#and has had time to regrow the underbrush

[generouslyandrogynousdragon]

Bringing this one back since I recently had a chance to walk through one of these, and it really is the Came Back Wrong trope for forests:

Like it looks like a forest! As long as you don't look too close.

monoculture forests are deeply unsettling in a way that is hard to explain to people who do not spend a lot of time looking at forests

[artistic-arteries]

Listen, I know I'm from the state nobody remembers is a state but New Mexico is on fire and it's possibly mostly the US forest service's fault. We're experiencing the worst fire in our history and it's not the first huge wildfire that was caused by the US forest service doing a controlled burn at the wrong time. The weather the day they did the burn was really dry and really windy so don't make any fires and that's somehow "in the parameters for the prescribed burns".

This is the time to really push for native forest control. Plenty of studies show that Indian forest gardening is more efficient and healthier than normal forests and they've done prescribed burns for literally thousands of years. New Mexico has a huge Indian population and they've been asking for some parts of the forest and while the state has been slowly moving towards letting them do things, the us forest service is so removed from New Mexico as a place that they don't know how our state's ecology and meteorology works.

Not even the other four corner states understand exactly what we're going through, especially if Utah's exrepresentative Rob Bishop (R) saying we need more logging and deforestation to help fires is a commonly held belief. People who know our history know that our ponderosa pine forests on the Parajito Plateau were once very healthy forests and had regular low burning fires to help contain underbrush but when we logged too heavily there and creates a dog hair forest, the forest became unhealthy and the fires were huge. Careful thinning and cultivation is needed to regrow our forests.

[cloudbattrolls]

Gratuitous Monster Fight

Claire’s Forest | Near Future | Two Supernatural Weirdos

The wind rustles the leaves on the forest’s branches, and small animals skitter unseen in the underbrush. Moonlight filters down between the trees, dappling the grass in green and pink. The distant lights of hives glow, signaling the presence of the few trolls who live among the greenery.

“This is INCREDIBLY stupid!”

The voice of someone both annoyed and for whatever reason, mightily offended, drifts up from some distance between the lights of the hives.

It belongs to Epsilo Volant, scientist and violetblood. Broad of body and face with wavy hair, his scowl could curdle milk and probably some cheese as well. His fins flick in agitation as he struggles with a piece of technology, pointing it and its long antennae in a dozen different directions.

“Why won’t it pick up the signal? I had everything calibrated properly.”

“Well, I’m no expert, but perhaps you made a mistake somewhere.”

The man bares his sharp teeth, both startled and annoyed by the sudden voice that belongs to someone he can’t see and had no idea was even there.

“Who are you? Show yourself.”

“What a forthright sort of fellow you are. You’re that BP chap who mods the server, if I’m not mistaken.”

“My name is Epsilo Volant.” He replies, less on guard but just as irate, putting the remote control away in his sylladex and getting out his harpoon. “I think I deserve yours in return. Come out where I can see you.”

He feels a breath on the back of his neck, but what troll has breath so chill and dry? A fellow seadweller’s would have more moisture in it. And why can’t he hear their breathing? How did they sneak up on him?

He steps forward and turns around, greeted by a wide grin of fangs sharper than his, all tapered to needle points without even any molars, and bright green pupils.

Then he blinks, annoyed at himself for how his hands tightened around his weapon. It’s just the jade from Claire’s party, and their teeth can’t really be that sharp. He must be seeing things.

Yet their eyes are undoubtedly odd.

“Just call me Tuuya.” They say, examining their claws as if bored by him. “Everyone else does.”

“Well, mix Tuuya - ” He says, not bothering to hide his disdain. “ - why are you hanging around offering unwanted commentary on my work?”

“Oh, I was just coming over to visit Claire, but I saw you puttering about and I was curious! What were you up to, I asked myself? Something devious, or something helpful?”

“I’m testing the range of a tracker for the Enkeli child. I need to focus on that. Good night.”

As they shrug and turn to go, the wind blows especially hard and the jade’s lean frame is pushed forward just enough to tip them over a protruding tree root and into a low hanging branch.

They pop back up again almost immediately, clicking their tongue, then notice the seadweller staring at them.

Their face, which as they run a hand over it, realize is cut open and showing the tips of white, gleaming worms. They quickly cover them with a palm.

“It’s none of your business?”

They try, tone far more hopeful than it is forceful.

“What is that?” The seadweller says, attention now fully focused on them.

