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ghoulphile · 10 days

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sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position.

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.”

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout smut #the ghoul x you #cooper howard x you #the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout #fallout fanfic

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headspace-hotel · 1 year

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so many of us haven't seen it

we don't encounter it, we can't imagine it, we can't get out of the tomb of apathy because we haven't seen the wonders just beyond their line of sight

I talk about this all the time, but it's because I think about it all the time

There are likely thousands of plants native to the area you live in, and chances are you have never even seen most of them, in your entire life.

Not even rare orchids that only bloom at midnight on a blood moon or some shit—regular flowers. Weeds. They have been systematically eliminated from every single place you ever set foot in, and you have to have a special hobby or line of work to ever even rest your eyes upon the flowers that used to bloom for no one on every hill, or in every valley, or beside every stream

There are a few hundred birds that live where I live. I have never seen most of them before. I have never seen a Kentucky Warbler, and I have lived in Kentucky for what...twenty years?

I have never seen a rosy maple moth. When I saw one on the internet, I didn't even think it was real.

I've become a deeply weird person over the past couple years. Tasting even a little bit of the Wonders changes you. I wouldn't have thought blue bees were real, or the fantastically rainbow-colored dogbane beetles.

I have seen the world beyond the wasteland, and that glimpse makes you crazy.

You or I may have never seen a truly mature tree. A fraction of a percent of the old growth forest of the Eastern USA remains. Once there were tulip poplars over 6 feet in diameter and sycamores well over 10 feet in diameter. Only a few remain, in secret locations. Imagine walking through a forest where the tree trunks are over 3-4 feet wide.

The forest where I work is 100 years old. That's a baby forest.

Knowing that, being aware of that, it's maddening.

Central Kentucky has disproportionately few endemic plants. Almost none. Central Kentucky was the first area west of the Appalachians settled by European colonizers. The Bluegrass was once described as having the most peculiar plant life anywhere in the East, but now, there are no species known that are unique to that area.

Colonization destroyed the canebrakes. (Did you know that we had vast forests of bamboo full of carnivorous plants?) The bamboo is barely hanging on. It destroyed the sycamores so enormous you could use the hollow center of one as a stable for animals. It introduced invasive grasses to feed cattle and horses. It destroyed the rich lush topsoil. Most of the ancient oaks were cut down or died when housing developments were built on top of their roots.

What happened to the endemic species, never recorded in books of herbs, never sketched by a European naturalist.

Either gone forever...or hiding in a sinkhole on a backroad somewhere, not even yet discovered.

So much has been lost for eternity. So much still could be lost.

Some days it's hard not to wail and scream. There are herbicides in your drinking water. When you spread honey on toast, you likely also spread neonicotinoid pesticides, which testing has confirmed to be present in something like 45% of honey. In many areas, insects are immersed in the presence of chemicals designed to kill them in every drop of water, every leaf, every square inch of soil.

When games, animations, and illustrations envision the outdoors, they cover the ground with a short, uniform carpet of green, because that is what we see, no matter where we go: turfgrass cut by a lawn mower. Where I live, there are no natural environments that resemble this, remotely. The closest thing we have to turf-forming grass is our wealth of native sedges, most of which are rare or endangered.

I talked to a man who had devoted his life to studying the American bamboo, Arundinaria gigantea, and he had never seen a canebrake larger than 200x500 feet. Canebrakes once covered ten million acres, and now the bamboo exists in short, straggly clumps instead of dense bamboo forests up to 40 feet tall.

I want to cry and scream. The grief will tear me to pieces. I live in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, surrounded by people who can't even grieve, because they have been so completely severed from everything that was lost that they don't even know it was real.

It hurts. It hurts, and we have to live with it. It hurts, and the grief is all-consuming.

There is the agony, and there are the Wonders. Both are true at the same time. It is because nothing around us is standing still; everything in nature is always moving, iterating, becoming. Something is pulling and nudging at our species, urging us to move, to iterate, to become.

So much has been lost. Even more is not lost.

The trees, the bamboo, the sedges, the Kentucky warblers and rosy maple moths.

They are not lost. We are lost.

This is the hard part. The grief is hard, but this is somehow harder for us. We are lost, and it is time to come home.

Not to a physical place, but to a way of living: interconnected, mutualistic, interdependent. Symbiosis. In the forest, no one is separate from anyone else, everyone is linked and dependent on the community. Trees help each other, they support each other, they protect and shelter and feed one another and all living things, and together they are a forest. I don't really consider myself religious, but I have to reserve something in my head for how it felt to realize what Forest was.

When I noticed the little plants popping up in the sidewalk cracks and gravel paths, the tough weeds holding on in the lawns and pavement, something in my brain began to change dramatically and permanently.

They're still here. The trees. Even in the pavement and lawns. The dandelions have come, adapting rapidly, helping the bees hold on. The wildflower seeds are still sprouting in this depleted ground. Waiting for us to recognize them. Life is everywhere. The Forest is everywhere. It felt like they were waiting. We're here. We have not abandoned you. We are resilience, persistence, survival, adaptation. This is not death. This is Chaos. Come home. Come home. Come home.

I saved little plants from the roadside and tended them in plastic cups. I didn't think it would work. I don't know why I tried. I was acting as something bigger than only myself, responding to a call that moves throughout all of nature. But they survived, and growing and tending to my little plants and trees, I—understood.

I don't know if I believe in God, but I believe in Something, whatever it was that seemed to whisper like a secret: Welcome home, Caretaker.

And honestly, truth shone through then from relics of religion I hadn't touched in ages; God put Adam in a garden, not a suburb, a mall, or a Walmart. This is who you are. Not a Consumer, but a Caretaker.

And when the threat of the Flood loomed, God told Noah to start building a fucking boat.

In ecology, the plants we know as "weeds" are pioneer species: the first species to return to an area after a natural disaster or mass extinction. They survive in the harshest conditions, and prepare the land for regeneration. This is who you must become.

Look to the Dandelion—in just a few hundred years on this continent, Dandelion has risen to the highest calling of a Weed: first survive where the others can't, and then help the others survive. If the human species is to survive, you must be a weed species. You must adapt relentlessly, resist eradication, and protect and nurture other life forms by your very nature. You must be tough as nails, and make the world a gentler place through your survival.

