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greyfics · 16 days

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even if it's handcuffed, I'm leaving here with you.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

pairing: the ghoul (cooper howard) x reader fic type: enemies to lovers, no smut, mild spice + eventual fluff slow burn meter: ◈◈◇◇◇ word count: 3.8K inspo: TPD lyric prompt list, reblogged on main reader type: assumed wastelander background, gender neutral, 'I don't need a knight to save me', assumed negative views of BoS, assumed gun for hire cw: strong language, violence, reference to fictional drugs, mild dismemberment summary: reader is a gun for hire who has gotten themselves into a bit of trouble in the form of a moderate bounty with a local segment of the brotherhood- and cooper howard knows he can get all the drugs he needs for what seems like an easy job.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

"We can do this all day, darlin'. Even if it's handcuffed, I'm leavin' here with you." you feel the pressure of a pistol barrel pressing against the base of your skull from behind, and a disgruntled, defeated sigh slips through your lips. The game is up- you're out of ammo, down to the ripper hanging from your side, and 'gun against the brain-cage' is the indisputable checkmate.

Up to this point, you'd been pretty successful in shaking off the swathes of bounty hunters and jet-scrounging raiders that'd been on your tale since you became an enemy to the brotherhood- which, nowadays, seemed to be a pretty fucking easy feat to accomplish. The rusty knights were getting a little big for their oversized, several-tonne boots- and you had never been a fan of self-asserting authorities using their power in the name of 'order', especially not when they could hardly organise their own little sectors across the expansive, sparse remains of the USA.

As good with a revolver as you are, today it seems your luck has ran out and your karma has caught up with you, because you've finally met your match in a ghoul with a face so smug you wish you at least had a chance to slap it before losing the game of cat and mouse you'd been playing for a couple days now across Junktown. Your face collides into concrete and a quick click combines with the feel of steel against your wrists, The Ghoul's threat having evolved into a promise.

You spit a ball of blood and saliva from your mouth, wrought up by the hard impact with the ground below, "Alright, you win this round you freak- I'll come with you, just get these off of me." You hear a smirk from above, "Now how stupid do you fuckin' think I am? No, I gave you a chance to come willingly, you chose to shoot me in the leg. Lucky I ain't returned the favour." He gives you a light, sharp kick in the side with the tip of his boot, "Up. We got a long way to travel, and sooner we get there, sooner I get paid. I'll be reminding you now that I only get a bonus for bringing you alive, so make my life hell and I'll live without the extra caps." "Not exactly easy when my-" you hear the chick of a safety being cocked, and awkwardly shuffle back until you can jut sharply up onto your knees and slowly stand, turning to glare daggers into your now captor. The Ghoul's expression remains stiffly affixed with the wry, smug facade he bears: relaxed, squinting eyes peeking out above a thin, ever-upturned lip- you swear to yourself to you'll smack that smile off his face- but by all accounts, beneath the withered, decaying skin that had festered in his ghoulish transformation, the man had the stature (and admittedly, the jawline) of a filmstar.

You shake off the irritable possibility of monster like this getting lucky with the gene pool as a calloused hand secures a vice grip on one of your wrists and tugs you in suit as it's owner sets into motion, dragging you away from the remnants of an old civilisation and towards a military base miles away you are all too acquainted with.

You had been so caught up in the wild ride of adrenaline that came with being on the lamb that you briefly detached yourself from the catalyst of the chase- but as concrete and clay inevitably crumbles away to distant sandy dunes and cacti, the dread stirs in your stomach like a plague. It was easier to wave off the consequences of your actions when you weren't being marched towards the gallows to face them- it wasn't like you made an attack on the organisation. You kill one knight trashing up a town in the name of redundant technology, and suddenly you're on a hit-list. You know The Ghoul probably doesn't know this, and you know for certain that even if you tried to give the man a sob story he wouldn't care. This was it. "You about to be sick?" You snap from your pessimistic daze at the sudden interruption of silence, "No. Why?" "You look like you just ate a mouldy iguana, that's why- and I don't want sick on my boots." You let out an irked groan, and sharply snap your head to face the horizon in the opposite direction to your captor. You hope this will satiate his sour jabs for the time being-

Your hope is crushed five minutes later.

"Go on then. I'm bored shitless and I'm outta jet, so spill." He says with an almost theatrical exasperation in his voice, "Spill what, exactly?" you coldly respond in a mute tone, focus still fixed on the horizon to the west, "Well what's the big story? Someone's always gotta be the victim when they got a bounty on their head, so what's the tragic tale behind 'Y/N', huh?" the muscles in your neck and shoulders tense up at the mention of your name- you weren't exactly a known associate or long-time rival to the brotherhood, and the wanted poster you had wrestled from the stiff fingertips of a raider last week only had a sketch and a scrawled account of the incident. You falter for a moment before replying, but ardently avoid taking the bait, "If your plan is to get me to tell you how we got to where we are right now just so you can mock me, then I think I'd rather carry on enjoying the view, if you don't mind." The sweet-toned sarcasm at the end of your sentence seeps with venom, and the hostility it implies does not slip away from your adversary.

This time, his laugh is a soft, whisper of a chuckle- something spiteful, foreboding- followed by matching words, "You should hear what your little community had to say about you for a couple caps and a promise not to shoot anybody- well, anybody else-" his words cut into something personal, then- and though you would normally know that attacking someone with your hands cuffed behind your back is never going to end in your favour, at this moment you couldn't care less as you swing your leg round in a swift roundhouse motion, and raise your knee towards the only place you can think to leave a mark-

You hit your target, but instead of howls of pain you are met with a split second of awkward silence as the ghoul cocks his head, unimpressed, before slamming it into your own, sending you staggering back a few paces-

Before you can reorient your vision, a heavy dull force plummets into your ribs- the sand cushions your blow slightly better than the concrete you met face-to-face with an hour ago, at least. Your arms, however, are not grateful to be pressed beneath you as a familiar, withered hand pushes into your throat, putting as much pressure on your trapped limbs when your upper body presses back as it does on your esophagus, halting your air supply as he lowers himself down to a kneel and fixes your gaze onto his,

"If I wasn't already a walking corpse, that could've really hurt- not a very nice thing to do to someone just tryna have a little bit of light conversation now, is it?" All you can do is glower through eyes blinded by the sun, which gleams behind the shadow of the ghoul's head, bearing on it a smile tweaked with frustration- you need to breathe- you can't keep this up, your heartbeat is louder than the sun in your eyes and-

The pressure releases. You turn your head to the ground and suck in air between dry, heavy coughs, and after you've finally steadied your breath, you find a minor fleck of relief in being hoisted up from the ground this time instead of scrabbling to get up at gunpoint. You wonder, perhaps, if this is some small act driven by guilt- perhaps this man had a conscience once and a set of values beyond doing what it takes to ensure one's own survival. You were a gun for hire yourself, so it would be hypocritical to criticise your captor for his line of work- mostly, you preferred to stick with jobs guarding merchant caravans and to take out bands of raiders harassing the cities you passed through, but you never questioned the legitimacy of the requests you received, or the cargo you oversaw; you had settled for a little while, having stuck around the same little settlement for a few years now and had started to develop some semblance of a connection to the people there-

or so you thought.

You know you're going to be walking for a while- so with a resigned breath, you begin saying what little there is left to say about your present situation, "Well, you probably know most of what I can tell you from the sounds of things, but I guess there's nothing else for me to do right now, and the horizon is the same no matter where you go around here. I guess you could say we're in similar lines of work, but that's not really what got me in trouble with The Brotherhood. They think they can rock up in a power armour with a logo on it and wreak havoc as they please because it's for 'the greater good', but they leave towns half-destroyed when they pass through. I didn't want that to happen to... well, I didn't like the sound of that happening where I was. So, dude gets out of his power armour and starts waving guns around screaming about some piece of pre war tech or the other, and I tell him with... a strong choice of words, to get going. He starts running for the power armour, guns blazing- and I just have better aim, I guess. Not even like I got paid for killing him, either. Maybe that would've made this whole thing a little bit sweeter."

Your profession leaves a silence hanging in the air for a little while after, but it feels appropriate. The dunes filter sand from the far west to respond to your story- the horizon quivers, but only through the illusion of heat; the sand dries your eyes before they have reason to shed tears. A loaded sigh escapes the ghoul in front of you, and the clasp on your wrist softens but for a moment before stiffening to pull you onwards, "Yep, well, caps keep you going a little longer round these parts, but money can't solve all your problems." "You should tell that to the Brotherhood. They seem to be doing pretty well for all the wealth they've hoarded- can even pay big time bounty hunters to do their shitwork from the looks of things." You retort, but after a moment follow up with, "Wish I could say I was upset about it but hell, if I were you, I'd turn me in too."

You hear that soft chuckle again, but when you turn around to catch a look at the face that matches it, you see relaxed muscles and a far-off stare- he won't let you go, but he has let his guard down but a little bit- perhaps when we get closer to my story's end, he'll even let me walk to my death with my hands unbound.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

After trudging on in silence for a while, head bowed to your fatalistic contemplations, you find as you drag yourself out of the pit in your head and look over the horizon once more that the scene has changed: the atomic orange dewdrops spattering the sky not long ago have quickly to faded into a bruised overhanging shadow of violent, lavender, crimson; twilight approaches, and you're still surrounded by desert hills and illusions.

One of these illusory quivers catches your sharp eye, a dark blip that has appeared somewhere in that distance; it's moving, but it isn't close enough for you to determine whether it's just a trick of the heat or whether it's something heading in your direction. Your brow furrows, but you say nothing yet.

Within a minute, the object comes into better focus- or, rather, the creature. Your heart skips a beat, and you open your mouth to utter some kind of warning, managing to rasp, "Get the handcuffs off of me." "Now, darlin', I thought we managed to get past this already-" "No-" You tug your bound wrists, pulling the ghoul into your side- his other arm steadies itself against your shoulder before slipping up to your jaw and dragging it to face him, his own clenched and unaccompanied by a smile this time- the pallid complexion of your own face gives him enough pause for you to blurt in a fruitless, strained whisper, "Deathclaw."

If The Ghoul's skin could have paled more than it already had in his lifeless state, then it might have at that moment. The tight grip holding you against him slackens completely and you thud onto your ass as he draws his guns and casts you a playfully pitiful glance from above, shrugging and saying, "Sorry, darlin', guess I forgot to pick up the keys." He steps in front of you as a curse rips out of your throat in the sudden panic that ensues, and you try to muster enough brain cells in this moment to figure out a way of not dying, prematurely, and becoming just another skeletal curio.

There's the back-up plan, the 'if shit goes south' plan that you still hadn't gone through with because of the possible dismemberment that it might entail- but you had not been unarmed when you had been restrained earlier, and the phantom hum of a ripper blade always strapped to your waist as your last resort. You won't be able to wield it with any competence with your hands restrained as they are, but you can hit the power button from your current position-

Though, usually, you'd prefer to do it when the blade was already in your hand, not digging into the side of your leg.

shredded leg is better than deathclaw snack. Your astute analysis confirms your decision, and with a grunt and a whack, the blade starts chugging into a steady whirring action by the will of the dregs of an energy cell embedded inside- the next couple of seconds are far too long.

The blade begins it's excursion into your thigh as the gunslinging ghoul whips around at the sound, eyes wide at the sudden display of spraying crimson. You scream, struggle to try to align the cuffs without jerking your shoulders out of place. The deathclaw bounds into the mid-distance, closing in upon it's approach- it caught your scent before you could even see it's silhouette-

The tip disappears as your leg reflexively jerks, responding to the dancing jig of the chainsaw blade- you see pathetic sparks as the thing bounces off of the cuffs- strong enough to sever a leg, too rusted and battered to cut through metal. Your plan is failing. Your leg is bleeding. The cowboy falters as the deathclaw closes further-

You make a snap decision: fingers are easier to fix than legs.

You twist your wrist, and the pain just melts into the already existing burn emanating from your leg- a bloody, three-fingered stump slips from it's cage, and you swing your still-cuffed hand around in a fluid movement to drag the ripper from its sheath within your leg, snapping the cord that ties it to your waist-

You hear a frenzied firing of a revolver, but the approaching thunks are unimpeded- and though you know your leg may give way when the adrenaline finally dies, and though you know you need to find the two fingers you lost before sand vipers snatch them up and you're known as three-fingered y/n for the rest of your life- you launch yourself from the ground on your good leg, and stagger towards the approaching beast.

You grew up in the wastelands. You grew up in a settlement up here that, like any of the rest, was constantly plagued by critters and beasts- and if you were taught anything by the survivors that surrounded you, it was the following:

If you can't blow the bastard up, get 'em in the belly.

The deathclaw- a baby, thankfully- has it's gaze fixated on the man that had in the past half a minute become it's primary aggressor- so when you stumble forward, low and bleeding, with what to the creature is just another indistinguishable bit of metal in your hands, it does not see reason to change the track of it's jump.

As it launches itself above you, you pray to lady luck that you hit your mark.

An ear-splitting yowl and a sudden muffled crash tells you she's listening, for once.

Finally, after a few ragged breaths, the adrenaline wears off and you feel the weight of your body pressing into the wounds that liberated you- and the blueberry sky fades to black as you become weightless. This time, your fall is of your own accord- and this time, something stops you from hitting the ground.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

When you come to, you do not open your eyes at first- awake though you might be, your body is heavy with exhaustion. Before your encounter with the ghoul, you had been on the run for weeks, and in the last twenty four hours had not had time to stay put long enough to sleep. Coupled with the rough journey and the blood loss, you couldn't move if you wanted to. That being said, in those few dark minutes, a few things of note still catch your attention.

There is a faint crackling to your side, and the lulling warmth of a fire that brushes in waves against your face- and though you feel the silky grains of sand cushioning most of your resting body, your head lays higher up, neck leaning up to a more elevated surface- your attention snaps to the light sensation of fingertips absently grazing your neck in a repeating pattern, and the distant hum of an old country song embedded into muscle memory. The surrounding sensations are a strange comfort for all the brutal imagery this post apocalyptic world usually beholds; but it is brief, as your neck tenses, giving away your lucidity. The hand pauses, lifts- settles somewhere to the side.