“Absolutely nothing.” They go on in the same halfhearted tone of denial.

“It was white. It didn’t move like blood, either. Are you a mutant?”

They snort.

“If only. Look, I know you’re a science lad, but trust me when I say you’ll be happier not knowing.”

There’s a light of curiosity in the violet’s eyes, in the arch of his fins, his posture as he holds the harpoon. Tuuya’s seen that look on countless faces throughout the sweeps, and they sigh again.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you. You do realize Claire knows me, she won’t be happy if you attack me.”

“I just need a sample.” He replies, all superior confidence. “If you give it to me, we can end this peacefully.”

“Well, at least you ask. That puts you a rung above the medic, I suppose. Answer’s still no.”

They leap out of the way from where the harpoon would’ve taken the rainbow drinker in the chest, and it impales itself halfway through their arm instead. They rip it out with their other one and shove it in the ground hard enough to send dirt flying in a geyser.

Worms drop from the wound, and Tuuya leaps for the boy -

The animal, silvery gray with pinkish violet fins growing from its body, snaps at them with slavering jaws. They skid, narrowly avoiding the chomping teeth, and laugh as they leap up and land on a tree branch.

“Aren’t you something! I wasn’t sure the were-kind still walked Alternia. I’m surprised no one’s taken a sample from you.”

The huge hyena - much bigger than any non lusus kind they’ve ever seen - rears up on its hind legs and puts its front paws against their tree, glaring up at them with violet eyes.

“In the spirit of fairness, I’ll admit I am a rainbow drinker. And I’m far more trouble than you’re worth. I’d rather not get a hangnail whacking you for being naughty, so change back and walk away now. Last chance.”

The wound in their arm is annoying, as was losing some worms, but it’s already closing - they drank blood before they came.

Epsilo responds by jumping up and breaking their branch with a swat of his paws, and both fall with a mighty thud.

Tuuya gets whacked in the face by the broken branch as they land, allowing the werebeast to pin them in the chest with a heavy paw. Epsilo puts his other one on their wounded arm as he bares his teeth, breath smelling of fish as the disoriented drinker blinks and shakes their head.

“Get some mints, dear.”

Then they focus, smiling as worms swarm from the half-healed harpoon gash and chew through the furry leg, swarming over to the other, as the feliform chitters in pain and confusion. He shakes his legs in a vain attempt to get the parasites off -

Tuuya shoves their wounded arm down his throat, rearranging the worms inside them to narrow its form to fit, choking the creature. 

“Bad kitty. Stop, and I won’t put them inside you.”

He bites off their arm in response, chews it up, and tosses it away. Then he retches.

The drinker jumps to their feet and hisses, flaring their glow on blindingly bright. As he retches and whines, eyes shut tightly, they tackle him. With one arm, it’s not so effective - but his front legs weaken as the worms relentlessly chew through skin and muscle, almost down to the bone now.

The striped beast falls back into the grass, and the drinker plants a foot on him.

“You’re going to stop now, before I start ripping parts out of you, and unlike me, you don’t grow them back. I can stop eating into your flesh any time. Just give me some sort of sign you surrender.”

A silence passes in which he opens his eyes to glare at them hatefully, and violet blood soaks his fur, running into his chest and onto the grass.

Finally he looks away, huffing softly.

The drinker’s worms flow back into them in a squirming mass. The ones wriggling at their damaged clavicle reproduce rapidly - more and more worms split off, weaving around each other to form facsimiles of muscles and joints. Bone regrows from the spot, rebuilding in rapid rows of cells. Once those form, dark gray skin begins to coalesce over them. A cover for the parasites, protection from the elements. 

A semblance of trollhood.

The werehyena changes back, arms still bleeding and clothes ripped. Tuuya takes some bandages out of their sylladex and holds them out.

Epsilo flinches back at the gesture, then looks annoyed and sullen.

“You do not frighten me.”

They give him a sardonic smile, laying the bandages down on the grass and stepping back.

He takes out his own, and they raise a finger.

“Are yours specially treated to stop and disinfect drinker-inflicted blood flow? Use mine, boy. I keep them for idiots like you.”

“Why are you helping me? To cover your tracks? This could be a trick.”

He reaches for them anyway with careful movements, clearly trying to not let on how much it hurts.

“It could.” The drinker agrees. “But it’s not. I don’t care if you tell Claire anyway - she knows what I am. I wonder, does she know what you are?”

