#Bulk Rock Salt

[therealslimshakespeare]

Gigi -the unbaked thots:

• Bath •

Summary: I’ve had so many requests for this universe (including a bath time which this includes) and I appreciate all of y’all’s patience. I find this universe the hardest to write for and create entire scenes and fics out of so in order to keep it from dying out I intend to loosen up a little and start throwing out headcanons for y’all to enjoy in the meantime, you can watch for them with this header above. For now enjoy a trash bit of nastiness I wrote in under an hour in the middle of the night last night -kudos to the minxs @eliseinmemphis and @stylespresleyhearted

Warnings: Explicit! 18+ Bath sexy times, grinding, fingering, praying during sex, age gap, slight degradation, voluntarily drinking bath water containing cum. Yup.

Era: September 1977

Well here they are. On the dreaded tour.

But for now -there are bubbles. So many bubbles. And the heavy rumble of the bath’s jets and the golden glow of the dimmed bathroom lights in the hotel suite and the slippery bulk of Elvis as he grumbles beneath Gigi while she writhes amidst the foam of his rinsed shampoo.

“Sloppiest lil rider I ever-“ his face is shining in a heated glow, he is awash in pink cheeked arousal and Gigi persists, wearing herself out for his little gasps and the twitches of an eyebrow here and there. Bouncing adamantly atop his thick thighs in the swirling water and trying her avid best to slip his fat length inside her. She’s been trying since day one and every time it’s

-“not yet, Gigi, not yet, s’posed to be special and you’re special baby girl, not somethin’ to rush with someone special like you, see, I uh, i-i-it’s special-“

Gigi thinks having his rock solid cock inside her would be special enough.

“ ‘member the other night,

daddy?” She asks him in a huff, winded from the exertion as she pins his throbbing length against himself and grinds her clit against the hairs on his rounded belly, full of desperation born of youthful overexubernace, “remember how -how - when you were teasing me -and you pressed against my little hole?”

Elvis lets out a long groan in reply, slapping his hands against the sides of the tub in sexual frustration, causing his rings to clank and his bracelets to jangle against the porcelain. He can feel himself swell even more, the ache in his balls nearly unbearable at the proximity to snug tightness that he’s been denying himself for a myriad of reasons that are making less and less sense now, the more Gigi’s glossy wet tits slap his face silly.

“Oooh, oh I feel you-“ she gasps, as that redundant piece of meat between his thighs gives a hearty little twitch at the memory of her tiny hole and it’s fluttering need.

“You son of a bitch,” Elvis hisses to his traitorous little friend who’s acting very stalwart in his determination to find nothing but a tight cunt sufficient stimulation for release -it was easier back when little Elvis was a limp and useless dong: “this is the one time i’m asking you not to work. C’mon, don’t fail me now I-I- hell… O-o-our father. Who art in heaven-“

Gigi buries her face into the steamy crease where his cheeks meet his throat and licks at the salt there that not even the bath can remove. His hands fly to grip her hips and he yanks her up and down, grinding harshly against her raw little center as her breasts smash against his broad chest.

He regularly complained to the boys about her voraciousness and got no sympathy, not even when they saw it for themselves with the way he could barely get his seat in the limo, have his water handed to him and a towel before she was taking off his belt, unzipping his jumpsuit and inevitably giving lil Elvis some strong mouth suction. The boys had gotten used to ignoring him dumping a load down this little girl’s throat in the blurry blaze of street lamp lit nights and cranking up the radio to hide her moans every jet flight. Nothing about it was fitting and it wasn’t even to his tastes -so Elvis insisted- but it was real nice to be so wanted, even if the voraciousness of it was all a little alarming and out of hand.

Yet, God knows Elvis wanted Gigi badly. It half scared him sometimes and the rest of the time it kept him alive.

As did Lisa in an entirely different way and between the two girls tearing up his sedate plans for self mortification and permanent hermitage, Elvis found some zest for life returning to his soul as August became September and tabloids went from calling Gigi “the new girl” to calling her his whore and the colonel went from not answering his phone to leaving a perpetual red light on the message box and it went from kisses and snuggles in his Graceland bed to frantic grinding like this after every show that had her caterwauling in his arms begging to be torn open by his cock and him grunting like a bear in heat as he spurted against her belly and smashed the button for the tub jets to stop.

Wouldn’t do to circulate superstar spunk in a Cincinnati hotel jacuzzi.

“Mmm, that feel good daddy?” her sweet voice asks as the singing angels dim and the sense of time and space and his spent cock bring him back into consciousness.

“Uhuh. Feels real good.” he admitted sheepishly and felt her plump lips pressing to his bashful grin.

He returns it, pouring his love into her with the cradling of her head in his hands and the flick of his tongue against hers and the languid massaging of lips.

Gigi swirls the milky strands of his spend in the bath water between them, giggly and invigorated. She gets this way after climaxing and Elvis can only blearily smile and indulge the way she drags him around and makes him stand and get out of the tub, how she pats him down with towels like he’s a boy child and chitters to him about backstage gossip, praises for his performance of the night and Tammy’s latest tips for making Jerry’s life a living orgasmic hell. All while pressing kisses to every single part of his body as she goes along.

She’s found goosey places on Elvis that he didn’t even know existed.

Gigi is drying his shoulders when she sees the last remnants of the tub water cycloning in a swirl towards the drain, precious pearly strings cavorting like ribbons in the eddy.

Her conversational chatter ceases abruptly with a regretful -“oh no!“

She drops the sodden towel.

He watches her kneel, crouched and bent and glorious in a soft line of naked beauty from the back. Thought his maidenly idyl is shattered as she faces away from him and in what seems to be an impulsive moment of adoration, Gigi leans over the tub, hard porcelain lip digging into her sternum as she ducks her head and dips her mouth to the tepid bathwater.

He can hear her slurping.

Her graceful bracing in position and the greedy working of her throat suggest competency at this vile practice that makes his stomach lurch and spent cock swell thickly against his thigh. Without autonomy he hears himself grunt appreciatively.

“Fuuuuck me.” he drawls in disbelief, shuffling closer to watch the whole of it, the working of her sweet mouth sucking up his diluted seman and the arch of her back showcasing pink little pussy lips glistening from the back.

It’s sick and he’s terribly in love.

“That’s my good baby girl,” he finds himself praising this heinous degradation, hand coming to rest on the dip of her lower back, “not lettin’ m’lil contrition go to waste.”

It makes her strain to get as deep in the tub as she can, legs taut and face red from the blood rushing downwards to her cheeks as she chases gravity against the flow of the drain, his hand heavy and encouraging as it palms her ass, the pinch of his rings and the grunting, savage, male appreciation for her wantonness making her squeeze her thighs together in hopeless dissatisfaction.

A sting jolts her as his hand collides in an approving slap across her plush backside. The desire to make him proud eggs her on and she crawls further over the ledge, hair dragging in the drain.

Elvis’ hand once groping her butt moves until he’s peeling her apart and sliding in the long lengths of his middle and ring finger into her tight heat, meanly stabbing inside her as she’s bent double, tonguing at the drain for the last of his essence.

“You done this before.” Elvis’ voice is low, without a shred of questioning.

“Yes.” she moans, rosy cheek pressed to the wet floor of the now empty tub. “I always do this when you leave some left over, daddy.”

Elvis watches his fingers sink into pink plushness again and again, rings acting like stoppers at each culmination, spearing her until Gigi is sobbing and spasming over the tub edge, mouth wide open screaming for him with a tongue white from his spend, as broken as he is over the need to fuck her.

Sore and puffy, he assumes he’s learned her a lesson.

Standing her back up tenderly with all gentlemanly grace, Elvis wipes at her slimy cheek with his hands, pleased to find her smile as irrepressible as ever, the only thing on this godforsaken tour that hasn’t disappointed him yet.

“When is soon?” she whines into his kisses as he presses against her, bath quite redundant with the way he has her pinned between the door and his weeping cock, freshly spluttering his devotion against her bare pubic mound like he’s twenty years younger and fit to be such a minx’s lover.

“What?” He questions, murmuring in happy confusion.

“You said you’d make love to me soon.” she insists like a child reminding their senile parent of promises for ice cream after a trip to the dentist. “When is soon?”

Elvis grins through his grunt as he slides against her puffy clit, effortless from her slick and close to coming from images of her drinking his bath- “Soon, little baby,” he pronounces with all the gravity of a wiseman and the authority of a deadly opponent who his hand engulfing her fragile jaw, “-means soon.”

🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

@helen06dreamer

@returntopresley

@gonnagoandfangirl

@kelssssxd

@octobers-snow

@velvetelvis

@blursedblegh

[hannahssimblr]

The day I leave the beach feels like the last chapter of a book. I awake that Wednesday to change. The sky, which held steady and cerulean all summer, perfect, porcelain, is a mottled grey as clouds roll in over the beach. I swim, early in the morning, in a sea that is choppier than before, the waves crashing over the rocks and tossing foam into the air, and over the shore now slimy with seaweed.  

I spot Liam in his wetsuit, board in hand, and I wave. He waves back, and I have the striking realisation that this may be the last time I ever see him.

I say goodbye to Joe and Kasper at the door that morning, their PlayStation games and the half-filled bags of Doritos they never finished bundled under their arms. 

“Good luck with it all,” says Joe. “We’ll see you around.” It’s a thing you say to a person when you’re not sure you will, and as I watch them go from the window, there’s a finality to it. It’s like I’m watching them leave, not just with their games and their snacks, but with a phase of my life, too. We’ll never be together in the same way, and never be these exact versions of ourselves again. 

Shane is the next to go. After a thorough clean of the bedroom, the sheets washed and dried and put back on the bed, ready for next summer. He drops a hand onto my shoulder. 

“Good luck in Germany, yeah? Maybe I’ll come and visit.”

“You should.”

“Yeah, I might.”

“If you do, I’ll see you there.”

He nods and ducks through the door, and to his back, I shout “Good luck in college!” He lifts a thumbs up into the air, and he’s gone. 

And then there is Jen. With a click of her last suitcase, she has packed up, and in the empty house, there’s nothing to distract us anymore from the new, yet ever present rift between us. 

We’ve barely spoken since the festival. I haven’t known how to, despite her pleads, and made a big deal of getting Kasper to sit in the passenger seat during the ride home. I asked him all kinds of questions about himself, realising only then, to my immense guilt, that it was the only bit of effort I had made with him all summer. 

I spent the days between then and now away from the house. Swimming, cycling, driving into town and just looking around, reading a book while the last of the summer tourists milled about, still in their flip-flops and sun hats as though they hadn’t noticed that autumn had already taken up residence in the shadows. 

I’d come home before dark and stay in my room while the others watched their movies and played their games. One night, I heard Jen crying softly in bed. I didn’t ask her if she was okay. 

Now, once again, I avoid her as she sits on the floor surrounded by her bags, by arranging a stack of books on the shelf. One of my sketchbooks is there, complete with a thousand drawings of the summer. I leave it where it is.  

A clock ticks somewhere in the room. 

“I’m sorry you’re so mad at me,” Jen says to the back of my head. 

“Same.”

“I still think you should give me a chance to explain myself.”

I sigh. “I’m not ready to talk about it.”

“Okay. Have you seen her? Have you talked to Evie?”

“No, I haven’t.”

I turn around to see her hugging her knees to her chest. She looks remarkably small like that, and her hair, which was so bright in June, has faded with the salt water and the sun, and now her brown roots are showing. 

“I think I’d like to get the bus home.” She mutters.

“That’s alright. Do you want a lift to the station?”

“No thanks, I’ll just walk.” 

I don’t argue, and before that hour is out, she, too, is gone, and I am the last man standing. 

Turn off all the lights, switches and the hot water. Store the garden furniture. Leave the fridge running. Double check ALL doors and windows are locked. 

