea,” he said. “Know of it?” 

“No,” you grimaced. “Sorry, I’ve been a pretty useless partner this hunt…” 

He glared at you and you must have sensed it because you smiled for half a second before crying out in pain again. Din switched the helmet back to heat sensor mode, saw one person in a room up ahead. He led the way, leaning you against the wall just outside the door. You were panting for breath but gave him a nod as he went into the room. 

The man inside was trying to gather up something. He didn’t notice the Mandalorian come in. Din grabbed him by the collar, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the wall. He yelped, dropping the bag he was stuffing. 

“Where are the ships,” Din demanded. 

“I… Um…” the man scrambled for words. Din ground his teeth and more plaster fell. He didn’t have time for this. He pulled him back from the wall and thrust him into it again. 

“Where!” 

“North side!” He said quickly. “Up a level!” 

Din released him, shooting him before leaving the room. He glanced at the bag. He’d been grabbing spice. He shook his head, going back to the hall and gathering you against him again. 

You’d buttoned your shirt back up, something he was relieved about. He knew the injuries were there, they were burned into his mind, but it was easier to handle not ripping every person in this building apart when he couldn’t see them. 

Much of the syndicate had been killed or had fled, almost no one left to intervene as he worked his way up with you. You felt faint against him, your limbs loose. Like you were barely able to hold yourself up. 

“Almost there, Cyare,” he said softly. 

The hanger was full of ships, but most were one man fighters. There were only two smaller transport vessels and Din opened the hatch of the first one he could reach, helping you up the ramp as quickly as he could. He lowered you into a seat when there was a shot at his shoulder. He turned to face his assailant. It was a woman. She was tall, a tattoo around her eye, her teeth were bared in some strange combination of a snarl and a smile. 

“You’re taking what’s mine,” she said, her blaster leveled at Din. “The Hutts will pay for her. I’d expect better from a guild backed hunter, stealing someone’s bounty out from under them.” 

“Don’t recognize Hutt bounties,” he replied, sizing her up. You started trying to get to your feet and he gently pushed you back down. You grimaced. 

“She killed my parents,” you snarled, singularly focused. “Took them, tortured them… I want to hurt her, I want her blood…” 

He lifted your chin delicately, so your blackened eyes were looking at him and not her. 

“I’ll take her for you, Cyare,” he said gently. “You don’t need to suffer that.” 

Another shot rang off his beskar and he released you, stalking down the ramp toward the woman. She stood her ground. 

“You took my Cyare,” he said. She shot his chest, the sharp ping glancing off the armor. He pressed on. “You took her family.” She shot again, starting to back up now. “You hurt her.” 

She tried to aim for part of his leg that wasn’t covered by armor but he dropped his knee, the bolt hitting his thigh where he was protected. “You will pay.” 

He closed in quickly, igniting his flame thrower. She screamed, her clothes and hair catching fire quickly. She dropped to the ground, writhing in pain, trying to extinguish the flames. He kept the weapon running as he drew closer, keeping her burning, her screams cracking in her throat. 

It wasn’t long before she stilled, her body still burning. Din cut the flamethrower, panting for breath as he watched the fire consume her. The building trembled again. He pulled more stolen thermal detonators from his belt, setting the timers on them and throwing them into the hall and around the room before joining you on the ship. He closed the gate and removed his glove, delicately holding your cheek in his hand. Your skin was still so soft against him, even damaged and bruised. You leaned into his touch, a tear slipping down your cheek. 

“Are you satisfied, Cyare?” 

You pressed your lips together and nodded, looking up at him like you were about to break. 

“Close your eyes for me,” he said softly. You obeyed. With his free hand, he lifted his helmet just enough to expose his lips, pressing them gently to your forehead. He breathed you in, bloody but still smelling like you, his body calming now that he could touch you again. You melted into his kiss, a choking sob slipping from you. He pulled back and secured the helmet, delicately brushing your lashes with this thumb when it was safely in place. 

He took his seat in the cockpit, you and the pod with the child safely behind him. He took off, pulling the ship out of the hanger and entering the upper atmosphere just as the palace collapsed into the sand behind him. 

[bruciemilf]

I saw your Gladiator!Bruce AU idea and I happen to be a fantasy writer/worldbuilder (I hope you don't mind if I throw you a slightly different idea)—

As a prince, Bruce was taught his princely sword fighting and basic hand-to-hand skills. When the coup came, he was a boy.