The flattening of his fins is all the answer they need.

“Ah, so you don’t trust her. Cheer up - at least you’re a real troll some of the time. I can only do a fabulous impression.”

“What are you?” He asks, applying the bandages to his wounds and immediately giving a soft sigh in relief. Tuuya has to admire his stubbornness, cursing it at the same time.

“A drinker parasite swarm that acts like a troll.” They reply, examining their newly-formed claws again. Good, everything grew back properly. 

They’re thirsty, though. Volant’s beast blood was just barely usable, given he’s a shapeshifter, but not as good as if he’d been in troll form.

“That’s all you get, I’m afraid. I’m very bored of being studied these nights. I could be playing lusus passing instead, which is so much more fun.”

His look of blank befuddlement makes the worm monster laugh.

“What? It’s a grand old time. Give it a go!”

“You make no sense.” He mutters, wrapping more bandages around himself.

“I don’t have to.” They retort breezily. “I’m almost two hundred, I got a pardon for it.”

“You don’t need to keep up a troll facade. Why bother now?”

“Blood’s not the only thing I think about, goodness. You do smell delicious, though.”

He shudders but bares his teeth.

“Don’t even try it.”

They walk over, arms crossed, needle teeth showing in a wide grin, and look down at the sitting troll, wounded.

They lower themself, crouching, only a foot from him. His fins are pinned against his head even as he keeps his fangs bared.

“I could rip open your throat and drink you until there was nothing left but a shriveled carcass to feed the roots.” They say, voice soft and almost gentle, if it weren’t for the edge of it; a sharpness that could slice through solid rock. 

“I could eat you from the inside out, have you watch your own body wither before your very eyes, helpless to do anything but bleed.”

Their voice switches to a more normal speaking tone.

“But I’m not going to do that, because you’re just a stupid boy, and hopefully this was a valuable learning experience, hmm?”

He only nods.

“Good! I’m glad we’re on the same page. Get yourself cleaned up, you’re lucky there’s no native predators in these woods.”

The big seadweller mutters something about invasive species, and the drinker has to laugh.

[eve6262]

Hue Chapter 1: Alien

Rose’s room always smells of freshly cut flowers, expensive perfumes, and tea. There are three tables. One, a desk, mostly clean save for papers half-finished and a quill and bottle. The second is her vanity, the perfumes sorted by hue and scent, small bottles and sticks of makeup littering the lineup.

The third is a small round table, on which is always the tea set, with only two cups to its name. Surrounding it are three bookshelves filled to the brim, and stacks sorted along some dissonant melody only she understands on the floor space.

“Tea?”

“Sure.”

She hums as she boils the water, scattering leaves with effortless precision. I wonder, vacantly, when she learned how to make tea so perfectly. Between studying scripture? Did she even bother to read the books, or did she ace it all while brewing cups upon cups finding the perfect recipe for pink rose tea?

The teapot has been crafted with care, so when the water boils the whistle does not hurt the ears. It sounds more like an ocarina, almost melodic, and yet so distinctly clashing. It must have been tailored to Rose herself. Such conflicting natures- calm, yet studious; unbothered, yet a perfectionist. Such a strange girl.

“Here you are.”

Always a perfect cup. This one is no different- a little sweet, and yet that is perfect for today. Can she read my mind?

“Tell me.”

“Hm?”

“Am I talking to a witch in disguise?”

“And this is because?”

“I’m supposed to believe you get this perfect, every time, including the differences, without reading my mind? Impossible.”

“You’re an open book, Mira darling.”

“Nonsense. Witch.”

“Off to report me?”

“Not even if you pulled a demon out of your skirt.”

Her laugh sounds like out of tune fairy bells. I want to hear more of it; the only thing so addictive is her smile. They come together; a package, the two of them. How nice. I’m addicted to both. Damn witch. Even if she’s never cast a curse in her life, she’s bewitched me; that’s enough, is it not?

“Now then, you’ve come here for a reason, I’m sure.”

“Yes. The new recruits were complaining about something, so I went into the woods to see. There’s a strange plant that almost seems to respond to what you do.”

“Interesting. Moreso than a flytrap?”

“Larger. And a bit more complicated. Thought I saw an eye, though I could be wrong about that in particular.”

“So you say, but you’ll disappoint me if I see no eyes staring at me when we get there.”

Rose puts down her teacup, having only half finished it. The soft clink is so ingrained into my mind, I swear my muscles move in reaction to it.

