#and just the climate of the world at the time. it set up the spot for the (not so) perfect storm that was dsmp | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dysthanasia-series · 3 months

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Story (Re)Intro

Title: Apophenia

Genre(s): Urban fantasy, paranormal fantasy, vampires, near-future,

Summary:

Mermaids don't exist. Every agent of the Coven, the organization that researches and governs the supernatural community, knows that. Accepting a classified assignment to investigate sightings along the Broken Coast is just an easy paycheck as far as Isaac Soto is concerned (not to mention another way to avoid dealing with his trauma and relationship issues).

A chance meeting with a charming stranger in a roadside diner changes not only the course of Isaac's assignment but the trajectory of his life. A life now in danger of being cut short unless he figures out how to escape the bloodborn who takes him hostage, a necromancer out to kill both of them, and the corruption at the heart of the organization he thought he believed in.

Apophenia is the introduction to Dysthanasia, a series that follows a cast of human and supernatural characters as they navigate a post-climate apocalypse Earth, fight against (or with) various factions vying for control, and find peril, solidarity, love, redemption, and purpose along the way. Discover what the world became and meet those who will determine what it might yet be.

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Dysthanasia Taglist: @thecyrulik @k--havok @thatndginger @space-writes

Full first chapter under the cut

Words: 3,553

Content Advisory: Swearing, flirting, mentions of past bad breakups

Taking an assignment along the Broken Coast always got a reaction. Everyone from the archivist gathering relevant case materials to people not even in Isaac’s department eagerly volunteered a list of their deepest fears as soon as they heard where he was headed. Storms out that way were ten times as crazy—tornadoes, hurricanes, flash floods that could sweep away anything or anyone in their path. Then all the earthquakes left over from the break to boot? It was a miracle humans survived out there at all. The drive from Chicago alone was brutal, at least twenty-six hours, assuming the highways were in decent repair and smugglers hadn’t set up roadblocks to ambush travelers. No civic guards in the territories made it a wonderland for criminals plying their dark trades, from thieves to murderers. Any decent people that far outside a reliable grid scratched out an existence through hunting and gathering, their tech and habits straight from the paleolithic. The coast was as far from civilization as anybody could get without joining half of California under the Pacific.

So, Isaac had let out a sigh of relief when Director Khang told him this job was strictly classified. Not a word breathed to his colleagues or even archives—all the info he needed would be accessible from his tab. As great as the other agents in his department could be, salt of the earth really, Isaac preferred breathing space to work. Nevermind if that work was the Coven equivalent of a wild goose chase. He got paid per diem anyway.

He did have to admit his coworkers’ unsolicited past comments had one thing right. The drive to Nevada territory, while scenic at times, wore him out even when broken up over two days. He might’ve dragged the trip out to twice that long under normal circumstances. Stopped to buy roasted corn or a pie at the farms strung all across the Midlands, whether indoor or outdoor. Maybe taken a morning hike when he’d hit the Rockies and allowed himself to think of his dad, tía, and cousins where no one could see him break down. Director Khang, however, had made it clear that getting to the coast had urgent priority. Still, when he spotted a roadside rest stop with a little place to eat a couple of hours east of Sin Strip Beach, Isaac decided he’d earned a leg stretch and some breakfast.

Parking under the last row of solar panels, he patted his car on its hood, leaving handprints in the layer of dust there, then plugged it into the charging station. Eight other vehicles shared the lot even at three a.m. Mostly pickup trucks that had the rusty scars and mismatched parts of salvages, but there were a couple of humble sedans just like his mixed in. A breeze tousled his already messy curls but didn’t have the teeth to bite through his jacket. Under the smell of sun-baked earth and creosote, Isaac caught a whiff of sea brine. He squinted toward the western horizon. The glitter of stars remained unbroken until they met the gentle swelling silhouette of hills in the distance. No incoming clouds to warn that storm season was on its way, not yet. Roads and weather permitting, he’d reach the shark settlement in Eureka by mid-morning.

The rest stop had all its windows intact, metal storm shudders rolled up. Though a big terra cotta pot beside the entrance brimmed with gravel and cigarette butts, the walkway itself was swept clean. A little bell over the door tinkled to announce Isaac’s entrance. About a dozen pairs of eyes spared him a glance, but his old jeans and faded green flannel jacket sparked zero interest. Just another traveler passing through. He made a beeline for the narrow order window. No kiosk interface waited there, only a board on the wall listing menu items and a magpad to jot down the ones he wanted. The chilaquiles plate was crossed out, which was a shame. Isaac settled on a waffle, huevos con nopales, and coffee. He pushed the magpad and a credit charge chit through the order slot, nodded at the kitchen staff behind the glass, then snagged the only remaining table, conveniently beside a window.

Isaac pulled his tab from his jacket pocket and checked the outer screen. Two message notifications greeted him. The same two he’d been putting off replying to for a month. Jonah, ever patient, hadn’t added anything since sending his initial one, of course. The number of unread replies on Elfy’s, however, had ticked up, making for a grand total of fourteen. A long string of attempts to reach out, starting at hey, how’ve you been, morphing into I’m worried about you, and winding up around don’t make me hunt you down, prick.

He'd answer soon. The moment he finished his assignment he’d get back to her, to both of them. A week, at max. Elfy would let him have it for keeping her in the dark for so long, but then they’d make plans to grab drinks and catch up once he returned home. Jonah would joke about Isaac training to become a hermit before telling him all about his weird adventures in the northwest territories, tracking down tales of dire wolves and Bigfoot. Maybe Isaac would even get an assignment out that way so they could see each other outside of the Coven’s winter solstice party for once. Nevermind how awkward the visit might be at first because of Isaac’s drunken decision making at the last one.

Promises made, Isaac flipped his tab open to use the full inner screen. He tapped the file application and scrolled through until he found the assignment info Director Khang had sent him. He’d skimmed the basic objectives between rushing to pack for the sudden trip, so he took his time looking them over again. Sightings off Broken Coast. Integrated wereshark community in Nevada territory headed by Hart, Lawrence M. Verify eyewitness testimony. Coordinate search efforts and data collection. Isaac continued down to the attached transcription of statements. He kept them on one side of the screen while making notes on the other.

Multiple unidentified creatures had been encountered along the shoreline as well as in open ocean, both near the surface and as deep as a thousand meters. Anthropoid from the midsection up—arms, hands, shoulders, rounded head. Below the belt, however…caudal fins or flukes. Tentacles. Even a spiny carapace equipped with four or maybe six segmented legs in one case. If the reports had come only from humans in the community, Isaac wouldn’t have bothered to accept the assignment, per diem or no. It wasn’t like drunk people seeing mermaids while they were out fishing was a first. The fact that the bulk of the details came from three weresharks, though…well.

We couldn’t smell any plastic or rubber o algo así, claimed Tecla Santana Machado, speaking for both herself and the spirit of the great white shark bound to her soul. Didn’t smell like any prey we knew either. Se nos cayeron los chones cuando lo vimos. Scared the hell out of us tambièn.

One second it was there, and the next it kind of, like, I dunno, flickered? And then it would show up somewhere else. From Anaru Shortland, a thresher. We could sense the little pins and needles coming off it when we saw it. The, you know, like, electricity. When it disappeared or, or teleported or whatever it was doing, it felt more like a current. Just water pressure swirling around.

Isaac had formed a couple of hypotheses by the time the order bell announced his food was waiting on the pickup counter. First, that someone had figured out how to bind new types of animal spirits. While the Coven only had records of success with big cats, wolves, seven species of sharks, alligators, crocodiles, and bears (though not since the sixteenth century) that didn’t mean people weren’t experimenting. Isaac scowled while drizzling salsa over his eggs. He refused to congratulate anyone for butchering wildlife just because they didn’t like the species of spirit being handed down from their elders, or they wanted to stand out. Turning the culprit(s) in wouldn’t necessarily fix the problem either. The Coven might prosecute them, but once word got out that another kind of transformation had been discovered it would inspire other careless people to replicate the results. Not such a simple assignment, after all. Then again, the werecreatures Isaac had become familiar with preferred to enforce their own codes of conduct. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d studiously buried his head in busywork while the community beat a greater sense of responsibility into a troublemaker. He added inquire about local customs to his list of notes.

The second, more optimistic explanation for the whole situation involved forms of sorcery or witchcraft above his paygrade. Illusion or summoning or other stuff that involved drawing intricate chalk diagrams under a certain phase of the moon. In which case, he’d gladly report what was happening and let the higher-ups bicker amongst themselves about whether the werecreature or magic department held higher jurisdiction.

Headlights pierced the night outside and slashed across Isaac’s vision. He shielded his face with one hand, peering through his fingers. A sleek black sedan with official-looking plates whipped around a corner of the parking lot, looking for a space. His heartbeat gave an arrhythmic jump and kicked into a faster pace. Corporate farm or railway reps never made a night more relaxing. Highway bandits and smugglers at least had the decency to let people go about their business after a modest bribe. Isaac slouched farther into his seat and noted all exits.

A lone, slim figure wove its way through the parked cars from the back of the lot. Isaac allowed himself to breathe a tad easier. Company shitheads were always at their most dangerous in packs. The light filtering out from the diner illuminated the newcomer as they approached. No suit, although there was a white button-down shirt beneath their close-fitting athletic jacket. Isaac’s hand clenched around his knee when he caught a nocturnal-green flash reflected from their eyes. Or…no. No, they were just a light color. Perfectly natural, if remarkable. He relaxed and stopped pressing against the window to stare. Straightening up, he tried his best to fake nonchalance.

Every gaze in the diner locked onto the owner of the fancy black car as soon as they were through the door. Rather than shrivel up and wither into dust, they offered a smile, complete with dimples, that could’ve been brought home to even the most skeptical parents. They gave a shallow yet sweeping bow to the room in general before strolling straight up to the order window. The click of dress shoes against the tile floor sounded loud enough to carry for miles into the surrounding hills.

The newcomer paid no further mind to their audience as they put in a quick order and received a steaming coffee mug in return. Turning from the little window, they scanned the room for a spot to sit. A collective shift of unease rolled through the crowd. Isaac’s blood pressure doubled when the stranger’s eyes—a startling shade of blue-green like a tropical sea—settled on him. He considered bolting as they made a beeline for his table. Which was both silly and stupid, given it would only draw more attention. So, instead, Isaac grit his teeth and resigned himself to a bit of unplanned social interaction.

“Olá, tudo bem?” The stranger motioned to the chair across from him. “Posso me sentar aqui?”

Portuguese, judging from the way some of the words formed through their nasal passages and others got half-swallowed in their throat, but Isaac understood enough. “No hay bronca,” he mumbled.

That did the trick. The stranger sat and gazed out the window, hands wrapped around the mug but not sipping from it. One by one, wary stares glazed over with indifference and disengaged. Isaac’s returned to his plate. Mostly. Between bites he snuck peeks at his uninvited guest. Smooth brown skin a couple shades lighter and warmer than Isaac’s own. No ink, no mods, no scars or lines on face, neck, or hands. Early to mid twenties, though one could never be sure. People tended to place Isaac a few years over his actual age of twenty-nine—his grumpy attitude and habit of dressing like somebody’s abue threw them off, according to Elfy. Like Isaac’s hair, the stranger’s was black. Unlike his, it was combed and stylish, shorn close at the sides but left longer and tamely wavy on top. Even their brows didn’t have a strand out of place, thick and arched and providing a perfect frame for the unusual eyes that darted over and caught him.

Isaac choked a little on the piece of waffle in his mouth. He coughed and swallowed, a hasty apology loaded on his tongue. Too late. A dimple appeared along with the stranger’s smile.

“Você é local?”

He had enough social grace not to sigh. At least the rest of the place had resumed their own conversations so one more wouldn’t stand out. “No.”

“De onde você é? Você percorreu um longo caminho?”

“Eh…”

“Oh, desculpe! Você fala espanhol, não? How about English?”

“Sure.”

“I was asking you where you’re from. Sorry—the coast is the only place I get to speak Portuguese anymore, so I use it whenever I can.”

Coming from anyone less well-dressed, Isaac would’ve flagged the question as a prelude to robbery. Not that he had much worth stealing besides his tab and the pistol he’d left in his bag in the trunk. Well, they could swipe the six silver-tipped bullets the Coven had issued him in the side zipper pocket too. He’d tossed the rifle the rounds had come with into Lake Michigan years ago, though, so unless they had their own he didn’t see much of a point. Interesting conversation pieces maybe.

“I’m from Chicago,” said Isaac.

“And I thought I had a long trip!” A second dimple appeared to match the first. Combined with lips and a set of cheekbones won in the genetic lottery, it really wasn’t fair. “Ah, looks like I have to apologize again, this time for my manners. I’m Renato, he and him. A pleasure to meet you.”

Stomach fluttering like a restless bird, Isaac shook himself and then Renato’s hand. Elfy would skin him alive if she found out an attractive stranger had crossed his path and he didn’t even attempt friendliness. “Isaac, also he, him, his. So, um. I take it you’re not from the coast either?”

“Oh, no, though I travel up and down it for work sometimes. I just finished a job down in the Floodlands and am on my way up to another in Denver. No rest for the wicked, as they say.”

“What do you do?” Something illegal probably, but the ritual of small talk demanded he ask.

Up close, Renato’s eyes didn’t catch the light so much as glow faintly from within. “Security for a research organization. I’ll be escorting someone to a new project for a few weeks. Something about taking stock of the marine life in the area.”

“Like seeing how the fish population is doing, or looking for new species?” The files hadn’t mentioned witnesses not affiliated with the Coven, but that didn’t mean some uninitiated humans hadn’t caught sight of the mystery creatures too. Isaac suppressed a grimace. Being roped into helping with a coverup was always a serious pain in the ass. He didn’t look forward to planting half-rotted seal carcasses on the beach or whatever the higher ups deemed necessary to maintain secrecy.