He was thrown into a pit to die for the crimes of his father, because one death just wasn't enough. Bruce, 10 years old, 50 pounds, looks up to a fully grown man and learns just how inadequate the word dread can be. But the man looks down at him and cannot kill a child.

The new… tyrant, out of the good of his dusty, hateful heart, spares both of their lives.

Bruce is sent out into the ring regularly to be brutalized. Not because people like seeing a child lose fight after fight, but because they were told that Thomas was a terrible king, and they're still so angry, and someone has to pay the price.

Bruce is 17 when he finally wins his first fight. He's punished for it afterwards.

The new heir, a princess, makes her way to the dungeons. No one recognizes her. She creeps through the dark and the grime, silent and unseen, a shadow in the dark. She steps up to the cage bars, green eyes luminescent in the bleakness. Bruce is curled up on his hands and knees to keep the wounds on his back clean. The princess reaches in and rolls a tangerine to him, and it taps against his blood-crusted knuckles softly. By the time he looks up from his foggy haze, she's gone.

Years pass. Win or lose, his little mystery visitor sneaks him treats. Every time he approaches the bars, she disappears. Once he almost caught her by hiding off to the side. But he couldn't bring himself to use his full strength to hold her, and she slipped right through his fingers.

The king isn't getting any older. Bruce has a crisis where he knows he'll die here. When he's too old to fight well, when he's young but his ruined body makes moving fast enough too hard, he'll die. He doesn't even remember the feeling of silk anymore, the smell of perfume, the feeling of well-kept leather. But at least he remembers the sweet taste of berries.

It's not enough. But it's all he has.

The princess is married to some… specimen from a neighboring kingdom. She knows her father's plans to raze it all to the ground. This young man, this boy, is pretty and kind and polite. But her heart is distracted. She takes him to the games under the guise of courting him. Really, she'd just rather be spending the time with her champion.

The new prince (not a king here, either, as the odious king remains), watches with… complete and utter horror. The man in the ring is young — his age. But he wears a dented buckler and a leather skirt that's almost as scarred as his back. Ridges, canyons, burns, lashes — from his back to his fingers, this young man is a tapestry of abuse. And his pale eyes are blacker than night.

That night, the new prince sneaks into the dungeons. He's never really done this sort of thing before, but his hearing is good, his eyesight is better, and he can sneak and creep better than most any novice. He finds Bruce's cage and crouches down.

Bruce looks so much smaller in the dark. He sleeps as if bowing down to something, his back open to the air. But his head moves, and he looks up to his visitor. Bruce sees the most vivid blue of his life, looking down at him with kindness through the dreary night. He knows better than to speak. The stranger wavers.

"I saw you today," he whispers. His voice is… soft. It's airy and warm and gentle. There's no gruffness, no malice, no command. It's like what silk and satin would sound like, fire-warmed and lain across the shoulders. Bruce stares with wide eyes. He didn't know a man could sound so welcoming. "I'm sorry for what they're doing to you." Bruce gasps, quietly, but the wind is taken from his lungs. His mystery visitor never speaks much to him. But this new stranger reached right into his chest and touched the biggest wound.

Bruce turns his head to hide the silent tears. The stranger wavers. Then he apologizes again and leaves. The princess, hidden away, a pair of candies and a large apple in her hand, suddenly thinks she can learn to love the new prince.

The king ruins the neighboring kingdom. The prince is inconsolable, and it's only the princess' blade to his throat that convinces him to calm down and turn away from the thought of murdering her father for giving the order. He flees, breaking and smashing things along the way, because everyone he's ever known is dead and all of his people are being scattered to the wind like ashes. The princess lets him leave. She knows where to find him.

In the dungeon, with slivers of moonlight to cut the dark, the prince sits against the bars, his hand resting in Bruce's lap. Bruce doesn't weep with Prince Clark. That wound scarred over a long time ago for him. But he holds Clark's hand as delicately as his callouses allow, and he tries his best to trace the lines of this soft palm without inflicting pain. But Clark won't stop weeping.

Both broken princes nearly miss when the princess steps out of the dark. She hands them both caramels and sits to enjoy her own. Bruce tenderly unwraps Clark's for him, glad for the chance to be gentle. Talia watches them both, and as the caramel softens and melts in her mouth, she decides it's just about time for her father to learn about death.