This is all contained in a cheerful email from my father, followed by a paranoid diatribe about all the catastrophic things that will happen to the house if I fail to comply. There’s something about a potential flood or explosion in there, I think, but I barely skimmed the bulk of it.  

Thanks for the essay lmao.

I write back.

Be home at 2.

I do my last check of the house, then stand by the door for several minutes just looking at it. The kitchen, once a hub of activity with friends chatting over breakfast and a sink full of dirty dishes, is now deserted, immaculate, and quiet. I realise I hate endings. I do not want to dwell on things anymore, or be sentimental, or hang on to the past. 

I lock the door behind me and get into my car without another look back.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[cadmusfly]

Tag Yourself: Unabridged Shitty Drawing Marshal of the Empire Edition

Yes All 26 Of Them + Bonus 2

drawn and compiled by yours truly, initial and probably inaccurate research assisted by Chet Jean-Paul Tee, additional research from Napoleon and his Marshals by A G MacDonnell, Swords Around A Throne by John R Elting and a bunch of other books and Wikipedia pages

captions under images

mike (Michel Ney)

- full of every emotion

- always has ur back

joe (Joachim Murat)

- it's called fashion sweetheart

- will not stop flirting

lens (Jean Lannes)

- bestie who will call u out on ur shit

- does not like their photo taken

bessie (Jean-Baptiste Bessieres)

- actually nice under the ice

- was born in the wrong generation

dave (Louis-Nicolas Davout)

- overachiever

- 20 year old boomer

salt (Jean-de-Dieu Soult)

- people think ur up to no good

- doesn’t cope with sudden changes 2 plans

andrew (Andre Massena)

- actually up to no good

- sleepy until special interest is activated

bertie (Louis-Alexandre Berthier)

- carries the group project

- voted most likely to make a stalker shrine

auggie (Pierre Augereau)

- shady past full of batshit stories

- will not stop swearing in the christian minecraft server

lefrank (François Joseph Lefebvre)

- dad friend

- in my day we walked to school uphill both ways

big mac (Étienne Macdonald)

- brutally honest

- won't let you borrow their charger even if they have 100%

gill (Guillaume Brune)

- love-hate relationship with group chats

- pretends not to care, checks social media every 2 minutes

ouchie (Nicholas Oudinot)

- needs to buy bandages in bulk

- a little aggro

pony (Józef Antoni Poniatowski)

- can't swim

- tries 2 hard to fit in, everyone secretly loves them anyway

grumpy (Emmanuel de Grouchy)

- can't find them when u need them

- complains about the music, never suggests alternatives

bernie (Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte)

- always talks about their other friendship group

- most successful, nobody knows how

monty (Auguste de Marmont)

- does not save u a seat

- causes drama and then lurks in the background

monch (Bon-Adrien Jeannot de Moncey)

- last to leave the party

- dependable

morty (Édouard Mortier)

- everyone looks up 2 them literally and figuratively

- golden retriever friend

jordan (Jean-Baptiste Jourdan)

- volunteers other people for things

- has 20+ alarms but still oversleeps

kelly (François Christophe de Kellermann)

- old as balls but still got it

- waiting in the wings

gov (Laurent de Gouvion Saint-Cyr)

- infuriatingly modest about their art skills

- thinks too much before they speak

perry (Catherine-Dominique de Pérignon)

- low-key rich, only buys things on sale

- “let’s order pizza” solution to everything

sachet (Louis-Gabriel Suchet)

- dependable friend who always brings snacks

- lowkey keeps the group together

cereal (Jean-Mathieu-Philibert Sérurier)

- unnervingly methodical and precise about fun

- will delete your social media after u die

vic (Claude Victor-Perrin)

- loves spicy food but can’t handle it

- says they're fine, not actually fine

Bonus!

june (Jean Andoche Junot)

- chaotic disaster bisexual

- will kill a man 4 their bestie

the rock (Géraud Duroc)

- keeps a tidy house

- mom friend with snacks

[dross-the-fish]

Why do you dislike Musical!PoTO?

I've heard that there are better versions than the ones I've seen (a couple of clips of boots on youtube, the 25th royal albert hall performance and the 2004 movie) so take my ranting with a grain of salt. I've said it before and if you've followed me you probably know by now that I don't care much for Andrew Lloyd Webber, I feel like he's very hit or miss and for every Jesus Christ Superstar he writes there's a Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat (pure shit, irredeemable, possibly the worst musical I've ever had to sit through) Something about Webber's music rubs me the wrong way, it seems like it's trying to be tongue-in-cheek but it just comes off as smug. Characters tend to feel extremely one-note. I HATE madam Giry in the musical. They kind of gave her the Daroga's role and it DOES NOT WORK. She says something early on in the film about how she thinks of Christine as a daughter but she doesn't do a fucking thing to protect her from Erik for the bulk of the musical? Like, you know what's going on, you know who her teacher is but your complicit in helping him deceive her? Why are you protecting him? It's not that you don't think he's dangerous, you clearly know he's capable of murder. I also hate how they handle Carlotta, she's not really a major character in the book and her singing is lacking not because she's bad but because she doesn't have any passion for her performances and she's wonderfully ruthless and calculating about ousting her competition. The depiction of a spoiled past her prime, primadonna who also can't sing and is too old for the roles she cast in is just another example of ALW being needlessly mean spirited. In the book she was actively manipulative about trying to kill Christine's career. There was something really villainous about the way she would use her popularity and her friends in high places to bribe the managers with flattery and gifts. She made newspapers stop giving Christine publicity to prevent her from getting her name out, then she filled the opera house with her own fans and supporters to outnumber anyone who was there for Christine. This woman has been in the game for a long time and she knows how to play it, probably because she's worked for years to build up her career and isn't ready to hand it over to some nobody from nowhere who happened to pop up on the one night Carlotta couldn't perform. You could write Carlotta with so much nuance and give her layers, make her an INTERESTING antagonist and ALW just doesn't. He goes for the low hanging fruit. The laziest trope he could have picked. Spoiled, vain and no actual talent. Given how much creative control over the movie he had I'm going to count that as his official adaptation of the musical and it takes everything I already don't like about the musical and makes it WORSE. Also I said before ALW writes music like someone who enjoys rock but doesn't actually understand it? "We needed somebody who has a bit of rock and roll sensibility in him. He's got to be a bit rough, a bit dangerous; not a conventional singer. Christine is attracted to the Phantom because he's the right side of danger." -Andrew Lloyd Webber on the character of Erik for the 2004 film. Honestly, no? No he doesn't, he has no rock and roll sensibility. Not in your musical, not in the book, not in the movie. What are you talking about Andy? That ridiculous guitar riff during the song The Phantom of the Opera? Because that meshed about as well with your hokey showtune style as eating cole slaw with your Chinese takeout. You CAN do it but you really shouldn't. "The film looks and sounds fabulous and I think it's an extraordinarily fine document of the stage show. While it doesn't deviate much from the stage material, the film has given it an even deeper emotional centre. It's not based on the theatre visually or direction-wise, but it's still got exactly the same essence. And that's all I could have ever hoped for." – Andrew Lloyd Webber

Andy you're full of crap. Go home. That said there are moments and songs I really like. Wishing you Were Somehow Here Again is heartbreaking and I like to think that she's talking about Erik and the broken pedestal of their relationship as much as she is her father. I don't know if that was intentional but I like the angle of Christine feeling heartbroken at the loss of a friend and father. But well, ALW ships Erik and Christine so of course that angle is never really considered. We get one moment where Christine is upset and says she gave Erik her mind blindly and one where she admits to being frightened of him before the performance of Don Juan, but I feel like as much as Christine is verbally resistant to him and clearly terrified of him the musical doesn't really validate her and takes every opportunity to build up the sexual tension between her and the phantom. The supporting characters don't really help either, Madam Giry is complicit in Erik's manipulations, Raoul seems largely dismissive and more focused on hunting down Erik when he finally believes her than protecting Christine (AllI Ask of You is a nice song but Raoul's actions and attitude before and after make it feel a bit hollow). In some weird ways I get why people watch the musical and think Erik is the better choice despite...the stalking, kidnapping and murder. No one is really committed to protecting this girl, not even the people who claim to love her. I can easily see how she'd still feel a need to cling to her angel of music even after the mask comes off given how completely ALONE she seems while surrounded by people who allegedly care about her. I also don't like how Raoul is depicted. Maybe it's the actors but I feel like he and Christine don't have chemistry and half the time he seems annoyed with her. Especially Hadley Frasier feels like he's ten minutes from being completely done, he has no patience. I don't buy that this is a man who ran into the sea to fetch her scarf or would run into a dangerous underground lair to rescue her but I do buy that he's going to become a drunken asshole in 10 years so I guess what they did with him in LND is predictable even if it is completely stupid. If you made it to the bottom of this rant congratulations, I hope that explains why I am not among the musical's phans and why I don't like how much it eclipses the book or other versions. I do think it's good but overrated and the flaws are more than I can over look. And yet I still seek it out from time to time, I still like the parts of it that I like and that I think do work. It's like a toxic ex I can't fully break up with, which I suppose is kind of fitting given the subject matter.

[vanillablankcanvas]

Hi! Any headcanons about culture and customs of different troll tribes? Their takes on weddings, funerals, hatching days? Do they differ? Monarchy system?

Hello Gorgeous! 💖

Let's see what I can come up with. 😏

Imma open this up too. If anyone has headcanons for each Tribe let me know and I'll add them.

Rock Trolls 🔥

Lava proof. (Canon?) Will sit in lava like a Jacuzzi.

Aren't typically monogamous.❤️‍🔥But they have favourites.

They raise their kids as a group.

Bulk of the population lives inside volcanoes. The homes are carved out of the walls and the layers spiral around in a walkway.

They use the lava for light and power (Was in a fanfic I read that I can't remember)

They add chilli flakes to food instead of salt.

All the Trolls that were in Barb's Angler are part of her 'court'.

Techno Trolls 🌊

Fresh out of the egg, the babies are like tadpoles. Tiny head with a tail, little arms and a single hair. Also gills, they can't breath above water until they're a bit older.

They wear ropes of glow beads as formal wear.

Trollex has an extended royal family living across the ocean.

Classical Trolls🪶

Have huge libraries and museums.

Their beds are more like nests of cashmere and silks pillows.

Trollzart isn't royal. The one in charge is whoever works their way to head composer. Maybe a vote? He will have the majority vote when choosing a successor.

Funk Trolls🫧

Would have their own version of Hookah

Queen Essence is the one with the royal lineage.

Country Trolls🐄

More 'conservative' and 'modest' in the sense that they have cotillions and chaperones and no living together before marriage.

No dancing too close together "Save room for the Muses"

Every family absolutely owns at least one firearm.

Rather than tattoos, they get branding.

They wear horseshoes.

The favourite sport is racing.

If you visit a country troll family, they will FEED you.

Delta Dawn is Queen but she was voted into the sheriff position.

Weddings are a town affair, potluck style.

Other 🎶

Subgenre tribes have so few members because they are actually from overseas.

Since the alliance, Poppy has received letters from the extended royal families proposing marriage. She is flattered, but of course rejects them. Later on they send ones for Viva. 🤭

[a-clown-with-wings]

What are Hijinks and Mischief's favorite "forbidden foods ?"

Ex. Aquarium gravel , broken glass , shiny marbles , tide pods ?

Things that look really yummy but are inedible

(Not favorite as in taste but as in visible "Ooh that looks yummy" yk)

This will be more words than usual, but I have art to go with it because words can be boring.

Missy likes small and grainy textures. Big yum. They mostly eat glitter or sand if they find any, which is a big reason why they don't have any when they're around. It's usually either put away or just not giving to them.

If they were to eat regular human food, they would like dip-n-dots a lot. And sprinkles. They would put sprinkles on literally everything.

As long as it's grainy and small, they'll eat handfuls of it without stopping. Please don't do it, we they can't keep cleaning them. It's so much work.