Renato’s shoulders rolled in an elegant shrug. “Oh, I don’t know the details. I’m only the muscle after all.”

Compact muscle. Isaac was willing to bet they’d come to the same five and a half-ish feet if they both stood—he might even beat Renato by an inch if he stopped slouching so much. He looked down at the tan hands wrapped around the plain white coffee mug. Long fingers with short and manicured nails, prominent sinew under the skin, no nicks or bruises on the knuckles. Maybe he wore gloves when he punched people. Maybe he just carried a gun under that sporty jacket of his. Or, like Isaac, maybe he relied on negotiation instead of the skills he’d acquired on a shooting range (six months as required by Coven regulations for all researchers, plus blasting empty bottles or cans in a field for the fun of it sometimes). A face like Renato’s had to be a free pass to charm his way past a lot of obstacles.

“What brings you out to the western wilds, Isaac?”

“Well…something similar actually. I study big predators. Wolves and cougars mostly. Alligators once in a blue moon. I keep track of their movements and population sizes, births, deaths, habits, that sort of thing.” It was true in a general sense, even if the predators in question spent most of their days on two legs and paying the bills just like him.

“Que coincidência. Do you enjoy your job?”

“Mostly, yeah.” Nevermind that if not for the Coven—and Elfy, for that matter—he didn’t know how he would’ve made it through the past ten years. “I get to travel a lot, see tons of interesting places, expand my horizons and all that.” Rather than huddle on his sofa until he degenerated into a mat of depressed lichen.

“Doesn’t your sweetheart…or hearts…get lonely with you away that much?”

Tension knotted between Isaac’s shoulderblades, but he managed to keep his face neutral. “I don’t have any to worry about. Turns out having a partner who isn’t home for weeks or maybe months at a time is a big turnoff for most people.” It’d definitely been a dealbreaker for Jeremy, who’d come to believe the long absences and great pay meant Isaac was secretly a smuggler kingpin. A couple of years after their breakup, the absurdity almost outweighed the pain.

“True. Except my ex-girlfriend and I actually work for the same employer and used to do many of our jobs together. So…I don’t know what my excuse is exactly there. Things are going much better in my current relationship, though, so perhaps there’s hope for me yet.” With a gleam in his eye, Renato dipped a hand into his jacket and pulled out a tab. “Do you want to see a picture of my darling Tes?”

Isaac shrugged as much to loosen his muscles as to respond. After a bit of scrolling, Renato proudly turned the screen toward him. Isaac stared, glanced up at the man smirking at him, then returned to the picture again to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

“She’s beautiful,” he said with a snort. “Did you buy her a castle or a cave?”

“Please. Meu amor deserves only the best—I got them a castle and a treasure chest that blows bubbles to decorate their tank. And I have no idea if Tes is a girl, now that you mention it. I’ve never bothered to look up if you can tell that sort of thing with goldfish.”

“Either way, I’m sure your ex is seething with jealousy.”

“She should be. I won Tes as a prize at a carnival game for her the night we had our final breakup fight.”

“I think I get why your best relationship doesn’t involve another human.” Yet Isaac said it through lips twitching with the urge to smile.

Renato clutched his free hand over his heart. “Such cruelty and harsh judgement. You and my ex would get along great, I think.”

“Do you have her contact info? And is she still single?”

“Sadism. Pure and simple. I can’t—” A notification ping interrupted. Whatever Renato saw on his screen put a dent between his brows.

“Do you have to go?” The sinking sensation in Isaac’s middle caught him off guard.

“No, no. It can wait for a while.” His tab protested with another ping. “I’ve been driving nonstop since sundown, so I’m ahead of schedule. Besides, an interesting distraction came up.” Eyes never straying from Isaac, Renato held down the tab’s power button until it went dark, and slipped it back into his pocket.

A sudden storm of butterflies buoyed Isaac’s stomach and spirits. They also stirred up the old excuses he used whenever a new acquaintance showed interest in him. One by one, though, he swatted them down. Two years since Jeremy, almost five months since he’d behaved like an idiot with Jonah. He could let that stretch into three years…ten…twenty-five…an entire lifetime measured in loneliness.

Or.

He could take the first step toward rebuilding his crumbling personal life. If he made a leap of faith here and he landed in a huge pile of disappointment, well, so what? It wouldn’t be the first time, and he’d be driving up the interstate come morning regardless. If it went smoothly, he’d have an exciting story to share with Elfy as an extra peace offering over those drinks.

Allowing his smile to break containment, Isaac rested his chin in his hand and looked out the window. “Is your car as nice on the inside as it is on the outside?”

#urban fantasy #vampires #writeblr #wip intro

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ectogeo-art · 3 months

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Hi, @lady-sci-fi I wrote you a fic for your request of Garashir + stranded in a desert + hurt/comfort, for the @startrekwintergiftexchange! Hope you like it! ^_^

Here's the start of the fic! (The whole thing can be found at the ao3 link OR you can expand this post to read the rest of it.)

Red lights flashed and consoles blared angry warnings. The whole runabout shook violently. The planet was getting closer, much too quickly.

“What happened?” Garak asked frantically, coming up behind Julian’s seat and holding tightly to the back of it as the turbulence tried its best to throw him to the floor.

“Solar flare. We’ve lost propulsion, we’re—Shit!—we’re going to crash, I’m sorry, I—” Garak set a hand on Julian’s shoulder for just a moment. Julian took a breath and exhaled. He needed to focus. “I’ll beam us down, I just need to set the coordinates.”

“I’ll grab what supplies I can.”

Julian didn’t have time or presence of mind to acknowledge this, too engrossed in trying desperately to feed in all the parameters the computer would need to transport them somewhere safe. Somewhere on the surface not in midair or underground, somewhere on dry land, somewhere without any other obstacles or topographical features nearby since it wouldn’t do to beam into a rock or a tree or the ledge on the side of a cliff…

The computer finished its calculations and the transporter pad lit up. Julian ran to the back of the runabout, grabbing Garak’s hand on the way and pulling him along with him.

Julian squeezed his hand and they stepped into the transporter beam simultaneously. He wasn’t sure where they would end up. But at least wherever they went, they would go together.

The Defiant would rescue them soon, Garak knew.

Garak’s most recent decoding efforts had narrowed down the location of the new base to three possible planets, and when he’d learned that Julian was up next for a shift of runabout piloting, he’d offered to accompany him on the recon mission himself.

Their first stop, Eolia III, had turned out to have an atmosphere that was a bit thin and a climate that was a bit extreme, but the scans showed that it was Jem’Hadar-free. Perfectly harmless, they’d determined.

But the star of the system seemed to object to that categorization, releasing a massive solar flare just as they were attempting to leave orbit, and knocking out propulsion and guidance systems.

And now they were trapped on this world until someone on the Defiant or Starbase 375 noticed that they were late for their rendez-vous. It shouldn’t be long. Starfleet required regular comms and check-ins for missions like these, and they knew exactly which planet they were on. It would be a day or two at most. Sooner, if the distress beacon they’d activated was working.

Knowing all of this did nothing to ameliorate Garak’s sense that this would be the end for both of them.

They were in the middle of a sandy desert, no water or shade cover in sight. They’d painstakingly climbed to the crest of the tallest dune they could see, the loose sand underfoot making them slip back one step for every two steps forward, only to find that the undulating waves of periwinkle sand stretched to the horizon on all sides. With a view like that, it was hard to dismiss the glum—and irrational, he hoped—thought that their bodies would soon get swallowed up by this sea of sand, never to be found.

Garak was sure that he would have very quickly given up and succumbed to the elements without the calming effect of Julian’s incongruously optimistic disposition in light of their problems.

“Oh, Garak, we’re in a right mess, aren��t we,” Julian said with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “When I told the transporter to set us down in a nice, safe, soft, flat spot, I must have searched for a safe landing ellipse of kilometers not meters. Well, there’s no point in wandering far away from the distress beacon. Nothing for it but to wait. Come on, there’s a little shade on this side.”

Then he turned so he was facing parallel to the crest of the dune and planted his feet at different heights on the steeper leeward slope, and let himself slide down the slope, using the arm closer to the dune to slow his descent and keep his balance.

When he looked up at Garak, triumphant, dusted in sand, his smile somehow outshone the sun that was beating down on them.

Garak followed him down, more slowly and cautiously. He was sure it was taking much more energy to control his descent compared to Julian’s method, but it would be worth it to keep himself a little less dusty. Besides, he was sure that he would immediately fall on his ass if he tried it, and he didn’t fancy making a fool of himself in front of Julian.

As it was, he still almost fell a few times, despite his less reckless approach. Julian watched him closely, starting to move toward him each time he wobbled, then stopping when Garak kept his balance. He offered his hand to help Garak on the final stretch to the base of the dune.

It was a relief when he reached the bottom. After the exertion of setting up the distress beacon and climbing up and then the sisyphean slopes of the dune, the sun’s heat seemed to throb in Garak’s head.

“Thank you, my dear,” Garak said, nearly out of breath, letting go of Julian’s hand.

He’d meant to add “Doctor,” but it was too late now.

“Any time.”

They set down their packs—two bug-out bags of emergency survival gear and Julian’s medkit—and sat in the slight shade that the steeper slope of the dune provided. Julian slathered himself with sunscreen and insisted that Garak do the same, despite any protests over the sliminess of it.

The light blueish-purple color of the sand, while beautiful in theory, was irritating in practice. The way it reflected light provided no relief from the intensity of the sun. Garak kept his eyes closed as much as possible, but the brightness of this planet seemed to pierce his eyelids, and he complained about it incessantly for a while until his mouth started to feel dry. He gave up on keeping his clothes pristine and leaned back against the sandy slope with one arm thrown over his face to create more shade.

Julian never stopped talking, except to take precious sips of water from their limited supplies. He told Garak everything he knew about the morphology of sand dunes, the rare diseases that can be transported by dust storms, the various places on Earth and Mars that they could visit to see impressive rock formations made from ancient sand dunes (and tentative plans to visit them together, once there was time), the strange plants and animals that inhabit various deserts on Earth… anything that came to that delightful mind of his.

Garak, for the most part, was content to take in the pleasant sound of his voice, only occasionally throwing in his own commentary and comparisons to Cardassian deserts. It was striking how animated Julian seemed now, and Garak found himself grinning, susceptible to the infectiousness of Julian’s good mood.

And what a difference from this entire past month! They’d all been shuffling mindlessly between the Defiant and Starbase 375, from battle to battle, but Julian in particular had seemed more affected than most. His once eager eyes were now haunted, his once rosy outlook darkened. So it made Garak glad to see that Julian’s spark of joy hadn’t been lost completely to the horrors of war. It had just been a little bit buried. Garak wondered what about being stuck on this desolate planet could have possibly unearthed it again.

Thirst began to gnaw at Garak’s throat more insistently as the day wore on. Unlike Julian, and in defiance of the rational part of his mind, he still didn’t completely trust that they would be rescued quickly, so didn’t want to use up all of their supplies right away. It was uncomfortable but he could handle it. He liked heat—well, it was better than cold, anyway. And this sun was no harsher than Cardassia’s. His scales should be well suited to the climate.

But soon, the sun was nearly overhead and all of their shade was gone, and he wasn’t so sure anymore. His clothes were dark and drank up the heat of the sun, and, despite his usual complaints about the unacceptable chill of Federation stations and starships, he was now much, much hotter than he would have liked. Julian was sweating too; he could see the glisten of it on his skin—

“Garak, could you give me a hand setting this up?”

He blinked. Julian seemed to be wrestling with the tent poles and tarps from their packs. Garak dutifully stood up, then immediately staggered. His head was spinning.

Julian ran over, and put an arm around him to steady him. “Hey, careful now.” He helped him gently back down to the ground and knelt beside him. “What are you feeling?”

“Dizzy.” He licked his dry lips. “Hot.”

Julian looked him over. He placed his fingers on the pulse point on his wrist and then after a little while brushed the back of his hand across Garak’s forehead. “I think it’s heat exhaustion. That’s not good, but at least there’s no obvious fever, so it’s probably not heat stroke. Not yet anyway. But I’ll need to monitor you with the tricorder to make sure it doesn’t get any worse, is that okay?”

Garak hesitated, then nodded.

“All right,” Julian said, seeming a little relieved that Garak was going to let him scan his vitals without the usual fight about it. “You’ll need to drink more water. Slowly, though. I’ll see if I can find a packet of electrolytes to add to it, too, that might help a bit. And then I’ll finish the tent and we can get you out of the sun.”

Garak nodded weakly, as Julian pressed the water bottle into his hand. He took little sips, as instructed, while Julian bustled about setting up camp and fussing over Garak at intervals. Garak felt foolish for thinking he could handle the elements. He’d either grown unforgivably weak in his years on the station or he’d simply forgotten what it was like in an environment like this and had overestimated his ability.

After what felt like a long time of doing nothing but diligently following doctor’s orders, the worst of it did begin to ebb. He even managed to force down a ration bar, at Julian’s behest, while Julian was putting the finishing touches on the tent.

When it was all set up, Julian ushered him into the tent, then followed him in. Garak was a little surprised by that. He’d expected Julian to start setting up the second tent next.

It barely felt any cooler inside. They left the flaps open in hopes of a breeze to make it less of an oven. Still, the reprieve from the direct sunlight was undeniably welcome.

Julian took another scan of Garak with the medical tricorder and studied the results.

“You’re doing great, Garak! You seem well on your way to recovery, and as the sun goes down it should start cooling off to a more comfortable temperature soon…” His brow furrowed. “Hmm, the temperature may then get uncomfortable in the other direction at night. But I suppose we’ll deal with that later. I think for now you should try to get a bit of rest.”