.

[ask-obt]

(OOC) what are things that inspire you?

// I put this one off for a while because, well, it's a lot of things! I try to have a healthy balance of different media and genres that I experience to round out my experiences... as well as experiencing things irl! I like going out hiking and getting inspiration for dungeons from cool things I see. there's a lot of beautiful sights to see! amp plains, though it hasn't been shown much in comic yet outside of flashbacks, is based on bryce canyon,

and the general utah/arizona area,

and foggy forest is referenced from a lot of cool foggy photos I've taken from train rides,

and treasure town based off of cool locations on the west coast off the US!

I also find inspiration looking within the PMD fandom itself! sometimes I like turning tropes on their head (as with the feral pokemon thing that shows up a lot), sometimes I find cool theories from other fans and expand on them, and sometimes I ask folks directly what they think of certain aspects of the games when I'm not sure what to do! any of these sources are good for recharging creatively, especially between chapters or after really hashing out some outlines.

[arisenreborn]

memories & beginnings

Word Count: 819 Characters: Reverie (Arisen), Rann (Pawn)

Just the vague, nebulous early thoughts of two people with memory problems. 😂

Her first memory is fire. It floods around her, through her, a searing pain that scorches to the bone. Yet the pain is better than the darkness that surrounds it, a vast, stretching emptiness devoid of thought or feeling - save for a sense of dread that threatens to swallow her whole and leave her with… nothing. She doesn’t understand it, but instinctively she wants to flee from it. 

So she holds onto the fire and the pain that it leaves in her crackling flesh. They are anchors to something… Something she cannot remember. Something important. Yet try as she might, the darkness laps over her mind, a merciless tide that drowns all awareness. 

Her eyes open. The fire dwindles, the pain ebbs. Her first memory is the flickering of a torch overhead casting long shadows around her in the dark. Voices make words she recognizes but can’t comprehend. She doesn’t remember closing her eyes again. 

When next they open she sees a man leaning over her, a furrow knitting his brow as he removes and replaces the bandages on her body. For the first time she lets the awareness of her body sink in. The fading pain is an echo of everything she’s already forgotten. 

She doesn’t remember where she learned the word or the concept of ‘hell’, but she is half-sure that is where she is. Only half, because of the kindness of the man who tended to her. 

It’s terribly dry, and hot, and the world seems to be made of nothing but jagged edges. There are people in armor with weapons who shove her and others in nothing but scraps for clothing around, and make them dig, and carry, and haul heavy rocks away. From what she doesn’t know, for what she doesn’t know. 

‘Empty vessel’, they call her and the others like her, and she doesn’t think to question it. Why should she? Behind every word she knows  is a yawning void of darkness. Like flowers chopped from their roots. She knows what a rose is, but not where they bloom.

And yet every day that passes, every order given loses its meaning. ‘Get to work, vessel.’ ‘Move faster, pawn.’ 

She stops where others move. Lingers a moment in the freedom of choice. She isn’t sure why she does it, except to test the suspicion that she can. 

Perhaps inevitably her next thought is: What else can I do? 

His first memory is darkness. Or is it fire? Was it the sunlight cast through the boughs? Perhaps they’re all his first memory, but at the root of them is the murky, half-darkness of the rift. From there his memories stretch like branches out into one world, and the next, and the next. 

Logic dictates there should be a definitive ‘first’, though. Or is that too limiting? Is the origin the sea or the streams that flow to it? Perhaps none of that matters at all to begin with. 

What he does remember with certainty is waiting. In the rift, mostly, for a long, long time. Then sometimes in the world, alongside soldiers or traveling merchants. Dream-like memories of the greenery of Vermund, the canyons of Battahl. Frosty mountain peaks, foggy marshes… Everywhere he went, he looked for signs of her and saw nothing. Perhaps that is why the memories fade. 

Sometimes other Arisen called him, but they were never her.  An elven woman taught him their language. A witch taught him the best herbs for tinctures. These things, he thinks, will serve her well.

There’s an island, somewhere in the sea of memory. It’s dark and twists on itself before he can make out anything that would tell him about it. A fearsome foe lurks within, and something precious, he can tell. Or… did. He no longer remembers. It no longer matters.

In foggier memories still he remembers stitching bloody wounds with catgut and magic amongst the din of some great battle. An Arisen with one eye smiles at him between the haze of all memories, but years in the rift wash away all other features.