When you dare to open your eyes, you are unsurprised to see the question-begging smirk and sharp eyes peering down from above, "Have a good nap?" You bolt upright, and immediately regret it when the bending of your leg snags one of the stitches you didn't know had been sewed into you until just now. Defeated, you flop back down, turning your head to the side to gaze into the dying embers of the fire beside you- praying you can brush off the flush of blush creeping into your face to the influence of the fire. Eventually you garner the courage to speak, "Feels like I've only been out for an hour." He snorts, shaking his head, "You went down around sunset, and it'll be sunrise in a couple hours." This catches you by surprise, and not just because of the amount of time you've lost, "What happened to getting your caps as soon as possible? Lost a lot of time waiting." He frowns, but does not lose his grin, "You trying to get yourself killed? 'Cos you've done a damn fine job of that so far. No, I've just been doing some thinking." "Congratulations. I'm proud of you." His eyes narrow into slits and he tuts at your sarcasm, following your gaze into the fire, "See, it could be argued that I would've been minced ghoul splattered n' buried six feet under the dunes if you hadn't gone all psycho slicing yourself up like that to get that baby deathclaw where it hurts." "That was a baby?-" "Anyway, guess my point is I might be willing to do a lot of things, but I still got my principles- only human thing I got left, probably. So I'd say I owe it you to not kill you at least. When you can walk, we'll go east to- well, to what's left of Shady Sands, and then you can do whatever the fuck you want."

You consider his words, and not knowing how to express appreciation or what to begin to make of this mysterious stranger and his obscure appeal, you find yourself rejecting this suggestion, though you don't know why- and so naturally, you dig yourself into a hole, "Well, you could also say that I would have died of blood loss if you didn't stitch my leg up." He studies you then for a minute, before shrugging and clasping your hands together at the wrists. You begin to stammer indecipherable protest and with a smirk he pulls you up, your hands still held rigid in your lap by his own, his head resting on your shoulder as he murmurs, "Now, I'm starting to get the impression you want me to march you up to our friends at the brotherhood just to keep my company." If he can't see the warm hue in your face now, he can certainly feel the heat flushing through your flustered face- you fight against the feeling, if only to make sure you stand a chance of winning this little exchange,

"Says the man who watched me sleep all night." You feel him shrug your comment off as his grin extends, "I might look like a monster, but I was a gentleman once upon a time. Like I say, I got principles." He lets you slip forward out of his grasp when you move to shuffle yourself around. As you do, you feel for the first time you are looking at him properly, sincerely- face to face, on equal grounds, with no threats of death or necessary facades of false confidence. After soaking in as much as you allow yourself to without losing yourself to curiosity entirely, you crossing your arms across your chest, and reply,

"Well, I have principles too- and if you're oh so graciously not turning me into the brotherhood then I still I owe you, so I guess I'll just have to stick around until you nearly get yourself killed again- that's all. No other reason." The ghoul rises, resting a hand on his pistol,

"You tell yourself that, darlin'- I'm gonna enjoy this change of scenery, I think."

#greyfics ✰°.• ➸ [ 01 ]#greyfics ✰°.• ➸ [ cooper howard ]#greyfics ✰°.• ➸ [ fallout ]#greyfics ✰°.• ➸ [ x reader ]#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout fanfic #cooper howard fanfic #the ghoul fanfic #x reader #greyfics #fallout tv series #I know that the way I used the lyric does not match the lyric but hey don't knock the weird literal train of inspiration #may rewrite to polish a couple details nagging at me but have put way too much time into fidgeting around with the words for now hehe #also I feel like this definitely has second part potential if I want to divvy into it in the future so #note to self for that one

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fatuismooches · 2 months

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Hoyo drops a Neuvilette dragon-form ladle and expects me to move on just like that? Not a chance.

Okay. Dottore. And fragile!reader who takes a liking in ceramics.

The weakness caused by mysterious sickness got the reader unable to attend to their hobbies as often as they'd have wished to. However, there are days when they feel great and devote their time to their lover. And if Zandik happens to be busy - it's ceramics time!

At first, there were no noticeable changes and Dottore doesn't acknowledge the strange items. It must be Pantalone or Columbina sending prank gifts anyway. But as the time passes, more and more strange items start appearing...

First, it was a the salt and pepper shakers. Instead of normal, tube-like shakers, two one-eyed bird creatures sat on the table. Their shape wasn't completely smooth, some imperfections here and there. The dyes overlapped in some places as well. Dottore knew right away that this wasn't bought from the local market. Why the strange shape, too?

That's when he begins to notice more. There is a ladle that's base takes the shape of the raven head that Dottore carries around his shoulders as a fancy accessory? There are a couple of ceramic bowls and plates that have silly drawings of the segments? The fox-monster-creature with a basket in its paws that serves as a fruit storage?

Dottore is confused. But also amazed.

He will praise the reader how wonderful all of their creations are, even if he finds them a tad bit weird at times. He loves them, really! Zandik will make sure to encourage their beloved to not stop the hobby since it is also good for their health - distraction from illness is always a great thing!

Let's just say Pantalone's bewilderment was immeasurable when he received a report stating that Dottore requests a ton of highest quality clay.

THIS IS SO CUTE... You always had a good amount of hobbies before you got sick, but after the illness, you find that your strength is too sapped to do anything too strenuous. So instead you stick to hobbies that don't require much energy, like reading for example. But that doesn't mean you're just going to give up on your old hobbies! Thankfully you still have good days that you can set aside for ceramics!! You don't bother telling Dottore because you assumed he'd realize it's you once you start sending your creations to him! (You think it's funny that it took him this long to realize, who else would take out the time to give him gifts? Only his dear lover of course!)

Not only are the shakers strange looking and far from perfection, but it is an odd thing to give to the man who barely eats, and when he does, the food is made and seasoned exactly to his liking by you. At least the shakers work...? That's one thing, at least. He doesn't have much use for them, but for some odd reason, he tucks them somewhere in his drawers for safekeeping.

However, more odd things that he would never use end up finding his way on his desk along with the very strange designs. He knows it couldn't be a joke anymore because of the sheer number and time it must have taken to make these things, despite them not being the most professional. There's really only one person he knows who could have done this. One of the plates has a wide pointy grin with red eyes that he can instantly recognize as Beta (Webttore) despite its simpleness. He doesn't think he could ever eat off a plate with that but he is amused by your creations. And also impressed.

First, he's very glad to hear your hands are steady enough to create such things. That is good news! Secondly, seeing you so happy is good for everyone considering your illness often impacts your mental state. Thirdly, he's partially offended that the other segments knew about your hobby and not him, your actual husband. Still, as long as it keeps you distracted, he'll keep indulging it for as long as you'd like. Even when you continue to send him strange gifts that he'd never use, only admire. (Pantalone is confused but soon puts two and two together.)

Of course, no one comments on the segments using puffling shakers in order to keep their life. I need a Foxttore fruit basket desperately... (imagine putting apples in it as a joke for Dottore teehee... :3)

#smooches talks #🐺 anon #dottore love notes <3 #fragile reader <3 #anyway.. dottore who's supportive of ur hobbies <33 #idk anything abt ceramics but it is so cool to me... id love to try one day #AND THE NEUVI LADLE WAS SO CUTE FR !!!! that was so sweet of him #and also how he got scammed by the marketing techniques... bye 💀#i love ur brainrots sm :3

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tswwwit · 8 months

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Lol omg at your last ask because imagine dippers under some truth spell and ends up spilling a bunch of secrets that Bill already knew and had stashed to use for later

This is no longer 'last ask' relevant because I had this partially written in my drafts for like a million years - but a Truth spell on Dipper would be very interesting!

So I took this prompt and didn't really answer it except in some ways.

Here's a thing!

“You never bring me any souvenirs.” Bill complains. In an all-too-whiny tone, and an all-too-close lean into Dipper's personal space.

Plus, it's a blatant lie. One Dipper shouldn't respond to.

He does anyway. “I literally brought you harpy feathers last week.”

“Doesn’t count! That was for a ritual you wanted to pull off!” Bill sounds miffed, though he also plants a palm on Dipper’s head and starts ruffling hair. “Now where's the emerald from last March? Or like, the headdress from that cult with all the rabbit bones? The good stuff."

Dipper grunts. He focuses on navigating back out of the cave, turning the clay tablet over in his hands.

Figures Bill would remember all the times he did get something. His memory is excellent. And he’s greedy, because a new toy every time is a big ask.

What does Bill expect, anyway. Not every situation Dipper gets into has something to bring back. What could he even offer? An ear taken off every monster he has to fight?

Wait, no. Bill would love that.

Dipper makes a face. “You've just proved that it's not ‘never’. With examples."

"Sure, but when’s the last time it was cool?”

Dipper sighs. No point in arguing. Bill could go on forever about how 'unfair' it is that he doesn't get trophies from every trip, or trinkets from conquered lands, or, again, ears from every enemy. When he’s decided to complain, no reasonable argument will shake him out of it.

“Too bad, then. You’re only getting some gifts.” Dipper shakes his head rapidly to dislodge Bill’s hand from his hair. "It’s hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened to you."

“Hey! I could argue that it’s related! In fact -”

Dipper tunes out the rest of Bill’s ramble, rolling his eyes. Listening with half an ear to Bill's ongoing tirade about being a poorly kept man, and unappreciated in his time.

Despite how much he already has, Bill always wants more. Somehow he sniffed out Dipper’s latest excursion, showing up right at the end and looking for ‘loot’.

Which Dipper, by all rights, should prevent.

Anything magical falling into Bill's hands can cause chaos, no matter how innocuous it seems. The flower incident alone is reason not to hand Bill anything, ever, and the fact that Dipper still does sometimes should be appreciated, damn it.

Bill's complaining on and on, but whatever. Eventually he'll get bored.

In the meantime, Dipper turns the clay tablet around again with a frown. He found something interesting, at least.

Whatever this is, it’s definitely not a language he recognizes. The script is strange, scrawled in different directions. For all he knows he’s holding it upside down. He hopes Bill doesn’t notice until he’s figured out -

"Whatcha got there?" Just as expected - and right on time.

Dipper feels the tablet yanked out of his grasp, unfazed. He doesn't break his stride.

"I found it in the lair, after... you know." Charred bones, explosions - Dipper wishes he could use, like water, or something, but mastery over even one element is powerful as is. "Anyway, that monster was collecting a lot of weird magic stuff, and this was the only interesting thing it had." He shrugs. Then, because Bill will like it, adds, "So... to the victor go the spoils?"

“Now that’s the spirit!” Bill gives him a grin, holding the tablet up to squint at it. Thankfully not turning it around. One point for Dipper, on not looking incompetent.

Still, if anyone can read it…

“What language is this?” Dipper not-so-subtly leans over, trying to peek around Bill’s arm.

"Old Draconic," Bill says, without missing a beat. Humming to himself as he apparently reads the text. Perking up a bit, smile widening. "Oh, hey! Iambic pentameter."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing, sapling. I just wish when people did the whole 'ancient poetry curse' thing, they'd get a little more creative. You never see hexameter! Or tetrameter! Not even a tasteful use of spondee.” Bill sticks his tongue out. "Come to think of it - I don’t think anyone’s done a prose epic that made the reader wanna tear their eyes out since Joyce."

Sometimes with Bill, you have to read between the lines. The long, irrelevant babbling lines.

"Just tell me if I need to get Ford or not." Dipper says, flat. He rubs at the bridge of his nose.

Among all the other stuff, Bill said ‘curse’. Never, ever a good sign.

Though the monster he just took down wasn’t a dragon, and that wasn’t really a ‘horde’ so much as something resembling the contents of the Mystery Shack, there’s absolutely no good thing about a curse. If Dipper somehow triggered it -

Great. As if hanging around Bill alone didn’t invite enough bad fortune, he’s picking up parts of his own stupid curiosity.

"Nah, don’t bother with the loser uncle!" Bill waves his concern away, amused. “This is just purple prose! Buncha ‘oooh, bad things’ll happen if you mess with my stuff.’ Totally boilerplate spellcraft with some flowery wording.”

With a shrug, Bill dismisses the whole thing. Which includes chucking the tablet over his shoulder, but Dipper manages to snag it before it falls and shatters into a million pieces.

“Typical dragon horde enchantment. All bluster, no burning.” Bill keeps walking without a care in the world. “They’re full of hot air!”

“So I’m not cursed,” Dipper prompts, catching up to him. “Aside from you, I mean.”

“Flatterer,” Bill says, slightly warmer. He continues, shrugging. “No reason you would be! No dragons in the area, and the warning sign there’s too old. By my guess, the original horde was raided centuries ago! Just another piece of random crap that got dragged into that junkyard." And he ruffles Dipper’s hair again, in the second-most annoying way. "You’re stuck with me, though.”

Dipper ducks and twists, thus freeing himself from the minor torment. “I think I can live with that.”

One would think that chatting with a demon - one as cryptic and ominous and aggravating as Bill - would only cause irritation, at best.

It still does, of course. But when it comes to Dipper, Bill… sometimes lays things out straight. On occasion. Especially when he’s instructing, doubly when it comes to magic. Like he’s trying to pour all the facts he can into Dipper’s brain, overfilling the cup.

If his goal is to overload this one mortal mind, though, he'll have to work a lot harder.

Dipper gets out his notebook, while Bill looks away, and pretends he didn’t see it. Yet another poorly-veiled lesson, with Bill obviously trying to plant seeds re: actually casting curses. Tough luck managing that. His subtle lean towards chaos might escape the unwary, but to Dipper? Bill’s way too transparent.

The fact is, that Dipper absorbs things fast. Even Bill will admit it, sometimes without being prompted.

That Includes stuff Bill doesn't even know he's teaching.

Bill’s also rambling on about historical curses, and how often these things backfire, or misfire. It’d almost sound like a series of unconnected, gossipy anecdotes, if it weren’t for the extra technical details.

And Dipper’s not falling for it. As far as he's concerned, his first curse was his last one.

But then…

Even if he’s not going to use the knowledge, there's no reason not to learn it. Knowledge about making curses can also be used to break them, after all. Taking all the facts Bill smacked a ‘For Evil Purposes Only’ sticker on and using them to shatter an evil plan would be very satisfying.

They’re nearly out of the cave at this point, so Dipper figures it’s fine to let his guard down a bit. The monster's dead, all the traps were cleared out on the way in - everything should be fine.

He clicks his pen a couple times, and asks Bill to repeat that last thing, about the life drain. It gets a snort of amusement, but Bill’s more than happy to elaborate at length. Dipper struggles to keep up with Bill’s rapid-fire speech; he's trying to make this intentionally difficult, damn it.