Have you heard the saying that grief is love with no place to go?

That's the hard part.

We must grieve, but it is not yet time to grieve. It is time to love.

#plants #native plant gardening #weeds #we are a weed species #gardening #wonders of the world #nature

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just-your-average-cryptid · 1 year

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most of us have heard of the red car game. you’re on a road trip, you’re bored, you start looking for red cars to do something.

and then they’re everywhere. you notice them nearly every few minutes.

there aren’t suddenly more red cars now, of course. you were seeing them already, but you weren’t noticing. you weren’t looking.

I am noticing things.

there is a plant I notice everywhere now, a small bushy plant in suburbs, along streets, by shops on the highways. dwarf umbrella bush is what the internet tells me when I look for it’s name. I did this because I wanted to know why,

every time I ever saw it, every place,

it was always dying. always the leaves turning yellow, the branches small and scraggly. inside out - nitrogen deficiency. their soil drained.

I am noticing how many of these landscaping plants are yellowing, how small and sickly they look in just a few years. I am noticing how often the grass outside the house is replaced when it once again turns brown and dry, how the type never changes and the cycle starts again. I am noticing how the unmowed, unkempt spaces on lakesides and roadsides look more alive than this. how the preserve I grew up next to was miles of “messy” unmanicured nature and the ground was covered in leaves instead of grass and there was life.

I am noticing the birds that come by the lake. there was a flash of blue wings and red chest - eastern bluebird, male, relatively common. I had never seen one before. there is a family of ducks that appear every spring; i cannot say if it’s successive generations or different ducks, but I can always look forward to ducklings. there are little brown birds with white heads whose names I do not know - are they some kind of piper? why don’t I already know?

why is it so hard to learn about my native plants (accurately, that is)? why are so many gardening sites littered with people who think a plants value is based on how pretty or useful it is to them, who think a tree shedding leaves is “messy”?

why is knowing about the world we live in so… odd? why is it a hobby and not vital knowledge? I learned about polar equations. I taught myself about mycorrhizal networks and species of insects.

(did you know there are shiny green bees? a special species of wasp pollinating figs? that white flowers bloom at night for moths? do you know? have you looked?)

I cannot look at a lawn and see life anymore. it is a wasteland, devoid of life, dying slowly itself. everywhere is grass, grass, doused in water that runs over into storm drains, soaked in fertilizer and pesticides and a hundred other poisons and sending one clear message:

this is a place of death. life is not welcome here.

I do not think I could live in a city. too loud, yes, too busy, yes, too many people, yes, but the plants would bother me. a tree allotted only a convenient square, surrounded by dead stone and metal.

a forest cleared for this, for burning asphalt streets and racing cars and shops whose bathrooms are “for paying customers only”.

this is a place of death. life is not welcome here.

and now I am noticing.

#it speaks #idk man this is stream of consciousness and it’s midnight lol #I’m having thoughts about plants and people and how much I hate lawns #anti lawn #firmly believe that nature knowledge should be taught in school #yeah there’s biology but biology won’t teach you what plants are edible or deadly #or what birds live/migrate in your area and what they depend on #they teach civics bc even if you’re not politically active you should know how the government works #if you live in a world you should know how it works #bc even if it feels like it doesn’t matter. it does. it will. and if you notice it now you can do something about it

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radiance1 · 7 months

Text

[Not gonna lie, that ask made me THINK about some thing]

So, hear me out.

Eastern dragon Danny is extremely protective of a giant gem (think chaos emerald size) and harms anyone who comes close to it. Even other ghosts, well, except for Vlad since he kinda had a hand in making this thing, but only just, and Ellie because, well, she's Ellie what more did he need?

The nasty burger explosion wasn't reversed, his family and friends are super mega dead, and they aren't going to become Infinite Realm ghosts because if they were, then Dark Danny probably wouldn't have happened.

So what did he do?

He yanked their souls from the reincarnation cycle, minorly offended a couple of shrouds because he physically moved them out of the way on his way back- plus, they just happened to be there leading another soul to hell, not his fault they ran into him.

Anyway.

Vlad came to him, proposing an idea that would be much better than continually violating the universal law of rebirth and having the Observants swarm around him questioning what exactly he was doing. Danny said that if Vlad so much as took a single step back in his assistance, then the Duke would find himself plucked of his feathers, one by one, and then left upon a frozen wasteland of a world for however long Danny deemed fit.

Vlad, who does not care in the least about that threat: Duly noted.

So Vlad gets to work, finding something that should be capable of containing even Tucker's ever reincarnating soul. And he does, basically a giant gem held together by science, ectoplasm, and mass amounts of magic that is far more capable of just holding souls, but Vlad doesn't really care about anything besides that.

So then Vlad gave Danny the gem, Danny stuck the souls in the gem and just, stuck around it. Even Tucker's immortal reincarnating soul can't escape from it easily, which put his mind at significant ease.

Then a few eons later he's absolutely, positively enraged when he had to be called away for a summons, came back and found his precious gem utterly empty. Safe to say, he wasn't going to stand for that.

Whoever took the souls of his family, will not be having a peaceful afterlife.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp

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factorialsotherfandoms · 7 months

Text

They're back at that one bit of woodland again, with the strangely cut trees and the avocado sapling and an unusual number of birds. Fit hates it here, he hates what it does to his friend. He sees the distant look in Philza's eyes, the way his movements become softer, slower, almost floating. He sees the warpstone, and takes it, and knows it means that sometimes Philza comes here alone.

He sees the way Philza puts his parachute away too high, and does not bucket clutch when he lands. Hears the crunch of his ankles, too.

It's not the first time Fit's seen it either, though its novel in /Phil/. In the wasteland, in the many wars... Yeah, he's seen this before. People who can't face what they've done - what the world did to them - so their minds fade into a dream until reality crashes in with a knife through their spine. Nobody wastes an end crystal on someone who got lost in a dream, at least not the quiet ones.

(To kill those lost in a nightmare you want a bow, anyway - even if you dress in their colours, they might still consider you a monster in their dreams. Fit's almost glad Philza's brain cracked quietly - its safer, less likely to draw the Federation's ire, but it also means the pain goes unnoticed. He wonders, just how many islanders' suffering has been missed?)