“Rest now.” A voice tells him. “She’ll need you.” He knows that. It’s the only thing he knows that truly matters. 

The rift stretches on, and on. Darkness twists in on itself. The hazy blue light spreads through it like mist, or shrinks into points like stars in distances too far to fathom. And so he waits. 

His first memory is sunlight, warm and gentle as it silhouettes her face, her hand outstretched to him. The encampment around them seems familiar, though it might as well be the first time he has ever set foot in it. Every other memory slowly slots into place, or at least every one that matters. The ‘beginning’ is here now, the cycle of day into night resumes, and the rest he dismisses, in favor of each newly made memory at her side.

[stonedwitchery]

Wee. Taken by StonedWitchery on iPhone 14 pro.

[xiaomao-ai-wo]

Hello! Would anyone care to vote on an air genasi for me to play in a one shot? Please see my quickly drawn call to adventure scenes and notes to my dm below.

Air Genasi (heavy, foggy air that hangs low in the canyon), hears the call from a river canyon and becames drawn to the sea. Exchanges stories of the land for the feel of the deep sea.

Fathomless warlock

Unknown patron. I'm thinking either a coven of hags (power hungry, searching for something, or neutral curiosity)

Maybe some deep sea entity hoping to find a vessel to takeover / swap with. Or prepping me to be that swap??? Idk. I think I like the coven better

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

Air Genasi (stagnant and cold. Glacial cave icy breath)

Shadow magic sorcerer.

Drawn to a glacial mountain and found a cave that descended for what seemed like forever. Endless breath allowed this young genasi to reach a depth of the cave that bordered on the shadow fell. Somehow emerged outside the mountain forever changed. Recovered by local travelers who kept her on watch at night, as she was so unbothered by the high altitude air and cold nights

Okay thank you all love you for reading bye

[snowy-squids]

Scrapbook

Previous | First | Next

Squidbeak Masterpost

Summary: “Callie always liked to revisit her past- it was a simpler time, and reminded her of times were she wasn’t busy 24/7 between her job making music alongside her cousin, and working with the Squidbeak as Agent 1. One night, she chooses to revisit them once more, in Octo Canyon- a place she hasn’t been to in a long time.”

This is my first time posting writing to Tumblr, so I hope the tagging and formatting is fine. Also, for peace of mind- any romance oriented scenes between Callie and 3/Violet is when both are over 18, and both characters are the same age.

Callie always liked the quiet of the Squidbeak's outpost located in Octo Canyon. Sure, it wasn't the most recent one established, but it was in better condition than the one in Octo Valley. Additionally, it wasn’t in a desert that was as hostile to inkfish as possible, like Splastivlle’s.

It had been what, 5 years since 4 had finally brought her back to the surface she missed so much? Though she doesn’t have many memories of that time. Even with Marie and 4’s (Abigail? That’s what her name was, right?) help, everything was foggy.

She picks up an old scrapbook in the outpost's cabin. She’s been working on it for a while. It’s filled to the brim with photos, alongside glitter glue, stickers, and paper cutouts.

As she flips through the pages, she thinks about the days long gone. The memories she’s held onto over the years.

—————

Callie and Marie were 10 when they entered Calamari County's Folk Singing Contest. Quite young to be entering, but both were prodigies. Or perhaps early bloomers, being able to reliably switch forms at a younger age than most inkfish.

Callie flips through a book of sheet music, singing to herself as her cousin sits on a chair, fidgeting. This is their last practice session before the big day, something the reef squid was worried about but didn't say so. Marie was the more vocal one when it came to complaints, after all.

“Do you think we can even win? I know we've been practicing for months, but they always have hundreds of entries. And a lot of people aren’t even from Inkadia.” Marie says, her voice barely a whisper.

Callie grins. “I know we can do it! Gramps says we've got the best singing voices he's ever heard!”

“He hasn't heard anyone sing outside of us for years.”

The two young squids didn't know at the time that they would win. Nor that they would get a standing ovation. It was the most exciting day of their childhood. Proof that they had talent that could be honed into something amazing.

—————

It was 5 years later when the agent approached them. If there was one thing that was common knowledge, it was that most idols started off young. Sure, exceptions existed, but most got their first deal before they were even 18.