Bill leads on with careless gestures and an uninterrupted stride. Getting ahead of Dipper by several meters, but Dipper’s got to note down what he says before he has to do something awful, like ask Bill to repeat himself.

Dipper is, in fact, so busy trying to write in shorthand, and walk, and not hit a stalactite with his face, all at the same time, that he sort of loses track of where he is.

And okay, maybe he trips over a rock slightly, and nearly faceplants, bonking against the sudden curve of a wall with a swear.

Dipper takes a step back, rubbing at his forehead. Annoying, but, whatever. There were a few traps around, but he pretty much cleared out the cave on the way in, so it’s probably - oh, hell.

Not fine, he dropped the stupid tablet.

Great. The only really interesting object, shattered into half a dozen pieces. So much from saving it from Bill; Dipper himself fumbled the bag.

He backs up to evaluate the damage -

The stone sinks under his foot, and something goes ‘click’.

With a start, Dipper raises a shield without thinking, arm jerking up as he wills his magic into the gesture. It's solid enough for something done on reflex, but an impact hits hard on his side, with sudden, stinging pain.

And a pretty hard impact, at that. He didn’t get it solid enough, damn it, wasn’t expecting something physical -

Dipper wheezes out a breath, slumping to the ground and clutching his stomach.

Alright. So. He got most of the traps.

He sits down, and lets his head thump back against the stone, teeth bared in a grimace. Stupid. Should have been paying attention.

The commotion makes Bill turn his head, blinking at Dipper sitting on the ground.

Then - because he’s an asshole - he starts laughing.

“I know I’m fascinating, sapling, but really?” He tuts, setting fists on his hips. “Not sure if I should be flattered that you’re obsessed with me, or disappointed that you’re dumb enough to walk right into a wall.”

Dipper sucks in a breath, gingerly touching his side. Doesn’t seem like - he glances down. Sure, it stings, and his shirt’s torn, a long, shallow cut on his stomach, just near the old scar. But that’s about it. Over to his side, an arrow rolls against the ground, stone head clicking against the ground.

Over by the cave mouth, Bill’s cackling. God, he’s a jerk sometimes.

But he must not have seen the trap set off, too wrapped up in his own stupid bullshit, or he’d be less of one. Dipper knows that for a fact. Though he’d really, really prefer he’d never had that experience.

“C’mon, kid. If you’re not even more brain damaged from your bump, let’s ditch this joint.” Bill jerks his head over his shoulder.

Dipper hugs himself around the torso, grimacing. Not bothering to respond. His heart is still pounding, or he’d have a retort ready. Adrenaline’s helped him out in a lot of situations, but not with talking. He’ll get up when he’s ready.

“What, you smash your skull open or something?” Bill raises one arch eyebrow.

Though Dipper knows why Bill’s like this, it’s still deeply annoying. He shakes his head in lieu of a reply. In a second, he’ll be calm enough to tell Bill exactly what he thinks of his incredibly poor bedside - and cave-side - manner.

“Figures. Can’t leave you alone for five minutes without your guts spilling everywhere.” Bill clicks his tongue, folding his arms and stepping forward. “What’s the damage?”

“It hurts.” Dipper says, through gritted teeth. Then pauses. Wait, he meant to say - He shakes his head rapidly, only for more words to force themselves out, unbidden. “I got cut again.”

Again, not what he intended. Dipper lowers his chin, teeth clenched. What the hell, he shouldn’t have said that. Bill’s mocking aside, maybe he did hit his head a little too hard. Once Bill gets the mockery out of his system, he’s going to be a total pest about it, too.

With a huff, Dipper slumps. Settling in for a sulk, waiting for the next jab - But there’s no insult forthcoming. Or argument.

In fact, Bill’s gone totally silent. Which is super weird.

Dipper looks up at the cave entrance, expecting a comment or a question, or at least a huge grin. He tenses up, hunching over.

And meets a frozen, unsmiling face.

Bill dropped his arms, they hang limp by his sides. His expression’s gone blank.

The next moment, he’s right in front of Dipper, kneeling and tugging at his arms with alarming urgency.

“Alright, lemme see.” Bill’s face is very close. Though he’s trying to pull his arms away, Dipper resists out of sheer surprise. Bill growls, eye darting around until it lands on the arrow. “Oh for - Really can’t leave you alone for five minutes. Move.”

Another pull, less hard this time. Like he’s trying to ease Dipper’s arms away.

“Wh- Hey!” Dipper plants a foot against Bill’s chest, but that hardly stops anything. He raises his arms. Holding them up, in fact, like he’s at gunpoint. Where’d this come from. “Don’t get upset, I’m fine.”

“Ha! Good one, sapling. Who’s upset, exactly?” Bill says, teeth bared, and in a deeply upset way. He tugs Dipper’s shirt, up, fingers tracing the cut before pressing into his stomach. “I’m just wondering if I need a replacement mortal this soon into your miserable existence. No big deal!”

Okay, this is too much.

Dipper struggles up, despite Bill trying to shove him down again. Bracing himself on the cave wall, and glaring. “Calm down already.”

“I’m perfectly calm.” Bill says, through gritted teeth. At best he looks miffed, but he’s at least stopped trying to make Dipper lie down in the recovery position or whatever. With a glare, he tugs up Dipper’s shirt, prodding at the shallow cut. “What the hell, kid. I thought you said it hurt!”

“Ow.” Dipper’s stomach jumps at another poke. He smacks Bill’s hand away. “It does, alright? Quit poking.”

Bill doesn’t seem impressed. His fingers trail over the larger, older scar on Dipper’s left side, then glares at Dipper’s stomach like it’s insulted him. A beat, then - “You don’t usually complain.”

“I-” Okay, true. Dipper glares anyway. “Shut up.”

He doesn’t complain because it’s the only option. For all that Bill whines and teases and taunts Dipper, all the time, about being some ‘fragile mortal meatsack’, already rotting before his eyes, he really doesn’t like it when it’s brought forcefully to his attention.

God, he shouldn't have said anything. Ninety-five percent of the time, there isn’t any harm to mention. But when Dipper does ends up showing he is kind of… mortal, and it’s small, he just. Doesn’t bring it up. For all that they bicker all the time, he doesn’t like to make Bill upset.

Bill grunts, mouth turned down at the corners. He stands up quickly, folding his arms. His lip curls up in a sneer. “If you wanted attention, kid, there are way better ways to-”

Oh, fuck that. Dipper flips him off, and starts storming off.

God, this is stupid. Whenever Dipper ever breaks a bone or something, he gets teased about being so weak and vulnerable. Which he is, but neither of them like the reminder.

These days, it also comes with some weirdly maybe-sincere ‘kiss it better’ thing that Dipper then has to disinfect. A lot of hovering, and rambling commentary. Sometimes creative descriptions of how much worse it could have been, and Dipper never needed those, at any time. Bill gets oddly fixated on such random little moments, and it’s just -

Dipper doesn’t like it, is all. Bill gets the way he gets, it’s a lot, and it’s easier just to avoid it. If he were a different guy - a human guy, or even mostly-human monster- Dipper might try to talk to him about it.

But Bill’s a demon. Not normal, barely sane even on his best days, and worse, he’s Bill, so. That conversation would go precisely nowhere.

Behind him, he hears said demon approaching, fast. Stupid jerk. He should be as tall as his real form. That’d be fair. More accurate, too, and then Dipper could properly stomp off without Bill catching up so easily.

Already the bastard is by Dipper’s side. A tall, irritating presence. Hovering close without grabbing on, which adds to said irritation.

Dipper leans away, but Bill catches him around the waist and drags him in.

“Don’t get so grumpy, sapling, you’re fine! A little nick in the outer layer rarely killed anyone since they invented antibiotics.” Though he pinches Dipper’s cheek, he yanks his head away with a grunt. Bill sighs. “Everything’s a-okay here! Looks like I don't have to find a replacement just yet.”

Bill’s an idiot. Dipper scoffs, though an unpleasant feeling crawls in his gut. “Oh yeah? Who would you replace me with?”

“Eh, not like I got anyone specific in mind.” Bill waves that off, nonchalant. “But I have options! Lots of options.” He bumps a hip against Dipper. “Keep that in mind before you go charging off into obvious traps.”

This goddamn liar. Dipper elbows him in the side, because the asshole deserves it.

Not that Dipper’s worried, or anything. From what little he’s heard of Bill’s exes in the demonic rumor mill - Bill’s been, as they say, less than successful. Already Dipper’s outstripped his longest by years.. Bill can lie day in and day out about his options, put on a brave face - but they both know he’s not going to find this again. Not easily.

“Good luck finding another husband, asshole.” Dipper says with appropriate derision. It’s annoying that Bill even brought it up. There’s a good riposte in there, somewhere - but while his brain is coming up with an insult, his mouth runs on automatic. “But I was really worried that you would last week. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day until you sent a dick pic. It was weirdly comforting.”

Bill turns toward him with genuine surprise. He even blinks a few times, no retort emerging, and Dipper looks back at him with equal surprise.

Until his mind catches up with what he just said.

Dipper digs his heels in the ground, slamming to a halt. Clapping both hands to his mouth, eyes wide.

Beside him Bill nearly trips at the sudden stop, flailing for balance with a swear.

Shit, shit shit. Dipper really didn’t mean to say that. He knows Bill’s not looking around, that he’s not interested. Cynically, that he couldn’t manage it if he was. Last week was just a one-off anxiety, like all the others Dipper’s brain comes up with when it gets too much free time. Totally irrational, and really hard to stop fixating on.

Bill keeps staring. Not angry, just confused, for long enough that Dipper wants to shrink into the ground and melt into nothingness.

Then he asks, “What the hell, Pine Tree?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I thought that. I don’t know why I said that.” Dipper cringes into himself, grimacing and ducking his head. He runs a hand over his slightly sweaty face. “I didn't even want you to know I got hurt.”

At that, Bill snorts. “Oh, please. I’d have seen that first time I got your shirt off. You can’t keep secrets from me!”

Dipper folds his arms, internally seething - and his stupid mouth moves to say, “I’ve done it before.”

This time, the silence is tense.

Dipper wipes his sweating forehead again, not daring to meet Bill’s eye. God he shouldn't have -

Before he can think, he blurts out, “I think something’s wrong.”

“Probably!” Bill agrees, with a smile just a little too sharp. He takes Dipper’s face in both hands, eye narrowed. “Hold still a sec.”

As Bill’s eye flickers blue, and the magic between them surges - Dipper squirms a bit, but. Well. If anything’s wrong with him - magically, anyway - Bill’s the best one to diagnose it..

Bill tilts his head to one side, then the other. After a moment, his mouth twists up into something unpleasant, eye glowing slightly brighter for an instant.

Then he sighs, and lets Dipper go. His expression is neutral, except for the slightest downturn of his mouth. His lips part like he’s about to speak, then twist up into a grimace.

Uh oh.

Whatever Bill saw, he didn’t like it.

“What?” Dipper pats his head, then his chest. If there was something weird, magically about him, he - wouldn’t be able to tell, actually. He’s too close to get a good look. Oh god, what if he did hit his head too hard, and something in his brain is bleeding, or worse. “Wait. Am I dying?”

“Worse! You’re telling the truth.” Bill claps his hands together. Though he’s smiling again, it’s brittle and annoyed. “Don’t suppose you know any curse breakers that aren’t your great-uncle?”

“Not really,” Dipper admits. Bill's words catch up to him, and he bites his lip. Then, because the situation deserves it, “Fuck.”

Protection curse. The tablet.

Damn it.

A part of a horde, from a long time ago. Messed with. It should have been something less awful. Like warts, or sprouting plants from his skin, or a big fireball. Pretty much anything else would be less awful.

Truth curses are rare, they’re difficult as hell - but judging by the words spilling out of Dipper, he’s caught a pretty strong variant.

Of all the curses that could hit him. Why this one.

Hell, maybe it’s intended to be the worst curse possible for the ‘thief’. That would explain how targeted this feels.

And knowing Dipper’s luck, that part was explained on, like, the back of the tablet.

“Welp! Good thing I’m not short on contacts, kid.” Bill grapes his shoulder, shaking him a bit, before he trails an arm over Dipper’s shoulders. “Who wants some fumbling idiot uncle to fix this kinda spell, anyway?”

Dipper would! If it was feasible. He makes a brief attempt at shrugging Bill’s arm up before letting his shoulders slump.

The idea of Ford hearing about this is….

Dipper sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Ford really would have a way around this. He'd certainly have the best intentions, Dipper’s certain. He'd...

Also not have the best sense of boundaries.

Though he'd be doing it for the right reasons, he'd ask the wrong questions. Out of concern, and arguably valid worry; he's never fully believed that Bill can't influence him. Despite how many times Dipper’s tried to explain it to him, Ford just can’t wrap his mind around certain truths.

With this curse, though. Between poor social sense, the Pines curiosity, and what Dipper might blurt out, while compelled to answer -

On this, Dipper agrees with Bill. They’ll have to find something else to break this.

In the meantime, he’ll manage, like he has all the other times his life has sucked. Hardly the worst case scenario. If Bill had been cursed - someone who lies like he breathes - Who knows? Give it a few days, and he might just explode from all the backed up bullshit.

“Wait.” A horrible thought strikes. Dipper reels on his husband, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“What, me? I’m a perfectly moral human man,” Bill says, resting a hand on his chest, lifting his chin with pride. “A boring sentient mammal who’s never found curses entertaining.”

Yep, Bill’s fine. As always, it’s Dipper who gets the short end of the stick.

He breathes in slowly, and lets it out.

Yeah. Still sucks. He’ll deal. Cursed, but not dead. In danger, but not the worst - and his husband’s being annoying, which means he’s perfectly fine. There’s a solution too - it’s just going to be a huge, annoying process getting to it.

“So,” Bill says, slowly. Drawing the word out in a long string, while he finger-walks his arm up around Dipper’s shoulder.

Uh oh.

Speaking of annoying…

“Watch it,” Dipper hunches his shoulders, not daring to look his idiot husband in the eye. “You’re this close to sleeping on the couch for a month.” Not a big enough threat, Bill’s still thinking- “Or for a year.”

“Oh, sure,” Bill says, in a distracted tone. His fingers pause on their walk, one ‘leg’ poised on Dipper’s clavicle. They hold the position for a long moment, tapping out a little marching step - and seconds later, his palm slaps down on Dipper’s shoulder. “So, Pine Tree! How do you feel about this ‘Bill Cipher’ guy?”