Rok. Jinks will eat anything that will break their teeth. Rocks, clay, gravel. Anything that will keep them teething. Like a child. They would really benefit from flavored teething items and I think that's funny.

Also anything stringy and noodle like. Bonus is its sour. Will eat lime salt in bulk so watch out for that. If you see teeth marks on the walls or play structures, it was 100% the kids and definitely not them. You saw nothing.

That's it. At least, that's all the surface level stuff. Now I'm probably gonna make a doc about this. Maybe I'll share as a treat, idk. Bye bye

Honk Honk !!! 🤡🤡🤡🤡

[dragonprince-imagines]

maybe some Corvus headcanons? nothing specific, I just love him

Corvus is a fantastic cook, this is canon. In an actual kitchen, he’s just good. If you put him out in the woods with a pot and a pan, he’s incredible. Fresh-caught fish, salt from a rock, breading that he ground from wheat by hand, it’s crazy. This is what he’s used to and it’s where his skills really shine.

When he’s not on the road with General Amaya or staying in the castle, he might actually live in a campsite? A famous hater of the great indoors, he’d take an open sky over a roof any day. He grew up in the forests of Katolis and finds their familiarity comforting.

Corvus has crafted multiple compositions and most of them will never see the light of day. Not because he hates them or is embarrassed, but because he makes them up on the spot on his cello and doesn’t bother writing them down. Only a few have ever made it to paper.

When Soren first got him to try on the armor of the crownguard, Corvus had a very bad time. He wasn’t used to wearing armor and the bulk and weight of it made him feel impeded. Freedom of movement is something he prioritizes in clothes, and while he’s required to have the armor, that doesn’t mean he’ll ever wear it.

[the-regal-warrior]

The Captain’s Daughter: Part One

I’m back! Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve posted anything, but the writing gears in my brain stalled for a while. But they’re working once more and I’m back with a brand new story inspired by my newfound love of sea shanties.

Note: the song mentioned in here is Haul Away by Nathan Evans.

Summary: Elide and Lorcan living life as part of the best pirate crew.

Warnings: None.

.

The sea was unusually calm that night. Having spent as many years at sea as she had, Marion wasn’t used to such eerie stillness. She’d led her crew through more storms than she could remember, and found the motion of the waves soothing. 

On nights when it was calm and the ship didn’t rock, sleep wasn’t easy to find. After tossing and turning for a few hours, her husband and first mate snoring away beside her, Marion had left the warmth of her bed and Cal’s arms for a walk around the deck in the chilly ocean air, deciding that was just what she needed. 

Her crew always said that she had a bond with her ship, The Wyvern, and laying her hands on the mast while the night swirled around her had always brought her peace.

She’d made for the wheel, checking in with her helmsman and the course of her ship. Nox was a young man, not much older than her daughter, but he was a damn good crewman, and she trusted him implicitly to guide them all safely while they slept. But a good captain knew that no one job was beneath them, and Marion Lochan was a damn good captain.

“All good, Nox?” she greeted, trailing her fingers over the rail as she climbed the steps to reach the man.

“Yes, Captain.” He patted the wheel with a certain fondness every member of her crew possessed. “She’s a steady girl and we’ve got nothing but clear skies ahead.”

Nodding, she circled the rear mast, one hand braced on the wood as she moved. The faint sound of someone singing reached her ears, barely audible over the breeze that had kicked up, but it was lost as Nox spoke once more.

“Everything okay, Captain?” Keeping his face tilted toward the horizon, he turned to her in concern. “Worried about our last run-in with the Navy?”

Marion chuckled, the sound escaping her before she could stop it. “The Navy is the least of my concerns.”

Many would have found her statement egotistical and a harbinger of certain trouble, but Marion had a secret most other pirate captains didn’t share. Her closest friend and former crewmate was none other than Evalin Ashryver, the wife of Rhoe Galathynius, Admiral of the Terrasen Navy. Not to mention that Evalin’s daughter, Aelin, and nephew, Aedion, had both served briefly on the ship as well. The latter had become Captain in the Navy, serving under Rhoe and helping Marion and Cal continue their reign as pirate lords.

Descending the steps, she caught the tail-end of Nox’s smirk at her statement, and she shook her head in laughter once more. “Fair wind, Nox,” she said. 

Reaching the main mast, she offered a wave up to Kaltain, her barrelman and the other person she trusted with the safe guidance of her ship through the night. The woman was a damn good lookout, and her affinity for climbing the ropes faster than anyone she’d ever seen only added to her value. 

The woman waved back before offering a complicated set of hand signals in the direction of the wheel, and it was only moments before Marion heard Nox’s laughter rumbling behind her. The two of them had developed their own form of signs and signals so they could communicate without speaking. 

Placing her hands on the solid bulk of the main maist, Marion breathed deeply, her eyes slipping closed and the smell of salt wrapping around her like a familiar embrace. The life of a pirate hadn’t always been easy, but she’d never wanted to trade it for anything else. She knew she’d miss nights at sea too much to ever give it up.

Marion wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she became aware of two things: the singing had become audible once more, and her husband had found her, if the arms wrapped around her waist were anything to go by.

“What brought you out of bed, husband?” she murmured, leaning against his chest without taking her hands off the mast.

Ghosting his lips over the very top of her forehead, Cal just sighed softly. “You know how hard I find it to sleep without you, Captain. I’ve been up since you left our bed, but I know how you cherish your time with your ship.”

“You,” she told him, finally turning in his embrace, “are a good first mate and an even better man.” Marion paused as the singing grew louder, finally allowing her to place the tune as Haul Away. “Who is that, I wonder?”

Her husband smiled down at her. “Just wait, you’re going to love it.” Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the bow. “Come with me.”

Walking slowly so as not to disturb the two people she could just make out sitting on the forecastle deck, Cal pulled her into the shadows at the bottom of the steps, motioning for her to keep quiet. Marion peered up onto the deck, smiling when she realized what exactly she was seeing. 

Lorcan, one of her gunners - not that her style of piracy had much use for heavy artillery - and her newly appointed quartermaster, was seated against the railing. Resting between his legs with their fingers intertwined was none other than Elide, Marion and Cal’s daughter. The two of them had been together in secret for several months, only a select few people on the ship - Marion, Cal, Nox, and Kaltain - having been made aware out of a desire for privacy in the early stages of their relationship.

The dark-haired man was singing softly in her ear, the sound only carrying because of the breeze, and Marion felt her heart swell at the obvious love she could see growing between the two of them. 

Wrapping her fingers around her husband’s wrist, she pulled Cal back toward their quarters. “Let’s leave them be, my love,” she murmured, catching the smile on his face. He’d told her once that he couldn’t picture anyone better suited for their daughter, and she wholeheartedly agreed. 

As they slipped through the door and down the stairs to their room, Lorcan’s voice swirled around them before being carried off to sea on the breeze.

.

Tags: @highqueenofelfhame @dashedwithromance @musicmaam @snelbz @theladyofdeath @tangledraysofsunshine @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @lordof-bloodshed @nalgenewhore @photofeesh @belamoonbeam @mis-lil-red @julemmaes @thesirenwashere @tswaney17 @b00kworm @maastrash @empress-ofbloodshed @celestialams @mynewdreamwasyou @maybekindasortaace @hizqueen4life @firestarsandseneschals @bielectra @bamchickawowow @ireallyshouldsleeprn @thegoddessofyou @somenerdydancer @wisteriiagrow @perseusannabeth @flamingveritas @treasurethelittlethings @story-scribbler @infernoqueen19 @live-the-fangirl-life @vanzetanze @the-hospitality-of-knives @rowanaelinn @mybloodrunsblue @sv0430 @swankii-art-teacher @pagemasters @marigold-morelli @itmeansofthesea

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[strangeinvader9]

Dean made his way down the road in his Impala, barely conscious of what he was doing or where he was going. His two little brothers, Sam and Adam were locked in Lucifer’s cage with the devil and Michael having possessed them as vessels. Dean was out of his mind with pain and sorrow so drove instinctively to a former love. Not Lisa, as anyone that knew their history would assume. This was before her and a much softer goodbye, but it still hurt.

Her name was Celestial Montgomery and Dean had almost given up hunting to settle down with her. But Celestial had known how much Dean loved his brother Sam and had convinced Dean to keep hunting to keep Sam safe, as big brothers should.

Celestial POV

I sat on my couch, watching TV and somewhat bored when there was a knock on my door. I looked at it in confusion. Who would be here at this hour? It wasn't late, but I still wasn't expecting company. After a second, more desperate sounding knock, I got up and opened the door. I felt like someone had ripped the air from my lungs when I saw who it was. Dean freaking Winchester stood on my porch and looked like he'd been through emotional hell. Something bad had happened.

Without a word, I gently guided him inside and sat him on my couch. Whatever happened had Dean in shock and he was practically catatonic.

I didn't ask what happened. Ten years may have passed since I'd last seen Dean, but I knew better than to press him. He'd talk if and when he was ready. I went to the kitchen and came back with a beer, which I poked Dean's shoulder with and he took absently. I sat next to him and rubbed a hand along his back, wordlessly letting him know he was going to be okay.

Suddenly remembering what Dean did for a living, I jumped up to salt the windows and doors. I didn't need a ghost invading my home. I also grabbed the silver silverware. Wouldn't be the most effective thing, but silver is silver. It'd deter enough supernatural beings, even if it wouldn't kill them.

Heading back to the living room, I didn't get more than five feet from Dean before his arms were suddenly around my waist and his face was pressed against my stomach. I could practically *feel* the pain coming off the elder Winchester. I soothed a hand through his short brown hair and ran a hand along his back, offering what little comfort I could.

Living with Dean after that day was an adjustment. I had to bulk buy rock salt, had more crucifixes than I ever wanted, learned Latin, learned that sulfur wasn't just that weird smell immediately after striking a match and that angels were dickwads instead of the sweet innocent beings cartoons and such portrayed them as.

Dean went through his own adjustment. He seemed to always find an excuse to touch me, as if to reassure himself that I was real. And God forbid I was more than five minutes late from work. I'd end up with a face full of holy water then an armful of concerned and relieved hunter when I didn't steam.

“Dean, I got the-” I stopped as I got yet another face full of holy water. Turning my head to the right, I spit out the water. “Stuff for nachos,” I finished.

“You're late,” Dean accused.

“I told you I was going to the store after work. Check your phone.”

Dean looked at his phone while I went to put the groceries away. Before long, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist from behind as a scruffy chin settled on my shoulder. “I'm sorry, CeCe. You know I worry when you're gone,” Dean apologized.

“I know, Winchester. You're like Dory in a dog body; you forget that I'm safe and get all happy and lovey when you remember me,” I responded.

“Did you just call me a dog?”

“And a fish.”

“Should I be flattered or offended?”

“Up to you”

He grumbled something snarky, which I've dubbed a Deanism, and kissed my cheek. “I love you, you know that,” he confessed.

I looked at him in surprise. “I think that's the first time you've ever said that to me,” I pointed out.

“Is it?” He seemed to pause before that classic Dean Winchester smile spread across his face. “I should say it more often then.” He proclaimed before kissing all over my face.

“Dean! Cut it out!” I protested with a laugh.

“Not til you say it back.”

“Okay, okay! I love you too!”

“You have a cute smile, Celestial.”

“Right back at you, Dean.”

[mamamittens]

Unexpected Call (Pt. 1)

Result of the poll for who would answer a distressed marine call: Ace!

Consider this more of a prologue. I would like to do more parts but feel free to let me know what you think! Even if it's just to say that my attempt at writing a thick accent sucks ass or that I've clearly never been on a ship lmao

(neither is wrong btw, phonetic accenting is hard and I can only really reliably do a southern accent for reasons)

Warnings: Vague descriptions of being lost at sea, violent but vague destruction of a ship, minor in distress, light angst, implied identity crisis, amnesia, non-graphic depiction of injuries, and destruction of a sea vessel from a sea king.