As he spoke, Julian was already pulling a sleeping bag out of one of the packs and spreading it out for him.

“You’ll get no argument from me.” Garak, still feeling utterly drained, curled up on top of the sleeping bag once it was ready. Garak laid on his side looking up at Julian, whose long legs splayed out across the floor of the tent.

“Mmm, and that’s one way I can tell you’re out of sorts. Lack of argumentativeness is a symptom not to be taken lightly for you, Garak,” he teased. “But some rest should get you back into fine arguing form.”

“Good. I’d hate to deprive you of such a thing for long.”

Julian grinned. “I don’t know how I’d survive,” he said sarcastically and yet so fondly that Garak’s heart began pounding in his throat.

Garak’s lingering delirium and the beauty of Julian’s smile conspired to make him blurt out, “It’s good to see you smile again.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been worried about you lately, but this trip… I have no idea what could have possibly lifted your spirits in this horrid wasteland, but whatever it is, I’m glad.”

Julian grew a little bit somber then.

“I suppose a big part of it is that it’s nice to have an excuse not to think about the war, for just a little while. When we’re in the midst of things, I feel like I’m carrying the weight of the entire war on my back. Always trying to figure out how we could win against impossible odds, or at least make it out alive. Always thinking about the people I couldn’t save—or worse, the ones who I maybe could have saved if I’d just done something differently. But right now…” He shrugged. “There’s absolutely nothing we can do except try to survive ourselves. And that’s freeing, I suppose, in a way.”

“I see. Nothing like a smaller crisis to distract from the much broader, vaguer one.”

“Exactly,” he said emphatically, like he was relieved that Garak had understood him.

Then a slight smile crept back onto his face. “And besides, I’m here with you.”

“Ah yes. ‘Misery loves company.’” Garak recited the human expression, recalling their recent time in the Dominion prison together. “I’m glad that you didn’t get stranded here alone.”

“Well, yes, but…” Julian bit his lip. “It would be a bit more accurate to say that misery loves this company in particular.”

Garak’s eyes widened.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, I know you made sure that we got assigned to this mission together. I know you missed me, too.”

“Of course I did. Hardly anyone on Starbase 375 has read The Never-Ending Sacrifice.”

“Am I really the only one willing to indulge you?”

“That’s right. You spoil me.”

Julian laughed and then sighed. “I wish that it hadn’t taken a shuttle crash for us to get to spend time together. But these days I’ll have to take what I can get.”

After a moment of consideration, Garak felt he ought to get back on even ground with him. He pushed himself back up to a seated position. Once certain he wasn’t having another spell of dizziness from the change in position, he reached out for Julian’s hand.

Their fingers slipped together so familiarly.

“What else might you take,” Garak asked, “if you could get it?” He rubbed his thumb delicately over the back of Julian’s hand.

“Anything.”

Julian lifted their joined hands and pressed his lips to Garak’s knuckles, lingering long enough that Garak’s breath caught in his throat.

“Everything,” Julian breathed, looking at him from under long lashes.

The heat burning in Garak now had nothing to do with the weather. Their lips met and then their bodies met, and soon enough hands were slipping across sweaty skin to explore the last of each other’s secrets.

They were sound asleep, tangled in each other’s arms, when the Defiant arrived to rescue them the next morning.

#garashir #elim garak #julian bashir #ds9 #star trek ds9 #garak #my fic

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madmanrambler · 1 year

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“So walk me through everything I missed. It seems like it was a lot.”

“What, Everything? It’s 85 bloody years, there’s a lot to cover. And me without a degree in history.”

“Alright then, summarize. I can research whatever you mention that seems particularly interesting.”

I shifted to better watch Corv as he spoke, listening through ears that still felt chilly from 85 years frozen. Corv, one of my rescuers, shifted in his own spot, his diminutive form finding a comfortable seat. He glanced at me before starting in to the history.

“Let’s see, you went under in the 2020s you said, right? So you at least have an idea that climate change was getting bad. That was most of the 30′s and 40′s, handling that in various ways. Mostly bad ways. Lotta border skirmishes, plenty of fighting and arguing about bits of this and that. Big cold war between Canada and China about shipping lanes that opened up in the Artic, which was a miserable bloody time.” this at least all made sense, and I was nodding along.

“in the 50s things came to a bit of a head. Most of the ice that was going to melt melted, and the weather patterns were stabilizing. the countries and people left were figuring out how to handle the Sahara being able to grow plants and the American Midwest becoming a desert. We got some peace makers out of South America, and you’ll probably find some interestin’ stuff about indonesia and how its government in exile set an example for island nations and how to handle the shift in tides. Always found some of that stuff fascinating, you can look up Melati Hon and her speeches on the new world, great stuff.” Corv seemed excited about that part, really animated and I could see his eyes gleaming. Really might be something worth reading, and seeing what I thought afterwards. He reluctantly plowed on. “the 60s people kinda lost their mind, great art from the period but a lot of folks were recovering from being kids during the greatest ecological disaster. The 70s there’s big move of standardizing everything, making sure that plugs fit all over the world and all the measuring equipment can measure the same. Parts of America still insist on using standard but that’s more a local custom then a nation-wide standard at this point. the 80′s had a lot of discussion about the moon base, I think there was a big scare around a country grabbing it for themselves and a space war or something erupting over that, it was agreed to be a joint venture with every nation able to send people up, averted a lot of problems. The 90s are close enough I can remember ‘em, and there’s a ton you could focus on but overall it’s all about how to handle us living with these new batteries we’ve got, the Phazolyte batteries.” This wasn’t exactly what I wanted to focus on, but Corv seemed to think it was important so I nodded and tossed in what I knew. “They’re batteries that mix with water to charge right?”

He coughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I guess that’d be the second grader explanation. They mix phazolyte with water, and phazolyte causes water to be willing to compress as much as you push it, something it doesn’t want to do at all normally. S’why jumping off a bridge into water is like hitting concrete, all the force rebounds back into your body. With Phazolyte we get to store as much energy as we can compress into the water, then you just remove the Phazolyte and the water uncompresses, pushes against something, makes the electricity. And the Phazolyte, once removed, is good to use again, doesn’t lose anything in the process. It’s dead useful, and the last 15 years has been plugging that into everything and getting the supply chain worked out.” Corv coughed again, and glanced around. “That should cover the basics. Sorry we don’t have flying cars or nothing like that, I know you folks were keen on that.”

I stared at Corv for a long while. “Corv, that’s great. I’m glad you covered all the uh. The battery stuff. But.” I hesitated, glancing from him to the window to the chair he was sitting in. “You uh. Skipped the part about you.” Corv shifted in his seat again, glancing away from me. “Well it really isn’t all that important, it’s just part of the world really. I’m a British citizen, we still say god save the queen, we keep playing football-” “That seems like it’d be a bit hard for you to play.” I interrupt, glancing at how small Corv was. “I mean, Corv, you didn’t mention a damn thing about when birds started talking.” Corv looked what I thought was askance. “Well you did ask me to summarize.” He reminded me as his beak preened his feathers. “If I summarize I gotta skip the things that are less important. That’s how summarizing history goes.”

#CorvandI #writing #utopia fic?#mad man ramblin

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elejah-wonderland · 4 months

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_elejah_au

Love is in the Air

_a tvd fanfic_part 4

a/n: a little light-hearted love story, set in Rome, Italy.

I know Valentine's is a month away...but I'm in the mood to write a totally human AU Elejah story.

The next morning, Elena got up pretty early and after a very quick shower, dressed in a shot, choosing just a pair of skinny jeans, white shirt, wrapping a small red spotted scarf around her neck.

She then looked at herself in the mirror, ruffling her hair in her hands trying to decide what to do with it. It was short. She just applied a bit of the magic hair spray her hair styles gave her. And drying it up quickly, she looked at herself in the mirror smiling happily. Applying a red lipstick, and a mascara, she checked herself once again.

The whole looked screamed - so 1950s, so Audrey Hepburn, so rockabilly, and she smiled - why not.

Slipping her flats on, and grabbing her bag and keys, she floated out of the apartment.

A bit later she glid at full speed on the rented bicicletta through the streets of the old part, across the piazza with a basket full of fresh vegetables, flowers and bread from the market, she skidded to a stop beside a fountain, and securing her bike, sat down in a cafe near by to have her morning cappuccino and a brioche.

Ordering her breakfast, looking at the people passing by, taking photos near the fountain. Her heart buzzed dreamily at the thought of Elijah.

"Dance?" Elijah's voice, soft, sweet, and yet so manly, still rang in her ears bringing back all she had often replayed in her head when she went from one heartbreak to another. That one dance was a food for her #imagine how it would have been if only I had not gone away that day.

And then, there he was, sitting next to her in Rome, and asked her to dance again.

At the same time, Elijah stopped typing, and took a sip of the espresso he had made earlier. He looked out through the window and grinned, his soul springing up with the memory of the night before.

Flashback

"Dance?" Elijah said putting his hand out to Elena.

Elena nodded, and took her hand and there, immediately, goose-bumps raced all over her skin. Making a small mental breath, they came closer.

As she leaned a bit to him, her scent engulfed him, taking control of all his senses. He pulled her slightly to him. He could feel shiver up.Together as one they moved slowly to the music, transporting them both to their dance so many years ago back in Mystic Falls.

Lost in their little world, they continued to sway , to another song, not bothering that all eyes were more or less on them. A couple sitting not far, looked at the pair. "Sono così innamorati. Che meraviglia!"

And if it wasn't for the waiter clumsily breaking a glass, they would have most probably stayed this way, moving to eternity, or at least till they were asked to leave, because they had to close.

"Thank you - for this dance" Elijah said politely with a small smile crossing his face.

"You are so welcome - oh, there is your pizza!" Elena exclaimed as she saw the waitress now taking the plate with the scrumptious dish to their table.

"Oh, it smells so good even from there" Elijah said as the walked to the table.

Talking some more about his book, and the idea behind his sequel, they shared the pizza between them, having Elena succumb to its delicious waft.

"Ah, it's raining again." Elijah commented as he looked outside.

"I've got an umbrella," Elena said ,"the spring in Italy is a layer of sunshine and a layer of rain. Always be prepared to have an umbrella, even though it seems like you don't need it. It's a common misconception that the climate in Rome Italy is Mediterranean."

"Wow, you are talking like you live here"

"Well- I read that. I get prepared." Elena said. "Also I have spent last four months in Florence and Venice. You don't want to experience the flood in Venice. Not easy and so not attractive. But, when it is not raining, it's the most fairy-tale like place on Earth."

"You love Italy, don't you?" Elijah said taking a sip of wine.

"I do. Shooting in Florence was great too. You also chose to set Angel Heart in Padua. Seems like Italy is special to you, too." Elena said.

"My fondest memories are always connected to Italy." Elijah then said.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. My best friend lives here now, too. I am staying in his apartment."

"Oh?"

"You know him - well, he used to date Rebekah back then in college. Stefan Salvatore."

"Stefan? Really? Wow - how come?"

"His grandfather was Italian - and they returned to live in Italy. I don't know if you know, but he and his brother were brought up by them, as their parent's died when they were little. Anyway, he is an art historian, and teaches at the John Cabot University. It's an American university in the heart of Rome." Elijah replied.

"Right. And - uhm - how is Rebekah? I - well, I know she was the editor of Vogue, and I know that she got her own designer line out now. Actually, I have seen her designs on New York fashion week."

"Then you know that she is ass-kicking," Elijah said,"it has always been her dream to have her own label."

"You will not believe this - uhm - a week ago - I chose a dress from her to wear on the Premiere of 'Dark Beauty' - huh - and now meeting you here - it's like," Elena now stopped gulping a bit, and took a bit of wine.

Elijah made a little sweet sigh and looking at her, "Like it was meant to be."

Elena raised her head, another gulp bolted out, "What?"

Thinking that he had participated himself, Elijah turned to the window and briskly changed the subject, "It's pouring down."

"You can have my umbrella and I will take a taxi if it doesn't stop. Deal?" Elena then said.

"Deal. But then you will have to let me pay you back for saving me from getting drenched - I invite you to Carbonara a la Elijah."

"Ok. But you will have to let me make some salad-"

"Agreed. Tomorrow at six - my place - uhm - Stefan's place."

Elena nodded, and as he paid the bill, they were on their way to their respective apartments. Elena left in a taxi and Elijah walked back with the umbrella, smiling from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat.

Now, Elena paid for her cappuccino and made her way back to her apartment. The sun was up in the sky flickering down on her as she cycled through the streets, her heart jumping radiantly.

Was this really meant to be?

#elejah #elena gilbert #elijah mikaelson #alternative universe #tvd imagines #fanfiction #love is in the air #part 4

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sleepy-gee · 4 months

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the weather outside is frightful - party poison/male!reader fluffmas ao3

lots of unnecessary world building but my excuse is that im neurodivergent also you can ignore that the reader is male if you want im just gay, lots of pining, read on tumblr v or on ao3 (link above ^)

Christmas in the Zones- Who would've thought such a thing existed? It's barely celebrated because of hundreds of reasons- The desert isn't the most Christmas-y climate, everything you find is used for survival, and there aren't any goddamn trees to decorate. Still, that doesn't mean the spirit of it is lost- The sacred holiday has been renamed as 'Giving Day', and it's celebrated by vigil. You can either meet up with others by a bonfire, or celebrate it with your own crew. Crowds are too much for most of your crew- The Fab Four- So, you set up camp in the parking lot of The Diner. There's an unspoken truce between the dozens of killjoys that roam the desert, so you don't have to worry about your fire being spotted and your camp being ambushed.

The whole point of the Vigil is so you can have time to reflect on the past year, and say your thanks to the Phoenix Witch for keeping everyone safe, maybe make some resolutions and some plans to end this goddamn war. It seems pointless- Third year in a row of doing this and nothing has changed. If anything, things have only gotten worse.