Though Dipper resists, and he really tries to, the words slip out past his teeth, his lips form the sounds -

“I love you.” God. Damnit. He clenches his fists, as Bill’s sheer smugness radiates from him like heat. “And I’m thinking about shoving you off a cliff right now.”

When Bill paused, Dipper thought he might have fended this off. Wishful thinking, really, Bill’s almost impossible to stop. Dipper used what leverage he had, but all he’s managed to avoid are the worst, most invasive questions.

When it comes to Bill, that’s pretty close to a win.

Not that it’s going to feel like one.

Bill has, in fact, been encouraged. Now that he’s heard something he likes, he leans in like a weird creep. Dipper can practically hear the leer in his voice. “And on a scale of one to ten, how handsome am I?

“Ten point five,” Dipper needs to loosen his jaw or he might break a filling. Being pumped for information is bad enough without pumping up Bill’s already ridiculous ego. “You bastard.”

Bill’s chest puffs out, there’s a strut in his stride. The grin is so wide now Dipper’s pretty sure it should hurt- and if he dares to pucker up, he’s not getting lips on his awful face. “And am I the most clever and sexually amazing guy in the universe or what?

This time, Dipper snorts.

“Definitely not.” He ignores the sharp, indignant sound next to him, tilting his head in thought. “For one, there’s succubi and incubi, so. Sexually, you’re not even on top amongst demons.” He glances over at the offended ‘o’ of Bill’s mouth. “And I know you’re not the most clever, because I win our debates nearly half the time. Maybe you’re up there, but not the most. And that’s just the surface level stuff.”

Dipper doesn’t have a complete cosmological view of the multiverse, but he has learned a lot. Mostly stuff he picked up from his husband, and demonic gossip. It’s absolutely enough to go on a long, long ramble about how Bill most likely doesn’t rank number one in anything. If Dipper avoids the topics where he actually is.

He’s barely fifteen seconds in before Bill starts scowling, with a grumpy hunch to his shoulders - But screw him.

Dipper starts smiling, just a bit. Then, to be a dick, he adds,

“The ten and a half is just me, anyway. To the average human, you’re maybe an eight..” Dipper continues, over another spluttered protest. Again, true; not everyone likes the slightly inhuman maniac cyclops look. “Six with your personality.”

Bill groans. “Ugh, you pedant.” He squeezes Dipper’s shoulder, jostling him slightly. “C’mon, you know what I meant! What’s the real - “

“Don’t ask questions if you can’t handle the answers,” Dipper warns, jabbing Bill in the chest. So far it hasn’t been too much, but it could be. Time to draw a line. “I will suck so much fun out of this for you.”

Bill Cipher, unintentional teacher once more. Now Dipper knows the curse isn’t about perfect truth. When he can deliberately misinterpret a question’s intent, and can go on tangents - that means he has loopholes. There might even be more, if he tries.

And if they can’t get this settled soon, he’ll need every one of those he can find.

“Clever brat.” Bill’s frowning, but he can’t disguise the amusement in his voice. His eyebrows wiggle, his arm hauling him close - "Go ahead, then. Anything else you wanna share?"

"I know two and half ways to kill you, Bill Cipher." Dipper gets right up in his face. He won’t let Bill push this any further. "Don't tempt me to use them."

Being face to face like this, Dipper watches Bill’s eye go wide - ha, didn’t expect that, did he. With that threat, he’ll -

Start cackling. And weirdly, turn a little pink. Dipper feels all the momentum he had whoosh out of him like sad balloon animal.

“Boy, you are a saucy one!” Bill whistles, low. He places his hands demurely on his cheeks, fluttering his eye at Dipper with amusement. “Oh, yeah. Talk deadly to me.”

By this time, Dipper figures he should be used to stumbling into demonic flirtation. Only it turns out it’s basically fractal in nature, and he keeps running into new and newer edge cases.

“Fun as this is - we gotta get you cleared up, and no time like the present!” Bill’s calmed down enough to scoop an arm around his waist, leading Dipper onward. “Can’t have you babbling everything to everyone, y’know?”

“What, you don’t want me telling you everything?” Total bullshit. Dipper elbows him in the side. “I thought you wanted to get in my head.”

“Hey! I didn’t ask for our game to be set on ‘beginner’ mode. That’s boring.” Bill flicks his fingers - but he’s got his ‘evading questions’ look on. “You’re lucky I’m so- oof.”

Another elbow, harder this time. Bill grunts, but capitulates. Rubbing at his eye briefly, he sighs.

“So! How many of my secrets would you say you know, Pine Tree?” Bill tightens his grip on Dipper’s waist, tugging him closer. “And I’m talking about the ones that I wouldn’t enjoy getting out in the world.”

“More than I can count.” Dipper says without thinking. Then, with thinking - “Oh.”

Dipper hadn’t considered how much Bill’s taught him, before this exact moment. How much he’s learned. Even unintentionally. Especially unintentionally.

Crap, even his threat before was kind of -

Shit. There’s definitely, absolutely, no way can they go to Ford about this. Total recipe for disaster.

“See? We both got liabilities in play here.” Bill moves easily as Dipper picks up the pace. If anything he’s amused, and not feeling nearly as urgent. Another reason he’s an idiot. “All we gotta do is get you patched up quick, and no more loose lips sinking ships! Easy-peasy.”

“It better be,” Dipper mutters. Nothing ever goes right for him. And by extension, them.

“Trust me, kid! I got this handled!” Bill snaps his fingers - and smacks Dipper’s butt with a wink. “I know some guys!”

#answers #Not my best work but I haven't posted in a while so here's a thing!#I will get better at writing I swear #There are references to the whump fic in this just so you know #It is canon that Dipper didn't die but the how and the aftermath are for the sequel #Anyway whump sequel is going decent and I have some ideas for other stuff #Don't worry Dipper Ford wouldn't even think to ask you the questions you're worried about #He assumes that Bill would never ever let you know those facts #And technically Bill never told Dipper either of those two and a half ways but you learn a lot from being married for a few years #I don't have any more interesting tag facts other than that don't expect a timely sequel to this because I have so much stuff to complete #I hope it's at least fun to read!

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jackdaw-sprite · 4 months

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Hi, @ep-10 ! I was your truce gifter this year for @phandomholidaytruce and I decided to use your prompts for a Japanese ghost--kinda, but mostly for a biopunk fantasy au. You're getting some character designs for a biopunk fantasy AU set in a world suspiciously similar to Sengoku era Japan! And also backstory. Mostly backstory, really.

Warning for someone getting baked alive in a kiln.

I mean, we all know who.

Jack and Maddie Fenton are a married pair of researcher/alchemists who've been brought into the country with the influence of an old friend of theirs, Vlad. He wants them to figure out the secret to producing porcelain, an expensive and magically versatile ceramic with a production process that's a closely guarded secret in a nearby, much more economically powerful country.

To this end, Vlad has supplied the Fentons with enough wealth and resources to not ask things like "where did you get this?" and "what exactly is going to happen when it gets out that we're trying to make porcelain?"

As it turns out, this is a very important question, because together the pair piece together how to build a kiln that burns hotter than any they've ever seen before and for the very first time make the coveted porcelain.

The victory is short lived: their son Daniel goes missing that very day, and then their search for him is waylaid by another discovery: some of the porcelain is coming to life, animated by a horrific amalgam of flesh and vitriol. They must find Danny, but first they must make sure the monsters they've made are destroyed…

So! The three big players in our cast of characters here are Jack, Maddie, and poor, poor Danny. They are coincidentally the only ones I had time to do a character design for, so let's look at Jack first, who is holding an experimental porcelain vase:

That's quite an outfit. It's, uh. Not quite standard in the Sengoku: while he's wearing a hitatare, it's been modified, and he's chosen not to wear pants because it's technically not, like, a crime. I chose this for him because Jack:

a) Does not care about what everyone thinks of what he's wearing, or he wouldn't wear a jumpsuit all the time in canon b) Hates the feel of most clothes

Hitatare were growing in popularity during the Sengoku because of how comfortable they were, so it seemed a good fit for Jack. They didn't necessarily need to be worn with hakama if you were of a lower class, but it would be frowned upon to go without if you were off a higher class.

The modifications he and Maddie have made to it make it even less restrictive than a standard hitatare, and a bit more suited to their work of experimenting with kilns and clay.

The obi is stitched into place, so it doesn't actually act like a belt and put a line of pressure across Jack's stomach, and they've added a button to the side to hold the hitatare closed, instead. The stitching around the sleeve openings is pretty archaic by this point, but they've kept (or added) it so he can draw the openings closed when he wants, and a second draw string runs along his sleeve to let him draw the sleeves away from his hands when needed, while still letting him let them extend to their full length to act as a barrier between his skin and unpleasant textures.

He's got some leather gloves and a pair of very early goggles to protect his hands and eyes from the heat of the kilns.

The geta act as an additional layer of protection against bad textures, since they should keep him above mud.

Maddie, here holding a shattered fragment of porcelain, is dressed far less eccentrically, because this (left) is before the porcelain came to life. She's just wearing a kosode with hakama and a leather apron. (She has gloves too, they're just tucked away at her back) The smaller sleeves stay out of the way while she works, and the hakama are roomy. She's wearing waraji, because she prefers what I assume is more stable footing and a lower center of gravity.

This is especially true after they start fighting the porcelain. Pictured here, you can see she keeps her hair out of her face with a standard low ponytail, and the Fenton Anti-Creep stick manages to still exist in this world, despite all odds.

This Anti-Creep stick is a bokken with embedded teeth of broken porcelain for a better shattering potential--metal, especially enough metal of sufficient quality for a sword, is expensive, and they're dealing with something that's only a stronger ceramic…

Which brings us to the kiln. And, to his great misfortune, to Danny.

This is a multi-chambered climbing kiln. While I don't think it's the first kiln that allowed firing temperatures to reach that required for porcelain in Japan in our world, it's the most common and appeared around the same time as that first one. The design of it encourages airflow in a way that traps and directs heat to build it on itself and distribute it reasonably evenly.

The kiln chambers would get filled with the pots to be fired, then they would set a fire in the little step down in each chamber. Then they would seal the kiln chambers entrances with fire bricks, except for a small stoking hole to keep the fires fed.

Then they'd light the main fire at the mouth to the first, lowest chamber called the stoke hole and the fire box respectively.

And then they would keep the fires lit, and feed them, wood upon wood upon wood…

Until eventually, the kiln warmed, grew sweltering, grew hot, hot like fire, like iron in a forge and then hotter still, until the whole of the inside glows.

Like the center of the earth.

…

At the lowest, porcelain requires a firing temperature of 1000 degrees. Celsius.

Brass melts, at that temperature. Porcelain itself gets its strength from melting.

And Danny…

Danny tripped. Danny was loading one of the chambers, and he tripped and he hit his head and by the time he woke he was sweating.

He tried to crawl away from where he knew the fires were. The flue, where the spent air left the kiln, has charred finger marks where his burnt away after the carbon dioxide and heat drove him unconscious a second time.

It was a mercy.

By the time he woke again, his body was cooling.

You see, the Fentons enchanted the kiln to make it try to repair pieces that were falling apart during the firing process. And, if one piece was destroyed in the firing anyway, to use the fragments to reinforce the other pieces in the kiln.

Danny was in the kiln. Danny's body failed.

Bone ash is not a critical ingredient in porcelain, but its presence makes it much, much stronger.

Danny woke up made of porcelain.

His sandals left black on the soles of his feet and the fingers on one hand that had burned looked skeletal. But he woke up.

And he ran.

Later, he'll find help. Later, he'll find a way to fight the other things in the kiln that day, and the results of later firings. Later, he'll meet a boy who loves puzzles and information and who teaches him how to use a bow and arrow to keep his fragile body intact. He'll meet a girl who loves foraging (partly because it gets her away from her parents) but loves justice more.

(Whether he'll stop wearing his clothes like a corpse is another question.)

Danny here is wearing something hitatare adjacent and hakama, along with a yugake.

Happy truce!

#danny phantom #jack fenton dp #maddie fenton dp #danny fenton dp #jackdraw-spwrite #jackdraw-sprite

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estelle-skully · 4 months

Text

Trolls: Band Together tkl Headcanons!

Im only doing Brozone rn because thats all I feel like but send an ask or smth to request other characters if you’d like

golly gee here we go (im going in age order ((oldest to youngest)) because organization🔥🔥)

⭐️⭐️⭐️ John Dory:

90% ler, 10% lee

definitely used to wreck his brothers before the band broke up when they were younger

Used to embarrass his brothers in public by poking their sides or something and found it hilarious

the rest of Brozone definitely all ganged up on him for revenge

he isnt really a lee but doesn’t hate being tickled

still ticklish af though 💀

worst spot is his ribs

whenever one of his siblings starts a tickle fight, he usually wins

Always tells Poppy all of Branch’s worst tickle spots

He would sometimes tickle his brothers before a show to get them energized/in a good mood. Especially Clay, since he was supposed to have a silly attitude

(the following hcs are yanked from isitwp)❤️

- will purposely always pin his lees down, no matter who or what, he will always pin them down, even if it’s at the beginning, middle or end, somewhat he will pin them. (But sometimes he likes watching their limbs flail in desperate attempts to escape)

- when branch was younger, he would 100% hold him upside down and tickle his stomach as branch went crazy, desperately trying to get away.

- was known by his brothers as the “big tickle monster” considering he was the oldest, he was more stronger and he would chase them around the house and would not stop until he eventually got atleast one of them or until he just got tired.

- JD will in fact blow raspberries and to just make it worse, he would shake his head while blowing one to make it EVEN worse.

- definitely goes “nom nom nom!” When blowing raspberries and tickling his brothers, however he only does the nom nom nom thing on his brothers, he gets embarrassed if someone else knew that.

- definitely uses his hair to give a small sneak tickle attack to the side of his lee’s then acts like he didn’t he didn’t do anything.

- this bro used to actually tickle his brothers if they weren’t in the mood to practice, feel like it would go something like this: clay- dude, I’m not in the mood! JD- yeah yeah sure okay. *tickles clay’s armpits* clay- DUHUDEHE NOHOHO!

-if in a ler mood, JD will and I repeat will aim for these spots first, stomach, sides or ribs when he first attacks.