“You just need to sign the contract.” the Inkling says. She had introduced herself as Shy-Ho-Shy, and had taken an interest in the two recently. “I assume you've talked with your parents about this, yes?”

Callie nods firmly, while Marie gives a quiet thumbs-up. Callie bounces from foot to foot, but Marie shows no expression.

“Good. Now, here's a pen. Please know that this is binding and...”

Callie has signed the paper before Shy-Ho-Shy has even finished her legal jargon. Marie follows soon after, a bit apprehensive.

The idea of being recognized was something that Callie somewhat yearned for. She despised her job at Walleye Warehouse. After all, inkfish were not known for their physical strength, and the job paid only a few thousand G above minimum wage. It was hard labor that she only did since it paid the bills.

Perhaps now things could take a turn for the better. At least- that’s what Callie hoped for.

—————

The first day of hosting the news was a nerve-wracking one. Callie had performed for an audience before, it was a constant for what, 2 years now? Time was something that was hard for her to get a grasp on. But this was something that was a big deal- the two would go live to all of Inkadia.

The back of Callie's outfit is laced up, and she fidgets with one of her head-tentacles. She had been growing them out for a while, and perhaps one pro was that she had something to grab onto when she was nervous. She flashes a thumbs-up to Marie, who is finishing her makeup.

“You two will be on air in 10 minutes.” a lobster says as the two walk to the recording studio. Callie holds her head up in faux confidence, hoping that maybe, just maybe, her fear can be cloaked. She is so excited for this, but there’s so much that could go wrong.

The two go to their places, having memorized the script given to them over many days and rehearsals. The dynamic they two were marketed with was the bubbly airhead and the snide straightwoman.

Luckily, Callie could play her role well.

“Action!”

Callie is the first to speak.

“Hold onto your tentacles!”

Marie follows up after.

“It's time for Inkopolis News!”

—————

Callie and Marie had been hosting the news for the year when Shy-Ho-Shy approached them with a proposal.

“We were thinking, since your contract for the news is ending soon, that perhaps we may host a more special Splatfest.” she says. “An idol showdown, where Inklings fight to see who comes out on top- Callie, or Marie. It also dovetails well with your endeavors in solo performances.

”Are you sure?“ Marie asks. ”If I were you, I'd do a double take.”

Marie wasn't wrong, all things considered. Splatfests were a heated debate, often ending in drama and discourse. Many times Callie got death threats as well, usually when her team won. Something like this could easily tear the internet to shreds.

“It's more a publicity thing.” Shy insists. “I'm sure this would get plenty of coverage.“

”I'm aware. But, well. This is a disaster waiting to happen-“ Callie starts.

By then, it's too late. The papers have been signed, and the theme of the final Splatfest has been set in stone.

—————

The publicity stunt worked. Perhaps too well. The Squid Sisters were one of the most popular bands in Inkadia, yes. But the fallout of the Splatfest had been nuclear. Even weeks later, Callie got heavy amounts of drama in her Squidder feed. Sure, it was a small amount compared to the praise. But it refused to go away, no matter how many users and tags Callie blocked.

Perhaps that's why she found herself drawing in hedonistic pleasures and vices. Using it to suppress her feelings.

Perhaps that's why she found herself in Octo Valley. It had been a few months since her grandfather established his ”Squidbeak“, one she found both herself and Marie dragged into unwillingly. An attempt to settle old grudges, but covered her hands with blood instead,

Perhaps that's why she talked with Octavio. She felt alone, alienated. Drowning in drama she could never escape. Wanting something more in life.

Perhaps that's why she picked up a crowbar on the ground, and struck it down on Octavio's prison. Even if her mind told her not to.

Perhaps that's why she blacked out shortly after hearing the glass shatter and crash to the ground.

—————

The view from Callie's room is beautiful. It's located high above Dome 1, the richest of the various underground bunkers retrofitted into living space for the Octarian Empire. Every night, she can see light shining from the city, bathing the apartment in a pale glow.

She reaches a hand to her fin, where a pair of glasses sit. Octavio gave them to her when she woke up, in a recovery unit underground. Callie was also told to never take them off. Ever.

She didn't. Cuttlefish told her many stories of what Octavio was like a long time ago, and the Octarian leader was one that rarely abandoned his old ways. And at the same time, she didn’t want to take them off. They looked fresh, after all.