You sat there awkwardly in front of the blaze, holding your hands out to try and keep yourself warm. Party was cleaning their gun off to the side, a sour look etched on their face. Ghoul and Kobra were off to the side, playing tic-tac-toe in the sand and Jet was observing what looked like a lizard while finishing off a rabbit leg. No one had said a word since you had set up camp, and it was getting a bit uncomfortable.

You cleared your throat before sitting back. "So.. Anyone gonna say grace or-?"

"What is there to grace?" Party groaned. "We're no closer to finding The Girl, it smells like rabbit shit, and my gun's fuckin' jammed-"

"Now it feels like Giving Day." Kobra added in, Ghoul laughing in response.

"This year hasn't been all that bad, c'mon-" You scoffed, giving the redhead a look as sour as their own. "Remember that battery station we found out in Zone 3, hm? It was a risk getting there and back, but we got loads of shit that kept us going for a good while!" They only huffed in response. "And- We took out that massive cloud of Dracs the other day, yeah? Must've ghosted like.. 15 at least. You gotta lighten up a little, man."

"But if you weigh the pros to the cons-"

"Nuh-uh. Zip it." You cut them off, getting up and walking over to them. "Can't you get your head out of your ass for one day, and just relax? You can be a prick in the morning."

"He's right, y'know." Jet chimed in through his chewing. "Just take it easy for five minutes at least. You'll feel better, trust me."

Party grimaced before setting their gun down to the side, raising an eyebrow at you and giving you a look that said 'Ya happy now?' You nodded, sitting down by them. Party pulled their knees up to their chest, resting their head on top of them and wrapping their arms around themselves. Their unpleasant demeanor persisted, but it wasn't quite as vicious. You pat their shoulder sympathetically.

"Welp.. If no one is gonna do it.." Ghoul mumbled under his breath, getting up and moving to the center by the bonfire. He cleared his throat before beginning to speak in a dramatic and slightly obnoxious tone. "O' Mighty Witch! We thank thou for thy protection and thy support throughout these heartaches! May thou continue to lead us through these conundrums, and lead us into better days!"

You laughed softly at his antics, watching as he went on and on like he was performing a damn play or something. The others got a kick out of it, too, it seemed- Even Party gave a snort of amusement. When he finished, he bowed, and then burst into a fit of laughter himself.

"Well.. I don't think anyone's gonna beat that." Jet snorted, tossing the bone of his rabbit leg off to the side before standing up with a stretch. "I think I'm gonna turn in for the night."

"Aw, c'mon-" You pouted playfully. "I'm sure you got a speech somewhere in you."

"Nothing as good as that. G'night." He ruffled your hair before walking off and heading inside the Diner, door slamming shut behind him. Why was that door so damn loud, anyway? You'd think it was made of titanium or something.

"I think I'm gonna turn in, too. I'm still in all sorts of pain from that fire fight the other day-" Kobra finally spoke up, wiping the lenses of his sunglasses off with the sleeve of his red leather jacket. "Don't get into too much trouble." He told Ghoul, who stuck his tongue out in protest.

Ghoul glanced at you before getting up as well, giving you a look. “I.. Think I will too. ‘Night, y’all.” That little fucker.

You may have accidentally confessed to him on a drunken night that you had a crush on your fearless leader. You were hoping he had been too drunk to remember, but when would the universe ever grant you something as kind as that?

Ghoul winked before leaving you and Party alone by the dying fire. They got up and rearranged a few of the logs, striking another match or two to keep it burning bright. You were supposed to leave it going all night, granting the Phoenix Witch safe passage as she roamed the Zones.

“You’re not going to bed?” Party asked, sounding hesitant as they tossed another few twigs into the fire. Their soft features were illuminated by the warm glow of the fire, leaving you feeling a little breathless, although you’d never admit it to anyone.

You shook your head no after snapping out of your trance, your cheeks nearly going as red as their hair in embarrassment. “I’m not tired. Plus, I got some Giving Day thinking to do, y'know?"

"Yeah?" They turned, now fully facing you. "Whatcha thinking about?"

"Oh.. Uh.. Just Zone shit.. You know how it is." Party didn't buy it, you could tell, but they didn't press it either. They never were one to press or intrude, only insisting if it was a life or death situation. A part of you was thankful, but the other part wished they cared a little more. Maybe it was for the best they didn't, though. You were the outsider, only in their crew because they found you bleeding to death on the side of the road, still a kid. Kids could be pitied. But now that you had grown up? Not so much. "A lot has happened lately."

"Damn straight.." They replied, giving you their signature grin that sent your heart soaring once more. They were so goddamn charming and attractive without even trying, which was incredibly unfair. They took their seat beside you again, sitting a little closer than last time. 'Don't overthink it.', you told yourself.

They stayed quiet by your side, hazel eyes locked on the fire in front of them. That was another thing you had come to notice with them- They had a thing for fire. They loved the stuff, lighting fires when possible and always playing in it, seeing what they could burn and what couldn't be burnt. You're surprised they haven't burned themselves yet.

The silence was broken by the sound of Party reaching over to their beat up backpack and pulling something out, speaking to you in an impossibly soft tone. "I got you something, by the way."

You turned your head, attention caught instantly. Party getting you something? No fucking way. They shifted closer, holding out their hand to you to reveal a small necklace resting on their leather clad palm. Dull silver chains with a charm in the middle that looked like it was supposed to resemble a cassette tape. ".. Oh.. Wow.. This is-" You stumbled over your words, giving a giddy laugh. "I love it. It's incredible."

"Yeah?" They gave you another smile. "Want me to put it on you?" They looked down at the necklace, unclasping the chain. You nodded, turning your head and pulling back your hair. Carefully, they draped the necklace around your neck, adjusting the sizing before clasping it shut and letting it go.

You turned back towards them, now looking at the charm that rested on your chest. ".. Thank you."

Party nodded, gently holding the charm between two of their fingers. They were dangerously close, soft breath ghosting over your neck. It nearly made you shiver. "Found it the other day, I kid you not, laying in the desert sand.. And it reminded me of you, I guess." They looked back up towards you, hazel eyes doused with something unusually affectionate.

You couldn't stop yourself from leaning in a tad bit closer, gaze flickering down to their parted lips for a brief second. ".. Tell me I'm reading this wrong."

"You're not." They reached a gloved hand up and brushed a strand of your hair out of your face, fingers gently caressing your cheek. "I've heard what Ghoul's said, seen the looks he's given.. And I'd be a fool not to do anything about it."

Before you could even comprehend what they had said, they leaned in, and kissed you tenderly. It was soft, hesitant, giving you the chance to pull away at any moment. Like you would. You brought your own hand up and cupped their jaw tenderly, drawing them in closer as you kissed back, eyes fluttering shut. It was odd to think that they were even capable of being this gentle or this sweet, normally acting loud and disruptive. Maybe this side was saved for you.

You broke off the kiss when you needed to breathe, hearing them make a small sound of disappointment. Holy hell. You kissed them again when you had caught your breath- Firmer. Party was the one to break this kiss.

".. Well, I'll be damned." They breathed, resting their forehead against your own. "Looks like I got the best gift of all, hm?"

"Oh, shush-"

"Make me."

And you did, with another kiss.

#mcr #mcrfic #fanfiction #my chemical romance #my fic #mcr fandom #danger days #party poison #ttlotfk #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #christmas #fluffmas 2023 #ficmas #ao3 #gerard way #party posion x reader #party poison x you #au #mcr rpf

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random-thought-depository · 5 months

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OK, here's that write-up for catgirl humans I said I'd do, though in developing them I've moved away from the catgirl concept and toward imagining a species that might be less misleadingly called "bearfolk," so I think I'll just call them bearfolk from now on (at least until I decide on what they'd call themselves).

Bearfolk are a species for my sci fi setting. In the setting, they're one of maybe seven or ten sapient species descended from proto-humans transplanted to other planets by aliens in the Pleistocene for reasons I haven't decided on yet (and which may or may not be a mystery to humans in-universe). The ancestors of the bearfolk were transplanted to a world which has a long (tens to hundreds of thousands of years) cycle in which the axis obliquity changes from less than 10 degrees to more than 60 degrees and back again.

As well as the periodic climate changes, the bearfolk world had another environmental difficulty: many of the plants were poisonous or otherwise not nourishing or poorly nourishing to humans, and many of the small animals were poisonous or venomous. That left big animals as the best available food source, and pushed the ancestors of the bearfolk into relying on big game hunting as their primary food source (though it is important to note that the bearfolk never became pure carnivores; when they developed civilization the backbone food production system of their civilization was the same as ours; edible seed and tuber crop cultivation).

The proto-bearfolk at this stage were not very technologically sophisticated, and probably not yet fully sapient. Their primary big game hunting technique was to attack animals with stabbing spears. Unfortunately, this was quite dangerous against larger fauna, so the early proto-bearfolk suffered a high young adult mortality rate. This created a selection pressure for increased size, increased strength, increased resilience against injury, and increased intelligence. The biggest, strongest, toughest, smartest proto-bearfolk were more likely to survive their hunts long enough to reproduce, so over time the species started to get bigger, stronger, tougher, and smarter.

The proto-bearfolk got a stroke of genetic bad luck. Some of the changes that increased their intelligence mildly degraded their fine motor coordination (maybe the evolution of their sapience involved the cerebellum shrinking to make room for an expanded neocortex?). The effects were not very debilitating, and in the short term getting a little clumsier but smarter was a net-positive trade-off for survival, so these genes propagated and increased in frequency. But in the long term this had the effect of making them poor shots, which delayed the development of projectile weaponry. It didn't help that a lot of their prey were protected by natural armor, requiring relatively precise targeting of weak spots to take them down; this was much easier from close range. It also didn't help that limited ability to eat from the base of the food chain limited the proto-bearfolk population, and the very adaptations that made them better megafauna-killers (increased size, muscle mass, and brain power) also increased their caloric needs and further limited their population; this tended to make technological progress quite slow even given full human-level intelligence. As a result of these factors, the bearfolk remained locked into taking down prey in close combat with stabbing spears, and exposed to the selection pressures that generated, for a long time.

As their size, brute strength, resilience against injury, and intelligence all increased, fewer of the proto-bearfolk died on the hunt and they were able to tackle bigger and more dangerous prey, as well as more effectively compete against rival predators. Eventually they became one of their planet's apex predators, regularly taking down megafauna much bigger than themselves. The end result of this process was a sapient species significantly bigger and much heavier and stronger than Homo sapiens.

The other important selection pressure bearfolk got that we didn't is their ancestors experienced at least one of their planet's high obliquity eras. During these eras much of the planet experienced more than a month of continuous darkness in winter. This created a selection pressure for ability to operate in darkness, specifically for improved night vision, improved senses of hearing and smell, and increased reliance on senses other than vision.

So, modern bearfolk...

They have much better night vision than Homo sapiens, better hearing, and a better sense of smell. They tend to rely more on senses other than vision. One noticeable external anatomical difference is their earlobes are bigger and more conical than ours and have some mobility, to capture sounds better; they're not exactly cat ears, but they might look a little like that.

They're pretty big, and have much more muscle mass than Homo sapiens. I haven't decided exactly how big. My "not all that different from us" model is they're not all that much taller than us (average height six-foot-something), but much more heavily built, with much more muscle mass. If you want to imagine what a bearfolk looks like, a strongman like Hafthor Julius Bjornsson is a good place to start. Note that this is my "well, let's assume they're small enough their furniture wouldn't be too awkward for us and vice versa so shared social events and work-spaces would be relatively easy" model; I might make them bigger. As you might extrapolate from this description, they're very strong. Put the bearfolk equivalent of a moderately in-shape yoga mom in the Olympics and she might win a gold medal or ten.

They've retained more "primitive" hominid features inherited from the common ancestor; they have Neaderthal-like "chinless" jaws, heavier brow ridges than us, and a more robust skull. They're a bit like Neanderthals in combining these "primitive" features with a brain that's, if anything, bigger than ours. I think this would fit with them having evolved toward even more robustness instead of gracility. One exception to this is bearfolk males have lost male-pattern facial hair; this might be because it was easier to clean blood and other animal fluids off a hairless face, or it might be just a result of genetic drift.

Increased sharpness of the incisors and canines fits my mental image of them, but realistically I don't think it's plausible: knives and controlled fire are some of the oldest human technologies, and once you have them there isn't much selection pressure for tooth anatomy changes. Maybe it's a side effect of selection for some other trait, like the long hairs on the legs of big horses?

Despite their prehistoric specialization as mostly-carnivores, they never lost the human capacity to eat a wide variety of foods. Nowadays they eat more seed and tuber crop derived foods than meat, for the same reason we do.

A quick skim of a Wikipedia article says Hafthor Bjornsson took 8-10,000 calories a day to maintain his peak strongman physique, which would suggest if bearfolk have a similar physique they'd need to eat a lot. Then again, I'd guess an Earth human has to work out a lot to maintain that kind of muscle mass, whereas bearfolk would more-or-less just have it by default, so that might help. Even so, I'm pretty sure all that extra muscle would take a lot of extra calories and protein to maintain.

Ideas about bearfolk society and stuff:

Bearfolk population densities were pretty low in their ancestral environment; limited ability to eat from the base of the food chain and high individual caloric needs limited their population. Compared to Homo sapiens with equivalent technology and in similar environment, their social groups were smaller and more dispersed. On the one hand, this meant less selection for hypersociality. On the other hand, dangerous cooperative hunting selected for strong bonds within the group (nearest available Earth analogies: war buddies).

Translate this into modern times... On one hand, they tend to be less comfortable and more stressed when dealing with crowds and social interactions with people they don't know well. On the other hand, they tend to have strong bonds with romantic partners and close friends (the two are heavily overlapping categories in their society). They tend to have little taste for socializing in dance halls and big parties and the like, preferring small intimate gatherings with friends. Accordingly, their shared social spaces tend to be more set up to facilitate the latter kind of socialization. I think they might seem kind of autistic to us.