Word count: 2,879

The ocean waves were an endless rhythm of back and forth. Gentle rocking under an ever-blue sky and fathomless depths below. It was peaceful. Arguably too peaceful for the New World. But, as intrepid as ever, the marine vessel, The Horizon, sailed on. Captain Hektor at the helm as his men worked their daily tasks. They didn’t have any sort of glamorous duty. More of a… halfway ship for marines moving between posts and cargo unfit for bulk shipping.

Usually cargo of a more domestic sort. It takes a lot of cloth and dishes to supply an organization after all. But Captain Hektor didn’t mind this at all. At least they weren’t encouraged to chase after pirates or other, lawless criminals. His men were good but these seas held more Yonko crew than not these days. And it would take more than a bit of training and elbow grease to take on a Yonko crew. At best they were expected to provide reports on their various docks and local weather. Perhaps even unusual happenings on the sea—for a given value of unusual in the New World.

“Captain! There’s someone in the water!” Hektor looked up to the crow’s nest where Ensign Shinji called out, pointing to the starboard side. Hektor looked, squinting his eyes across the calm waters. He thought he saw something as well, so he pulled out his telescope. The waves came into focus.

There was someone out there on the waves. Half clinging to broken boards, Captain Hektor had a hard time figuring out if they were quite small or just far away.

“Change of heading, boys! Easy does it, just bring her fifteen degrees starboard. We’ll see what this is about in no time.” Captain Hektor ordered. His men prepared the sails and his helmsman obliged. There wasn’t much in the way of a breeze, but thankfully their new heading wasn’t a struggle.

The small figure slowly became visible to the naked eye.

To their horror, they realized it was a child.

Drifting on what must have been the remains of a shipwreck.

In the middle of the ocean in the New World.

A lifeboat was deployed and brought back up with the child in tow. They were haggard and waterlogged, barely five feet tall. Tan skin burned in the sun and modest clothes battered. Dark blue hair coated in sea salt with crusted blood mixed in. The onboard Doctor Crusoe was quick to assess them under the anxious watch of his fellow marines.

There was a nasty cut on the child’s head, curving over the right eye and up into the hairline.

But they were breathing. Shallow, labored breaths.

But any sign of life was better than none. How they managed to survive until now, Captain Hektor didn’t know.

--*--

She woke up slowly. Her body aching and burning under a haze of light medication. Her bones felt like they were caked in salt. Just a dried out fish left in the sun. A soft whine left her lungs barely loud enough to vibrate in her throat. Swallowing did little to get rid of the cotton in her mouth.

Soft light filtered in as she opened her eyes, shapes coming in and out of focus.

There was… a figure by her side. She could feel a warm, calloused hand holding hers.

“Easy, lassie, you’ve had a hard time of it. Here, cold water. Take small sips now, ya hear?” His voice was a slow, smooth tumble of words that she struggled to piece together.

Her vision came into focus as an arm lifted up her head gently, a glass being lifted to her lips. As he promised, it was cold. And incredibly refreshing on her abused throat. A shudder went down her spine as she tried to drink slowly, exhaustion heavy on her body. After a few moments, the glass was put to the side.

The man was tall and broad, tan skin with salt and pepper hair. A white uniform with blue stripes. He had a kind but awkward smile, dark eyes gentle as he spoke.

“You’re on the marine vessel, The Horizon, lassie. We fished you out of the sea.” He cleared his throat as she fought the urge to fall asleep again. “What do you remember?”

Remember?

Was there anything to remember at all?

Her head throbbed with dull pain as tears blurred her vision.

She was…

Running. Running with nowhere to hide.

There was…

The sea burned around her. People screamed, their voices cut off as heat rippled like the waves.

The sea cradled her as she wept for days from a loss she couldn’t recall.

And now she was crying again.

“—I-I-I d-don’t remember anything!” Her voice came out in a rasp, her throat still burning.

Gruff, calloused hands wrapped around her thin frame as she was pulled in close. Her cries quiet and nearly unheard despite her grief.

She stayed in the medical bay for two weeks recovering. All of the marines on board were quite supportive—though a bit awkward around someone so young. Unofficially, she was now a ‘chore boy’ in the marines. The Captain promised to see about finding her identity when they docked at a marine base where she could either properly enlist or be escorted home. Wherever that was. Until then, everyone called her by a nickname. Usually some variation of ‘kid’ or ‘lass’.

There were offers of better nicknames but accepting a proper name… it hurt.

She didn’t want a new or temporary name. She just wanted hers. But she couldn’t remember it. She had one before, right?

Doctor Crusoe said the amnesia was probably temporary, due to the blow to her head that scarred her face. A crescent curving parallel with the bridge of her sharp nose, narrowly missing her right eye as it cut from hairline to the top of her cheekbone. Her eye was fine, though sensitive to light. She decided to keep her hair brushed over it for now to alleviate the pain… and make it easier to see her reflection in the mirror. The scar was still new and sensitive.

Another side effect of her ocean adventure was that her voice was rough. It was better than when she woke up but speaking above a soft whisper broke up her sentences and pained her greatly. Curiously, speaking softly came naturally to her. Even startled noises hardly more than a puff of air. So perhaps it wasn’t the sea salt that damaged her vocal cords. Maybe she was just always a quiet child.

It made her feel better to think that at least.

Still! It wasn’t all bad news! Given her pseudo-recruitment status, they gave her a uniform! Not that there were many options, her original clothes too damaged to keep and spare clothes simply not her size. It was baggy, too loose around her shoulders and the pants almost eating her boots—stuffed with extra socks to fit… well, better—but it was clean clothes she wouldn’t have otherwise. And the crew was nice, always with something for her to busy herself with. Showing her the ropes, literally and metaphorically, but never expecting her to take over serious duties on her own.

That was partly Captain Hektor fault, as he thought it inappropriate for a maybe-thirteen year old to mess with the rigging or sails. Her noodle arms didn’t help matters either. But if she had any questions about anything they were willing to answer. She preferred helping with small tasks around the ship, often accidentally spooking them by tapping their shoulders when they didn’t realize she was there. But it was kind of fun.

If this is what it meant to be a marine… she wasn’t sure if she minded.

Although, they say nothing lasts forever.

Three months, two weeks, and five days after being rescued from the waters—a mere three weeks from the nearest marine base—they ran into trouble.

Big trouble.

A sea king, six times the size of the ship and a writhing mass of black scales attacked them. Bashing it’s head into the hull again and again, as though toying with them rather than trying to kill them outright. Adam wood slowly splintering under the assault. Nothing they did warded the beast off, every blow rocking the ship with devastating shudders. It moved in cyclical patterns round the ship, almost toying with them before bashing the sides. They simply couldn’t fix the cannons quick enough. The guns not powerful enough. Blades useless as it darted under the water.

It was intent on taking them down. And nothing was going to stop it.

She gasped as her body slammed into the railing, desperately scrambling away from the edge as the ship rocked violently. Tilting hard and nearly sending several overboard.

“W-What do we do, Captain?” She whispered, clinging to the large man’s jacket as she trembled, another violent blow almost sending her to her knees. He braced her shoulder and clenched his teeth.

“Go to the communications room, kiddo. Get on the den den mushi and send out a distress call. You remember how?” She nodded, watching as pitch black scales surfaced above the waves in a dizzying pattern before retreating. “Then go!”

She ran for it, bracing herself on the walls as she scrambled below. The communications room was small, more of a closet really where they kept a snail. They didn’t really need one, but they had it anyway. And it was likely their only hope.

“Sorry, Mr. Snail, we need your help!” She braced herself in the doorway and picked up the distressed snail, likely having been incredibly disturbed by the attack on their vessel. His eyestalks were wide with panic as he began to wail. And wail.

And wail.

And wail.

All the while she held onto the snail with a firm grasp to combat the fierce battering of the ship.

“C-lick!” She could have cried when someone answered. Sharp eyes and a somewhat tense smile mimicked on the snail’s features. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Ah! T-This is marine vessel, The Horizon, experiencing a—” She nearly tumbled as a particularly hard slam bashed the hull of the ship. “—Violent sea king attack! W-We’re going down, can you offer assistance?!” She asked breathlessly, voice strained to reach above a whisper.

“I don’t know… I can hear something going on but you seem awful quiet for a marine under attack. How do I know this isn’t a trick?” Another hit slammed her head into the doorway, bright, hot pain flashing through her as she collapsed.

Tears in her eyes, she got off her knees and blindly picked up the poor abused snail.

“I-I don’t know! W-We don’t h-have t-time to prove it, p-please help!” She begged, gasping as water lapped at her boots. She scrambled to get on top of the deck, her vision swimming as she stumbled, wood creaking around her.

The snail looked pensive.

“Alright. Are you outside?” He asked, just as she made it topside.

“Y-Yes!”

“Good. I need you to take a deep breath and look around. Can you see fire?”

“Fire?!” She felt her heart stutter in fear as her head whipped out over the sea.

“Yes. Fire. I’m firing off a flare. If you can see it, you can direct me to you.” She sucked in a harsh breath and nodded, mostly to herself, tears falling down her cheeks as she looked around.

There. Portside. A massive column of red fire.

“Ah! I-I see it!”

“You’re doing good marine, now tell me when it’s facing you.” Confused, she watched as the column of fire changed into a wobbly shape. Twisting slowly until it formed what she could clearly see as a jolly roger.

“I-I see it—” The sea king slammed into the ship again.

“Can you read it? What does it say?” To her amazement, words formed.

“Fire fist?! Fire fist is here?!” Captain Hektor yelled in horror, “Shit!”

The snail chuckled, a sharp grin forming.

“On my way! Just hold tight!”

The words of fire disappeared, giving way to a much smaller burst lower to the water.

That grew with alarming speed as something barreled towards them. It was too late to save the ship, her bow beginning to arch in the water as she sank and forcing everyone aboard to brace themselves to stay on. But—but—they could use the life raft if the sea king was taken care of.

A plume of fire erupted as a small sailboat rocketed towards them, a single man aboard as a ship followed behind him at a greater distance.

She wiped her eyes in disbelief as the sea king reared up, challenging the flaming vessel with a shrill roar that shook her bones and sent agonizing pain through her skull. Captain Hektor pulling her away from the cabin of the ship towards the still anchored life raft. He picked her up and leapt down as an explosion blasted the sea king in the face.

Not to be deterred now, the sea king barreled into the water and erupted behind the small vessel in a wave of black scales.

But the man simply stood there, holding the snail receiver in one hand while the other pointed up. His eyes fixed to them under the brim of a bright orange cowboy hat, grinning like a loon.

Fire erupted from his raised fingertip like a gunshot, exploding in a spiraling fireball to bright she had to bury her face in her captain’s jacket. The heat so strong she could feel it from where they were bobbing in the water, life raft jolting from the force and nearly toppling over if it wasn’t for the startled correction of the others on board.

The Horizon sunk behind them slowly with an eruption of bubbles as it cracked.

And then the sea fell silent.

She was still being shielded in her captain’s jacket when the snail spoke up, his voice doubled as the source neared them.

“Wow. Looks like it wasn’t a trap after all! Hah!” She squirmed against her captain’s hold to look at him.

A few feet away, bobbing happily on the water, was their savior.

A young man with no shirt and the most delightfully orange hat she’d ever seen.

Quietly, she hung up the receiver, wiping her eyes.

“Thank you for coming.” She whispered, bowing her head as she clutched the snail to her chest.

He looked at her, face flickering from confident to a little scandalized.

“What? Marines too cheap to outfit their recruits properly anymore?” He narrowed his eyes, leaning in closer. “And recruiting babies now, too? What the hell, guys?! This isn’t the East Blue! What gives?!” Captain Hektor pulled her in closer and away from him.