The doubt in reality even when present Fit has seen less of, but it's not unheard of. In the wasteland people tend towards killing and being killed, but sometimes someone gets a grand idea into their heads.

Well, no, a lot of people do. Even if Fit only considers grand torture he can think of a good number of people, they're just not often met with success.

He has seen it, though, between one incursion and the next. There had been this one asshole up in the north eastern quadrant who took a delight in fucking with people's heads. One of the Veterans - Fit can't remember his name, why can't he remember even his allies-of-occasion's names? - had been caught. The guy managed to break himself out in a few days, but even that had been enough to have him clarifying reality for months.

Philza...

Well Philza was gone for at least twice as long, and, old crow that he might be, he doesn't have nearly the training against mind games and /human/ bullshit a Wastelander has.

He's still quick with the scythe whenever monsters appear, so at least the Feds haven't stolen that from him too.

"The birds are here, right?" Philza eventually asks.

"Yup," Fit pops the word a little, wanting to go home but not wanting to leave a trauma-fucked friend at ground zero too long. "Still here, still the wrong biome. The avocado sapling is still here, too. There was something here, they just took it down."

Philza squints at that sapling, and hums under his breath. Fit doesn't expect to be believed. It's just, despite everything, he has his own fucking eyes. This place is clearly fucked up, the Federation builds in an instant so why not destroy, and not /once/ has Philza asked him if something is real and the answer was no. His perception wasn't fucked with, just his faith in it.

Which is, in some ways, harder to deal with.

Fit would wonder why he's dealing with this, but he knows everything Philza has done for him and how, when its down to the wire, they're about the only friends either of them can really rely on. Seasons change, alliances are betrayed, lovers fight, and in the middle of it all is always black wings and Philza.

If after all these years all the man needs is an occasional reality check then, gods damn him, Fit won't even charge him for it.

He's nice like that.

"Alright," Philza eventually says. "Let's go home."

They warp back to his home - an empty home, but a home - and Philza hesitates at the hatch.

"Look," Fit says. "If you want to go out there again, or you see something you're not sure about? Just ask me. If I'm not about, take a photo and ask me later."

"Thanks mate," Philza says, with a smile reading 'I'll never do that, but the offer's appreciated'. "Sleep well."

"You too," Fit calls back, and really, he did expect that to be the end of that.

---

It is not, of course, the end of that. There's a few more times in the coming days when they're together, and Philza asks his opinion on the reality of a bird - almost always a bird, sometimes a shrub, and Fit is lining up what triggers he can to try convince his friend to avoid.

He knows Phil, and he knows people, and he knows that most people would rather claw their own eyes out than ask for help. Philza included. Himself included, to be fair to the man.

It's what makes what happens next more horrifying, and more of a surprise.

He is out with Pac and Mike when it happens. Mike is still acting a little odd, but so far he has attacked nobody, threatened nobody, and made no creepy comments about the eggs - Fit will take what he is given and call it a success. Mike is even acting a little more normal, herding Pac and Fit onto a picnic rug and serving them drinks.

Pac laughs and smiles, and Fit slips poison test strips into every single glass he is handed but laughs along with him.

So far, no poison - Fit knows better than to think doing nothing will have fixed the brainwashing (possession?), but maybe the level of control varies. It seems reasonable, then, to expect a chill day for the morning crew; Tubbo is offline, Philza is tens if not thousands of blocks out exploring, and Fit has a date with his two favourite scientists.

... A social engagement with one of his favourite scientists, chaperoned by the other.

Fit sits and listens as Pac explains some additions he and Mike wish to make to the Murder Mystery Arena, occasionally offering his admittedly uncreative takes. Fit knows what he's good for, and it isn't interior design. He just... did not quite expect his thoughts to be so bad that they managed to trigger a laughing fit in the still somewhat out of it Mike.

If only he could also help Mike like he tries to help Pac and Philza, but whatever happened to him, his green-eyed scientist no longer trusts him enough for that.

It's a shock, then, when Mike speaks over Pac, scowling at his communicator. "I don't think this message is for me," he says.

"What message?" Pac asks, already moving to look.

Fit leaves him to it - probably Aypierre asking about some newfangled machine, or Cellbit wanting some answers - before realising Philza is the only person both awake and not at the picnic. That has him standing, grabbing his own communicator, even as Pac is already reading it.

"It just says 'can you come over here a second'?" Pac frowns. "From Philza. Do you think he's okay?"

"He probably just hit the wrong name and didn't realise," Fit tries to keep his voice easier than he feels. Even while he's speaking, he types out a quick 'sharestone?'.

Almost immediately he gets a reply 'thanks mate' and then 'red, named parrot'.

Fit's brain clicks in as to exactly what that might be.

"Yeah he meant me. Mind if I just go check in with him? I'll be right back."

Mike shuffles a little closer to Pac, who in turn waves him away. Their sharestone today is blue, not red, but he takes it to Spawn, and then heads out again.

Sure enough, there's a new red sharestone connected to the network. It's named 'prart', however, and Fit really has to wonder just how badly Philza must be doing to let that happen.

---

Arriving across the link, Fit finds Philza sat on the grass next to the sharestone, knees curled up and hands shaking. It is the middle of the day, but he still quickly checks around for threats. Swamp, no crocodiles, sharestone and Philza tucked close to a tree. The only other living beings he can see are birds - hummingbirds, parrots, and a grey one pecking at Philza's trousers.

Given Philza is in a swamp, Fit has a good idea as to what he might be doing.

"Oi Philza," Fit calls, tossing himself onto the grass beside his friend. "You were missing me?"

"Hit me," Philza replies, still curled in the ball. "You're real, right? Then hit me."

Fit knows the queries about birds well enough by now, but the query about his own presence makes dread settle in his stomach.

"Alright," is what he actually says, before backhanding his friend across the arm.

At the contact Philza's breath stutters for a moment, before his fingers reach out and trace where he was touched. It's a slow movement, one alongside which he mouths words without sound, before the fingers dart out and grab Fit's hand. He clings, tight, for a long moment, and then lets go with an exhale.

"Thanks mate," Philza's voice shakes, far too quiet for comfort. "... You can see the birds too, right?"

"Yeah," Fit frowns - for all he doubts reality, Philza has /never/ said he's seen a bird that Fit couldn't also see. "Let me see. Five or six blue parrots over there, three hummingbirds, another parrot in darker blue, pair of red ones, I think there's a green one in that tree over there... Four chickens, and then there's a grey bird by your ankle."