- acts like such a dad when tickling, he will go something like: JD- just checking on you! Respect your elders you rascal!

⭐️⭐️⭐️ Bruce:

100% ler

he doesn’t exactly hate being tickled either, but when he was younger and JD would poke him to get him to laugh (he always did it when they were interacting with fans too) he would get pretty mad so now he just gets embarrassed when he’s tickled

buuuuut since he’s a dad now he probably tickles his kids a lot so he does the same to his brothers. Especially Branch, since he’s kinda still considered the baby of the family

as adults he and JD sometimes team up during tickle fights, but when they were younger they went after each other the most

death spot is his stomach/sides

sometimes when he’s tickling his brothers, he’ll tell a dad joke, and when they laugh (bc they’re being tickled, not bc of the joke) he says something like “I knew you liked dad jokes!” Or “you really thought that was funny?” And they always get pissed

doesnt wreck people often, usually he prefers to briefly tickle people to cheer them up/ surprise them or something

his laugh gets really high pitched when he’s being tickled and he hates it

as an adult, any time JD tries to poke him he INSTANTLY gets revenge and wrecks him no matter where he is

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Clay:

70% ler, 30% lee

ALWAYS the one to start tickle fights

loves to sneak up on his brothers and surprise them with a tickle attack

sometimes will intentionally bother his brothers just to get them to tickle him. Would never admit that was his intention though

after the band was reunited and stuff, he tickles Branch all the time since Branch gets annoyed so easily now and he wants to cheer him up

has a really squeaky laugh when he’s tickled

he gets surprised easily so whenever someone tickles him he fucking screams

Clay is literally the kind if dude to lie and say he isn’t ticklish when in reality he is

His underarms are his worst spot but his ears are pretty sensitive too

such an evil ler and always knows exactly what teases will fluster his lee the most

when someone tickles him he says every swear word (minus slurs of course 💀) like it’s insane

“FUHUHUHUHUCK YOU HAHAHAH GOHOD D-DAMN BIHIHIHIHITCH AHAHAHAHA-“

he never means any if it though dw

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Floyd:

40% ler, 60% lee

Floyd is the kind of dude to shyly ask his brothers to tickle him

SUCH a fucking sweetheart as both a lee and a ler

has a habit of hugging himself or his ler when he��s being tickled, but if he’s pinned then he’ll stim in some way, maybe by kicking his legs or something. He does this because he doesn’t want to fight the tickles but its hard to stay still

He would always team up with Branch when they were younger during tickle fights so that Bitty B wouldn’t be all alone/overwhelmed

LOVES soft/cuddly tickles

feathers make him WEAK (he’s hella feather ticklish)

has literally the sweetest sounding laugh

his back/shoulders/neck are his worst spots but he’s super ticklish everywhere else

when he’s the ler, he always gives raspberries

Don’t let his adorable appearance fool you, though- he can and will fucking wreck people. He just doesn’t do it often

best at giving cheer up tickles

loves to compliment people while he tickles them

(more stolen from isitwp because rawr)

has moments where he checks if the lee is fine before going back to mercilessly tickle them.

- 100% gave branch cheer up tickles and still does, YOU WILL NEVER CONVINCE ME HE DOES NOT.

- definitely tickled branch most when they were kids, he also tickled his older brothers to save branch from their tickles.

- gave branch the tickle of his lifetime after they returned, he would tease him like: Floyd- sorry branchie, gotta tickle you for all the years I’ve missed!

- calls branch “branchie” to tease him during tickling which branch HATES.

- pulls Lee into his lap so he can nibble on their neck, most likely going “nom nom nom!” Just like JD.

- like JD, he also used to hold branch upside down and tickle him.

- yells “here comes the spiders!” And begins spidering all over his lee just to hear them scream HEIWNWHDIDJS.

- just the look in his eyes before he tickles the lee is already enough to make the lee giggle, HE AHS SUCH A DEVIOUS LOOK.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Branch:

50% ler, 50% lee

Super duper shy about tickles though

whenever he’s in a ler mood, he usually goes after Poppy because he’s used to it (started tickling her more often when they started dating bc he knew that she was comfortable with it and also bc he knows that she’ll most likely get him back and he loves it). Doesn’t even know why he’s so nervous to tickle people, especially his brothers because they tickle each other all the time

when it comes to being tickled though…

Branch is easily the most ticklish out of all his brothers 😭

He would literally rather eat a spider than ask for tickles because it’s so embarrassing to him

he loves it when his brothers tickle him without him having to ask

at this point Poppy knows that he secretly loves tickles, and since he would never ask, she asks him if he wants to be tickled

he usually replies with a shy little nod

always covers his face to hide his goofy giddy smile when he’s being tickled

⭐️⭐️⭐️

YIPPEE THATS IT!

hopefully you enjoyed, again feel free to request headcanons for a specific character(s)/scenario 💜💜

also i highly encourage other tkl enjoyers in the trolls fandom to post headcanons please 😭 ive seen like no others so i had to provide for myself

#sfw tickling community #tickle fluff #tword community #tword content #Trolls tickle #trolls band together tickle #trolls tickle headcanons #Lee!branch #Lee!floyd #Lee!john dory #Lee!clay #lee!bruce

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some-pers0n · 11 days

Text

Back on my Peril ramblings again guys

Peril is a character with a lot of polarizing opinions. You've got some people who love her to death, while others who, well, don't. The people who dislike her will go about how she's obsessive. Too clingy and relies far too much on Clay. That or go on about how she's just rude, mean, dangerous, and overall kind of a bad person. I...couldn't disagree more if I'll be blunt.

For starters, Peril is in a difficult situation. She was molded and shaped by her childhood. What she is now is a product of being raised as a living weapon. She was seen as being dangerous and a blight on dragon society. A hazard that, at any moment, could kill somebody. She is danger. She is peril.

Scarlet took hold of that. Scarlet manipulated this tiny dragonet that she stole away from her mother and raised her, feeding her lies in order to keep her docile and dependent. She was never alone. Never to act on her own accord. Anything she did was first of all approved by Scarlet, somebody she trusted and loved in a way. All Peril ever knew was hate and fear, so a dragon showing her any other emotions felt like love.

Peril is...unstable to say the very least. Like I just said, she's got a warped sense of relationships due to her upbringing. She has literally nobody outside the walls of the SkyWing palace. She clings to those she deems as friends and loved ones as she knows nothing else. She craves that feeling of love and especially touch. She has never known the love of a mother's hug. She has never felt the wings of a friend comforting her in a time of crisis. She only wants to be held and loved, but she cannot. She was born wrong. She is unlovable in her eyes. That's what everyone tells her at least.

It's when Clay comes along that things change. For once, she's seeing a dragon who, while still kinda scared of her...is respectful. He holds conversations with her. He's nice, friendly, and when she hears that he tried killing his troop, she immediately relates. It's one of those things that I feel Sick about, where in Clay and Peril both are deemed to be monsters since the moment they hatched when in reality they weren't at fault for anything. Clay and Peril are so good when you actually treat them like characters.

The point is that Peril sees herself in Clay. For the first time ever, she finds a dragon like her. A dragon that at the very least tolerates her. After years of abuse and being shunned and seen as nothing more than a monster, it's basically like Clay is giving her a boquete of roses and confessing his undying love.

She becomes obsessed, even more so when she's eventually free from Scarlet, but that comes later. She holds him to such high regards and views him as a dragon she wants to be around. She's easily jealous when other dragons talk to him. She's protective and constantly wants to be near him. She adores him.

Yada yada, the whole fight scene happens between her and Clay. Scarlet notices that Peril is rather fond of Clay and is using her emotions to manipulate her further. Again, Scarlet is extremely manipulative of Peril. She's the one who molded her into this. She's the one who was responsible for this. She's the one who made Peril feel as though all she could ever be in life was a murder machine, and that Scarlet was doing her a favour by letting that be her existence as opposed to killing her. Scarlet made Peril dependent on her.

So when she's gone...Peril feels lost. She feels like she's the blame for one of the very, very few dragons in her life that at least cared about her being gone. Now she's alone and seen once again as a creep. A weirdo. She doesn't belong here, not in the Sky Kingdom. Osprey is dead (another example of Scarlet toying with Peril's emotions cause the one time she acts out she has to suffer for it) and she's just tossed into the world without warning.

She in turn seeks out Scarlet, eventually finding her. Despite all of the abuse and suffering that Scarlet has put her through, she has nobody else. Scarlet's twisted and distorted love is the only thing she knows. She feels guilty for everything that happened to her.

I think it's easy for people to not really understand Peril if they don't really get her situation. What I lay it out, it sounds pretty easy to understand. Peril is a deeply traumatized and abused character who is shaped by her trauma and struggles to exist in this world as she only knows to kill. She's trying to unlearn all of this. She wants to be better. She's trying to be better.

That's what Escaping Peril is all about: Peril's recovery.

Escaping Peril is the conclusion to Peril's arc, with her coming to grips and terms with her trauma and by the end realizing that she is her own person. Over the course of the book, she struggles a lot. She goes back and forth on her feelings with Scarlet, conflicted on whether she loves her or wants to kill her. Perhaps both at the same time. It's messy and she feels lost and hopeless.

The only real thing that seems to be a beacon of light in her life is Clay, whom is basically not even in this book. Clay is her moral compass here. Anything she does has to be something she believes Clay would approve of. She's doing the exact same thing that she's done for years with Scarlet because, yet again, it's literally the only thing she knows. She is a deeply hurt character who struggles with the whole morality thing because ever since she was a dragonet she's been a child solider. She's trying to unlearn it all.

Which is helped significantly with her friends, namely Turtle. She isn't alone. She has a group of dragons who care for her and like her the way she is. Again, the themes of friendship and togetherness is a very strong one in this arc. The Jade Winglet learn how to be themselves and how they don't need to pretend to be somebody they aren't with a group of dragons who love them for who they are.

Peril...learns. She learns. She grows. I cannot emphasize this enough since some of you guys still don't get that part. Her character shifts and changes and develops over the course of this book. She learns that she doesn't need to depend on somebody for her own actions. Hell, by the end of the book, she burns the scroll of her own volition, knowing fully well that Clay would've hated that. She's acting of her own accord. She learns that she's not a monster and doesn't need to have her flamescales be repressed to be liked.

She's a deeply traumatized character who is trying to get better. She has been getting better, and she will only get better with time. She's happy now. She's happy with her friends and loved ones. Everything will be okay.

#wof #sp-rambles #wings of fire #peril wof #She's also got BPD trust me I'm literally Tui

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adobe-outdesign · 7 months

Note

what're your thoughts on the baltoy line?

I've always enjoyed "ancient manmade creature with some kind of abstract design" 'mons like like Sigilyph and Golurk, so unsurprisingly I really enjoy the Claydol line.

Ironically, I didn't actually know what exactly they were based off of until researching for this review, having assumed they were just abstract figures, but they're actually shakōkidogū, a type of ancient Japanese statue. The eyes are a dead giveaway, even if the overall shape is a bit different. It's a very original theme and works well regardless if you know what it's based off of or not.

Visually, the top-like shape provides a nice bit of vertical symmetry, with the horn on the head matching the point on the bottom. The markings also look good and help it from looking too plain. If I have one nitpick, it's that the red is a bit low-contrast—I get that it's tan to reflect that its made of clay, but even using a slightly darker brown would've helped a lot. Otherwise, though, it's pretty solid.

While Baltoy is a good 'mon in and of itself, Claydol is fantastic. I love how weird this thing is, with a head comprised of eight red eyes arranged in a circular pattern and a beak-like structure between; a rare case of rotational symmetry in Pokemon. The "front" two eyes are designated with two — marks, while all the others are open, which is a good way to play off the shakōkidogū's goggle eyes.

This backsprite also shows that its arms are detachable for extra weirdness (and it can also fire lasers from them, because why not). I'm almost surprised the head doesn't detach and spin around.

In addition to this very cool design, it also adds some much-needed contrast by swapping out Baltoy's tan with a dark black, which is accented with a few spots of yellow. It also gains two markings on its chest which, ironically, look like even more eyes. It's visually striking and just an awesome design all around.

So overall, two very memorable and unique monster designs with an interesting theme. Easy 10/10 from me.

#baltoy #claydol #pokemon #pokemon reviews

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realfunfan · 1 year

Text

Mo’teya gets picked on

Part 2 - The aftermath

‘Mo’teya’s sign language’

Mo’teya knew she was weird. She fully understood why the people would fear or dislike her. She was silent, not quiet, silent. She didn’t speak no matter how much people begged and nagged. She didn’t enjoy normal social interaction with others like foraging, hunting, and storytelling. She had strange scars and eyes that freaked people out if she looked too long. And worst of all, she had five fingers.

So, yeah, she gets it. Doesn't mean it won’t hurt her feeling every damn time.

In the Omaticaya clan’s Hallelujah Mountains, a family continued to build their home together. As the adults conversed about adult things, children went about their day doing children's things.

Lo’ak, Kiri, and Mo’teya sat in a circle, smaller circles drawn before them. Small clay balls sat in the rings while each child had a handful of bigger ones. A small tally drawn with chalk lay next to the ring.

“Kiri, it’s your turn,” Lo’ak, the second son, second eldest to the Olo'eyktan, said to his younger sister. Kiri, the first daughter of Olo’eyktan, rolled her yellow clay ball between her fingers. She studied the board with sharp eyes. With a deep breath, she lightly tossed the ball at a larger grey one. She missed it entirely. The yellow ball slowly rolled out of the right. Kiri groaned as she went to pick up the ball.

“HA!” Lo’ak shouted and smiled smugly at Kiri’s retreating form. Mo’teya, the second daughter, pulled on her brother's braids. His head followed her grip as he cried out. ‘Do not be mean to her, she didn’t even way to play with us, meanie,” Mo’teya signed to her brother. A harsh glare sat on her face. Lo’ak rubbed his scalp and hissed softly. Lo’ak prepared his turn, rubbing the ball between his fingers as well. He blew softly on the ball and rolled. His green ball hit the last gray ball and he knocked it out of the ring, winning the game. He tossed his head back with a shout and punched the air. Mo’teya smiled and started to collect all the balls. Kiri returned and dropped to the ground, closer to Lo’ak. “You’re too good at this game, Lo’ak. Mo and I can never beat you.” She pouted softly and handed the yellow ball to her sister. Her hands began to fiddle with her chest beads. Mo sat next to Kiri and got her attention. ‘He always wants to play this game because we are better than him at others.” Lo’ak crossed his arms. “Nuh uh. I’m good at others. I beat Neteyam at tag!” Mo smiled. ‘Yeah, once.’ Kiri began to laugh at Lo’ak’s pout. The three siblings continued to tease and laugh with each other, forgetting their game. They didn’t notice three figures approaching from behind.