“I’m not a baby.” She protested, though it didn’t seem to impress him much.

He huffed, hopping onto the railing of their life raft and kneeling closer to her eye level.

“Fire Fist Ace, second commander of Whitebeard, at your service, kid.” Ace’s features softened as he reached out his hand. “What’s your name, marine?”

She reached out and grasped his hand despite the aborted protest of the others. His hand felt… warm. And a bit rough to the touch, but his grasp was gentle. His fingertips resting over her still racing pulse as his thumb brushed over her knuckles.

“I don’t know. But I’m technically just a chore boy right now. And I’m thirteen, just for the record… probably.” Ace seemed shocked before he turned his attention to Captain Hektor with an unimpressed glare.

“Consider yourselves prisoners of Whitebeard. How you’re treated depends greatly on how well you can explain this.” Ace informed them in a dark tone. Captain Hektor looked like he wanted to argue on principal but a flicker of fire around them cut him off short. “You should know Oyaji’s stance with children.” He warned.

“Enough of ye attitude, lad! Let meh see ‘r, ah saw tha’ knock on ya head, lassie.” Doctor Crusoe pushed the other aside and pulled her gently away from Ace. Crusoe brushed her hair aside and looked at her eyes. “Headache? Ah. Looks like ah mild concussion. Tha’ beast knocked us all about somethin’ fierce, huh lassie? Ya did good callin’ fer help, even if it’s from a pirate. Sea knows we were fuc—fudged without it.” He informed her before righting her hair back into place. Messy locks hanging heavy over her right side.

Captain Hektor lifted her up, tucking her under his jacket protectively with a huff.

“I take full responsibility, Fire Fist. Though I hardly need to explain myself to your lot, I know how this looks.” He said as she leaned against his chest, taking refuge in the shade of his jacket where her pounding headache abated. “This can wait until after their injuries are taken care of. I will answer to you and your captain’s satisfaction when thiat happens. You have my word… and my thanks for answering our distress call.”

She heard Ace sigh as her eyes drifted closed.

“Fair enough I suppose. It better be good though. The New World is hardly any place to train baby marines… sorry, maybe-thirteen-year-old ‘chore boys’.”

[arsonsara]

[The phone rings twice, but in the middle of its third ring the phone is answered] Howdy dowdy, you've reached the home of one Arsons Ara!~ With whom am I speaking to on this loverly day?

[Silence] ...Hullo? Anyone there? You weren't spooked by my name, were you? Oh well, don't worry, it's just my internet handle! I don't actually set stuff on fire if that's what your worried about. I made it up a long time ago when I was a teenager, it even has this whole meaning I ascribed to it with the constellation Ara and...Hehe, gosh it's silly to think about now but the naming scheme was based off this old web-comic I used to read. But, that's a long story, and I don't wanna ramble for too long! Still, is there anything I can help you with? [Silence] Hulloooo?...You theeeere? I didn't make you nervous, did I?...

[Silence] Hmmm...Well, someones got to be on the other end of the line. And it'd be such a shame to just hang up now, I don't get calls like this as often as I'd like...Oh! Did you just need someone to listen to, stranger? Is that why you called? It's okay if it was, I understand that feeling. Sometimes it's just nice to just listen to someone chat about what's on their noggin.~ ...Actually, now that I think about it, you called at the perfect time! Something happened not too long ago, and it's been rattling around in my head for such a long time! Iffin' you don't mind, I think it'd be really fun to talk about it with someone else! It's about this cute little puppet show that some folks found! It's all really cute and charming, but there isn't a lot of information about it, seems like it's become lost media. I'unno why, but I just can't seem to stop thinking about it lately! And I think it'd be a lot of fun to talk about it! But let me know if you need anything else or if you also wanna talk, okay stranger? [Silence] ...Well, I...suppose you're still there! Might as well get started.

[Arson clears her throat, and there's the sound of her straightening her dress for a few moments as she hums and has to herself.]

Welcome Home is an Anti-Fiction, Alternate Reality Game based on a fictional lost media puppet show of the same name. Created by the artist Clown, also known as PartyCoffin, alongside a small team of artists and voice actors, the bulk of Welcome Home's story is delivered through a website that was released to the public on February 16th (according to research I did on Clown's tumblr anyhow, but i'm no historian or Tom Scott, so take my sources with a grain of salt and trust that I try my best. =w='') and details the Welcome Home television show that aired in the early 70s.

The Website is in an old-web style, reminiscent of the Geocities era. In the fiction of the story, it is run by a team of anonymous lost media preservationists called the Welcome Home Restoration Project, and the WHRP hosts information regarding the show itself, including a Biography page for all of the characters, Secondary media for the show like books, audio from vinyl and tape recordings, promotional art, speculative recreations for certain aspects of the show, and News sections for the WHRP to keep readers posted on their most recent findings and updates. On the surface, Welcome Home is a colorful, cheery & cartoony childrens puppet show, heavily inspired by shows created by The Jim Henson Company, such as The Muppets, Sesame Street & Fraggle Rock. The show took place in a small cul-de-sac neighborhood called Home, (Not to be confused with the character of the same name, Home, who is a literal house) and focused on the residents within it. Each episode would start with the main character of the show, Wally Darling, introducing the audience to the happenings in Home and the general theme of the episode. As the episode continued, the audience would follow along as they got to see the rest of the cast interact with one another in delightfully quaint & cutesy hi-jinks, alongside animated breaks and story book segments. However, deeper within the website itself, there's a darker story being told. Astute visitors will find doodles seemingly being drawn out of thin air, leading to macabre recordings of Wally Darling speaking to the audience. Bugs lead to video recordings that aren't listed on the Lost Media sections of the website, of characters from the show interacting with each other, only to cut out just as Wally is mentioned. Eye symbols continue to crop up, Deeper secrets of the WHRP become revealed where the line between reality and fiction start to blur, and among it all, is You. Wallys best friend.

That's all pretty much a surface level introduction to Welcome Home. If you're curious and want to experience everything Welcome Home has to offer yourself, I suggest you visit the Welcome Home website and just start exploring! Anything I could summarize, abridge or describe wouldn't even be half as substantive as what's actually on the website itself, and I feel like doing so would be a disservice to Welcome Homes narrative. Do be warned ahead of time that it IS a horror story dealing in themes of unreality and scopophobia when you dig deeper, so it's good to bare that in mind going in. That being said, Welcome Home's horror aspects are very subtle and understated. I wouldn't call Welcome Home R-Rated, if anything i'd say it's a wonderful introduction to the Horror genre for those who are easily scared, but i'll get more into that later. For everyone else: Harken and listen! For a nerdy trans girl is about to gush at length about topics of niche interest, literary devices of the genre and dissection galore! First things first, I might as well start with how I was introduced to Welcome Home. Which is to say, I don't remember! All I can remember is that I found it, and as soon as I did it sunk its little felt claws into the synapses of my brain and didn't let go. Which, considering the subject matter, is pretty fitting! But as soon as I did, I was enraptured. I found Welcome Home prior to the July 22nd Update, which was the largest thus far since I started writing this, so there was a lot less content to be found than there is now.

Best way I can describe what it felt like, is that it was like watching the Pilot Episode to Welcome Home. And I mean that in the best way possible. All that existed was various bits of art of all the characters, their biographies, a few secrets, and a final page that pulled back the curtain on Welcome Home being an ARG and more of its sinister secrets. At the time, I was entertained and intrigued, but there wasn't enough content for me to properly sink my teeth into. Which was understandable, when Welcome Home started, it seemed as though it was just Clown who was at the helm as the sole captain of the ship! However despite their being a lack of content at the start, what was there made me fall in love. One of the aspects about Welcome Home that I want to sing the praises of to the high heavens is how genuine it is. Lemme break it down like this: Mascot Horror is very popular nowadays, ever since the boom that Five Nights At Freddy's created. Take a nostalgic element from a lot of people's childhoods, twist it on it's head and turn it into a horror story, and go from there.

Now going into the deeper aspects of Mascot Horror, it's origins and effect on popular culture and the Horror Genre at large isn't even a can of worms, it'd be more like digging my hands straight into the Earth to gather every Worm to put on a Worm Boat, Noahs Ark style. BUT I'll summarize a bit, alongside my own personal opinions, in hopes to give some perspective. Now, I can't speak for everyone, but from what i've seen Mascot Horror doesn't have a good reputation at large. Five Nights at Freddy's jumped the shark and sold-out and that's JUST the games themselves, Bendy and The Ink Machine fell flat on its face and the scandals behind the scenes were numerous, Hello Neighbor was a desperate attempt to follow a fad and failed its way into success...somehow??? And to top it all off, Baldis Basics, a game that was intended to be a parody of Mascot Horror, started selling figurines in toy shops to kids because it stopped becoming a parody once children who thought it wasn't a parody actually took interest. Whilst one could argue the early era of FNAF held weight and still hold up to this day (and I wouldn't even argue against that myself), there are a lot of examples of Mascot Horror that are disingenuous, desperate attempts for some level of fame or fortune. If the media you create consists of something targeted towards kids, but also has horror elements for adults, you cast a wider net for your audience, and sometimes that's all people see. Welcome Home is different in one major way, and is one if the most fascinating aspects of it, and i'll describe it in a single sentence: Welcome Home didn't need to be a horror story. Now this isn't a criticism of Welcome Home, or me saying that it's Horror elements are superfluous! Far from it! But so many of Welcome Homes surface elements, in regards to the show being a piece of lost media, are created with such gentle, intentional, home-made style care and genuine love for the story of Welcome Home that I believe if you wiped away all the horror elements of Welcome Home and kept everything else as is, it would still have an audience. I mean, a fictional lost media puppets show with colorful characters, wonderfully crafted art, voice actors putting in their absolute best to portray such a saccharinely sweet cast of characters, with the melancholy of a majority of it being lost to time, juxtaposed by the love, the TRUE kind of love, that it takes for a group of people to recover and find the most they can about a show they might've grown up with? A show YOU might've grown up with? I mean come on, that's so fun and adorable! There ABSOLUTELY would've been an audience for that! Would it be as big as Welcome Home's audience is in reality, horror elements and all? Whilst I can't say for certain, my opinion is that it probably wouldn't. Not for a lack of effort, but as I said before: Mascot Horror casts a wider net. The demographic is far larger if it can cater to a younger audience and an older audience. That's just how advertising works sometimes, as dour and dull as that is to say.

But in spite of that, I believe wholeheartedly that there would've been an audience for that and that the sheer uniqueness of the concept would've sold a lot of people on it. Think about it: When was the last time you heard of an ARG that wasn't horror adjacent? What if you wanted an ARG that WASN'T a horror story? It absolutely would've worked, because the amount of commitment, effort, time, talent and love, pure unadulterated love that's poured into by the Welcome Home Team shines as bright as Sally Starlet herself!

However, as I said previously, I don't believe the horror elements are to Welcome Home's detriment. If anything, the fact that Welcome Home could've existed perfectly fine without a secret horror angle hidden deeper within, makes the horror feel far more tangible and real. As I said previously, one of Mascot Horrors tools of the trade is taking something familiar and nostalgic and corrupting it from within. FNAF worked so well because a lot of kids in the 80's and 90's went to places like ShowBiz Pizza or Chuck E. Cheese, and people who grew up with them tended to be in two camps:

They either looked back on their childhood memories fondly and yearn for the day they were 7, having their birthday party with Chucky & Friends, playing in the arcades and taking home a prize with their hard-earned tickets.

or

They were absolutely and utterly goddamn terrified by the animatronics and it gave them a fun new phobia. Like me!

That was extremely fertile ground for a horror story, and part of the reason it worked so well is because it played at audiences nostalgia and twisted it into something darker. It showed a world where being afraid of the animatronics up on stage wasn't irrational. It could potentially save your life. It took the memories the audience had of places like that and said in a low, gravelly tone of voice, rife with malicious intent, "What if?"