At the mention of the grey bird, a shaky hand reaches out, and Philza begins to pet its head. Fit knows of some people back in the wasteland who take animals to help with the trauma, but he can't help but think a bird is, right now, a terrible choice for his friend.

"So you are real," Philza speaks so gently to the parrot, though. "Here you go, come on up."

Fit watches quietly as Philza uncurls, sprinkling a handful of seed on his lap to tempt the bird up. Sure enough, it goes.

"What do you see in this photo?" Philza then asks, handing something to Fit.

It's a photo of a tree. It's not a tree that Fit can see nearby, but it is one for sure. A single black bird sits in it, watching.

"I thought crows had been banished from the island," Fit frowns. "Wild ones, anyway."

"Okay, okay," Philza runs one hand through his hair, and another over his bird's head. "I'm only going a bit crazy then."

"They're fucking with you," Fit frowns. "Else I'm somehow reliably hallucinating the same as you."

Philza shakes his head - Fit wonders just what happened in that birdhouse, that his friend's brain would rather deconstruct reality than face that it could have happened, and just what purpose it serves the Federation to try.

"This bird... You remember the parrots by the museum?"

"The ones that vanished?"

"When I got back to the bunker, he was in a cage right next to the trap door." Philza's eyes are wide, a little wild.

"Well shit." Fit frowns at it. "Same bird?"

Philza gently lifts one of the bird's wings, showing Fit a very distinctive pattern on it. Same bird, else the Federation did something extremely fucky.

"I have to cage him to bring him places. Dumbass doesn't understand ladders, let alone warps. I don't like caging him. But keeping him in the house is just another, bigger cage. I can't do that to him, Fit, I /can't/." Philza's fingers twitch as he says it. "But I can't let him go either. What if the Feds take him again? What if they hurt him? They hurt our children, why wouldn't they hurt him?"

"He sure seems happy enough to me." Fit doesn't actually know much about birds, but its eating out of Philza's lap and has never made any attempt to get away. "Likes you well enough, too."

"But its a /cage/, Fit," Philza emphasises the word. "I know he's only little, but the cage is small too."

It's not about the bird. There is no way in hell that this is about the bird. There is no universe, here or anywhere else, where this is actually about putting a bird in a cage for five minutes while Philza teleports.

Fit just isn't sure if Philza actually knows it isn't about the cage, though, and with him teetering on a full breakdown, decides its better not to ask.

Instead, he offers an arm. Philza collapses against his side.

"They were just fucking with you," Fit tries to reassure him. "Everything you're asked about has been real, your reality is fine, I'm here, you're here, we're both real. So are the birds. The eggs? Real. Missing, but real, and we will get them back."

"I wish they wouldn't despawn my withers so I could blow the fuckers up."

Fit gives a laugh, noting how Philza's own wings fluff up a little at the words.

"Same," he says. "I want to see it."

"Do you know how many I tried to spawn?" he asks. "And they just erased them from existence."

"Yeah, we noticed," Fit agrees. "Assholes."

Philza is still shaking a little, but laughs as he falls against Fit's side. He's managing to talk normal enough, but Fit's been around both him and the mentally fucked long enough to recognise the way his fingers cling and eye flitter. It's not the usual paranoia, he's looking at all the wrong things to check for danger - not the swamp, but the birds, Fit's hand, the sharestone...

Fit's communicator pings. Looking down he finds a message from Pac, 'how much longer will you be?'

'Not long. Can I bring Philza?' he replies. Then, a moment later, adds, 'Feds are fucking with him.'

There's a longer pause than Fit expects before he receives 'yes.' and then 'is he okay?'

"Hey Phil," Fit says, rather than immediately reply. "I was having a picnic with Pac and Mike. Do you want to join us?"

"I shouldn't-" Philza looks up.

Fit raises an eyebrow.

"Fine," Philza sighs. "I need to get rid of some toast anyway."

"That's the spirit!"

It really isn't; Fit tilts his communicator away from Philza as he types back. 'Not really. I'm worried.'

Pac doesn't reply again, or at least not immediately; Fit shoves his communicator back in his pocket, before untangling himself from Philza and hoisting himself up. "We have a blue sharestone set up; meet you at spawn?"

Philza doesn't reply as he collects his own sharestone and returns it to his inventory. He does, however, raise his portable warpstone as he traps his bird in a cage.

Fit waits to make sure Philza is actually leaving before raising his own as well. Spawn is far from beyond the Federation's influence, but its a hell of a lot safer than a random swamp... Fuck, 300,000 blocks out. Someone's always passing spawn, the Federation can't mess with it easily.

"Here," Fit points out the right sharestone as he arrives. "Mike hasn't even poisoned any tea yet! Or threatened to murder anyone today."

Philza's laugh is a little nervous, but he follows through anyway. Fit checks the map to make sure he got there, and follows.

He isn't surprised to get there and find the bird already free, sitting on Philza's shoulder, but how quickly he let it out...

It isn't about that bird and that cage at all.

"Fit!" both halves of Tazercraft at least are excited to have him back.

"I have wine!" Pac seems very excited about that, despite the concerned glance he throws at both Mike and Philza.

Fit does his best to give a reassuring one back - impossible given Philza's very quiet 'hi mate' before silently curling up under a tree. "Great! Sorry about the disruption, the swamp had crocodiles."

"Multiple?" Pac pulls a face - Fit would be Philza is convinced that Pac believes it, but Fit knows the tells. "Eesh."

"Bad luck," Mike passes Philza an entire bottle of wine before Fit can even think about subtly stopping him.

Philza does pour some into a glass before downing it. Right now, Fit will take what he can get. And if that is just he's going to need to play up his separation anxiety to keep Philza close and safe... He just hopes Pac and Mike understand, because he's not sure Philza will survive to see his kids again otherwise.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp philza #qsmp fitmc #hurt/comfort #dissociation #angst #its a bit heavy on the dissociation but from an outsider perspective #also vague references to Fit's memory problems #a cage for a cage #or rather its aftermath #pac and mike are also here because I love them #oh god this got too long save me

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mikashisus · 14 days

Text

The Regula Solis Epoch: Masterlist

The Regula Solis Epoch takes place in a renaissance era— in a time where the golden age of the Remurian Empire loomed over the heads of the people of Teyvat.