Callie got used to it eventually. The music softly playing through the shades, soothing her and making her be more willing to do what Octavio told her. The strict routine she was held to. The way she would sometimes wake up somewhere without knowing where she was, or how she got there.

She hears the door open, and then the footsteps of an Octoling woman around her age. Callie had seen her many times before, and the two even talked. Her name was Crystal, and she was the granddaughter of Octavio.

”Oh, hello, Crystal.“ Callie says. The way the words sound to her are foreign. Not of inkling origin. But she’s gotten used to her voice sounding off. It’s been like that since she woke up in recovery.

Crystal nods her head. ”Hello, Callie. My grandfather wanted me to tell you the latest news.“

”About the new Agent?“

Crystal nods. ”That's the case. She's been draining our power supply. She seems to be quite clever. She can evade our forces, and take out most she can’t outrun.“

”That's how every Agent is, Crys. I was just as cunning as her before I arrived here.“

”I'm aware, but well. She was able to shut down one of Octavio's superweapons. The Octo Oven. Even with all of his failsafes, it got destroyed.”

Callie presses her hand to the bridge of the shades. ”You're joking.“

”I'm not. I’m worried, in all honesty. The other weapons seem to be fine, including the General’s mech, but who knows how long it’ll be until they’ve been destroyed? Or our power supply runs out?”

Crystal sighs.

“I’m scared. I really am.”

“I know how you feel, Crys. To have everything taken from you.”

Crystal smiles, before looking at Callie, as if she remembered something.

“By the way, Octavio wants you to go down to the studio tonight for a recording session. I have no idea what for, but well. I’m sure whatever it is for is going to be special.”

Crystal then turns around, getting ready to leave the room before Callie holds out a hand.

”Wait.“

Crystal turns around. ”What is it?“

”I was just hoping for some company. It gets lonely up here.“

”I understand. I'd love to stay, but well. My grandfather is waiting. He’s an impatient man.”

Crystal closes the door, leaving Callie alone once again. It's like she can never escape the alienation.

She can hear the music again. It melts her feelings away, and soon, she is getting ready to go to the studio. Callie knows that the people here love her.

Perhaps soon, she will feel like she belongs even more.

—————

”My name is Abigail Torres. It's nice to finally meet you formally.“

It's been a day since Callie was freed from the underground. Her left eye hurts, from the piercing shot of Marie's Hero Charger. Her head hurts, from the aftershocks of being snapped out of mind control. In fact? Every part of her hurts. Even with painkillers.

She's still groggy when the new girl introduces herself. Callie slowly lifts her head, and smiles- but it’s hard to do so.

“It’s nice to meet you, Abigail. I. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did. I, I didn’t think he’d keep me under his control. That I was his pawn.” Callie chokes out, each word having force behind it.

Abigail puts a hand on Callie’s shoulder, and looks the squid in the eyes.

“Don’t worry about it- I forgive you. Callie, you were played for a fool. So was I. It sucks so much. I don’t know how I feel.”

“That’s what being an Agent is like.” Callie responds, long pauses between the words. “It’s tough. Emotional. You get used to it.”

An awkward thumbs up accompanies her statement.

“I see…”

But Callie is lying. She has never gotten used to it. Even after 2 years of service, Callie feels great regret in her Agent work. And she knows it’s the same for Marie.

But that’s too much for her brain to process; she falls asleep once again.

—————

Callie never liked going to hospitals. The smell of antiseptic, chemicals, and sickness always was revolting to her. But 3, or no, Violet, was here, and Callie had yet to visit the inkling. She had taken a shine to the Agent since the two first properly met. Callie still remembered xir coming out of the domes, crying and saying over and over that xe was a monster.

But that was years ago.

Callie knocks on a door, labeled with “Toyama, Violet”.

“Come in.”

Callie pushes the door open, in the middle sits Violet. Bandages cover her right eye and left arm. An IV drips painkillers into the Inkling's body. Under Violet’s eyes are dark circles, from little sleep.

“Violet, you're okay.”

“Okay. That's one way to put it, considering I've been here for a week, and still am going to be here for another all things considered. It’s been hard to sleep. Hard to move. Hard to not think about the Metro.”

“But you're alive, isn't that what matters.”

“Sure.”

Callie walks closer to Violet, lightly holding the Inkling's left hand. Violet weakly smiles.