In terms of social structure, they actually have a lot of similarities with bonobo-like humans. Like bonobo-like humans, they tend to form large co-operative child-care units with lots of alloparenting. Like bonobo-like humans, they often rely on clubs, friend groups, extended family, worker cooperatives, group homes, etc. for cooperative child-care services that in our society would normatively be performed by the nuclear family. Like bonobo-like humans, they tend to live in group homes. In bearfolk this reflects patterns of social organization that were originally adaptations to the high young adult mortality rate of the hunter period (in bonobo-like humans they were partly responses to the higher risk of orphaning resulting from their age-mediated reproduction patterns, so there is some similarity there).

Thinking about sort of situation their society might have regarding gender and sexuality... Regarding gender, I think the short answer would be that bearfolk have a lot less of it than us:

Both sexes were hunters and heavily selected for large size and great strength. Sexual dimorphism is much lower than ours; bearfolk women aren't much smaller than bearfolk men. Native animal, bacterial, fungal, and viral parasites have difficulty infecting them because of how different they are from native animals physiologically, so pre-industrial child mortality was much lower than on Earth - in their hunter period young adult mortality was high, but it would have been greatly reduced by the development of effective projectile weapons, animal domestication, or agriculture (I haven't worked out which of those they got first). Childbirth is less strenuous to them because of how big and robust they are (I guess their babies might be a bit bigger than ours, but the difference is smaller than between sapiens and bearfolk adults). As I said earlier, they tend to form big cooperative child-care units and do lots of alloparenting. All this tended to reduce the degree to which their society treated men and women as different types of being with different rights, responsibilities, and roles.

Bearfolk men and women don't look very different. Bearfolk women have similar physique to bearfolk men, are only slightly smaller, and have small breasts. Bearfolk don't really have gendered clothing, or at least don't have much of it (at minimum, I guess menstrual pad equivalents are a kind of gendered clothing and they'd have those); men and women mostly wear about the same things (they tend to favor practical clothing). Bearfolk don't have the "women as the decorative sex" thing; they sometimes wear fancy clothing and jewelry of various sorts, but this isn't a gendered thing in their society, it's simply an attempt by the individual to look nice and/or advertise their high social status.

Perhaps because it has so little gender, Bearfolk society basically never stigmatized homosexuality.

Regarding sexuality more generally, I like the idea that Bearfolk are simultaneously a more and less sexual species than Homo sapiens, depending on how you look at it.

On one hand, they tend to have low libidos and be basically demisexual. One easily visible manifestation of this you might notice if visiting their planet is they don't do stuff like put suggestive images in advertisements and they don't have "sexy" fashion. I also think they wouldn't make much erotic art, and what they do make along those lines would look kind of weird to us; like, e.g. their movies might have sex scenes when they're character-significant, but I think they'd be shot pretty differently from ours. Casual sex, hook ups, and sex work would be much less prominent institutions in their society, since most of them would usually be uninterested in sex with strangers. Similarly, I think visual porn with minimum story wouldn't really be much of a thing in their society (but they might have more appreciation of romance novel and smutfic type things and have an equivalent literary tradition).

Side note: while they don't have "sexy" fashion and this does tend to result in generally modest clothing (at least in cooler climates), they also don't have much of a nudity taboo, and are quite chill about seeing each other nude in settings like public bathing facilities. These are to some extent two sides of the same coin; it doesn't occur to them that there might be something inappropriate about a bunch of strangers being naked together in a public bath or sauna or on a beach cause to them there is nothing potentially sexually arousing about this situation.

On the other hand, their society is polyamory-normative. They have a similar thing to bonobo-like humans going on where clubs, friend groups, small worker co-ops, etc. are often also polycules. They do tend to form very close, strong, intimate life partnerships with small numbers of people, but, 1) these are usually "open relationships," 2) they are often between three or four or more people instead of just two.

I think in the ancestral environment bearfolk romantic relationships (both homosexual and heterosexual) would have had a kind of Sacred Band of Thebes flavor. Not sure if or how this would influence their present society.

Also a major exception to bearfolk demisexuality is I think in the ancestral environment they'd have had inbreeding-avoidance behaviors like a woman who wanted to get pregnant sometimes waiting until she was nearing ovulation and then going to a neighboring group hers was on OK-to-good terms with and basically getting consensually gang-banged by the adult males of the other group, so that genes would be exchanged. They might have some modern practices distantly derived from such behaviors.

That reminds me, I think having a better sense of smell than us might have led to them getting a functional equivalent of modern birth control very early, similar to what happened with bonobo-like humans; they might be able to smell physiological changes associated with ovulation.

On a sad note, I think a high young adult mortality rate in the ancestral environment might lead to them getting less selection pressure for long lifespan, and hence being less long-lived today? They might have something kind of like the bonobo-like human late menopause relative to lifespan, but whereas bonobo-like humans got it by having really late menopause, bearfolk might have it just cause they kept a more chimp-like life cycle; adult by 15, menopause at 50 which is already elderly for them, usually dead by 70. :( On the other hand, high young adult mortality rate would mean the people who did manage to survive to older age were even more precious as teachers for the next generation of hunters and basically living libraries, so there'd be kin selection pressure for long lifespans that way. Also I could see them developing toward a pattern where reproduction and mothering tends to be done by older females who are past their prime as hunters, so they might get selection pressure for longer lifespan, later menopause, and slower female fertility decline that way (this arrangement would be something a little bit like our gender roles, but age-mediated!).

#my main SF setting #bearfolk

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raptorfae53 · 6 months

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Monster High Reimagined

Lagoona Blue character bio/redesign

Lagoona Blue (she/her)

(pansexual)

The eldest child of the Blues,a mixed Gillman/Bunyip family.

(Mixed Brazilian and Indigenous Australian)

Lagoona is an energetic half-bunyip girl from the great scarrier reef off Australia,who after a disastrous time in school in her own country was pulled from the proverbial and literal tide by her parents to attend monster high. Boisterous,a little airheaded but kind and friendly,with powerful shapeshifting abilities to match her big emotions,Lagoona plans on becoming the school's star athlete having already joined the football,rugby and swim teams in her first few weeks on site. In that time also becoming fast friends with a small group of monsters called the Ghouls and her roommate Draculaura,MH looking and feeling like the fresh start she needed after her past experiences…

Likes: team sports (particularly football,cricket,rugby league and aussie rules),meat and seafood,sharks,telenovelas and hanging out at the beach.

Dislikes: water pollution,dolphins,public performance,dancing and low humidity.

Killer style: swimwear,sportswear and comfortable hoodies,primarily in her favoured blue, pink and black,and although they're not really athletic wear,fishnets upcycled out of literal nets that floated away from boats,an objectively better use for them than having them floating around tangling up sealife.

Familiar: Neptuna, a Rabbitfish Shark, and according to lagoona,the cutest creature in the whole ocean! (Regardless of some people's unwarranted dismissal towards her pet as just a "dumb fish" and or mean jokes about her being delicious fried with chips Toralei!, I mean look at her, she's adorable!!!)

Pet Peeve: the climate and humidity of new Salem. Although lagoona loves monster high the cold climate of vermont compared to her home in Australia causes her scales and scutes to itch and shed a lot,especially after a day playing sport.

Freaky Flaw: Her resentment over how school in Australia ended up for her. Spending most of her early teens bullied lagoona is determined to "get it right this time" with her new school,and while the ghouls are an amazing group of pals,lagoona feels a little guilty over not being her "true self" compared to them,worried that they'd abandon her if she let her true feelings show,and instead channels her anger into sports and exercise to blow off steam.

Spooky Secret: While nowadays she prefers to play contact sports, up until secondary school lagoona also participated in competitive gymnastic and dance,however after an incident while living in Australia she developed a fear of dancing and public performances,and threw herself into more team based sports instead,the fallout of this same incident being what prompted her parents to pull her out of secondary school send her to monster high

Dream job: Lagoona hopes one day her sporting prowess will land her a spot on the Australian Olympic team,or have her playing for the Matildas in the world cup,or at the Rugby championship for the wallabies,or in the AFL grand final,or…

Five Fearsome Facts:

As a half-bunyip, lagoona has some of their innate shape-shifting abilities,although being a teen she's still working around the ins and outs of learning to control said transformations and high emotions sometimes cause her to shapeshift involuntarily, lagoona is thankful monster high can be a place to properly hone her powers to be as proficient as her mother one day.

Lagoonas mother is also renowned for having the fiercest set of jaws on the whole scarrier reef,and her daughter's aren't too different,with lagoona sporting a bite force as strong as a crocodile and can similarly crack bones open with sheer jaw muscle strength alone as well as regrow her entire set of teeth if needs be. Regardless,Mrs blue ensures that lagoona and her sisters keep their teeth in tiptop shape through daily cleaning regardless of whether they can regenerate them or not.

Because of her active lifestyle and the energy needed for shapeshifting, lagoona has a voracious appetite, having been rumoured to have once skeletonised a whole cow carcass back in Australia. Although now at the behest of her notably gore-squeamish friend Draculaura she's trying to be a little less gung-ho about the act of chowing down on her favourite foods.

Like a lot of her latino father's side of her family (as well as a few of her mum's by way of Neighbors) lagoona has grown up with a love of telenovelas and soap operas and has been trying to get her roommate draculaura as invested in them as she is since they started boarding together.

Compared to her boy/girl crazy friends Lagoona has so far not really bothered much with trying to find a partner at MH, in truth she's taking a clean break from dating after the disastrous implosion of her first middle school relationship with gil webber, which lagoona in hindsight can recognise was incredibly unhealthy in nature (lagoona's nigh-obsessive romanticisation,gil's self pity and neglectful tendencies and general inexperience from both parties) and was just not what she needed at the time.

New character profile,as well as the final character out of our initial gang of five/six main characters!

Tbh lagoona being part bunyip and a shapeshifter has been an idea I've liked for a while,for those not in the know a bunyip is a water monster from Australian folklore that originated from indigenous Australians (hence why lagoona is also half indigenous) either based on the indigenous oral tradition about extinct Aussie megafauna or as a simple campfire story to screw with the white settlers/warn them about going near stagnant pools that could be full of crocodiles/murderous kangaroos/what have you.

A big part of the bunyip myth is that what it looks like exactly is kind of up to interpretation,hence shapeshifting, particularly shapeshifting different traits and features from different animals into one design (for example lagoona having crocodile scutes and jaws,webbed paws like a river otter and a fluked tail like a bull shark alongside more gillman-y features inherited from her dad) and as a side note,I also like the further idea that because of their half Latino heritage lagoona and her sisters designs either incorporate parts of or only Amazonian animals opposed to thier mother, whose parts come from only Australian animals (with a few exceptions their faunas are pretty interchangeable so they don't look all that different)

Also in case you were wondering what a rabbitfish shark looks like,Neptuna looks kinda like this:

Anyways,with our initial set of protagonists done,now it's time to write up bios for all the supporting characters,starting with the kids in the main ghouls school year...

#monster high reimagined #lagoona blue #monster high

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roamingtigress · 7 months

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The Merry Misadventures of Hosea and The Mustached Idiot

Chapter Three - Getting The Bounty, and Dirty Cowboys Too

Based on the events I blogged about here: https://tinyurl.com/7hu3u44w :)

New Austin isn't one of my favourite places to travel to. The scenery is stunning, and the people are interesting. Among the last of the true wild west out there and it shows; that part, I enjoy. You could with these people for hours, and feel like you've been brought back in time with the stories they tell; some surely sprinkled with creative adjustments. For me, my issue is with the climate, the heat, the dryness, the prickly things where the needles find places you didn't even know you had, but . . . I'll go wherever my heart takes me, and my heart is with that idiot with the mustache.

Dutch has been enthusiastic about the Bounty role from the get-go, particularly when we bought the wagon and he got an ungodly amount of Bolas which he has frightening accuracy with; he accidentally killed one bounty with them and damn near took me out; he has a technique where he whirls them into a blur no less than five times, and lets them fly. The rest of the family needed a little bit of convincing, however.

Yes, the family.

Particularly John, who had to also convince Abigail to let him have some action with us from time to time, provided were to be heavily armed, which we always are (and we always seem to have infinite bullets; something I wish we had when we were younger. He also has a tendency to get head-to-head with Dutch on outings, mostly over the direction. Arthur spent a moment or two or three, and then thought, why not?

Our mission for the day was a bounty who had been spotted on the northern part of New Austin, a charming gentleman named Vicente Mora who was known to bury his victims alive. Of all bounties Dutch has picked to go, he decided that was the one to go after. I suggested Henry Shaw, John suggested Harry Shaw, and Arthur suggested Harry Shaw, who was wanted for forgery for using fake gold nuggets, but here we are, all heading off in the direction of where this manic is or should be.

Good old Legend (and her apparent clones) was the mount for the day. A lovely dun Mustang mare, she's as close to bombproof as you could get in a horse. Dutch picked her up at an auction where she would have likely to have been sold for dog meat, like much of her breed these days. He trained her himself and formed a special bond with her. I think he fits the leggier breeds myself, such as Oasis, that firey Turkoman mare who looks so nice with my own Silver Dollar; we're breeding her on her next cycle. Personality-wise, Legend fits him; she gives him a nice settled ride and doesn't buck off in incidents when sometimes I feel it's warranted; the other day Dutch decided that yes, he will follow a waypoint, but he'll take the narrowest path past a wagon; he lightly bumped her into the wagon and he went flying, somehow; exchanges were made and he nearly got a bullet.

Ever the apparent expert on directional abilities, John was the first to pipe up about where we were heading, or where we weren't.