Although each one includes the story of someone different, they all have one thing in common:

The Golden Age of Teyvat.

☀️

Volume I: Abandon Ship

(mermaid!neuvillette x fem!pirate!reader)

With one of the Remurian fleets hot on your tail and stolen treasure of the crown on your ship, you were ready to take to the Eastern Seas.

When one of your crewmates catches a mermaid of all things on the outskirts of the Dark Sea, you finally think you've hit the jackpot when it comes to treasure.

In the end, however, you come to a startling revelation: is all the treasure in the world really worth more than a life? And suddenly, you have to make a choice... either a huge sum of gold, or the man you've fallen head over heels in love with.

chapter 1

Volume II: Leaving London

(kazuha x gn!knight!reader)

The legendary pirate ship known as “The Alcor” has begun stirring up trouble in the Northern Seas. Although Queen Catalina does not see it as a threat, the General of the North Wind Knights thinks otherwise.

With the risk of angering the Queen on his hands, General Anton issues an order for all knights a part of the navy to seize every last one of The Alcor’s crew.

With no choice but to listen, you obediently set out to hunt down these pirates. However, it doesn’t exactly go according to plan when you cross blades with a foreigner to the Northern Winds.

Volume III: Flesh and Bone

(hunter!tartaglia x gn!werewolf!reader)

The bitter cold forests of Snezhnaya were not kind, nor welcoming to humans. Lurking in the darkness of the tundra were glowing eyes and warning growls.

After being ardently warned to never trespass farther than the outline of trees meeting the wastelands, Ajax takes the risk and crosses to the frozen tundra. With a bag slung over his shoulder and a determination to show his father that the wastelands were fit to be hunting grounds, he readied his bow.

Amidst the hunt, he finds a wounded wolf on the brink of death. Deciding to show it mercy and heal its wounds, Ajax soon finds that this “wolf” is not your normal run of the mill animal… and taking it back to the village was a grave mistake.

Volume IV: Kaleidoscope

(criminal!xiao x fem!adventurer!reader)

Being called to serve Lady Iris, you were expecting just about anything to be asked of you. However, being tasked to watch over a prisoner who stole from King Remus’ grand vault was something else entirely.

Amidst your journey to retrieve this item, you begin to wonder if the prisoner you were tasked to watch over is even a prisoner at all. He makes no move to escape, and it seems as if he does not plan on talking to you. Finding the exact item he stole was not easy either, and it appears that your journey will get worse as the truth slowly unravels.

In the end, you find yourself wondering who is to be trusted: the foreigner from the East, or Lady Iris, who bore no hesitation in sending your friends to their deaths.

Volume V: Masquerade

(lyney x fem!vampire!reader)

As a descendant of the noble Edana line, you grew up with an ardent belief that humans were entirely food and nothing more.

For centuries, you live holed up in your family’s manor, your boredom growing tenfold with each new decade that passes.

Eventually having enough of your boring, high class lifestyle, you step onto the streets for the first time in almost a millennia, looking for something to satiate your interest.

This comes in the form of a budding magician, who wants nothing more than to break down your walls and show you what the world looks like in blinding color. A world that wasn’t coated in gray, and a love that wasn’t forged in blood oaths.

Volume VI: From Blood and Ash

(dainsleif x gn!angel!reader)

For as far as the eye could see, the world was bathed in red, and the gray of ashes covered the ground like a blanket. The tang of blood and sharp stench of smoke permeated the air. The screams and cries of the people were deafening amidst the scorching flames of retribution.

Among the sea of corpses and ash stood a lone figure, covered head to toe in blood that did not belong to them. One of their ivory wings was singed from the fires, permanently scarred with the reminder of their betrayal towards the heavens.

Feet away stood a soldier. As they locked eyes, the world stopped for a moment, and the ticking of the doomsday clock echoed like a roar in the air of the blazing wasteland. The soldier collapsed to the ground, clawing at his throat as the angel of death approached him.

Within seconds, their jaws slacked and unhinged, revealing a terrifying set of sharp, gargantuan white teeth. Their talons reached out, grabbing ahold of his shoulder. Their tongue lolled out, drool dripping from the corners of their mouth. With a final cry for mercy, the soldier watched as the angel before him turned into a monstrosity.

Volume VII: Ambrosia

(venti x fem!dancer!reader)

It was time for the annual North Wind Festival in the western kingdom of Mondstadt.

Amidst the preparations for the festival, a wandering bard arrives in the bustling city. Without a clue on this bard's origin, the people of the city welcome him and his talent for music with open arms.

Venti soon finds himself in a predicament when a dancer from a foreign nation steals his audience time and time again. As one who would not back down from a challenge, Venti decides to entertain her and participate in her game.

However, when she mysteriously disappears the night before her performance at the festival, Venti realizes it is up to him to go find her. He doesn't realize that he would get himself wrapped up in a feud between an ex-soldier and the army of Snezhnaya.

author’s note: the “regula solis epoch” is a project i have been working on for literal months now. it takes place a few hundred years before the archon war and is completely canon divergent. i tried to incorporate as much remuria lore as i could. i hope that all of you enjoy reading these as much as i will writing them. each fic will be released in order, so “abandon ship” will be first on the list!

taglist — ; open!

**if you’d like to be added to the taglist for any and/or all of these upcoming fics, then leave a comment or send a msg to my inbox!

divider: @/cafekitsune

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hezzabeth · 5 months

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Everyone who lived on Baker Street had come out from the fog to eat Nanni’s dinner. This made perfect sense; Nanni was one of the few people in the park who knew how to cook meals using ingredients and an oven.

When the park was still open, Revati's home was a coffee shop called the “Mad Hatter Teaparty.” The walls were painted in eye-watering clashing shades of neon pink and green. The light fixtures hanging from the ceiling were all giant velvet top hats. The booths were giant flower teacups with tiny chairs and tables inside.

"Was there some sort of drug in the pineapple?" Revati heard Brigadeiro ask. Revati just ignored him and instead walked past each of the booths, collecting tributes; nobody ate Nanni’s for free.