“I heard about what happened from Abigail.” Violet weakly says. “I. I know what it feels like. To be controlled by an outside force, to be commanded to kill, despite every little part of you trying to hold it back. To hurt somebody you care for, and pay the price.”

Callie feels a burning on her side. Where her stylists in the underground tattooed an octopus onto her body. It never came off, no matter how hard she scrubbed and tried to wash it away. An ever-present sign of what had happened to her that refused to go away.

“I don't like to think about it.”

“I know.”

Violet rubs her finger on Callie's hand.

“I missed you. I wish I was there. I wish I could've stopped it before it was too late.”

“You couldn't. By the time it happened, you and Gramps were gone.”

“A woman can dream.”

Violet lightly presses her other hand on a button to her right, releasing painkillers.

“I'm glad to be back.” is the last thing Violet says before xe falls asleep, and Callie leaves the room.

—————

Cuttlefish rarely calls meetings for the Squidbeak. His mind and body have been withering away, causing him to forget things constantly. After all, most inkfish don’t live for over 130 years- even with medical advancements.

“Well, girls, it's been an honor.”

Callie, Marie, Violet, Abigail, and Samantha all sit together in the outpost cabin, squeezed in tight. Cuttlefish stands at the door, leaning on his cane, hand shaking.

“But I'm getting too old for this. I'm not as spry as I used to be.”

He laughs, but that laugh evolves into coughing.

“Because of that, 3, I think it's about time I pass the role of captain onto you. Out of the lot, you have gone through the most, and been a shining example of what the Squidbeak is all about.”

Violet looks at Cuttlefish, eyes glassy. Like an angelfish caught in headlights.

”Me? Why me?“ Xe says. ”I don't deserve it. All I did was be Tartar's pawn, go through the Octarian underground and leave a trail of blood behind, and just. Be a monster! I don't deserve it, I think Marie does more, she was the one who helped with the Callie situation.“

The Inkling chokes back a sob. Marie squeezes her hand.

”Well, Mx, you can't make crab cakes without breaking eggs...“

”That's easy for you to fucking say-“ Violet yells through a gritted beak. She leans forwards, wanting to tackle the old man, but Callie holds her back.

”He's already old and senile enough.“ the reef squid whispers. “A strong wind could knock him down.”

But with all their pleading, Violet's claims land on deaf ears. They are given the Captain's hat, and a box with their new uniform.

The first thing Callie sees as soon as xe receives it is xem pushing the box under a bench and swapping the hat out with xir military beret.

—————

It's a clear night when Callie and Violet meet for the first time in weeks. Both had been very busy, life beginning to take over. It was a given, as Callie was starting to record new music alongside her cousin, while Violet checked out the new inksports scene.

The two squids sit on the rooftop of Callie and Marie's apartment, located in Inkopolis' central district.

“It's a nice night, isn't it?” Callie asks.

“Yeah.” Violet responds. “But why did you ask to meet here, of all places?”

“Because I wanted to talk. In person.” Callie responds, fidgeting with a tentacle. “I thought this would be a nice place to do it.”

“There's more to it.” Violet responds, curious. They were the type who knew how to read Callie- albeit not as well as Marie.

“There is.” Callie responds, her face covered in a bright pink blush. “Violet. For the longest time, I've taken a shine to you. You've been one of my best friends through this whole Squidbeak thing, and well. One of the few people I really could relate to.”

Violet looks at her with confusion.

“I think it's because. I love you.”

Violet is startled. Her jaw drops open.

“You're lying, right?”

Callie shakes her head, and Violet begins speaking.

“Because. I've loved you too. I thought it was just a silly celebrity crush. But now we are in the same boat. That we've gone through so much. It's obvious it was more than that.”

Violet smiles.

“I love you, Callie. I really do. It isn’t a lie or something I’ve repressed for years.”

Callie pulls Violet in for a hug, and Violet gently wraps her head-tentacles around the idol’s. Kissing, of course, isn't exactly practical when you have a beak that can tear flesh and a tongue lined with hundreds of small teeth meant to tear up food.

And that night, under the stars. Callie feels accomplished. That there is nowhere for life to go but up.

—————

Callie can see a look of both fear and pity cross Violet’s face when an Octoling in his early 20s comes knocking on the door of the organization's outpost in the Splatsville Desert. He holds a notepad in his hands, and a bandage is wrapped around his left eye.

“Who are you? Usually we don't get visitors!“ Callie says, grinning.