"I think we're heading in the wrong direction. The waypoint - "

Dutch piped up, a grin upon his face, his eye sparkling. His excitement was palpable. A little too palpable. "We don't NEED a waypoint, Jawhn! We'll follow the sun!"

John again, not convinced, couldn't pass on an opportunity to throw some snark at his dear dad. "Could we just set a waypoint in case a cloud covers it?"

Dutch was unphased.

"Not needed, John! We'll follow the sun!"

I saw the shadow of Arthur leaning into me, gripping onto the mane of one of Legend's clones. "Why are all our horses look the same and why don't they have tack?"

I sighed. It was a bit of a strange predicament to be in. I honestly didn't know but the explanation that came to me was the most sensible one that I could think of. "Because it's a strange world we live in, Arthur. Got to admit, I rather like the uniform look. Looks like a cavalry charge as we storm across the desert if you manage to keep ahold of them."

I hold on tight to the mane of my Legend clone, who for whatever reason has a pair of testicles, as we break into a gallop. I thought being a clone you'd have the same odds and ends that your original would have, but nothing is right in the world. Well, maybe Dutch and I, despite me picking on him. He's just a bit ahead of the boys and me, giving a gesture to follow, his voice cracking in excitement as he thinks he's found a lead.

"Going right to the train tracks!"

I nearly fall off as he tears off; these clones almost seem to have a hive mind; the real Legend is their magnet, wherever they go, we go. John comes up ahead of us and not seeing him, Dutch nearly pushes him off balance. He's normally a fine rider, but in his enthusiasm, it's not unheard of for him to get, well, a bit clumsy.

"Do you think this is funny?" John barked, holding onto dear life.

"if I answered 'yes', you'd kill me!" Dutch grinned.

Whilst it was accidental - I saw it all myself, there was a certain impish look on Dutch's face. I think he gets a bit of a rise out of getting a reaction out of John; you kids might call it 'trolling.' Yesterday had another bounty hunt here in New Austin, and John thought Dutch's 'arm lumbago' where his arm suddenly locks in place, was done on purpose during gunfire to get out of it when things too heated. My poor pet is always embarrassed by it, but he did do his part and pistol-whipped the rest of the enemies.

He is bound and determined that we are heading to the train tracks - only that we aren't.

Ahead there isn't a train track, but a steep rock incline, but Dutch disagrees, there is indeed a train track there. The time has come soon for a bit of reality, as Dutch, John and Arthur are now up on that incline, and look like a bunch of goats and looking utterly ridiculous, particularly my beloved. I didn't follow them up; I saw it coming. Dutch swears, John swears, and Arthur states the obvious.

"SHIT!"

"The fuck?"

"We went the wrong way, Dutch.'

Dutch rubs the back of his neck, a subtle gesture he did when he felt sheepish but not quite wanting to admit he was wrong, whilst carefully easing Legend down. "The sun lied!"

John was exasperated. I could almost hear every fibre of his being to not reach over and strangle him as Dutch eased his horse down past him. "So you're blaming the sun now?"

"Who else am I to blame?"

John snarks back.

"I'm surprised you haven't bought Evelyn Miller in here!"

That stupid grin of Dutch just grows. "Waiting for the opening!"

John just shook his head, opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out as he and then Arthur carefully eased their horses down. There is never a time when things go smoothly in our family bounty-hunting missions. In yesterday's outing, there was that time when in the midst of a gunfire between our bounty's gang and us when Dutch got a case of arm lumbago; Dutch of course was mortified but did his part and pistol whipped the rest of the gang. When John and the mustache brought the bounty in (dead, the way John apparently likes them even if he gets less pay), a firefight erupted between the lawmen of Tumbleweed, Arthur and me. I still don't know what started it but it ended with John and I pointing out sawed-off shotguns at each other. But, we keep doing them anyways.

"Next time, *I'll* put the waypoint up, and we *will* be following " I firmly insisted, with no argument from my pet who I see a flush on his cheeks when he returned by side; I'm certain he means well, likely trying something different, but . . . FUCK! He just manipulated me into not staying angry at him for long; he absently played with a strand of hair as he did in our last chapter; he knows how that little gesture of appeasement affects me, it's always worked and why change what works?

"Damnit, Dutch."

He gives me puppy eyes, and grins, moving Legend away just out of touching distance; he knew what was going to come. "You love me."

I tease back. "Someone has to."

Damnit, I do. Oh, I do. I will take the Collector Role over these wilder bounty hunting missions, but . . . Seeing him so happy, is music to my soul.

At last, we reach the train tracks, with a bit of navigational tweaking. The sound of the train ignites some sort of hunger in Dutch; he's literally drooling. He puts Legend in a fast gallop (he'll be feeling it later), and what you'll be soon witnessing is a perfect blend of luck, stupidity, and brilliance all wrapped up in a bundle of insanity. By a stroke of magic or something, we've had something done to us so that no matter what kind of stupid thing we do, we'll survive it, and in this case, very much comes in handy.

Mustangs are about as surefooted as any breed of horse you could get; our Thoroughbred stallion, Dynaformer, bless him, would have run for the hills if he was assigned to be the mount for this. Along the there was some loose shale and rock, there's a bit of an incline along the railway and I jinxed her. Down she goes but without a scratch (another one of those funny occurrences here, our horses also can't die; I won't complain), along with her passenger who goes right under the hooves of her clones who got more than a scratch. Cusses were issued by all in the family. No big though; Dutch dusts himself up, ego bruised perhaps but still bound and determined to get that unsavory character.

Second attempt?

This is a cargo delivery train and a rail goes along the perimeter of the flat carriage to protect the shipment boxes. Now I have seen Dutch jump from his horse and onto these cargo trains with success; he always lands like an octopus falling out of a tree but still usually manages to get the job done. This time though?

"SMACK!" Goes his body against the railing, plinking off like he weighs nothing.

Arthur gets to Dutch before I can, and helps him up onto unsteady legs. "I think we should just . . . Call it a day."

He meant well, he really did, and Dutch knows it too. Truthfully, despite what you see, Dutch is not particularly strong. His health and stamina stats are equivalent to the Scrawny Nag's; the stock for Miracle Tonics must be at an all-time high. But there's this look of determination in his's eyes, that without saying a word, says it all. No, he's gone too far into this to turn back no. He gets up back onto Legend and gallops out towards the train once again, and after timing this one better, manages to get on the cargo, albeit awkwardly, but he got there. We gallop alongside the train, trying to keep pace.

"I WILL TEAR YOU IN TWO!" I hear him yelling as he cuts through the Vicente Mora gang like butter with his dual Schofields, as of yet no arm lumbago, and I'd lie if I said that with all that passion and fury he is speaking with isn't doing things to me, voice cracks and all, but I won't disturb you. Well, maybe that's too late, I apologize. Maybe.

We hear a man yelling instructions in Spanish and my heart races fast. Dutch, whatever the hell you have planned, do not let this man bury you alive, that is my job. More gunshots go off as he races through the train in a blur of black, red and white. Arthur and John pick off some surviving gang members, as do I, what else is there for us to do?

"I WILL KNOCK YOU STRAIGHT BACK INTO THE GUTTER!"

Damnit, Dutch, you're distracting me. *I* want to pounce Dutch the way Dutch is pouncing Vicente Mora and swiftly take him down with a bola and hogtie him because he's been a very naughty boy who needs to be punished. He has a thing about being punished, and I have a thing about punishing him.

There I go, sharing too many thoughts again. My apologies. You didn't need to know that. Back to this story, that one will be for another story.

So we get our man and now the trick is ts to get him off the train without killing him; the bounty rewards will keep us well and John will get more money than what he'd ever get at sheep herding (heh). Dutch then gets the idea, stop the train! He trusts us that we wouldn't let the bounty go as he makes a dash to the locomotive, awkwardly skips over the coal carriage and disappears into the conductor's compartment. I hear some squabbling and then the conductor throws himself out of the caboose as the train slows but is not willing to stay until it stops. He grabs hold of his arm and swears incoherently as he tumbles down the track embankment and then gets up and takes off, grabbing some random passerby's horse and taking off with it, leaving them at a standstill until one of our clones passes by as the boys and I get onboard. Not sure what went on in there, but, then . . .

"Damn dirty son of a bitch bit me!"

John and Arthur are dumbfounded and disgusted, but somehow, I'm not.

Now I have been bitten by that big sonofabitch (and still do from time to time), but I'll refrain from getting into too much detail unless you want me to, and then I'll let loose. Let's just say, it HURTS and for certain, that was no bite being delivered in an intimate setting. I felt a bit sorry for him but I didn't have time for pity; we have a train to get to Tumbleweed where we'll drop off our bounty, collect our savings and spend the night in what seems to be the only hotel in the state. It's a bit shady, I've got into one of the most wicked bar fights there, but it'll do and it has a bath; something that we all are in desperate need of.

John takes control of the train as the rest of us stay with our angry bundle of Vicente Mora, swearing at us in Spanish. We take turns in giving him a kick here and there, just to get him to shut up for more than a few minutes. Poor Dutch, though; he's exhausted, battered and bruised and it shows as he winces while giving Vincente his third and final kick to knock him out cold. He stumbles over to a wooden box to sit down, still pride on his face.

"We did real good there, boys. Not our smoothest operation, but - " He stops to try to hold back a wince.

"You're gettin' too old for this, Dutch - " Arthur sighs.

"Nahhhhh, son, I've got it in me!" Dutch manages a crooked smile, patting him on the shoulder. "Those boys didn't have a chance!"

Well, they did, but . . . We got them under control.

The rest of the ride goes off without a hitch; the bodies left on the train were dumped off for the vultures and coyotes as Dutch got some rest on top of some cargo. Some ribs were cracked, and there was bruising over much of his body; he took quite a hit.

Never thought I'd be looking so forward to that grungy hotel as much as I did. Legend comes trotting up to us as we get off the train, while Arthur and I help Dutch on getting down the stairs. John carries our bounty over his shoulder, places it on our mare and leads the way to the sheriff's office. He's woken up from being knocked out and I can hear his swears coming, and a thud from John punching him.

Dutch still trying to be stoic, not wanting me to be worried about him. He's in considerable pain, but he's holding his head high, his chest even puffed out.

"I'll see about getting us a bath. If anyone gives us any issue I'll deal with them, you got it?"

Warm water and a bit of rest should help a long way; there won't be any travelling until he's well and good to travel. As much as I love the smell of a man's musk, particularly Dutch's, which is a delicious blend of cologne imported from Europe, tobacco, leather, hair pomade and a delicious scent that comes off of his own form; a rich, almost earthy flavour, we're both getting a bit rank. So many days on the road will do that. We normally get ourselves a bath at the hotel in Valentine from time to time but our lifestyle doesn't permit that to be an overly common occurrence. We mostly just wash in whatever water bodies we come upon on our travels; it's a lovely treat though to get a proper wash in a proper bathtub.

Oh, it sounds good. Oh so good.

The hotel is much in the same state as we last went in it, but it'll do for a bit. I hear Arthur settling some things upstairs. We don't have much ourselves, but we'll make do. I turn to the hotel owner.

"We'll rent a room, please. And the bath."

I scowl at the look we get, but the bearded idiot takes our money all the same and hands us the keys. After that, the first priority, the bath. I prepare it while Dutch undresses, and I cringe when I saw the bruises on his form. Black, blue, bruised and battered all over. He frowns as he looks at himself in the mirror.

I speak gently, placing my hands on each of his shoulders, and kiss him on his right cheek. His hair has been tousled after such a rough day and I love the look of it. "You'll heal up well, Duchess. And you'll heal up even more when I kiss every inch of your body."

There was a look of vulnerability though as he kept looking at himself, judging himself. "It's not that, 'sea, it' - " He spoke quietly, looked away and then gestured at his lower body.

"This."

"What about it?" I spoke gently, pulling him close as I take a moment to admire him in the mirror; I very much liked what I am seeing, but with a foot I push the mirror away after a moment, considering how he was feeling.

"We're both getting a little older, Dutch. But . . . I think you're as gorgeous as ever."

"You really think so . . . ?" A soft plea, absently twirling a strand of his hair, something he did not only for when he was appeasing, but when he was uncertain, or sometimes when he's deep into reading a book.

"I do think so."

He's referring to a softness to his belly (that he still shaves) these days that's formed into a little paunch, and I love it. It's lovely to rub, something that he often drifts to sleep with, and something I often drift off to sleep while doing. I feel deeply pained to see him think that, and I have to address it.

"Perfect for kissing!" I grin and a rather not Dutch-like sound comes out of him when I kiss him on his belly button - and a massive smile.

"'Sea!" He blushes when he just realized he made; another tender spot that he acts stoic about, except when I catch him unaware. "I did not make that sound!"

I get that sound out of him again when I repeat that kiss. "But you did!"

I just hold him tight and hug him for a moment, then soothingly stroking his hair with one hand, and his slight potbelly with his other. He melts like butter with my touch. "I won't have you talking like that about yourself. My beautiful boy." I'm gentle but firm.

Wordless, but saying so much, Dutch accidentally hits his nose against mine as he kisses me. I just gently grab it and give us a very light shake before I take him by his hands. "Best we get into that tub before the water gets cold."

I lead in but he pauses as he carefully steps in, his gait stifled a bit in pain. "I want to wash you, Old Girl. I've dragged you all the way out here . . . " His voice is soft . . . I can't say no. But I'll wash him as well because damnit, he needs a wash because he smells like a devil's armpit.

Dutch gets into the sudsy bath first and then I follow when he's settled, and I sit close but careful with his ribs. A strong arm reaches around me and starts washing my chest, and I close my eyes when he moves his hand down to my belly; it too has got a bit soft over the years. His touch is so tender, so careful as if I was the one that had been battered against the cargo train rail. A big smile forms on my lips as he rests his head on my shoulder and I feel his mustache brush alongside my neck he kisses me, a funny, tickling feeling and I let out a light life. His voice was tired, but . . . His heart was in those words.