The Paprikas sat in the blue and gold teacup, their neon orange hair clashing with the paint. The Paprikas were two brothers and their sister who had found themselves trapped in the park as children. Their parents had been vaporized by a towel-warming rack. Now they were in their mid-twenties and worked for Revati as hired muscle for free dinners.

"Who's the new guy? He's actually clean and good-looking," the youngest brother Brie asked Revati. "His name is Brigadeiro Bun; he's an off-world tourist who stupidly went to the wasteland," Revati said. "I was trying to find crystal roses," Brigadeiro smiled helpfully.

"Bridgadeiro huh? So your parents were Goup worshippers then?" The sister, Juniper, asked curiously. Revati vaguely knew that Goupism was a popular religion on other colonies. Over a thousand years ago, there was once a woman who apparently traveled the earth gathering the best health practices needed to be “happy.” "A white woman, and she stole most of her ideas from our eastern religions," Amma, who was a staunch atheist, had snapped with annoyance when Revati asked her to explain the Paprika siblings' religion. Still, despite her thievery, at some point, she had become a god. They firmly believed in things such as “psychic vampires” and “color-balancing therapy.” They also all had peculiar food-related names, mainly because the goddess had named her daughter Apple.

"Yes, they were. They insisted on coming here for a Wellness Day holiday," the eldest brother, Croquette, growled. "I miss mama's Wellness Day Avocado and chocolate cookies," Juniper sighed sadly. "It's not the same, but here I have a couple of factory-made ones in my pocket," Brigadeiro said, crawling into the booth. The Paprika siblings gasped with astonishment as he pulled a packet of cookies wrapped in gold paper out of his jumpsuit's gigantic pocket. "They got a bit crushed when I was kidnapped, but they're still good," he said, opening the package and placing it on the table. The Paprika siblings stared at the cookies, their mouths slack with shock. Croquette slowly shook his head, completely snatched the package, and began to serve the crushed crumbs amongst his siblings. "You need to keep this one forever," Juniper said firmly, and Revati just shook her head, moving onto the next table.

The next table consisted of the elderly Gupta couple. "You adopted another kid? If you want more water for him, we want more dried apples," Mrs. Gupta said, a small scowl on her wizened face. It was Mr. Gupta who had figured out how to gather and purify water from the atmosphere. It was Mrs. Gupta who managed and recorded all the water they collected, rolling it out like a tyrannical dictator. "Fine, one extra package of dried apples per week," Revati said before swishing grandly onwards.

Amma was sitting in the pink cup, her new partner Dusk Brisbane. Dusk Brisbane was a teacher from Titan, who, along with their students on a field trip, found themselves stuck in the park. Like all people from Titan, Dusk had inherited the ability to rapidly change biological genders. Titan had also inherited a name that meant a time of day and a gender. Dusk’s remaining students were sitting with Dityaa on a large cat-shaped sofa. When the invasion began, there were twenty-three of them. Now there were only five nineteen-year-olds left. Dityaa was holding court over all of them, sitting on a couch shaped like a giant grinning beast. "Your sister said you had an interesting night," Amma remarked as Revati sat down next to her. Nanni had laid out a plate of aloo mushroom curry. Revati picked up a piece of hardtack and dipped it into the sauce, refusing to talk. "So you're not even going to bother telling your side of the story?" Amma asked as Revati swallowed. Nanni always moaned that her cooking was so much better before the war. Years ago, Nanni worked in the city as a professional meal prepper for wealthy families that wanted to eat real organic food.

Nanni was proud of her ability to create one hundred percent sand-free meals using the most exotic ingredients. Nanni would bemoan to everyone that her meals were now a mess, that her spices were too basic, and that she never had enough salt. Revati, however, who had never tried anything else, thought her food was delicious. "I'm hungry! Besides, what's the point in telling my side? I'm sure Dityaa's story was more enthralling," Revati replied. "Every story needs both sides and the truth," Dusk remarked. As they spoke, their features shifted from a feminine middle-aged woman's face to a man's face with a beard. "You're not my creative writing teacher, and you're not my parent," Revati pointed out.

Revati knew deep down she didn’t dislike Dusk; Dusk was a perfectly decent person. Not to mention Amma had been so lonely until Dusk offered to help her teach the feral children a year ago. Still, it was a lot to get used to.

“True, but your mother did ask you a question, and I think she deserves an answer," Dusk replied in that same mild diplomatic voice. Revati deliberately ate another mouthful of curry before wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her dress. "Dityaa got attacked by some lady at the ball; the chutiya had A.I. eye implants! They must have switched on somehow," Revati explained. "Mind your mouth, Revati! There will be no swearing at the dinner table," Amma scolded her. "Her implants switched on? That's so odd; one of my students had AI tastebuds, but they stopped working the second we walked into the park," Dusk remarked, their face shifting back into a woman's as they glanced at one of their students. The student in question, Basil Paris, was sitting next to Dityaa, licking their hand. Dusk was right; in order to create true "historical authenticity," the park was surrounded by massive mirrors. The volcanic Martian glass blocked the "AI" life stream. "And what did you do?" Amma asked in a quiet, nervous voice. "I threw a glass of vodka at her face, and her eyes fried up," Revati replied.

"Can you take the children's sign language lesson tomorrow morning? I need to check the mirrors around the walls," Amma said to Dusk.

"Of course," Dusk replied, and Revati rolled her eyes.

"You don't need to do anything, Amma! I'm the elected leader of Baker Street! This is my job," Revati said firmly.

"You're only seventeen!" Amma protested.

"Almost everyone voted for me! Well, apart from Mrs. Gupta, who voted for herself," Revati said, and mother sighed.

"Fine! But you're not going to leave well after the sun rises, and you're not taking Cora and Laila! You can take Vivienne and Jay Jr.," Mother replied firmly.

Nine minutes past midnight.

Revati's eyes snapped open in the blue-glowing darkness. Slowly, she sat up, taking in the familiar shapes of the kitchen's walk-in freezer. Dityaa was sleeping next to her on the souvenir pillows Amma had sewn together into a makeshift bed. In the corner, the feral children slept together in a nest made of old soft toys. Nanni was snoring on one of the plastic shelves that had long ago stored ice cream. Amma insisted on them all sleeping behind the massive metal doors. To anyone who lived near any other planet, it would have been freezing, but Martians had evolved to withstand the cold.