That sticks with people, and it works best when the nostalgic analogue the story is trying to replicate feels real! That there are people in the story who don't know they're in a horror story. Parents that don't know celebrating their childs birthday party at Freddys could harm them. People who don't know that Freddys wasn't going out of business due to lack of funds or a gas leak, but for a reason even darker than that. People who don't know why the animatronics smelled like rotting meat and never will.

Because the more that line is blurred, the more the audience can suspend their disbelief, and the more it drives them to want to know more. To dig deeper into that abyss, to truly hear the wails that come from within, even if they shouldn't. However, the issue that most Mascot Horror falls into is that the false-media that it creates feels flat and lacking of substance. To give an example, we'll use Bendy and The Ink Machine. As opposed to Five Nights at Freddy's using 90's Animatronics and Arcades, Bendy used 1920's Rubberhose animation. And one of Bendys greatest flaws is that it never used that inspiration for anything more than set dressing. You could take the cartoon aesthetic away from Bendy, and all it would be is your standard "Someone summoned Demons for their own gain and it went tits up" story. Aesthetically, Bendy didn't have any legs to stand on because the subject matter of Bendy the Dancing Demon and his silent cartoons didn't feel real or substantive! Bendy didn't feel like they were a cartoon character that had been corrupted from within by demons. Bendy felt like a cartoon character that was purposefully made to harbor demons because the writers couldn't think of a way to make Bendy stand out in a vacuum outside the horror elements.

Early Era FNAF worked because it was carried by a strong aesthetic, clever arcade game-play that created tension and anxiety, and a simple-but-effective horror mystery underlying it all that engaged its audience and made it far easier for them to suspend their disbelief and play in the space. Welcome Home does this as well, but it employs a different tactic: By making the show a piece of lost media, it evokes a curiosity that any other piece of lost media invokes. Starting off with cookie crumbs before building up to finding the cookie itself, but it's broken into pieces with large chunks bitten out, and the trail only gets more fascinating and crummier as it goes.

However, some folks will look at those cookie chunks and think to themselves "How does it taste?" They hold up a chunk to their mouth, take a bite, and are met with the comfort of a home-made chocolate chip cookie, the sweetness inciting them and giving them a sense of comfort and warmth. And just as it started, its gone. All that's left is a void where once there was joy, and a trail of crumbs, and the question of why someone would destroy such a wonderful cookie in the first place? Was it out of malice? Or was it for our own good? But there's no other way to know but to follow the trail.

THAT'S what Welcome Home is. Welcome Home is the metaphor cookie! It's Horror Elements supplement the Lost Media content, and also does something that i've not seen any other Lost Media ARG or Mascot Horror do, much less do successfully: Employ empathy. The cast of Welcome Home are all sweethearts, every last one of them. They're caring, they're funny, they all have different quirks that bounce off of each-other in ways that make them feel like a community just bursting with love! Which makes the darker elements feel less scary and more...sad.

All of Welcome Home's horror elements are draped in melancholy, information getting lost, memories forgotten, friends disappearing, loosing part of yourself to a hungry maw whilst the parts of you that are left wonder "Where did they go? Am I all alone now?" And that feeling couldn't be portrayed more perfectly than everyone's host whose the most, Wally Darling. Wally is special, not just because he's a curios little goober who is fascinated by everything around him, but because there's something that separates him from the rest of the cast. He's the only one who exists in the present tense. Lemme explain:

We only learn about the rest of the cast of Welcome Home in past-tense. In old audio recordings, lost story books, discarded animation cels, they don't exist within the present anymore. They only exist in the past. But Wally, darling Wally Darling, is different. Throughout the website you can find crayon drawings that materialize from nothing, almost as if they're drawing themselves or...being drawn by someone else. Clicking on them leads to small audio recordings of Wally talking to the listener, about how "He can see you", how "He has more eyes than he used to", and wanting to be "Let inside."

All of these audio recordings contain a level of dread, yes, but beneath that, a level of desperation as well. If you go through the website, you'll learn that one of Wally's core character traits is curiosity. He blythley asks questions that most people wouldn't, always fascinated by the world around him in a multitude of ways.

Now, Welcome Home isn't finished. Far from it, I get the feeling that it's only just starting! But with that in mind, there are a lot of things we don't know about the story and whats going on, but one of the core themes is lost memories and trying to find them again. A lot of the WHRP Staff is shown to be desperate for answers, that Welcome Home is absorbing a part of their mind and that they can't let go until they find out whats going on.

And this is only a theory, but I think the exact same can be said for Wally. Wally, as I said before, is the only character who exists in the present tense. He left drawings on the Guest Book for people who left their mark, and the image files of his drawings are him responding to the Guest in question. He's talking to them. He's talking to us. He sees us. He hears us. But only faintly. Only briefly. And he doesn't know why.

But chief among that? He's alone. None of his friends are here anymore, all that remains are the spaces they used to occupy. All that remain are their ghosts...and us. He's reaching out just as much as we are reaching towards him, and neither of us know what we're going to find on the other side. Or if it'll be worth it. Because in truth, Wally is probably just as scared as we are.

"But Arson!" I pretend to hear you cry because you're still not talking, and that's okay I don't want to pressure you but I need a hypothetical straw-man to bounce off of so i'm just going to pretend that you or someone else is refuting my statements so that I can further make a point down the road, but again I want to reiterate it's okay if you don't want to talk I don't want to pressure you and also thank you for listening to me this far in it's very sweet of you!

[Arson takes a large, exaggerated exhale after saying that entire run-on-sentence without taking a breath]

"But Arson!" You cry! "How do we know Wally can be trusted? How do we know he wont do something bad?!" Well i'm glad I am pretending you asked and also glad you're playing in the space! In truth, we don't know if Wally has ulterior motives, or if we're even talking to Wally or we're talking to """Wally""". There isn't enough conclusive evidence for us to figure out his motives, and there are hints that they could potentially have darker machinations. Some of the art that existed prior to the July 22nd Update, on the page that pulled back the curtain, showed art of Wally puppeting around an empty Barnaby walk-around-puppet without it's head on, cheering about how he "Made a dog", and one in particular where he can be seen in the Baphomet pose. However, considering Welcome Home has solidified its concepts more as the series has gone on, it's uncertain whether or not these pieces of art can be considered canon.

But at the same time: We don't know why Wally can see us! How Wally is able to hear our faint whispers, answer us back when we call his name, find the secrets that he himself is potentially leaving behind, or why video files suddenly cut out as soon as another character starts to mention Wally by name. Wally could be under the effects of some sort of curse that he's trying to use as a blessing, or he could be a wolf in sheeps clothing! We don't know!

But the aspect that makes him sympathetic, that makes me believe he's not just a villain, are his friends and how he interacts with them. To the audience, Wally may be some mysterious machevellian entity pushing past the barriers of the fourth wall, but to Barnaby? Frank, Julie, Poppy, Sally, Eddie, Howdy & Home? He's their neighbor! He's their friend! And he acts like it, too! He may be socially awkward and a bit dry, but you can truly tell that he cares for and loves his neighbors! His friends! Us!

Whether or not that love has been twisted, whether the road to heaven paves the way to hell, is yet to be seen, but the clues we do have don't really point at Wally being a traditional horror villain! An antagonist? Maybe, but he's yet to show any outward malice. Thus far...he's just shown hes scared. And all he can hear is us. And he wants to be let in...so...so badly. One last thing i'll go over before I wrap this up is the medium in which Welcome Home tells its story: The Website! Welcome Home's website is chock full of interactive pages full of audio, video, written stories, and secrets to uncover and find. Whether you're interacting with the lost media aspect of the story, or digging deeper into the ARG, there is always a sense of active participation on the audiences part. Like when a character in a childrens show asks a question and leaves a beat for the kids at home to answer, Welcome Home encourages and expects audience participation! You're just as much of a neighbor as the characters in the show! It's engaging, it feeds curiosity and it's a fantastic way to ensure audience engagement! It reminded me a lot of how HypnoSpace Outlaw gameified the process of exploring the early internet and turned it into a puzzle game! Honestly, If the budget is there, I could easily see Welcome Home's website being turned into a stand-alone video game removed from a deprecated browser in the same way Hypnospace works! But funnily enough, whilst the comparison to Hypnospace was what came to my mind first, the more I thought about it, the more Welcome Home reminded me a lot of Homestar Runner! Now, I already spent a large part of this essay/review/ramble/i-want-to-talk-about-something-so-i'm-going-to-write-seven-pages-or-more-about-it-thingy and expected my readers to at least have passing knowledge about FNAF & Bendy through cultural osmosis.

And considering how niche Homestar Runner is in the year 2023, i'm not going to go in-depth about it here, but to put it in very, very, VERY small perspective: Homestar Runner was a flash-cartoon series that began in 2000 and ran through most of 2010 (and still does update from time to time) that hosted all of its content on a single website made by its creators, The Brothers Chaps. One of Homestar Runners defining features were its Easter Eggs, that you could wander around the website and find secret pages and games filled with even more gags and jokes! Now, Homestar Runner wasn't an ARG, and it didn't really have "Lore Drops" in the same way that Welcome Home does except for that one time.

But a lot of its interactive elements and Easter eggs functioned very similarly to how Welcome Home tells it story! Which is a really creative way to iterate on how Homestar Runner worked! Now, I don't know if Welcome Homes interactive website was inspired by Homestar Runner, and my comparisons aren't meant to debase either Welcome Home or Homestar, I just find it fascinating how two different types of stories can use the same interactive elements to completely different effect. That being said, no piece of media is without its flaws, and Welcome Home can sometimes be a bit...obtuse when it comes to its secrets. Specifically in finding them, there are a few secrets that feel too hidden and their solutions too cryptic. The Safe Puzzle comes to mind, for those that know. I wouldn't have ever found that if I wasn't given a hint, because I essentially had to pixel-hunt for the one clickable link in a completely featureless white void. And maybe it's just me, but the answer to the Safe Puzzle felt a little unsatisfying. I essentially had the answer, but without spoiling the puzzle itself, I had to abbreviate the answer instead of writing it all out, and there's no way I would've figured that out on my own.

As for anything else I could criticize, I feel like they aren't substantial enough criticisms to warrant mentioning, especially considering how Welcome Home is still in the process of being told. It wouldn't be fair for me to correct a storyteller when they're still in the middle of telling the story.

To get more personal, i'll end it off with this: During the early stages of the Welcome Home website being up, it had a Guest Book, like how old websites would have one, where people who visited the website could leave their name and a little message for people to find. Since the July 22nd update, the Guest Book had been closed. Whether this was for a Lore reason, or simply to prevent excess traffic to the website slowing things down (Welcome Home is an independent project, after-all) people can't sign the Guest Book anymore, but they left the remaining signatures up for history's sake and...

I was able to sign it before it was closed. On Page 3, you can find me, playing in the space and pretending I grew up with Welcome Home as a kid. Wally if you're reading this, I'm very very sorry, I lied. I didn't grow up with your show, but I wish I did! I just thought it was a game of pretend. I was telling the truth when I said Julie was my favorite though, so I hope that makes up for it a little. Gomen nasai.

And something about that...it feels special. I was able to make my tiny little mark on Welcome Home and how much I loved it. And there's something magic about that, but sad all at the same time. For whatever reason the Guest Book closed is understandable, and I feel it would be indignant of me to tell them to open it back up, but i'm sad that there are some folk who won't get to have the chance I did.

I didn't even know it would be a "chance". In my mind, the Guest Book was going to stay open forever. It was always going to be there, and anyone could get their chance to leave their personal mark on Welcome Home. But now that's gone, and all that remains is what me and everyone else left behind. And I can't help but get this small, lingering feeling that maybe I could've left something else behind. But we can't go back, we can only go forwards and we can only live with what little remains...

Funny, how that works, isn't it?