"You're too good to me . . ." He spoke softly, and I close my eyes as he starts washing my hair and scalp. "I bring you all 'round the country, here and there, searching for some bounty, running 'shine, gettin' into trouble . . . "

"And I wouldn't want to do all of that with anyone else."

I could tell from his posture that he's in a lot of pain, and I help guide him to switch places where he'll be having his back facing, and start scrubbing on him, starting from his shoulders and minding his bruises as I move down to this spine. Dutch pouts, though I know he's loving it.

"I wasn't even done cleanin' you yet."

I kiss him on the back of his head. Dirty or not, his hair still smells amazing, but I still give it a good wash; it's a great excuse for me to run my hands through it. "You'll get to me when I'm done cleaning you, you filthy animal."

Dutch laughs, and what a wonderful deep laugh it is. "I thought you liked it when I was dirty."

I just smile, shaking my head as I start to work on his chest. He leans his weight into my touch, letting out a happy little sigh. "No, I like it when you talk dirty. There's a difference between talking dirty and smelling like dirt."

"What if I'm dirty while talkin' dirty?"

I could hear the grin, the spark in his eyes and I kiss him on that spot between his neck and shoulder, and just hug him. "You're distracting me from what I'm doing here, mister." I grin, poking that freckle by his cheekbone.

Dutch gives my hand a squeeze, and I feel his smile when he kisses it. "Maybe it's an intent."

I know it damn well is, he's being cheeky. The water's a little less than clear now, but we're a few layers short on the dirt now. He leans back against me and . . . Just lets his head and weight flop back against me, falling asleep against me in this gradually cooling water but . . . We're together.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #vandermatthews #hosea matthews #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #john marston #rdr2 fanfiction

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summercreolefanfictioner · 1 year

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(would’ve asked you in private but we’re having a very important convo about your dog and i just can’t take a break from that) gil to me seems like someone who like warmer climates, france seems warm to me tbh and i can also picture im in the south of france most of the time and of my girl dev sets foot in the human world for someone other than business, you’ll literally find her in the most far away place in scotland where it’s cold and rainy and cloudy and i was curious, if my hc about gilbert liking warm climates how would he view spending a holiday with devyn in scotland?

you make me write abt gil and dev in ungodly hours haha

you've never been to heaven, have you? || autumn dates with devyn

characters: gilbert feinze, devyn kang (feat. aurora and karlheinz)

tw: mentions of sex

-it's safe to say that gilbert is not a fan of colder climates, but it wasn't like he despised it either; but hey at least scotland is not a fvcking scorching summer ground

-so yeah he still followed our darling devyn there bcos boy was so lovesick and he needed answers after their slowburn moment of almost kissing in the one ball

-the night where gilbert was sure something did happen between them

-so when he showed up at her doorsteps, dressed in his high-fashion winter outfit looking like a mafia winter playboy magazine cover of Chanel, devyn almost shut the door in his face, her face red as a tomato as she couldn't believe that he flew all this way to follow her

-and all for that one reason she's trying to avoid

-"I told you not to follow me."

-"I didn't follow you, darling Devyn. I came here after you. If I followed you, then I should've been here the day you arrived."

-devyn swore she wanted to wipe off that shit-eating grin from his face and kick him out so he can bury himself in the snow, but at the same time, she supposes a company from a friend won't hurt

-so yeah she just let him be. besides gil was even helping her out like serving her coffee or arranging some of her paperworks so she can be quickly done. would even feed the dog for her

-even cooks for her bcos devyn is not aware of lunch hours until her stomach started growling out of nowhere

-yes i do the cooking yes i do the cleaning

-he was even helping her find solutions on some of the problems for karl's projects, so let's say there's a dispute between a mining company and an agriculture organization, he will provide a different angle so devyn can formulate an arrangement

-how nice, she thinks, it's like the same old times

-nah it wasn't the same bcos sometimes she would catch him looking at her like she was the most magnificent piece of abstract art

-so once she was done with her work (mind you, she stayed up all night), she spotted gilbert already cozying up on the couch, wrapped in one of her spare thick blankets bcos he can't fvcking stand too much cold

-devyn approached him, carefully shaking him while saying, "you can sleep on my bed, it's far larger" (yeah bcos man is so tall I swear)

-"Are you inviting me for sex?"

-"W-wha—I AM NOT!"

-"Then don't casually offer that suggestion, or I might not be able to control myself."

-so devyn went back to her room and slept, convincing herself that everything is like how they should be, sleeping and hoping to travel in good dreams

-however, all she could see was darkness and despair, flashes of lighting and a huge wave of flood rushing towards her until she saw her beloved and precious aurora giving up every fiber of being she has, chanting devyn's name like a song

-and then she drowned and was never to be seen again. devyn was overcomed with grief as she tried to rescue her

-but no, she saw karlheinz drowning aurora even further, making sure this will be her last breath so she wouldn't be able to touch devyn again. he was smirking evilly as if to say everything played right under his palm

-and that's when devyn woke up with a start, with gil knocking on her door and asking her if something bad happened

-she quickly jumped out of the bed, opening the door and hugging gil as if to tell herself that someone she loves was still alive and untouched by karl, her tears staining his shirt as she cried on his chest

-when gil finally felt her calming down from her heightened emotions, he took her to bed and made sure she was warm and comfy surrounded by blankets

-"I'll go now, darling Devyn. You need sleep because you still have work— "

-but she won't let go, grabbing him by the wrist as she desperately whispered, "Please don't leave. Stay. Stay with me."

-"I'm not going anywhere. I'll leave Scotland the same day you are."

-No!" she almost cried, her eyes glassy with tear stains on her cheeks. "Not that... just... don't leave me here. I... I need you."

-and she kept repeating to him

-"I need you."

-"I NEED YOU."

-he grabbed her shoulders and made her look at him seriously.

-"Listen, Devyn. I will do anything you want me to do for you, and that's how much I'm willing to go. However, once this happens, there's no turning back. We'll be risking everything, even our lives, just for this. Are you sure this is the way you want to die?"

-she nodded, desperate to be in his arms

-and afterward, everything was a hazy blur of needy kisses, hot whispers, tangled limbs, and devotions of love and passion

-they were in heaven... for now

-because this sinful affair will lead them to hell after

#diahell #diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers headcanons #diabolik lovers oc #dl oc #diabolik oc #diabolik lovers imagine #diabolik lovers scenario #gilbert feinze #devyn kang #kang devyn #karlheinz #diabolik lovers karlheinz #karlheinz sakamaki #tougo sakamaki #aurora

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threadsun · 11 months

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It’s always the ones who claim to be antis interacting with people who post the stuff they claim to very against. Especially when they say ‘Dni proshippers’ but then interact and make dark content. It’s become very clear that they don’t have a set definition of what proship is they just slap it wherever to define people who make content they don’t like. They make fiction spaces online messy and frankly, dangerous when they decide to make callout posts and block lists and such. They’re so hypocritical:(((

Oh god I reblogged a post about the bullshit of proship/antiship discourse the other day. It's SOOO STUPID!!! Especially in a time where books about queer people and informative books for children about how to spot and report csa are being pulled from public libraries and banned in various places under the guise of them being "morally reprehensible" and "bad for the children."

There is no way to dictate what people can and can't write without opening the door to fascism and oppressive censorship. There's no way to make a line without risking people pushing that line until it hurts real marginalised people.

Like as a Jewish person I generally hate holocaust comparisons, but like... idk I always go back to the nazi book burnings at Die Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, and the targeted harassment of Magnus Hirschfeld. So much important information about sex, gender, and sexuality were lost and suppressed. So much important research. Important work into the normalisation of sex and desire.

It has lasting impacts even now into the field of sexology, which is still treated as either a joke or some sort of perverted fake field for creeps to use as an excuse to take advantage of people. When I studied sexology in university, so much of it always came back to the idea that censorship is inherently detrimental to sexual liberation. Which in turn my gender studies professors all agreed is necessary for queer and female liberation as well.

Like this goes so much further and deeper than fandoms and ships, and it's so reductive and pointless to turn it into a fandom debate. Especially in the current political climate around the world. And to turn it into fandom drama or even to morally posture about being proship or an anti does a huge disservice to the people fighting on the front lines of queer and sexual liberation. It harms trans people and people of colour who are being targeted through censorship.

Idk in a world where consensual kink is still illegal in most places, where queer theory and critical race theory are being censored, where sex workers and kinky folks are actively fighting tooth and nail for your right to watch porn without the government telling you what you can and can't jack off too... In a world where FOSTA/SESTA is being used to actively harm sex workers and the victims of trafficking they claim to be helping. It's just... idk it's almost actively, wilfully, maliciously ignorant to think ship discourse is important enough to harass people over. To think that censoring fandom content is useful and morally correct.

I'm not so fussed about call out posts and block lists personally cause I don't care if "queer is a slur" "no kink at pride" "if you're not vocally antiship then you're proship which means I can make up beliefs to assign to you and then send people to harass you for it" assholes try to bother me. The block button is fun to press, and I've got thick skin and an actual understanding of the real world.

But yeah, they can make internet spaces pointlessly and actively hostile to people, especially people whose mental health is already fragile. And I've heard so many definitions of proship that it's soooooo clear no one actually has a real definition of it, and just use it as shorthand for "this person is a freak who makes things I don't like, and I think that means they should be punished in the court of public opinion for it."

idk I've seen too many sex workers and transfem people and Jewish people accused of being paedophiles and perverts and "proship" for daring to not follow Christian ideas of sexual purity and morality. I've been the Jewish, transfem sex worker getting called those things. I watched a trans woman get harassed off tumblr entirely for having an armpit fetish and daring to talk about it on her own blog.

I've seen countless people who called out racist/queerphobic/transmisogynistic trends in fandom get the "proship" label slapped on them just to drive them out of fandom spaces so they could keep their bigoted headcanons. I've seen it put on people who ship two unrelated characters who happened to know each other as children because "that's basically incest." I've seen it slapped on someone who wrote about adults in a consensual relationship who happened to have a 10 year age gap (34 vs 44).

And yeah, I've seen it put on people who write paedophilic incest fanfics, which is something I personally would prefer no one ever wanted to write about. But I also acknowledge that if I try to make that an actual rule, it will eventually become corrupted into something used for the oppression of marginalised people.

I know that I shouldn't be trusted with the power to dictate the actions (and especially the thoughts) of others. I know that thoughtcrimes aren't real, and that the world is so much bigger and messier and more complicated than fandom. I know that the moment I allow myself to become pro-censorship in any capacity, I've already lost and fascism has already gained a new foothold in the world.

And most of all, I know that all art including fandom art is something the artist and the people interacting with it are both choosing to consent to. That this consent can be revoked at any time, and that no one has the right to decide what anyone else can and cannot consent to. That all fiction is a scene, not a new reality, and that the consent of the real people involved is more important than what's actually going on within the scene.

#sunshine #asks #idk man like 'are you proship or an anti' being a Required Question every fandom blog must answer #kinda reminds me of how 'are you pro-Israel or pro-Palestine' is a Required Question every Jew must answer #like I have strong opinions on both that I'll share if I feel like it (before anyone asks I don't support the colonisation of Palestine)#but I fundamentally object to the idea that I owe anyone any information about anything I believe #especially since all of my beliefs are more nuanced than a single label can express #part of me feels like I'm making no sense cause my head is full of more thoughts about this than I can physically type out #but also I feel very strongly about this #and I know that other people who feel strongly about this don't necessarily feel like they can speak about it #so I'm gonna do it because I do not give a shit about backlash

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invicta-carnelia · 4 months

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Another species for the sci-fi setting I'm working out in my head.

Meet the Kombild and the Korbiir! Two branches of a shared species family tree!

In the past the Kombilds looked more like their unaugmented cousins, but after rapid pollution to their planet, a nuclear war, and severe climate change, they became unable to survive their home's harsh environment without special cybernetics. As time went on the radiation in their atmosphere caused genetic degradation, severe organ failure, and an inability to acess the magical energies that once gave them life, requiring further reliance on their implants.

In the past, when they were Korbiir, the luminescent spots on their bodies could collect ambient magic in their environment, which sustained their souls, just as food sustains their bodies. Select few who were particularly sensitive to the background energies of magic could even control it. Nowadays, Kombilds (as they now refer to themselves, viewing themselves as separate from their purely biological ancestors) are nearly completely cut off from the natural magics of the world, and instead use a fissile fuel infused with synthetic enchantments to keep themselves alive. The only Korbiir who remain are the descendants of separatists who left to colonize and terraform distant planets 600 years ago.

Even today, the living Korbiir, which number in the low millions as opposed to the billions of living Kombilds, stay largely isolationist. The two species are far from friendly, as Kombilds view Korbiir as stuck up and old fashioned, and Korbiir view Kombilds as decadent, wasteful, self-destructive, and in some extreme individuals, impure.

In the modern era, Kombilds have built an empire in the Milky Way, and are the closest and friendliest neighbors to the burgeoning human race's colonies and stellar nations.

Kombilds and Korbiir both tend to be crafty, petty, and underhanded when necessary. The Kombild species is no more united than their human neighbors, and frequently war among themselves for territory, resources, and in the case of a few extremist star nations, religion. Most Kombild no longer worship their old gods, believing them to be impractical and ineffectual on an interstellar scale, despite there being hard proof of one of their monotheistic pantheon's gods, The Gurba, living and causing trouble to this day.

Most Korbiir still worship this ancient deity, and the lack of faith in most Kombilds is another large sticking point between these races.