Revati stood up and glanced down at Dityaa. Dityaa had worn her new dress to bed, ignoring the stains. The blood on her dress looked shiny black, her face shadowy blue. She looked just like Princess Savitri in the family book of fairy tales. Revati, on the other hand, had changed into her pajamas, which consisted of a long-sleeved men's shirt three sizes too big. The red fabric hung to her knees, and the words "Olde Landon Halloweenfest 3544" had been printed across the front. Revati picked up her blanket, draping it around her shoulders. Sleep wasn't going to return any time soon. Revati reached underneath her part of the mattress until she found the stories.

Outside the metal doors, Revati could hear distant voices, and carefully she slid the door open. Amma and Dusk were sitting together on the cat-shaped couch, murmuring to each other over tea.

"I don't see how they could know..." Amma began, and then she trailed off, spotting Revati.

"Insomnia again?" She asked gently, and Revati nodded, walking past the two of them.

"If you're going up to the greenhouse, be quiet; I made a bed for the boy up there," Mother replied.

"Really, Amma? You couldn't give him a bed?" Revati asked, opening the front door.

"He would freeze in the fridge, and he said he liked plants," Mother replied.

Outside, the fog was still shifting, and Revati moved ten spaces to the right.

"Evening, boss," Juniper's voice called, and she suddenly appeared holding a jar filled with glowing mushrooms.

"Any problems?" Revati asked.

"Nope, it's been a pretty quiet night!" Juniper said.

"Good, make sure your brother takes over your shift! We don't want you fainting from sleep deprivation again," Revati replied.

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo2023 #regency core #art #science fiction #life on mars #fantasy #speculative worldbuilding #winter wonderland #winter

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fatehbaz · 7 months

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The “khoai” is the name colloquially given to [...] landmasses in and around the Chotanagpur Plateau in eastern India. Rich in iron oxide, these [...] soils are marked by a rugged and often undulating topography, resulting from millennia of erosion from monsoon rains, the many winding rivers that populate the region and action of winds from summer thunderstorms, popularly termed in Bengali as “Kalboishakhi.” The winds and the rains of the kalboishakhi dance across the lands adjoining the Bay of Bengal, often arriving at the horizon with ominous dark clouds right before sunset. [...]

The khoai is a charismatic frontier in an ongoing conversation within South Asian developmentalist imaginaries that call for optimal land use for the purposes of economic growth. [...] As the lateritic soil of the region is not suited for intensive agriculture, efforts have been made to make vast sections of the region arable [...]. And so, slowly, the red soils get taken over the green [...]. This is often done by breaking gullies and hoodoo-like structures [...] to flatten the lands [...]. The ongoing project to turn such “deserts” green has a long history. Yet alongside these projects, is the place that the khoai have in the literary, cultural, and spiritual imagination of many [...] that inhabit the Chotanagpur Plateau. The vastly open and hilly topography, dotted with sal forests [...] has often been the fodder for songs of longing [...]. The horizon of the sky meeting the red gullies of the badlands also form many a narrative that appear in local folk songs and stories. [...] They have also been sites of community-based agroforestry.

---

Recently, such badlands have been termed unproductive in and around my hometown of Santiniketan, India.

As South Asian developmental imaginaries wholly absorb the understanding of terra nullius from modern Euro-American conceptions of land, the idea that “badlands” are necessarily “wastelands” become cemented. Once beloved [...], the dark brown-red hoodoos and gullies today are seen as wasted potential that are depriving the public of much-needed resources, and the possibility of the coming of civilization in accordance with upper-caste aspirations. Khoai today have become sites for proposed plantations facilitated by local forestry authorities, holiday homes and cafes [...], luxury resorts [...].

The ethos of invoking terra nullius has travelled into discourses surrounding “practicality” and the absolute necessity for villagers and small town folks in the area to be saved by their urban-dwelling upper caste counterparts [...] who are interested in their cultural practices, seemingly idyllic agricultural lifeways and the simplicity away from the stresses of cities such as Kolkata. But in this framework, the imaginaries of development are necessarily embedded in compulsory extraction, whether that be of cultural economies, minerals, timber, or land for development. [...]

[B]adlands get turned into places that need saving from being “wasted” by the carelessness and unimaginative shortsightedness of villagers and Adivasis, who are simply seen as ill-equipped to deal with the progression of the global economy.

These days, it is hard to find a piece of the “khoai” that has not been subjected to projects of agriculture, forestry, or have been subjugated to [...] property ownership [...]. As the figures of the plantation and its attendant cultures of enclosure and theft of commons creep into places previously overlooked by the tentacles of global extractive forces, many, if not most khoai areas are mobilized to be “redeemed” into productive little plots legible to capital.

I have to wonder about the processes of consent and negotiation that have informed such projects. [...] These areas were in the past predominantly inhabited by Adivasis or Indigenous peoples of India, who had resisted the [...] hierarchies [...].

Badlands such as the “khoai” present a challenge to capitalist imaginaries because they defy its temporalities and its compulsion to make all aspects of being productive and legible to exchanges that foster logics of uninhibited growth. [...]

What, then, does it mean to care for wastelands? [...]

What histories are paved over by concrete? What does development mean in places where inequality is still rife, but there are shiny new roads? What does a future look like, where we can let badlands and “wastelands” just be, as part of ecological and cultural commons?

---

Text by: Aadita Chaudhury. "Caring for Badlands". The Otter, Network in Canadian History and Environment (NiCHE). Emotional Ecologies series. Ed. Jessica M. DeWitt and Sarah E. York-Bertram. 14 July 2023. [Photography by Aadita Chaudhury, included in the original article. Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

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its-vannah · 1 year

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Midnight Rain | Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

A/N: Y'all have no idea how happy I am to finally release this chapter. Although this series is a crossover between Jace x Reader one-shots and Midnights, this one adds in a classic fairytale spin, as it's based off of Sleeping Beauty (the Disney version, we don't condone the original). I hope you guys enjoy reading this one as much as I loved writing it.

Warnings: Mentions of death, fighting, violence

Midnights Masterlist

Just what we wanted, just what we wanted

Everything had gone to plan. You were tucked away in one of the far eastern towers in Asterthal, forever at rest while your palace was in shambles.

My town was a wasteland

Homes had been burned, the palace ransacked, bodies were left littering the ground.