---------

[Arson lets out a fluterry exhale, almost as if they're reminiscing on something.]

...Good golly, Miss Molly, I sure did go on for a long while, didn't I? I suppose I can't help myself, give me enough time and i'll start gushing about my favorite types of stationary or the stitches on my favorite skirt for another hour!

[Arson giggles] Oh jeez-louise, I should probably go get some tea, sometimes I just talk so long I almost loose my voice! I'm sure my arm isn't feeling very happy having me hold up the phone to my face for so long...

[Another bout of silence, broken up for a moment by the sound of Arson letting out a melancholy sigh]

Thank you for listening, though...I-if you're still there...

I hope you're still there. I guess I...don't really know if you were ever there to begin with but...I guess it's...fun to pretend sometimes. ...Goodbye, stranger...and...thanks for listening.

[Arson hangs up the phone]

--------- 

If you want to visit the neighborhood, go to: https://www.clownillustration.com/welcome-home

If you want to learn more about your neighbors, and learn about the people who made it, go to: https://www.clownillustration.com/from-me-to-you

If you want to help out your neighbors, and have a dime to spare, please support them at: https://ko-fi.com/partycoffin

If you want to know who drew the art of the cute trans girl, please visit: https://twitter.com/butlerkitty_

[purenguyening]

1, 3 and 7 for salty ask, only minimal salt required, any fandom ok

I don't know how long I'll ramble but cut just in case:

Salt ask meme.

What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?*

It's not that I don't "get" specific ships, it's more closer to "I have a hard time suspending my disbelief and going along with the bit".

There are two ships that come to mind: Toyosatomimi no Miko/Soga no Tojiko from Touhou Project and Klavier Gavin/Apollo Justice from Ace Attorney.

For Miko/Tojiko, I can completely understand the appeal of a married couple meeting again in another life (not quite on the level of reincarnation, but it does have the theme of reuniting after a long period of time). But I feel like my hang-ups is that fandom tends to portray the duo as happily married when I'm 90% sure its real life inspiration (Shoutoku Taishi and Tojiko no Iratsume's marriage) was arranged so Soga no Umako could have access to the Royal Family rather than any real love. (I have no objections to being corrected since I only know like extremely broad strokes on Asuka period politics).

Even without drawing inspiration from history, Tojiko's profiles come off as pretty distant around Miko, usually only a line or two and then the bulk of her profiles are either about herself or about her relationship with Futo. I think typically the fandom writes it off as her wanting to be private, but from my perspective it comes off as her just trying to bide her tongue because she doesn't want to talk shit about her boss (but is okay talking about a dipshit co-worker). There is a line from Tojiko's profile in Symposium of Post-Mystcism I still can't really made heads or tails over though:

Futo's idea was "We'll let Buddhism rule for now, but after Miko revives as an authority figure, we will both revive as her officers."

It's not so much the wording but what throws me off, but instead it's that I'm not 100% sure if Akyuu is quoting Tojiko here or not, it feels like it should be. If it is Tojiko, herself, saying this you could read that she's close enough to Miko to be on a first name basis, but I can't help but read it as "she holds little respect for Miko so she just opts to call her by her name instead of her title". The other thing I get hung up over is how Tojiko's profile in Strange Creators of Outer World doesn't confirm her residency in Senkai (along with Seiga and Yoshika), which, again, comes off as her wanting to be distant around Miko. If memory serves Tojiko briefly pokes her head in Futo's ending in Hopeless Masquarade and no where else, kind of adding to my personal read she's not really that close to Miko.

This isn't to say I don't think they can learn to get along, but it feels like there's a lot of buildup needed for me to buy into the idea.

In a similar way with Klavier/Apollo, I get the concept on paper (like aside from the casual banter/innuendo that gets flung around in court). Klavier is a very lonely person and hides it with his persona, and Apollo hates that because he's such an honest and forward. I think he even mentions it in Turnabout Seranade he prefers the personality Klavier shows when he works on a case over his rock star personality.

In theory there's enough tension where I can see it being very satisfying when, finally, Apollo understands why Klavier puts the front that he does and in return Klavier can be open and honest to Apollo. But I never felt like such a moment really came. Maybe there's fan works that play with this concept, but I never was interested enough to explore.

3. Have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion?

No, oddly enough. I think on tumblr I would just block the post and on twitter mute/block are the bread and butter of the Twitter Experience(TM). I feel like it takes a lot for me to actually unfollow someone, but I do draw the line when people get really aggressive about it. The obvious example are those tweets where someone will post along the lines of "block me if you like x, y, and z"

7. Is there anything you used to like but can’t stand now?*

Usually my OTP preferences stay consistent throughout the years, but they sometimes lose intensity compared to when I first like them. As of late I don't hate Phoenix Wright/Miles Edgeworth (narumitsu) but I tend to prefer searching up Miles Edgeworth/Phoenix Wright (mitsunaru) if I really want to be nit picky about ship order... It's mostly because I think it's more entertaining to watch Miles fluster Phoenix more than the other way around.

[myrfing]

to be honest the way i would integrate salt rock lore is that they’re all extremely nutrient deficient from being an isolated landlocked siege fortress artifical land country locked in a thousand year war and losing and also got hit with an eternal winter and refuses most contact with other citystates meaning few import sources as well & also nearly all industry is focused on the war effort = expensive to get your hands on processed seasonings vs bulk stores means at one point someone gave livestock salt licks a go out of the mysterious You Need Salt Drive and it caught on somehow. like if i see an melezen they do look like they are missing critical nutrients you feel me.

[simiansmoke]

what does your muse…? // do they...?

//smell like? the musk that marks his entry is a combination of sweat from his humid environment, sea-salt from the bay's breeze rolling in and getting caught in his fur, a faint mix of fire-flowers and the smoke that comes with handling them, and an assortment of flora scents depending on what he's gotten into and what spores are in his fur for the day - usually honeysuckle since they grow around the door of his treehouse an can graze his shoulders when he emerges.

//hands feel like? The backs of his hands and knuckles are rough and calloused from wear and tear as they typically bear the brunt of his weight during frontal movement. Where each finger meets palm, a calloused bump sits from repeated physical tasks such as lifting weights or swinging from branches or rock faces. The rest of his palms are soft and smooth since they're so often protected curled up in his fists. If he cups your face with his hands, it's usually his palms since they're more comfy.

//usually eat in a day? "Hey, nerds. Welcome to what I eat in a day as a freaking STUD MUFFIN looking to bulk up for whipping major arena ass - So I start the day the second I wake up with about 10 bananas. I got to get some sugar in to wake me up somehow!

Then I follow up with some breckie - usually half a whole watermelon I turn into a bowl and then load it up with some coconut yogurt and whatever fruit hasn't gone off yet. And YEAH, I eat the whole bowl, rind and all. Just swallow the whole thing to assert your dominance.

For second breakfast, I like me a few banana nut muffins soaked in pure coconut oil. Yea, just dip that sucker all the way in until it looks soggy and boom! Calories! Wash that shit down with a gallon of coconut milk. So we need to get some greens in now...for health. Lunch is a big gorilla salad with every single veggie available, and I make it into a little jungle dioramas with a volcano in the center that I just stuff full with hummus and hot sauce 'cause that shit's fireeee. Mid afternoon - we need to start our pre game so let's order several martinis to work up an appetite and have some bar snacks! Sprouted coconuts are great and cronchy. And maybe some fresh off the fryer plantain chips. Dinner is a massive bowl of lentil pasta with pesto sauce and asparagus tips and a side of garlic steeped coconut sprout. Whether it's a drink my ass off night or not, you know I gotta get some slow-churned coconut cream to cool off. The best flavor is pistachio, sorry Candy. Oh yeah and then I might eat some nuts and fall asleep." (Pun maybe or maybe not intended.)

//have a good singing voice? Growing up, DK very much enjoyed music and he had quite an angelic voice back then. Granted, some please your dad life choices and focusing more on fighting and king-in-training duties means he hasn't exactly indulged in much of the practice lately (oh and puberty - that sort of changes a few...voice related activities). Though he can and will get shit-faced tipsy and croon out some music when he's feeling good and nostalgic, he can and will without hesitation initiate a rap battle, especially against the foes he faced in the past that liked to randomly start singing out of no where during a dispute.

//have any bad habits or nervous ticks? His bad habits center around substance abuse. He's intrigued by flora to a degree - on one hand...he does find some flowers nice to look at and smell, but on the other, he enjoys experimenting with jungle plants in the sense of - which ones are the most fun to smoke and get a high off? He also tends to partake in binge-drinking if he's having any booze because of his massive weight and size, it takes quite a bit to get him tipsy. Then when/if he keeps going, he can end up making some...questionable choices when going home with someone for the evening. Nervous ticks include kneading his knuckles into the ground (making biscuits), twirling his hair around a finger absentmindedly, lifting the fur up on the backs of his shoulders and then leaning over to furiously lick them back down.

//usually look like/wear? Nothing unusual - just brown fur and a red tie with his initials sewn into the end of it. He also 'wears' a type of magic (mainly just casting it all the time without realizing - like sucking in your gut all the time) called modesty magic so he doesn't have to wear pants in public. During special royal occasions in which Cranky has to appear and bring his son along, DK has to (begrudgingly) don the sacred garbs of the Jungle Kingdom's royal family. It just consists of a crown smaller but like Cranky's, and an agbada-like garb. Thinking white/navy or navy/gold.

//is your muse affectionate? How so? Traditionally - no...he tends to show his like for others by more rough or physical means such as putting someone in a wrestling hold, booping a snoot, or otherwise teasing someone. He gets flustered when trying to do anything that's overtly PDA. As for familial affection, he likes to be very loud and embarrassing and over the top about how 'cool' someone is to fluster them on purpose. But he also shows his affection towards family by adventuring and bringing them gifts back that he knows they like.

//what position do they sleep in? Mainly he likes to sleep on his side in the floor and use his own bicep as a pillow as he just balances in place and snoozes off. If he's cold, he'll flip over and tuck all his limbs under himself and nearly roll up into a ball, but with his chin flat on the ground.

// could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room? If he was whispering, you'd hear him. His whisper is an inside-voice.

Tagged by: @cosmicxmuses

Tagging: @koopzilla , @dandelicn , @pvachypessa , @k-ruelty , @hannah-the-small , @axcat , @timid-plumber , @softbanax0 , @geniusdonkey , @YOU ALL...who wanna do this long ish thing. :')

[upwards-descent]

Ash

Mehdi perched on a pillow, legs crossed with an expanse of scrolls spread before him. Memorizing the history of both his kin and his Gods was a weighty task but his mind was up for the challenge. Already he could recite the bulk of it, from when Fatiha breathed life into the earth and suckled man upon her teat to recent history with the many wars over fertile land. History still remained his least favorite subject but the role of a sage left no room for complaint.

"Mehdi! Mehdi, my son!"

He raised his head, his expression as neutral as always as his mother panted across the floor of the temple. Aicha bowed her head with a frustrated look, silently begging her son to do the same.

"Mehdi, this is our lord Saad," Aicha readjusted her shawl as she introduced the older man she had in tow. "He is traveling through our lands and wanted a prediction--"

"From sea to sea, word has spread of a great sage," Lord Saad cut in. His hawkish nose suited his beady eyes and bushy brow. "A great sage less than 20 with hair like the clouds and eyes darker than oil. This is you?"

"The one, sire," Mehdi rose and bowed deeply at the waist. "A prediction is what you seek?"

"Yes. I must know what weather to expect as I take my men home from conquest. We wish to sail the great sea through the Dusk Archipelago which is notorious for its rough waters. What can your eyes touched by the Gods see?"

Mehdi paused, looking the man up and down. Clearly he had great wealth, bedecked in all manner of jewel and gold. The sage pondered instead the lord's men who must be weary from battle and eager to see their homes once more. Bending down to put away his reading, Mehdi gave him an easy smile.