“What are you three playing?” A young boy with thick braids, Zelomi, asked. His presence caused the group to stop laughing and focus on the children looming over them. Lo’ak stood up and greeted the three boys, just like his father taught him. The three did not greet him back. Lo’ak’s hand tightened on his side. Kiri stood, pulling Mo’teya with her. “We are playing a game taught to us by the scientist, Marbles. It is lots of fun if you-”

“Why play a game taught to you by demons?” Iyo, a boy with long braids past his shoulders, interrupted her. Kiri looked at both of her sibling and huffed. This is why they never played with Zelomi and his friends. “This game was taught to us by people who are friends,” Lo’ak hissed. His reluctance to be near the three grew by the second. Mo'teya eyed all three boys. Their posture was tight. Their eyes bounced between all three of them. She didn't have a good feeling about the group. They obviously had harsh feelings for the humans that lived with them. Iyo scoffed and tapped Zelomi’s shoulder. “These freaks call the Sky People friends!” Zelomi stared at Mo’teya, his eyes flying all over her scars and discoloration. A cruel smile crossed his face. “What is it with your sister? Is she the monster among freaks?” Zelomi laughed. Lo’ak’s hand started to tremble and his teeth flashed. Kiri tugged Mo’teya behind her and hissed. But Mo’teya did not react. She had heard the words before. Monster. Freak. Ugly Thing. They all had, in some way. Her family was always a topic to be whispered about behind hands. She never reacted, though. If she did, then her family may be affected by her actions and words.

So, with her head held high, Mo’teya grabbed Kiri and Lo’ak’s hands and dragged them away from the tormentors.

The two followed their little sister, but their blood boiled. Kids could be so mean to them, especially their precious sister. But she never wanted to retaliate. And today was one of those days. “”Hey! Do not walk away from me!” Iyo reached out and grabbed Mo’teya by her tail. He yanked hard, so hard she fell to the floor. “You didn’t answer my question, Monster,” Zelomi sighed, kneeling near Mo’teya. A mistake on his part. The moment Mo’teya had hit the ground, Lo’ak lost his control. He whipped his gaze to her, seeing faint tears in her eyes and tackled Zelomi. Their bodys hit the hard floor, Lo’ak crying out. His fist pulled back and hit Zelomi in the jaw.

Kiri rushed to Mo’teya, ignoring the boys' fight. She knelt down and hugged her sister. “Are you ok, Mo? Where does it hurt?” Kiri pulled back and looked down at her sister’s hands. They had small scrapes on them from the fall. Mo’teya pointed at her tail and tears threatened to fall. Her tail had a slight bruise on it and a few scratches. Kiri cooed to her. “It’s ok, Mo. I'll take you to Mama.” Mo’teya nodded in her sisters arms. She didn’t cry because of her pain, she cried because of embaressment. Why can’t these boys just leave her alone? Why did they have to come torment her today, with her family present? It wasen’t fair.

“Hey! What are you doing!” A voice yelled from the Sully home. Neteyam, the first son, oldest of, walked outside, Tuk in his arms. He took one look at the crazy scene, Mo and Kiri on the ground with Lo’ak and three boys fighting not far away, and bared his teeth. “Kiri, take Tuk and Mo inside. Com for Dad.” Neteyam handed his sister to the girls and stormed over to the four fistfights. He pulled Yetxo, the third and largest boy, off his brother and socked him. The boy landed on the floor with a dazed look. Lo’ak took that opportunity to pull on Iyo’s ear, dragging him to the floor.

All of the Sully children, besides Tuk, stood on one side of the room. Iyo, Zelomi, and Yetxo stood to the other. The parents of the children stood in the middle. Jake Sully stood with his mate, Neytiri, in front of all the adults. Neytiri glared hard at the three boys that had harmed her children. She had been with her own mother when Jake had rushed into the room, telling her about the fight that had broken out in front of her home. She had stormed there, pulling her daughters into her arms the moment she saw them. The rage that took over when she saw her Mo’teya’s bruises and scrapes didn’t compare to the rage seeing her girl’s tears. Kiri had told the story of what happened as Jake pulled apart the boys, shouting loudly. It was unacceptable that the boys disrespected Olo'eyktan's children that way.

Jake cressed the arm of his mate, feeling the anger that made her skin hot. At first, he had been disappointed, knowing his second son had a thin temper like him. But when Kiri said the boy had put his hands on his second daughter, his hands trembled. He was proud to see both of his boys working together to defend their sister. If only they could do that on a normal basis. He pulled all the boys apart, and told the other children to gather their parents. He was going to make sure this didn’t ever happen to his kids again. Jake turned to the other parents, looking all them in the face. He recognized a few from the hunting party he had led that morning.

“I am only going to say this once.” His eyes scanned everyone who stood around them. Neytiri continued to stare down the boys. “This will not be happening again. Keep your sons away from my children. If your sons or daughters ever harm one of mine again, there will… be consequences.”

Jake approached the head of each family. “Do not let this happen again.” He did not look away from the parents until they nodded and lowered their eyes, showing respect.

“Lo’ak, stay still,” Kiri huffed, trying to apply a medicated paste on her brother’s face. He whined and pulled away. “It burns!” He batted her paste covered fingers away. “Well yeah, skxawng, that's what happens when you get dirty cuts.” Neteyam giggled at his brother’s suffering. He had nearly matching cuts, but not as deep. He looked over to his silent baby sister, who looked intensely at Lo’ak’s face. His hand cupped the back of her head. “Why so sad, baby sister?” Mo’teya brushed off his hand and signed, ‘You should not have done that. We should have just walked away. Now Lo’ak and you are hurt.’ Lo’ak scoffed. “You skxawng, we tried. They would not let us. So Neteyam and I had to show them what happens when you hurt a Sully.” Krir nodded. “Do not be sad, Mo. We would do this over and over again. You are our sister. We will do it again." Kiri brushed some of the same paste on Mo’teya’s tail. She hissed but kept quiet. She didn’t agree with her siblings. She didn’t feel worth all the trouble. Now people will look at her as the one who got Iyo, Zelomi, and Yetxo in trouble. She will only continue to be looked down at. Tuk babbled next to her and seemed to feel her pain, reaching out. Mo took her sister in her arms and was awarded with a wet baby kiss. She smiled.

Neytiri and Jake came into the home, watching their children comfort each other. Jake's chest felt light seeing his children group together and take care of each other. He always worried about them, being his kids. They had disadvantages put against them because of his avatar blood. He sometimes felt guilty, seeing them struggle. But Neytiri always showed him that their children are strong. Together, they are stronger.

Yeah, I kinda feel apart in the end. Sorry!

Avatar Masterlist

#sully family #avatar #avatar: the way of water #dad jake sully #daughter character #jake sully x daughter!oc #Neytiri x daughter!oc #neteyam #lo'ak #jake sully daughter

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grasshopperdoingdogpaddle · 1 month

Note

Hypothetically speaking; if Omi, Kimiko, Raimundo or Clay drank the Lao Mang Lone Soup, what do you think their respective Heylin monster forms would be? What would their evil personalities be like?

Please note though that the personalities we saw when each one of them briefly turned to the dark side hardly count, since, A.) Heylin Raimundo was just Rai going through some emotional problems and looking for both an alternative choice and an outlet to take all of his frustration and anger out on, B.) Omi and Kimiko only turned evil because they both had their respective good sides magically removed by the Ying-Yang World, so, it’s kind of hard to count that as seeing what they would be like if they turned to the dark side, and C.) Clay was merely possessed by an evil entity, meaning that every single bad thing that we saw him do or say was all just Sibini using him for a puppet

I definitely subscribe to gravity-what's theory that "Lao Mang Lone soup transformations work by latching on to a person’s insecurities and current mental state."

Hence, Chase looking very much like a traditional, reptilian dragon/drake that even incorporates some of his spiky hair into its design, because Chase took the time to contemplate it and knew what he was getting into and ultimately decided he wanted this path to make the legendary name for himself that he envisioned, regardless of it costing him everything he believed in and everyone he loved.

And Guan having this harder exterior and a much more haphazard mix of pincers and claws and natural weapons because, when he accepted Hannibal's offer, it was some time after a strain had appeared in his and Chase's relationship with Chase having this unresolved enmity from not getting to drink the soup when he had resolved to abandon everything. So Guan wanted a means to lash out, but also a defensive outer shell to harden his heart.

So, my thoughts for how each monk's Lao Mang Long dragon form might be:

I love gravity-what's design for dragon Omi, can't improve upon perfection.

Tiny, but with this frill he can flare up to make himself look and feel bigger and scarier. Claws and fangs that are good for sharp, quick attacks. A tale that's not a good weapon but serves for good balance, so he's very agile and fast. Hyperactive and vicious, but still has this surprisingly kitten-like adorableness to him somehow. Confused and angry and tricked and lost but feisty and determined and sharp and wide-eyed and naive, this form definitely captures the moment!

He's scared and confused, and was tricked into it again, but he's always been a fighter, and he's prepared to fight now, too.

Once he acclimates, though, he'll be fueled by loyalty and devotion like he always is, so it's a matter of who he aligns himself with. There's no form of Omi that's ever going to want to go it alone, so he'd inevitably end up under someone he can cling to.

For Kimiko, her Heylin side is driven by ambition and passion. It was only half of her, but what we see is still genuine. She made it very clear, she wants the world, nothing more and nothing less.

Her dragon form would be the only one that incorporates her element into it, visually, and the only one that would have fur instead of scales. She'd look a lot like a Hisuian Typhlosion.

Hypnotically pretty in a dragon sorta way. Sleek, shiny, fireproof fur, beautiful eyes, fluffy ears and tail, graceful but powerful movements. A collar of ghostly flames that wisp and flare in a bright magenta red color. The ever-burning flames would be more of a Heylin magic thing and less of a true-burning fire by default, but they'll still burn whoever she wants them to burn. Kimiko's always been a little scared of getting too close to others and letting any shortcomings show, so the natural way to keep other's at whatever distance she wants or to draw them in with something eye-catching would suit her.

She can emit fire or smoke with a practiced ease, and its powers can be just as mystical and disorienting as they can be destructive.

She's still clever but temperamental, and is the dragon that'd be most focused on long-term goals, since her motivations are the most goal-oriented.

For Clay, he's a big guy that often tries to make himself seem smaller, take up less space.

We've never seen what it would take to drive him to the Heylin side, but we still have a lot of his hang-ups and motivations that we can draw from.

His dragon form would have the thickest skin, maybe even a hard outer shell of some sort he can retreat into. All defense. And his would have a "chameleon-like" (but more cuttlefish-like in the mechanics) ability to camouflage itself to any environment, even changing his texture and patterns to blend in. I don't have an exact visual analogue for this one, but if I had to pick, maybe something like the Mystery Shell Dragon from YuGiOh?

Clay would make some place his own, cultivate it, and be highly territorial over it. He'd have little interest in dominating the world, he just wants some corner of it that is his and his alone, like how he focused on building a new home in the alternate universe rather than actively fighting. But like Chase and Guan, he'd definitely gather up an army of people-turned-animals of some sort.

For Raimundo, he made the decision to betray his allies fueled by spite. He was fully of sound mind and didn't really have to be prodded or magically altered. Raimundo ultimately wanted the other monks taken down a peg. He was angry and frustrated, and he wanted to hurt them and make them feel as bad or worse than he did. That was more of a motivation for him than the riches.

Though the riches he sold out for were still some factor, so it'd be interesting if gold were incorporated into his dragon form somehow.

Aside from that, I think his form would be a bit like Guan's in that it would have a lot of natural weapons incorporated into it and boast a design most suited for offense, but far less shielded. An amalgamation of vulnerable sinew and sharp edges. He'd have a stinger on his tail, tusks and horns on his head, pincers on his hands, spikes along his body, rows of shark teeth, maybe even something projectile-like incorporated into his anatomy. The soup would draw out a form built for destruction and pain in accordance with his motivations for turning.

Again, I lack a perfect analogue here, but it'd be something to the vibe of Devidramon from Digimon.

#xiaolin showdown #chase young #master monk guan #omi #kimiko tohomiko #clay bailey #raimundo pedrosa

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ziptie-bouquet · 4 months

Text

Incomplete V1 figure (about 33% done?) creation process, it's a long post

Step 0 (studying):

I ordered yellow plastic for the wings which will arrive in 3 days.

V1 is basically a ball jointed doll, so I was very excited about making one of these!

(Look at those tasty joints, I love love love that about their character design)

I ended up not doing that when I realized that I would need rubber bands I don't have and that this looks too complicated for me. I haven't used polymer clay in years after all.

I did a couple of messy joint tests earlier today tho

I was very surprised that just passing a wire through 2 pieces worked and I'll keep it in mind for future uses! The 3 piece joint is a bit janky but with some tinkering it could work as a shoulder joint. (thanks to the detachable G1 monster high dolls I had as a kid for the idea, I tried to remember how they worked as well as I could)

I'm going with the exposed wire caveman joint style for this tho, it's especially sexy with my red aluminum. (Exposed veins)

Step 1 (wire skeleton):

So this is my first time doing this ever, and since I am stupid, I didn't really look up a guide for this.

This was especially hard to do because of her silly neck bend. I had to add that sort of wire triangle you can maybe see in the pic. It was necessary to pass that shoulder wire through.

Next time I'll definitely have one long section that goes "left arm-shoulders-right arm" (and same for the legs and hips) instead of 3 separate loosely attached parts, it'll be way easier and sturdier.

Next I added some padding with aluminum foil (I ran out of it fast tho since it was the end of my roll)

And yeah done!

Step 2 (the first layer):

This is where I'm at right now (it's curing in my oven).

I realized she was too big for my oven tray with this step, but I'm happy with this.

It's just fun to sculpt. I'm doing the front first and then I'll do the back in, hopefully, the most seamless way possible (but if I notice the legs don't look good, I'll mix it up). I'm sooo happy about the red aluminum wire.