Full of cages, full of fences

Sites that had once attracted outsiders were now unrecognizable, reduced to ashes. Those who had survived the attack were kept inside cells beneath the palace, waiting for their executions.

And the life I gave away

If you had been awake to see your people now, you would've been devastated. But after one of your friends, who had been working as a spy for the Queen, slipped you a sleeping concoction, you were unable to escape slumber.

But for some, it was paradise

But the Queen was delighted to hear of your capture. The alliance between the eldest Velaryon-Targaryen son, Jacaerys, and the House of Asterthal's eldest daughter would have been unstoppable.

I wanted that pain

She had ordered your execution, but been advised to put you to rest rather than death. Anything more and she'd be tried for treason against a noble house.

Chasing that fame

So, Queen Allicent sat beside the Iron Throne, a goblet of wine in her hand as she toasted to her recent victory. Long live the Queen.

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

When the news reached Jacaerys that the House of Asterthal had been attacked, his heart dropped. He feared that it was too late, that your life had already been taken.

All of me changed

But when it was revealed that you were alive, he immediately sought out his mother, searching every hall to find her.

Once he spotted her in her chambers, he fell to his knees before her.

Rhanerya looked down at her soon, concern in her eyes, "I'm afraid you've heard?"

My boy was a montage

"She's alive," He managed to blurt out, clasping his hands together, "Mother, please, I must find her."

She hesitated, "Jacaerys, it could be far too dangerous for you to go to her aid. We must think this through."

"I love her, mother. I wish to marry her," He said between bated breaths, "She's everything I ever wanted—everything I needed."

Rhaenyra bowed her head, thinking back to when she lost the man she loved, "My son, do you understand the dangers you will face on your journey?"

Jace nodded, "I understand and accept the challenges I will face."

"Then you have my support," She said, pulling him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his temple, "I love you, my son, come back to me."

Picture perfect, shiny family

"I will," He promised, before pulling away, "And I'll return with her."

On the ride to Asterthal, memories plagued Jace's mind of when you had met. At the time, he had no idea that you were the woman he was supposed to wed. You were simply a girl taking a stroll through the forest.

"Are you alone?" Jace had asked, pulling his horse on a lead behind him, "It isn't safe out here."

But you merely smiled, "I've been living here my whole life, I understand the dangers."

"You live in the woods?"

Nodding, you continued walking, "My family lives in a cabin farther up the hill. It isn't too bad, really. Just farther away from the town."

'Cause he was sunshine

"Do you need a ride back? The sun is about to set."

Shaking your head, you turned back to face him. It was only then that your beauty struck him. You were gentle, steady, but he knew that there was a fire that lay inside you.

I broke his heart 'cause he was nice

"I was told to never trust a stranger," You replied, "But I thank you for your kindness."

"Then let us not be strangers," He bowed, "Prince Jacaerys Velaryon."

Shocked, you immediately curtsied, "I'm sorry, my prince. I didn't know—please accept my apologies. I hadn't known you were to be in Asterthal."

"It's to discuss arrangements between me and the princess."

He wanted a bride

You tilted your head, "The princess? Why, she's been locked away for years. Since she was a babe. Only when the time is right will she be able to wed."

He sighed, "I'm hoping the time is now. We need Asterthal's support now more than ever, with everything going on."

"Then, I wish you luck, my prince."

"I'll gladly accept it, if you allow me to escort you home. I don't feel right allowing a lady like yourself to go on alone," He said.

You hesitated, unsure, "I wouldn't want to impose upon you."

"It would be my pleasure," Jace said, a reassuring smile on his face, "The Prince's orders."

All of me changed like midnight

You returned his smile, "Then I'll gladly accept your offer."

"It's Y/N," You breathed, "My name, it's Y/N."

He walked beside you up the hill towards your cabin, leading his horse behind him. The two of you talked about everything: your upbringings, ability to relish in the peace and silence of the woods, and even shared stories of yourselves that no one had seen. It was refreshing. But then you arrived at your cottage, and your shoulders suddenly dropped.

"I suppose this is goodbye, my prince."

All the love we unravel

Jace sighed, bowing his head, "I look forward to meeting you again, Lady Y/N."

He was sunshine, I was midnight rain

Drowning, you shook your head, "I'm not sure that's a good idea, my prince. You're betrothed. It wouldn't be becoming of us to see one another again."

He paused for a moment, "I nearly forgot."

You reached out to grab his hand, giving it a small squeeze, "As did I. But there's a stark difference between the world's we're used to. I'm not sure it would be wise for this to continue. I apologize, my prince."

He wanted it comfortable

"It's I who should be apologizing, my Lady," Jace said, "I've become comforted by your presence in this short period of time. I bid you farewell."

With that, pain heavy in his chest, he pressed a kiss to your hand, walking away with a heavy heart.

"I was comfortable, too," You muttered, leaning against the doorframe.

Now, riding on his dragon to Asterthal, Jace couldn't help but smile. From the moment he met you, he knew you were going to have a big meaning in his life.

A slow-motion, love potion

But until he had spoken with the Lord and Lady of Asterthal, he hadn't known that their daughter, Y/N, had been hidden away in a nearby forest. As soon as he heard your name, his heart swelled. He had known it then, and he knew it now: you were the love of his life.

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

Dismounting his dragon, Jacaerys fought his way through the knights guarding the entrance to your chambers, his sword impaling and beheading several men who came his way.

Their swords had been held high, but their skill was no match for the young prince and his dragon.

Finally reaching your chamber, he threw the doors open, panting.

Throwing his sword down beside him, Jace kneeled down beside your bed.

Pressing two fingers to the side of your neck, he felt a steady pulse.

Reaching into his satchel and removing an antidote, he held the vile firmly in his hands as he twisted the cork off.

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he opened your lips and poured the liquid down your throat.

A deep portal, time travel

Waiting for a sign to show that you were awake, it took a few minutes before you stirred, groaning in your sleep.

Your body had to have been sore from the position you had been in the past few days. So when you opened your eyes, meeting Jace's gaze, it didn't take you long to lurch forward, grabbing his collar and pulling him towards you.

Lips moving against each other, you held him close to you until you were both so out of breath that you couldn't help but pull away.

Except on midnights like this (midnights like this)

Resting against your forehead, Jace smiled, "I knew it was you.

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