#original species #kombild #korbiir #art #my art

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cptn-m · 5 months

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One Piece chapter 1100 review

We know that aside from 100 and 1000, Oda's never really written around milestones, but you still generally find something that feels like a big step on each hundred chapters. While we have a pretty damn good chapter of One Piece this week, I don't think there's anything that really qualifies it as a giant leap forward for the story. Maybe all the classic Warlord cameos are meant to feel like the reward for the big eleven-hundred. Maybe, given that the celebratory colour spread is slated for next issue, the big moment missed by one. Or maybe that's just because of how Jump's scheduling panned out and I'm overthinking the whole thing.

There's an irony in Borsalino, in the opening pages, contrasting the climates of Egghead and Punk Hazard. He thinks Egghead's so much colder, but give it a few years and Punk Hazard will be half frozen over and Egghead will be fully climate controlled.

There's a lot of characterisation on show in this first scene. Vegapunk is painfully naive in failing to check for bugs in his lab, and this still won't teach him not to trust the Government. Borsalino has a laid-back and personable demeanour at a glance, but he'll do his job if he has to. And Kuma. Poor, well-meaning Kuma, loses all sense of perspective where his daughter is concerned. I don't think he heard a single word that wasn't about Bonney, even as Saturn offers him basically the worst terms ever. There's a comparison to be made in Kuma's reaction throughout the scene to Hancock asking Luffy to choose between freeing his friends and getting a boat. That same misdirect on what the initial reaction means and the laser focus on the people who need saving at the expense of all else. Except Luffy's version played out in his favour whereas Kuma… well, we're in a One Piece flashback, so you do the math.

Saturn's character is also front and center here. It's that he's a bastard, all pragmatic and cruel.

I really enjoyed the montage of treatments, slice of life scenes and construction work to show the passage of time here. There's some nice fanservice in seeing the (probable) moment the Vegaclones were conceived, and Vegapunk leveraging more underworld connections that would have to go back to his MADS days, this time with Storage King Umit. It's cool that all the underworld figures from Big Mom's party keep sticking their heads up to connect corners of the world.

There's some wonderfully nostalgic fanservice seeing all the classic Warlords and a few others reacting Kuma being commissioned into their number. Curious that Doflamingo, proclaimed "champion of evil" sees another miscreant in Kuma, buying into the hype completely. Having been involved in World Government info tampering personally, and setting records straight with his crew on the fall of Flevance, you'd think he'd at least acknowledge the possibility of spin on Kuma's story. I wonder if the apparent interest in another outright bad guy in the crew ever lead Doflamingo to reach out to Kuma. It might explain them turning up to the meeting together back when they were both first introduced.

An Ace appearance is always welcome. We knew he was offered a Warlord spot, but I think it's new info that he toppled one before that. This is a little bit of a lesson in taking spin-off material as fully canon, because like, you'd think that event would warrant at least a mention in Ace's novel or its manga adaptation. You know if they'd waited a few years and done those today the authors would be asking Oda for an original design for the beaten Warlord and making the encounter into at least a small scene if not the whole story, and its absence makes those volumes feel all the more secondary in retrospect.

Jinbe noting the growing political power of the Warlords is also a touch I like. We've known about powerful figures abusing the Warlord system for their own schemes almost as long as we've had One Piece, but I get the sense that the first generation legitimately acted as privateers and over time more and more people with things to hide have forced their way in. The group becomes both more dangerous and harder to control.

It is adorable that Kuma uses Bonney's drawing as his jolly roger. No notes, just a great touch. You can really see how thin his commitment to being a marauder is. Also, is that a bear ear on the side of his ship? Maybe we all figured as far back as Sabaody there would be more layers to Kuma, but I doubt anyone expected him to do something that cute, especially with his imposing first impression.

There is a strange current of speculation online that Kuma has been sent to Windmill Village to deal with Luffy or something similar in the last page. Are we not paying enough attention to see that Kuma is already there when the orders come in. Whatever the Government wants (if the orders matter to the story and aren't an excuse for him to namedrop his location) it doesn't seem to have anything to do with our protagonist. But maybe I shouldn't get too high and mighty - getting orders relating to something on the island he just happens to be stopping at for a resupply or whatever is definitely not too much of a coincidence for Oda, so we'll see next week what the deal with all of this is.

Next week, no matter what, we're somewhere in vol 109, and I think we have to start building up to the climax of this flashback. Right now, it feels like there's something missing for the ending, a factor we don't know about yet. Kuma losing his will wasn't a shocking betrayal, it was a deal he walked into willingly. In fact, it feels like we prettymuch know it all - he spends some time as a Warlord, is made fully into a weapon at the time the Pacifistas are first deployed. Maybe he's able to leverage that final request to defend the Sunny because Bonney had already escaped and the Government was wary of him running off with all that tech and became more pliable to his requests (or Vegapunk liked him enough to go behind his bosses' backs). Mission complete, he's made a slave until the Revolutionaries grab him and run, and we're basically up to the present. It would be anticlimactic to just play all that out in fast forward, so I think Oda's going to work some kind of a stinger in there. Probably something to tie into how and why he's awakened to himself and begun rampaging while the Egghead Arc happens.

Looking forward to colour pages after quite a few chapters without, and for a final surprise gut punch to put the cherry on top of one of the series' darkest and most effective flashbacks.

Read this review and more on my Wordpress.

#One Piece #OP1100 #bartholomew kuma #One Piece Spoilers

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creaturefeaster · 2 years

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Could you tell us more about the world of Colorquest? I am fascinated by the world building you have done with it and I would love to know more about the people and places and species that inhabit the world :]

This is a request with a pretty broad range of things to go over, and thus is something I'll answer in pieces for you for time's sake. I think I'll elaborate a bit on geography and setting for this response, and I'll either reblog this again later with more info, or answer more specific asks to help piece things together in the future.

Anyway, CQ is set on an earth-like fantasy world and more specifically set on one special continent. There's actually much more to the world than what would ever be elaborated upon, simply because the heroes journey never leaves this somewhat isolated continent.

Continent enlarged for emphasis.

Native to this continent are primarily Bluple and Humans, with some various settlements scattered around. It is also the only continent that Talpians surface at. This is the reason why, while there's many different races in this universe, you tend to see these sorts of people more than others.

This part of the world's geological diversity is what I'd call remarkable. You will find boreal forests to arid plateaus to harsh mountain ranges to ice sheets to magical forests, etc.

This is generally where any given character native to the world lives. Tim/Brook/Hannah/Gary all live in a slightly warmer part of a taiga, Tanner/April/Leon live in the center-most town in the middle of the desert, Rachel/Bonnie reside in a particularly flat and dry part of the continent where the Talpian Dominion can be found, D/Vilmr/Samantha/Michael all live in a mountainous and magical climate, Taylor/Zack come from a coastal town, and Lauren/Elliot live in a uniquely bizarre spot dubbed the Deadlands.

I'll elaborate briefly on some of these locations.

The Talpian Dominion is an extremely complex & ancient set of caves underground, constructed through millennia of digging & tunneling by the reclusive Talpian people. Just how far this complex extends is unknown to all surface dwellers... and even most Talpians. It's pretty fucking big down there. Extremely warm temperatures, and even magma flows, would not be uncommon to see as you trek further into their world.

Lystrike is a dinky little town, whos only claim to any sort of fame is that it's pretty much exactly in the center of their continent. Other than that, it's pretty rustic and insignificant to the common eye. Someone that isn't from this world though, such as you the one reading this, may think that the glowing cacti & other local fauna are something of significance. However, this is merely a geological leak of... whatever magical substance that makes the distantly neighboring Forest of Love glow so bright.

The Deadlands are unique to this part of the world, and an enigma to all who do not live within its disorientating landscape. This land defies gravity whenever it pleases, it has an aura that dilates and heightens most senses, and its community is as strange as its surroundings. However, its biggest feature is that it's pretty much the world's lost & found dump. Anything that's gone missing ends up here, somehow, with no real explanation. The average Deadlandian can open their curtains in the morning to find that gravity is dangling lost items from across the world right over their lawn.

These ones are just as fleshed out, but I actually don't have (or just don't remember ><;;;;) names for them.

The jagged mountain range that Samantha lives in rarely sees sunlight. The weather is generally harsh and unforgiving, and for most of this range there's no life to be seen. However, this town dwells within a divot in the mountains, where they are sheltered by the towering rock a little more than other places to escape the bitter blizzards. That, and this specific location is unique in that it seems to have a lot more of that magic blue junk than pretty much anywhere else in the mountains. This magic is revealed through cracked geodes high in the rocks, which leak into mountain rivers, which just so happen to feed directly into the Forest of Love down a ways.

The Forest of Love is a large range of glowing blue forest that borders the east side of the mountains, and is generally the location that Michael, Debbie, and Vilmr live in. It is ever bright, and is considered one of the most uplifting places one could live in. Generally, those with magical inclinations live within or above the leafy glow of the forest to become more in sync with their magic, while those who do not practice tend to reside on the surface below. It's not actually clear if being closer to this magical canopy actually does anything, but that's just how those bitches live I guess.

Tim's area is probably the most neutral place you'll find in the story. It's much like cascadia, in that it's largely boreal and mild. Though his location is a little drier and more suited for farmland. This part of the land is a heavy export for the rest of the continent's basic grain & livestock material.

Zack & Taylor's town rests against a rather consistently rainy coast, where at least one day out of the week its weather parallels mild hurricanes. However much of the city is built with this in mind, and most areas of commute are sealed & domed. On the outskirts of town, though, spans mostly soggy beaches and marshy plains. Because of this location's wet climate, one may occasionally see the elusive fish person emerge from their oceanic abodes and wander the beaches. Usually in search of a beached fish snack.

*-~-~-*

Anyways, that's some info on some of the more significant locations in the CQ universe. It is 7:30 AM and I haven't gone to bed yet, so pardon any hiccups in grammar I may have left. I hope this helps you understand the world a little more. It also helps me to be able to write and cement this stuff down so I don't forget it later on, so thank you for being interested & asking me in the first place :3

#long post #sorry these doodle are kind of incomprehensible #but i hate doing long explanations of my stuff without at least some visuals #this post is fine to reblog btw if you want to bother your followers with a long post lmfao #brambleramble

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berryitalive · 3 months

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1 x 1 Roleplay Plots inspired by songs by Everything Everything

So this definitely isn't a roleplay blog itself (I have no idea how rp Tumblr functions and I prefer to use Discord for it.)

Recently I have been trying to reignite my love for roleplaying and because of that it has given me reason to write out different scenarios! Since my favorite band is Everything Everything I figured I would draw inspo from them!

Album: Raw Data Feel

Bad Friday -Theme: Supernatural-

[Muse A] wakes up on a Sunday morning with a killer headache and little memory of the days before. When they enter the bathroom and cut the lights on, they see their reflection covered in blood. In a panic, they search for any wounds they may have but find none. This wasn’t their blood. Flashes of the night before, of them running in the woods to escape whatever beast was after them, suddenly flooded their mind. How had they managed to escape whatever creature was chasing them? [Muse A] looks at their phone for any clue of what happened over the weekend, only to find a blurry picture of [Muse B] in some kind of mid-transformation. What was their best friend doing in this picture? Why was the last thing they could remember was leaving the nightclub with [Muse B] after ‘last call’?

Metroland Is Burning - Theme: Apocalyptic/Supernatural-

[Muse A] and [Muse B] were subjects in a government science lab deep underground, originally they were supposed to be the answer to adapting to the changing climate…or so they were told. The lab offered 25 grand to each person to allow themselves to be injected with ‘Serum K’. They were the only two participants in this experiment before things outside of the lab went wrong. After 6 months of overnight studies and invasive tests, a county-killing asteroid hits Earth around midnight, wiping out many of the scientists that lived in the area. [Muses] heard the explosion before the lights went off in the facility. After locating each other, their belongings and a map of the lab, they make their way out of the underground building. As they reach the surface the first thing they see is Six Flags on fire. Everything is quiet, no one is looking for survivors. And to make things worse the material in the asteroid seems to cause the serum in their bodies to change their dna. Why was there no warning about the asteroid? What is this serum doing to [Muses]?

Album: Get To Heaven

Distant Past - Plot Theme: Modern Fantasy/Adventure

[Muse A] is magic royalty from an era that is all but seemingly forgotten. Days before their wedding, they get pushed through a portal to the future where there is no magic in use but instead a modern time filled with cell phones, electric vehicles and whatever the fuck Tinder is. [Muse B] seems to think [A] is their date and approaches them. [A] just wants to find their way back to their era and because [B] is clearly of ‘lower class’, it is now their responsibility to help the royal pain. (I realize world wise this is basically Onward by Pixar)

Regret - Plot Theme: Fantasy/Action

The city is on curfew due to an arsonist running loose. Several buildings and trees have caught fire in the past few days. [Muse A]’s face is in the papers as the main suspect and the authorities are searching high and low for them. [Muse B] the leading detective spots [Muse A] in a dark, hooded cloak and against their better judgment begins a chase after them. [B] manages to corner [A] in an alleyway. [A] removes the hood that was previously covering their head to reveal a set of dragon horns.

Album: A Fever Dream

Desire - Plot Theme: Fantasy/Drama

[Muse A] has been raised to hate vampires. To only see them as blood-sucking, human-destroying monsters. When [A] became an adult, they left home to train to become a monster hunter. [A]’s only mission is to purify the world of vampire’s existence and make humanity safer. After training with the League of Slayers, [A] returns home to begin their solo hunting career with their best friend [Muse B] by their side. Things look great for [A]! However…[B] is a vampire and now has to protect their secret from [A]. Will [A’s] desire to put an end to the vampire race be stronger than their love for their friend [B]?

#1x1 rp #roleplay prompts #RP plots #rp #I didn't do one for spring/sun/winter/dread because it was written to describe the horrors of what *srael was doing to the children in Gaza #I totally am not procrastinating on fanfiction #roleplay plot

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