I mostly want to do the black first because it's physically underneath the blue plating in the model anyway but also because that pigment is a bitch to get off my hands and I want to be done with it.

Using colored clay is cool because I want to avoid big paint jobs. I have never painted using acrylic paint before, so I'll be keeping it for highlights or small details.

#v1 ultrakill #v1 #polymer clay #ultrakill #art #ill reblog as soon as i do enough to warrant a substantial update!#hopefully motivated enough to finish this #my little v1 project

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heliosthegriffin · 7 months

Text

Shadow Knight, and Magical Girls XIII

AO3 Link

Chapter 13

-----

'Jaune, stop.' A voice came into his helmet.

He did not listen, he walked towards the shadow-bear, it wasn't as big as the last one, but it was still plenty big.

It hadn't noticed him, facing away from him going down the alley.

'It's going to be morning soon, you need to come back.' Miltiades spoke to him.

Bang

He fired a shot at it's unarmored hind-legs. A chunk of black matter removed itself from the limb, though it was only a drop in the bucket of it's sheer mass.

It got it's attention though, head turning around to look what hit it, beginning to turn.

The Knight pumped his shotgun, a spent shell flying out, and he took aim again, aiming the barrel, and focusing fire on the wounded leg.

Bang

Another hole.

Bang

What was once was a hand-sized hole had expanded to dinner plate-size.

Bang

With that shot demon-bears back leg bent under it's own weight. It didn't stop it from coming at him, finally turning around, moving at a crippled pace, pulling itself forward with the front legs, then pushing off with it's uninjured leg.

Knight took fire.

Click

Empty. He hadn't reloaded after the boar-demon. Shit.

Knight considered his options, briefly considering going at it with just his ax and shield. Too big, it'd take a thousand cuts to get through it's neck, and the only way he was going to manage that was either getting on it's back, or matadoring it the rest of the night.

He instead ran out of the alley, and ran into the nearby park (Had it always had those burnt section of trees?), and climbed up a tree at a coke-addled monkey's pace up, and got back to reloading his riot-shotgun.

'Reconsidering your decision, yet?' Miltiades chimed in again, annoyance tinging her tone.

"Not particularly," His unwanted break had let more monsters on the street than normal, and because of that, people were dead, dying, or crippled. How could he live with that? He had his body, his health, so he was going to damn well use it, or die trying.

'Fuck. You know what? We're coming to get you, don't move.' Melanie chimed in, inside his other ear.

"Gonna have to wait," Knight added, watching as the shadow-bear limped surprisingly fast towards him, in fact, he made a depressing realization. "It's still alive."

It was learning, it was learning how to move with one less limb, and getting faster.

He wanted to sigh, it was practically confirmation of one of his theories. The monsters evolved and learned over time. Which was not a good thing, if he let even one go, it was going to learn like he did, and be more prepared for the next time someone came at it with a gun.

Knight grimaced under his helmet. 'How many, how many have I let get away, or couldn't manage to kill?' It must be dozens.

His blood chilled.

Locking his eyes on the beast, he took aim and fired, while it stumbled closer to him. The slug hitting it dead between the eyes, cracking the mask.

It stared hatefully at him, but the lights were dimming.

Bang

He pumped and fired, the mask shattered, and the lights disappeared. But, it was not dead, though, Knight was not sure you could really call these things alive to begin with. Regardless, it wasn't going to be allowed to exist much longer.

Bang

Where the slug hit, the head dented with more of it's black-matter flying apart, with a deep gouge going through it's head, reminding him more of like clay or mud than flesh.

Bang

Then with one final shot, it's head was gone. It's shuttering body falling down, and the ground shook under the weight. Though, not for long, as it was slowly disappearing into black miasma.

Looking over his work, he thought for a moment, looking at his shot-gun. He might need something heavier to put something like that down in the future at a faster speed.

Holstering his shotgun, he carefully climbed down the tree, and looked around for anything of note.

He saw the sky slowly turning from blue-black to a very faint yellow-pink.

A black van rolled up in front of him, the door sliding open, and Melanie stared at him unhappily. "I'm not counting that one."

"What?" Jaune asked, crawling in, closing the door, and taking off his helmet. "But, I killed it."

"You did so under orders to come back, for insubordination we're deducting that kill from your total."

Jaune frowned, then shook his head. "Whatever, do what you want. It's dead and that's all that matters."

"We're suppose to supervise you, I want you remember this into the future."

"And, you can remember that this, if there is a shadow-demon and I can see it, I'm going after it."

Melanie frowned. "You're never going to be out of debt at this rate, especially by disobeying us."

Jaune shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Taking care of that is secondary, as long as I keep those things away from people, I'm satisfied." He then leaned back against the seat, tiredly. "If you got anything else to say, it can wait till later."

Melanie scowled, but climbed up-to the front seat. "Can't believe him."

Miltiades patted her sisters shoulder. "Let its go, he's mad at himself."

Melanie looked at her sister.

"Yeah, didn't you see how he took off earlier? After that guy got torn apart. He blames himself."

"No, I don't." Jaune mumbled.

"You totally do." Miltiades said back.

Jaune went quiet for a moment, then relented. "Well, yeah I do. How do think I'm supposed to feel? I heard the screaming, I ran, and still was too late. And, yeah, I know logically, I couldn't have done anything to get there faster, and this isn't the first time I found a victim, but that doesn't mean it gets any less frustrating, when I do, especially, when they're loved ones had to watch! How would you feel!?" Jaune slammed his hand against the wall of the van, his voice going raw with emotion.

The Twins were silent, this was the first time they had seen him unbottle his emotions. It was hammer blow to the image they had of him, usually so stoic and unresponsive.

"Cause, I'll tell you how I feel," Jaune took a deep breath. "It's feels ... It feels like I'm failing, that everything I do doesn't matter, and at the end of every night, that It's just pushing a boulder up a hill, just for it to fall back down. It's torture."

The Twins were still quiet.

"Every night, it's the same, they're still out there, I kill them, more come back, more people die, and I kill them, they come back, and we do it all again. It's madness. I'm mad. I must mad, I mean why else do I keep doing this? Nothing changes, just the streets names, or if I get injured." Jaune leaned against the seat. "I'm so freaking tired of it all."

"Jaune-" Miltia started.

"Do you think I enjoy this? Well, guess what? I really fucking don't! It's scary going out there into the dark of night, and not knowing if I'm going to be alive, let alone if my family will ever know what happened to me. If I die out there, there won't even be enough to bury." Jaune breathed out raggedly, his face was covered in sweat, and his hair hung limply. "I'm not mad at myself."

Melanie looked back at him. "What do you mean."

"I wasn't just upset, because of what happened to him, but because, I remembered that could of just as easily been me," Jaune paused. "Or will be me, It's just a matter of time, I'm not invincible." He took a breath looking out the window. "Far fucking from it. I'm so weak it hurts. I'm seen power, I've seen those magical girls mow those thing by the dozens without a trying. I'm nowhere near close to they're level, and if they can't stop those things permanently, what about me? What will happen, who's going to be on the streets when I'm gone? Those girls are too busy flying over them to ever walk down them."

"Then, why do it?" Melanie asked.

Jaune thought for a moment, but didn't answer.

"Well, then feel free to stop." Melanie added. "We're not going stop you."

"Melanie what are you saying-" Her sister tried to cut in.

"If this is too much for little ol' you, just stop, Uncle Xiong is generous."

Jaune grabbed the back of her seat, and pulled himself forward to scowl at her. "Don't patronize me, do think for a moment that I would stop, even If I didn't have that millstone around my neck?"

She shrugged. "With how much steam you let out, why not? You can't go on forever. It's like you said, you're not invincible."

"Because, I don't see anybody fucking else down here." Jaune growled. "I'm scared, but that doesn't mean I'm going to stop, otherwise we'd never have met in the first place."

Jaune let go and fell back into his seat, and then the car was silent.

"Let's get breakfast, everyone is getting hangry." Miltia said after a few minutes.

"Alright," Jaune agreed.

Melanie was looking out the window. The sky was getting brighter."Yeah, that sounds good."

Half-hour later, Jaune had gotten cleanup and changed, and they were seated at a table in a simple dinner. Breakfast was a quiet affair, they had ordered and hardly said a word to each other.

Jaune looked at his plate, scraping the bottom with his fork. "I'm sorry." He spoke softly. "I shouldn't have unloaded on you two like that." He sighed. "I just feel ... I don't know what I feel, just a lot of it, it's tiring to hold onto it, though."

Melanie nodded, drinking some black coffee. "It's fine. Don't worry about it." She was not looking at him.

Jaune nodded.

"So, you feeling better, yet?" Miltia asked.

He shrugged. "A bit, I could go for a nap."

"That's sounds nice, I'm getting tired too." She took his hand. "Thank you."

Jaune squinted at her, confused. "What?"

"Thank you. You're doing good." Her hand squeezed his.

"I don't feel like I am."

"Then, think about the people who are alive, thanks to you. Amber and Vernal wouldn't be, and I'm sure, there are countless others out there too, so think about them." She looked him in the eyes, her eyes were very green. "Jaune, I think it's time you had help."

"That'd be nice, but-"

"So, I'm going to help you."

Jaune looked into her eyes, searching for meaning, only to drop his fork. "No." He uttered.

Miltia nodded slowly. "Yes." She tightened her grip. "You've been fighting for too long by yourself. It's time to give up going alone, you need to accept this."

Melanie looked at her twin like she had gone mad. "You can't be serious, even he's scraping by as is, how-"

"I got two hands and a working pair of eyes, we helped kill one, what are however many more?"

Melanie shook her head. "Don't start with me on this, it's stupid, and I'm-"

"So, you're ok with doing nothing, being a coward?" Milita looked at her sister. "That you're ok with letting someone else fight for you?"

"Yes. I very much am."

"What about when you have no one left to fight for you, sister?"

"I'll find some more,"

"There is only so many people willing to die for you. You will run out, what about when I'm gone? When Jaune's gone? Who will you have left?"

Melanie closed her fist in frustration. "I don't know. But, I wouldn't let that happen."

"How?"

Melanie looked down and sighed, then looked at her sister. "Fine. I'll help, but you're not getting up close in personal like he does." She pointed at Jaune.

"Of course, we're not barbarians."

Jaune rose a eyebrow. "I vaguely resemble that remark, but fair. Anyway, I haven't agreed to take your help. If you two got hurt, I wouldn't forgive myself."

"That's sweet, but do the math, what kills more monsters, one guy, or one guy and two hotties?" Miltia pulled her sister next to her.

Jaune rested his chin in his hand. "One guy, probably."

"Don't be cruel." She pouted. "We can shoot, the more lead flying the better."

Jaune nodded. "Ok, that's true." He thought for a moment, and started to see his own hypocrisy. "Well, it wouldn't be fair to stop you, I guess. I mean if someone told me I couldn't, I'd probably do it anyway."

Miltia smiled. "Good! Go us!"

Melanie sighed. "We're all going to die horribly."

Jaune nodded. "Probably. Anyway," He grabbed her shoulder. "I appreciate it all the same."

She blushed, then shrugged him off. "Whatever... You're welcome." She paused. "Thanks too, for doing what you do."

"I appreciate it. I promise not to let off steam like earlier again."

"It's fine. I like seeing different sides of you, it feels more exclusive that way."

Jaune chuckled. "That's weird, but ok."

"Hey!'

Jaune yawned, then looked at the time.

6:30 am.

He only had thirty minutes before he had to go get tutored.

"Crap."

----

Ciel looked at the clock.

7:00:59

Then the door to the study hall opened.

"Made it," The delinquent exhaled, his eyes smouldering at her with desire, but Ciel would never cave to his passions. "You haven't been here long, have you?" His eyes roamed around the room, clearly looking for any who would stop him from trying to take her, here and now.

Not that she would let him.

"15 minutes precisely." Ciel answered quickly. "Have you finished your homework?"

His devious mind was clearly at work as he said nothing. Clearly he was thinking of a plan only a devil could decipher, purely to corrupt her and bring her begging and screaming-

"No." He answered tiredly. "It was a long night and It slipped my mind." Ciels mind spun at the idea of what his long night could be, she had seen him been dropped off by two very pretty young women, were they not enough for his appetites?

Ciel fixed him with a firm stare. "That will not do, come take a seat next to me." She would have to keep a eye on him, to make sure he did not get any ideas. "Bring out your homework, will work through the problems together, while reviewing yesterdays lessons." Though, she doubted he would be able to listen, Arc had a reputation as a beastly man, and rumors of his appetite had surged as of recently.

Ruby Rose was seen walking with him out of school, and was later seen with him late into the afternoon. The things they could have done in the time were boggling.

Weiss Schnee was clearly being strung along by him, with her denial of her feelings clearly just a coping mechanism to keep from falling to his whims.

Blake Belladonna had been seen actually talking to him, which meant something was going on between them.

Yang Xiao Long was sitting and talking next to him, and hadn't even delivered one of her punches to his genitals, so it was very clear she desired him carnally.

Only Pyrrha Nikos stood strong, clearly unaffected by his advances, true a pinnacle of womanhood.

The less said about Nora Valkyrie and Lie Ren the better, those rumors were truly vile, with they're friendship being a cover for a truly depraved activity.

Though, she was not sure where this Lily Ren fit into all this, having mysteriously shone up only recently. Ciel was sure that she too was only a hair's breath from falling into his clutches.

Ciel moved closer to Arc. "That answer isn't right,"

"It's not? Oh! I see." Ciel noticed she that her arm was touching his, she almost pulled back. But, she was on a mission! She had never been one to shy away from duty, no matter how self-imposed.

She would make sure if Arc had to target anyone with his desires, it would be directed towards her, for purely charitable reasons of course.

All the other girls were practically idols, and the school would turn into a madhouse if this continued.

No matter how dark and debauchous his desires, Ciel would endure, even if it brought her to his knees, and-

"Ciel?" Jaune asked, his tutor staring at him intensely for some reason. "Everything ok?"

" ...Yes."

"Ok, then." Jaune didn't know why, but he felt a little unnerved by the class president. It was probably nothing.

"What kept you up last night." Ciel asked, a moment later.

"My job." Jaune answered quickly.

"Oh, yes. With the Xiongs? What do your parents think about that?"

"Not too happy, but they came around to it."

Ciel looked at him intensely. "You're parents ... didn't approve?" She didn't seem to understand. "Did you not get they're permission?"

Jaune shrugged. "Don't need it."