”Probably a straggler. Thought Octavio's rule was all but demolished, however.“ Marie flatly responds.

The Octoling gives the two idols an annoyed glance, and he begins to write on his notepad. As he does, a Smallfry jumps out of his bag, and starts sniffing around the area.

He then holds it up, revealing that it has writing in messy, but readable, Oceanic.

”Cuttlefish sent me after some Octoling shot me in the head. Fishfry found him, he told me to find you guys after patching me up.“

Callie hears Violet cursing under her breath.

Callie cocks her head, curious. ”Cuttlefish sent you? I thought he was retired!“

”Old man didn't tell me he was. Crazy guy, called me a slur on accident. But that's not important. My name is Mike.“

Callie shakes her head. She knew about how Cuttlefish got heated around Octolings. It was something he could never fully shake off.

”If you cross paths with that idiot, tell him to go jump in a pond.“ Violet says through a gritted beak. ”Did he tell you anything about a Squidbeak? Or ask you if you wanted to be an Agent?“

”Yes. He called me Neo 3, I declined but he insisted that I join this operation, and come to see you guys.“

Violet unleashes a string of every swear word she knows. Half of them aren't even in Oceanic or Inkling.

”Gramps is a crazy old man these days. Don’t take anything he says at face value, hell, he isn’t allowed to recruit people.“ Callie tries to reassure, holding out a hand. Mike looks at her with a look of familiarity on his face.

”I think I know you. In the underground. I lived there, I was a courier for the military. You. You're Callie, right? And the other woman. Marie?“

Callie is confused, while Marie nods.

”Ah, yes. You gain a reputation when you've become a scourge upon the domes.“ Marie responds. ”But that's not important, is it?“

Violet takes a breath, and feeling more calm, xe speaks.

”Anyways. I guess you may or may not be one of us. Don't worry- these days, all we do is sometimes deal with small investigations. No fighting or anything. There’s nobody really to fight, in all honesty.”

Mike then tears a page off of his pad of paper.

”Huh. Though, I think that might change. Cuttlefish sent me here after I explained how I ended up in this mess. Was carrying a package to GrizzCo HQ, then an Octoling, Inkling, and Ray tied me up, and stole my things. The Octoling shot me in the head, to make sure I wouldn’t go after it.“

A look of concern crosses Violet's face, and Callie puts a hand on the Inkling's shoulder.

“Okay, but what makes the package important?”

“I don’t know. But I was getting paid a ton to deliver it, and it seems to be that it’s of high importance. 1,000,000 G is a very high sum.”

“Okay.” the inkling says. “Well, I’ll take your offer. Not like there’s much to do these days.”

The Octoling nods, and tears off the paper, writing on the new sheet and showing it to the group.

“Thank you.”

—————

”We're thinking about renewing your contract after the stunt you, Marie, and those other inkfish pulled at the Castaway's Dream. It's obvious the Squid Sisters are relevant again, and a full album would most likely sell well. Additionally, we're thinking about a proper reunion tour and-”

By now, Callie has tuned out. They have a new agent, as Shy-Ho-Shy had retired years back. Now it's a jellyfish, whose name she didn't ask for.

“So, what do you think?” the agent asks the two inklings. Callie puts on the fake smile she has become so used to wearing, while Marie is more apathetic than anything. Though Callie knows that there's more to it. Unlike her, Marie was more upfront with hiding her feelings.

Callie looks at Marie. Marie looks back at Callie. There's tension in the air, that there isn't much of an option but to take the contract.

”We'll sign off on it.“ Marie states. Her voice is strained, she was forced to say it, wasn't she?

Both women sign the contract. The next few days are a blur, talking about songs, a possible collab with Deep Cut, and a trial reunion concert to see if the various denizens of the area would be interested in the duo performing again.

Callie feels happy, she'll be able to do something. But inside, she feels hollow. That this will go over well.

Yet the reef squid will dislike each moment of it.

—————

Callie closes the scrapbook. Her life has been one of ups and downs. More of the latter, than the former. But she's been able to push through, hasn't she? Violet mentioned that she had a strong spirit.

That's something she knew was true, the fact that she had gone through so much and endured was proof.

She quietly sings to herself as she puts the book away. A moment of calm in an ever-churning storm of emotion. Callie knows there is a bright future ahead of her. All that’s left is to create it.