"Come, sire. I shall do a reading."

+++

Gliding across polished tile, Mehdi lead Lord Saad to the incense room. Rows upon rows of shelves boasted all manners of cone and stick, all with their unique smells to suit their unique properties. Mehdi gathered a bundle; salt, turmeric, and birch. He sat in the center of the room, alighting the three sticks in their holders. He gestured with an open palm for Saad to sit.

"Oh, my mighty Gods," Mehdi recited, pressing his hands together under his chin and closing his eyes. "Oh, you, my king Ikram. I seek this man's fate. Open my mortal eyes to the Spirit's Plane. Lay it bare before me."

Each stick of incense was burned to ash in an instant and the air in the room was gone. Saad coughed, eyes squinching up at the sensation. He watched in awe as Mehdi's irises turned a bright turquoise. The scented smoke billowed about the room, collecting around Mehdi before being dispelled by a might gust of wind. The candles lit through the room extinguished.

A beat of silence.

"Lord Saad," Mehdi's voice was still his own but a firmness reverberated through it. "You will find solace in your travels to the shore. Upon sailing the seas, your ship will smash against the frightening rocks of Dusk. Your fate is death, for you and your men. Sail three day's south instead and you will be welcomed by easy waters. Your journey will end on time, unscathed."

Normalcy returned to the room and whatever oppressive presence had presided vanished. Saad sucked in a greedy gulp of air while Mehdi watched. His gaze was warm and his demeanor was casual.

"They say your... Accuracy rate is 96%," Saad gasped, clutching his robes over his heart. "Is this.... Proven mathematical fact?"

"Yes, my lord."

Saad clasped his hands together and bowed, his furrow brow pressing against the cool tile beneath him. 

"Thank you, oh great sage," He prayed, bowing again and again. "My people will not forget your wisdom."

"All is as the Gods will," Mehdi droned. A little smile slowly crossed his lips and he huffed through his nose. "And as my powers see it. May Ikram show you mercy."

"Yes, great sage, a thousand thank you's, great sage."

Saad rose and did his best to scuttle with dignity. Mehdi watched until the swish of his robes disappeared down a corner. Dragging his finger through a speck of ash, Mehdi let out a soft chuckle. 

He felt a glimmer of pride settle in his chest.

[piperjistic]

Note: Tender Asriel + Fran (When first get together) Frans pronouns: sir/sire/sireself

Sea Bed

They lay in bed as the wind howls outside. The ocean roars, sending waves to crash and ripple against the rocks of the shore. The sky was dark and battered down everything underneath in rain. Like the rocks, it does not bother the two. They kindle together close like the fire blazing away in the fireplace in front of the bed.

The two that lays in bed is of human and siren. The human, old yet far from frail, curls closer to his beloved, whom very old yet never could be frail, hummed pleased.

They’ve grown content of the sound over the years. From above and below. It was calming, noise that resides in the background for them. If there was no sound, it meant something was wrong. However, tonight with the crashing and bellows, everything was perfect for them.

Fran open sir eyes and graze sir fingers across his uneven stubble, to twirling the ends his bushy mustache that mimicked bushes sprouting in all directions on the beach. His lips twitch into a small smile. Sir voice sweet as sire open sir lips.

“May I show you something my love?” He hum, sir eyes watch every movement sire fisherman makes, from breathing to adjusting. Asriel glances up to sire, his hand gently touching the others that lingers on his chest.

“Of course…”

Sire inhales his scent from his hair, rosemary bathed in crispy sea salt. Sir lips curve into a small smile. Lifting the webbed hand resting on his chest, Fran rubs sir thumb and pointer finger, a drop of water forms. Only a size of a pea before rolling around in the siren’s hand, absorbing more moisture and growing in size. The sea creature glows gentle shades of pink and purple, humming as the water drop swirls into a small cyclone, glowing hues of blue. Its size sprouts from the palm of sire hand as it grows wider.

The fire flickers from the magic, taken aback. It returns to normal as a sphere of seemly cloudy water, rippling above sir hand, yet has the luster of a freshly farmed pearl.

Asriel doesn’t pay attention to the magic trick, his eyes only on his darling siren. The warm glow from the corals and barnacle dotted around sir body. He hardly could take his eyes off her, maybe it’s the music or the heavenly glow that enhances sir natural beauty.

Fran nudges him, he blinks. His self-induced trance no more. She chuckles as he shifts on sire to stare at the new object.

The misty water clears and lies an image. A rather shallow yet firm barrel sponge, brownish-red as a faded penny that’s been left on the dock for endless years that sits ruggedly on the sand bed as minnows swim by.

The short walls allows for him to see more within. It isn’t much by the look of it. Simply tall blades of seagrass threaded around the stalks of mushroom coral flushed in green and marroon strikes as if it was a underwater watermelon latched to a flat rock underneath them pads the hollow inside.

Accompany by erect tube sponges branching over rocks, skin coarse with nubs, prickled around in a wide oval around it all, yellow dotted each opening of the sponges.

Behind it all was what he could identify an elephant ear sponge. Big and wide, stretching out like an elephant’s ear that’s decorated by small holes in a bright peppy orange, alive as ever, curling in flaps over the back side as coverage and shade.

Sponges was the bulk of the bedding(?) it seemed. Asriel leaned closer, intrigued by the culmination of sea life.

“Here… here is my bed.” His hand reaches out, only a finger touching the pearly screen. Asriel says nothing, though tilts his head to see more. “Deep under the waters, on the bottom where shells and bone rest… There is where I sleep.”

Sire relinquishes it to him, which draws both of his hands underneath the floating orb as if it would shatter or collapse under one.

Fran laughs once more, lighthearted and amuze, voice echos through the room. Like fire, Asriel swoons, eyes back to sire. Though that’s shortly lived as sir directs his chin with the tip of sir webbed fingers to the pearl.

Curls closer to him, hooking arm firmer arojnd him as a finger swipes at the water screen, image blur to another. This contains not just the seabed, but sireself as well. Laying and rolling on whatever comfort Fran seemed to find, fingers entwining with the seagrass as sire curls together. Sir eyes were close, letting bubbles stream sir breath.

“It isn’t as soft, isn’t as warm…” Sir finger fiddles with his brine-blasted goatee, gently tugging the scruffy patch of hair downwards.

“Unlike here, where comfort and warm are abundant with your blankets and pillows.” Sir lauded. The siren’s tail creeps over, uncoiling briefly to slither around the humans hips, a brief flash of cold from the coarse hide meeting his own warm tan skin travels up his spine. He shivers. The crusted nubs and shells fitting perfectly in the dips and wrinkles in his skin, snuzzled warmly. Gentle to not break his mortal bones. He clears his throat.

“May I say something?” Sir eyes lit up.

“Anything.” He glances up from his cap and shaggy white hair, eyes gleaming brown, reminding Fran of mussels who in time make the most precious pearls for the world to see.

“Will you eat me?”

Sire laughs. “Of course not… If I wanted to, I would have long ago…” Sire muses.

“You know, you’re a lot more cuddly and affectionate than I expected.”

“Humans make many assumption about my kind, my Love.” The siren blesses the man with a kiss on the side of his forehead, he hums delighted.

“And whilst you are certainly correct in some things, rarely do you seem to take into consideration how incredibly precious our mates are to us, and how much of an influence you have on our behavior.”

Fran gently takes his hand from sir chest and brings it to sir head as sire bows towards him. He feels sire inhale deeply. His hand hovered over her head where purple frilly lace weaved around some of the harder yet stubby corals sprouted upwards as if it was a crown and throw in the occasional seashells, it was a beautiful ecosystem of its own, hues of a fuchsia sunset fuchsia and tiny hints of a deep violet sparkling around.

Before Fran, he never planned on touching a siren, especially on their heads. But now, he still believed he would never touch their heads considering the last time he saw someone attempt to, they all almost drowned him, baring their fangs and claws, eyes even slitting. It was terrifying, and he knew sire wouldn’t hurt him, but it still gave a clear warning of what not to do.

“I know you’ll be gentle.” Trusting half-lidded eyes stare at him as sir grinned.

“… You sirens always avoided things touching your heads though… but-“ He inhales. “-alright.”

He inhales again, hesitating, before placing a hand to sir head, which made him raise a brow. Yes, it was slightly more textured as more sandy bits were trapped between the corals and it was moist…. But it was also strangely soft. His hand didn’t sink like quicksand so it wasn’t as soft, just soft enough to hold its form like a wet noodle. Fran’s breath hitches. A minute passes in silence. The siren breaks it, closing sir eyes. “Good, do not fear it Asriel my dear… it will not hurt me…. Now rub.”

The sound that came next, made even the fire silent. Fran purrs, loudly. Asriel eyes widen, mouth in a O, his cheeks warm as the blazing fire, and his ears the color of corals among sire body. He didn’t stop.

Sir purr drowned out the storm, and the look on sir face? Well, it was bliss. The siren cooed and purr, baring fangs in a toothy smile, eyes unfocused at the ceiling, hands clasp together. Even her instinctive responses are sweet melodies. Asriel swore he was as red as a lobster now. He still didn’t stop and wore a toothy smile himself. Sire deserves this… this bliss.

When he strung harder with his thumb against them, sir tail tightened around his aged hips and squeezed the air out of his lungs, he snatches his hand back. He might of gone too far, indulged too much? But… Never in his years would he expect to hear that from a siren, like this. Lying bed, cuddling on a stormy night, warming each other…. Wrapping sir tail around him as he rubbed sir head.

That seemed like a set up… for something else… he may or may not would be interested in. He would never say to anyone. Age doesn’t cure instinct, he would say.

It takes a moment of fire crackling and thundering from the weeping storm clouds before they engage again. Sir chuckles, hearty and loud. Not loud as before of course. Fran saw her human’s flustered face, and it was perfect. Asriel is never one to express such emotion, so to her that meant the same to what this meant to her. Sir gently grabs his hand in one, kissing a knuckle. The other guides his chin forward towards sire as sir stares at him lovingly. “Only you get to do this… No one else.” He licked his dry lips, awestruck and stifled.

“Only you will be coiled around to the end of your days, only you will share my bounty that isn’t a siren in my quartet, only you will get to hear my darkest secrets and only you shall I lend all my power to…. Only you make me feel this way.”

Sir hands slither to cup his cheeks, rubbing the wrinkles and freckle. Fran leans in, closing the gap between them. He follows sire lead. His lips taste of mint and rosemary. Sire’s of salt, grindy like sandy, and sweetly nutty. Huh…. He doesn’t mind though. Rather he indulges. Maybe it’s because of her alluring beauty, maybe it’s his tastebuds are past its prime, starting to fail him. It doesn’t matter.

“I could give you pearls beyong your wildest dreams, drag people to do your bidding, you never have to work anymore…”

“I don’t need pearls or extra helping hands when I have you.”

“Oh my young soul Asriel…”

“Besides… its my turn to entice you.”

“Oh?”

“Whenever you need to sleep, whenever you want to sleep… this is your bed. You bed by the sea, and can still be with the sea…”

Sir squeals, baring sire fangs with glee.

Fran grasp his hands and squeeze. The fire flickers violently as bubbles shed from coral openings on the siren. They pop only moments laters, sire sealing anymore escaped magic.

“Thank you mi amor…. I’ll treasure this— No, I have treasured this… this means more than you know…”

“Of course…”

Lightning strikes, the light above flickers before popping. They don’t flinch however, rather they share another kiss with the fire only illuminating each other’s features. They storm may rage on, but it could never erode their seabed.

Person A: “You know, you’re a lot more cuddly and affectionate than I expected.”

Person B: “Humans make many assumptions about my kind, My Love. And whilst you are certainly correct in some things, rarely do you seem to take into consideration how incredibly precious our mates are to us, and how much of an influence you have on our behaviour.”