"How?" She asked in disbelief.

"By not asking for it."

She looked away from him, stunned.

Ciel Soliel had lived her life step-by-step in line with her parents wishes, never failing to deliver and meet they're expectations. It was common sense to her, to obey authority to the letter, and it was equally common sense to her, that it could not be defied, that was simple reality.

With that simple phrase he had altered her world-view.

'Jaune Arc, you truly are a rebel beyond measure.' Ideas spun in her mind, thinking what other anarchic things he must do, having no clue to how right she was.

"Ciel, I'm having trouble with this one." Jaune pointed to a question at the bottom.

She snapped back to reality. "Yes, that one, the teacher phrased it wrong, let me write it correctly."

Jaune's eyes widened in understanding. Ciel really was a model student, and her intelligence seemed second to none, Ms. Goodwitch had really helped him out, and he was lucky to for her to direct Ciel as a tutor. He hoped he wasn't bothering her, though.

----

"That's right boys! Work it!" Peter Port said from on top a I-Beam being carried up a crane, carrying a steel beam on each shoulder.

Beneath him, Cardin and his boys were working at a construction sight.

"Yes, teacher!" They said in unison, swing pick-axes to break stone.

The Manager of the site looked over in bemusement and internal conflict.

On one hand, these people had broken in and helped themselves the tools as a form of training, and on the other, free manual labor and moving the project date-ahead.

He tapped his chin.

It wasn't child-labor if he wasn't paying them, and they had broken in, so he could all argue he had never seen them a day in his life if something happened to them.

The Manager nodded.

"Keep it up, boys!" He cheered them on, only to feel a firm grip on his shoulder.

Turning around he saw the mustache man from on top the I-Beam down here. How did he move that fast-

"You wouldn't leave those poor boys and a old man to work alone would you?" He asked politely.

"N-no."

"Good. Then let's get to building!" Peter Port shoved a shovel in his hands, and pushed him forth, somehow taking over the construction site.

----

AN: So yeah, Jaune got a lot of pent up emotions, that he's been keeping inside for over a year. That'd be hard for anyone, let alone a over-stressed, under-sleeping teen.

Though, don't be afraid to tell me I went too far into the angst direction, or whatever. As, I have mixed feelings about this chapter, so I won't take offense to it, I just didn't manage justify to myself rewriting the scene without rewriting the chapter from scratch.

Anyway, and regardless of that, Jaune has got his first two companions to help him fight now.

#Jaune Arc #Fanfic

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zemi-noelle-art · 4 months

Note

Your LPS customs are soooo amazing!! Like genuinely so inspiring 😭 I wanna get into it but I have no idea how!!

Thank you so much!!! that really means a lot! And I'm really honored to hear I've been inspiring people with my work<3 I can provide some tips on starting the hobby if that helps! this'll be based on my own experience though of course! I can firstly say that getting into LPS customizing was pretty simple for me, because I already had most of the supplies I use for other projects, and it was only a matter of getting the bases themselves to paint on. Of course I have the LPS I grew up with but I didn't want to ruin those lol. I use those blank bootleg LPS bases they sell on amazon. You can also use authentic LPS but I'd recommend making sure you're not painting over a rare one like a big 5 or Savannah Reed first lol. A good starting point is to draft out the design you want on paper/digitally to see what kind of custom you want to make. for me I use digital templates and paint over them in my art program. Templesta on DeviantArt has some really good ones! For paint I use acrylic. Get a teeny tiny paintbrush for detail work along with a couple other sizes as well and those should be all the basic supplies you need to start! You can also get more complex with it and use chalk pastels, water color pencils and glitters too. Get creative! see what supplies you can use to take your customs to the next level. As a tip, make sure to water down your paint and do multiple thin layers. Patience is key because that paint is not gonna want to stick to the base at first. A lot of the actual painting process does come down to practice and a steady hand.

If you want to seal your customs which isn't necessary but gives them a nice finish, I recommend Liquitex high gloss varnish to seal the eyes. There are some good matte varnish sprays out there but I recommend doing your own research on those, as they can be resin based and therefore need a bit of caution and prep to handle. I personally use Mister Super Clear matte spray to seal the base of the custom, and I always spray outside with gloves and a respirator.

And though I have done sculpting I don't consider myself well versed enough to recommend supplies for clay but I've heard Green Stuff and Apoxie sculpt are good clays to use, but be sure to do your own research on those as well.

The monster high doll customization community is a good place to look for material research! A lot of the process of the face-up is pretty similar to painting LPS. That's actually what got me into customizing in the first place; I just watched a bunch of Dollightful, Enchanterium, and Moonlight Jewel's videos and said to myself "Wait a minute, I could do this with LPS!" I also of course recommend watching other LPS customizer's videos to see the process of how they make their customs, and show them some support as well! Pumpkinscustoms Is a really big inspiration for me and HelloStudios, Mr. Crazy Ray and LPSCobalt have really good videos on making customs.

And once again, if you don't wanna dive right in you can just draw them, whether using a template or not to see if you like the process and the design! You can even make a bunch of designs digitally and once you feel ready to tackle a real custom, start there! ahaha I didn't know I'd be writing a whole-ass Essay but I hope all this helps!! Thank you for enjoying my work!

#zemi's ramblings #ask zemi #lps customs #lpsblr #lpscommunity #doll customization #advice tag #rotten-g0blin

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tropes-and-tales · 1 year

Text

A Bit of Color

December 26: Quilt/Scrooge - Sunny versus Grumpy (Ray Merrimen x F!reader)

(From the winter prompts found here)

CW: Angst; Ray is a rude boi; mention of suicide

Word Count: 1828

AN: Requested by the lovely @bport76!

Ray would have never chosen you for his crew, but Bosco brought you in when they lost their intel person. He’s dubious at first—you’re preternaturally chipper, so cheerful and sweet that Ray’s teeth ache after he has to deal with you.

But Bosco has a good handle on their needs, and you’re an absolute ace at tech. You can hack anything: any computer, any phone system. You can find blueprints and hack a security camera, all with that saccharine attitude that grates against him.

It’s like a Hallmark movie fucked a Care Bear and created you. You dress in bright colors, usually dresses where the skirt flares out as you skip around the fucking chop shop. You hum pop songs as you work. You bake for the guys, cupcakes with rainbow frosting and chocolate chip cookies. You fuss over the guys too, take on a mother hen role that frays Ray’s nerves.

Hell, you even smell sweet, the scent of vanilla and lavender lingering even long after you leave.

Ray would get rid of you in a heartbeat, but you’re too damned good. He knows he could look for someone with half of your skills and never find them.

So he puts up with you. For your stellar hacking skills, he endures your colorful/sweet/manic pixie bullshit with a clenched jaw and a grumble.

-----

You’re also one of those crafty women, always knitting or sewing or painting something. More than once, Ray and the guys have come back from a heist just to find you sitting there and waiting for them, a piece of knitwork in your lap.

You’re also one of those generous types, which means when the holidays roll around, you become extra insufferable.

You bake. You make candy. You can your own jams, jellies, salsas. You make chili and cornbread, feed the guys when they are working late one night. Ray grunts when you hand him a bowl, and he calculates how much harder he’ll have to work out the next day to burn off all the fucking calories—

You give them gifts. Handmade gifts.

For Lavoux, it’s sweaters that you knit. Three sweaters, matching, for him, his wife, and his daughter.

For Bosco, it’s an elaborately wrapped box of homemade fudges. Chocolate, peanut butter, rocky road, orange cream.

“You’re trying to make me fat,” Bosco says as he pulls you in for a hug, pulls you off your feet. “I love ya, girl.”

For Mack, it’s a beer stein that you apparently made yourself, glazed yourself, and fired in a nearby community kiln. Because why the fuck not, Ray figures. He wonders if you mined the clay yourself too, just to be extra fucking irritating.

For Ray? Of course you have a gift for Ray.

It’s a quilt. At least it’s not super colorful, like Rainbow Brite puked on it—it’s shades of grey and blue in small rectangles stitched together.

“It’s a variation of the Big Fences pattern,” you tell him, as if he knows what the hell that means, and he misses the shy smile on your face.

“I don’t really need a quilt.” He refolds it, then tries to hand it back to you.

You frown, your eyebrows knit together. “But…it’s a gift.”

“It’s L.A. I never will need a quilt.”

You seem to misunderstand him because your face splits into a bright grin. “Oh, but I used lightweight batting! It’s not too heavy, so it’s actually perfect for L.A. weather—”

“No.” He pushes the quilt back at you, frowns until you take it. “I don’t need this.”

Ray never has been very tactful, and no one would ever accuse him of being soft, but the way your face crumples as you take the quilt and clutch it to your chest, the way your eyes fill with tears but how to try to play it off, give a shaky laugh and say “sure, sorry Ray, of course”…

He’s never felt like more of a monster in his life.

And then you leave, come up with a flimsy excuse of how you need to be somewhere else.

Even if he didn’t feel like the world’s biggest asshole, the guys cut him zero fucking slack.

“That’s cold,” Lavoux tells him. “Ice cold, man.”

“Like watching someone kill a kitten,” Mack agrees.

Bosco glares at Ray, crosses his arms. “This shit takes time, Merrimen. All this crafty homemade shit? It’s hours of her life, and that quilt was easily the most time-intensive of all of our gifts.”

“I didn’t ask for a gift.” Ray crosses his own arms, matches Bosco’s energy.

“And she didn’t ask for a fucking Scrooge. You don’t want the quilt? You tell her ‘thank you so much, this is great,’ and then you take it home and tuck it away somewhere. Fuck, Ray. You lose all your home training in prison?”

“She’d never even know if you threw it away,” Mack adds. “You coulda just taken it and tossed it, and she’d be none the wiser.”

“Being rude like that is bad karma. Bad juju,” says Lavoux.

“No such thing,” Ray says, and his tone makes it clear that the discussion is over.

-----

Ray doesn’t believe in karma or juju, and nothing overtly bad happens. Still, he has to admit the vibe in the crew has changed.

You’re not the same. Maybe Mack was right, maybe what Ray did to you was like killing a kitten. You still joke around with the guys, but the minute—the absolute second—Ray shows up, you shut down.

You still dress in your colorful dresses, but somehow it’s sadder when your outfits are paired with a slight frown and a sad silence. You don’t hum anymore. No singing along to bright pop songs under your breath as you hack into banking mainframes.

You don’t bake for them anymore either, and that’s what pushes the guys to near mutiny.

“You need to fix this shit,” Bosco mutters to him one night. “I haven’t had one of her peanut butter brownies in weeks.”

“So go to a fucking bakery.”

“I said fix it.” He pushes the words out through gritted teeth. “You’re the one that broke her. You’re the one that’s gonna fix her.”

-----

How can Ray fix it with you?

He has no way into your world view. His life has never been colorful. He grew up in a military family, went straight into the military himself. MARSOC, then his discharge, then his life of crime.

Never any color. Just the dun and greys of the military, of prison. Never any music or sweetness and Ray doesn’t see what he’s missing in all of that.

He does the best he can. He asks himself what he would want, and then he does the exact opposite, which is why he finds himself on your doorstep, a fistful of colorful flowers from the grocery store clutched in his fist.

-----

You’ve always been reasonably assured around Ray, but in your kitchen, you stumble. You offer him tea, then shake your head at yourself, mutter stupid to yourself.

“I have…a beer. If you want it.”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

You reach into your fridge and hand him the bottle gingerly, then perch yourself in the chair opposite of him.

Ray takes a drink, looks around. He thought your house would have been nothing but bright colors, but it looks…mostly normal. A few pops of color here and there: paintings on the walls, knick-knacks on the shelves. But nothing outrageous.

You only stare at him solemnly, a subtle tension in your features.

“I came by to say I’m sorry. About the quilt.”

“I guess it was pretty stupid. A quilt in Los Angeles.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I’m just an asshole.”

If there’s one other thing Ray likes about you, aside from your skills as a hacker, it’s your honesty. You never lie to them.

When he calls himself an asshole, you nod at him in agreement.

“I’d like it back,” he continues. “The quilt. If you’d be willing.”

“I don’t know.” You turn and look out the window into your backyard. “You don’t have to take it just to be nice.”

“I’m not nice. I want it. I’ll use it.” A beat. “I don’t have anything homemade in my apartment. It’ll make it nicer.”

You turn back to face him. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

You smile, and it’s the same shy one you had when you first handed him his gift. “Okay then. I’ll go get it.”

You stand up and leave the kitchen, disappear into some deeper part of the house, but Ray stands up too. He takes his beer into your living room and studies the framed photos on the shelf there. You and friends. You and a dog. A little girl that he guesses is you, with an older man in the full dress uniform of the military.

You come into the living room with the quilt neatly folded in your arms, and you see Ray studying your pictures.

“This your dad?” Ray asks, pointing at the man in the uniform.

“…yes.”

“Marines?”

“Yes.” A beat. “He died when I was young.”

“Sorry. Which campaign?”

Another beat, longer. “He…he committed suicide.”

“Ah, shit. Sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Still…” He looks at the picture again, sees you as a little girl with a wide grin, eyes squeezed shut.

He clears his throat, offers you a bit of himself. “You know, my old man was military. Fought in Iraq, came back different. So I get it, a little. I understand what it’s like to grow up like that.”

Though he doesn’t point out the difference: Ray followed down that same military path, allowed himself to be molded into a killing machine with MARSOC. You split off in an entirely different direction, filled your life with color and light and sweetness.

You nod in acknowledgement, then hand him the quilt. “Here you go.”

He takes it and waits for you to look him in the eye until he gives you the smallest of smiles. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

“It’ll be the nicest thing at my place.”

You get a sly tilt to your lips, a smirk more than a smile. “Not much competition though, right?”

“Oh, that’s how you’re gonna be then? You’re gonna knock my decorating skills?” he jokes back.

“Your decorating skills probably aren’t that bad. It’s easy to match black and grey,” you say with the same teasing grin.

“Well, there’s some blue in this.” He holds up the folded quilt, runs a finger along the neat stitching. “A good start.”

“It doesn’t hurt to have a little color in your life, Ray.”

He guesses not. And more than any color, he has insight into who you are. An inroad into what formed you, what made you the person you are. Better than any color is intel, and Ray has some valuable intel now.

#ray merrimen #ray merrimen x reader #ray merrimen imagine #den of thieves #tropes-and-tales #winter prompts 2022

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