“Very well then. We leave when?”

“At your discretion.” It’s always her times. I could probably set my own, but what purpose is that? I have cleared my whole day for this; I would clear my whole week if she asked on a whim.

“Now, then?”

“As you wish.”

This, too, is at Rose’s discretion. How long it takes to get there; what pace we set, what mood the day is in. Everything is under Rose’s control; under her spell, just as I am. She is as controlling as Uvirel, I think; except Uvirel has never appeared before us to enforce things, where Rose is very willing to act on her wishes.

The woods are an offshoot of the cathedral, mostly to prevent people from wandering in and discovering something dangerous. The only way for the church to truly protect the land is to own it; naysayers often walk into danger themselves. Sometimes I wonder how anyone can agree with such idiots. Must be idiots themselves, I suppose.

Rose is beautiful. It’s something I don’t often think about- I know it, no need to keep thinking about it. But it never ceases to stun me, just how enchanting she is. In the quiet darkness of the woods, with slivers of light falling through the cracks and onto her hair, she looks like an angel with a halo of light around her; ethereal, and yet so real. I want to touch her, just to make sure she won’t fly away, or dissipate into the light. I won’t bother her.

A witch, maybe. But I’ll let it slide.

We come to the place where I remember the green visage, and I stop Rose before she takes another step.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“To searching, then.”

It takes no time at all for my hand to be caught by a vine snapping to attention. Within moments Rose is muttering a spell, unbinding me, but her focus is not on my health; instead, she scans the underbrush with a precision befitting a hawk. Suddenly, she sees her target; she lunges with just her bare hands, and quickly gets caught.

My sword is unhooked on a moment’s notice and without hesitation I cleave the vines in two; Rose is almost unbothered, pointing to the source. I am tempted to skewer it to observe, but Rose would perhaps kill me, so instead I slash all its vines so there is no method of attack.

A final vine comes out from behind it, but before I can slice it, the front opens to an eye, staring at me with fear and curiosity.

“Ah. Good, it wasn’t disappointing.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this, then.”

“Oh, very much so. Studying is nice, but I’ll admit watching you wield a sword is often better.”

With that she walks up, confident as a cat, and starts poking and prodding, making notes in the book that follows her around. The pages never run out; they seem to get lost in the abyss, and I swear she always opens it to the same spot. The eye looks at her with malice; I point the sword straight at it, and back to fear it goes.

After a few hours, she makes a triumphant noise, somewhere between a grunt and a hum.

“Alright. Figured it out. Think it’s bound itself to a rune, and used the magic to gain sentience. It didn’t work quite right, though, or something, and now it’s very barely an animal in the slightest degree.”

“So we are?”

“Hm? Oh. Well it’s not like it can do anything, and if it regrows the vines then whoever’s coming here should be more careful.”

“Very well. I’ll use it as training for the cadets.”

“Oh, do invite me. I would love to watch that.”

“Of course.”

As we walk back to the cathedral, I can’t help but wonder where the second eye went.

A few days later, and we are adventuring again. The days between are calm; sometimes I come simply to drink tea and take a break, others we barely talk at all. Those days I don’t quite care for. There will always be more to research, though, and thus more adventures to take. Worthwhile.

“You’ve come bearing news?”

“Not surprised the witch knows, even when I’ve done nothing to reveal my secrets.”

“Easy to read, Mira darling. I’ve told you that before and I’ll tell you again.”

“That does not change you being a witch.”

“Oh, alright. Now tell me the news.”

“I was swimming and found an underwater cave covered in green, glowing markings. I’ve never seen them before.”

“Interesting.”

The soft clink of china makes my muscles jolt on instinct. It is only luck that I do not look like a fool, much less drop my teacup.

“When are we leaving, then?”

“At your discretion.”

“Now’s a good time as any.”

The beach is very nearly next to the cathedral. I swim in my armor- it has been made waterproof due to those godforsaken salamanders that like to crawl into crevices and bind with the metal, so swimming with it is a matter of strength rather than worry about rust or the like. Rose, the cheater, casts a little spell and she’s floating in a bubble next to me. Witch.

Witch I love to love. I’ll give her that- she’s a damn skilled witch, to have caught such a high-ranking paladin. Or maybe I never actually had any fortitude, and my title is due to my good acting. In either case, I am now her puppet.

There it is, again. Under the sea- so dark compared to the light of the surface- is a strange ring of green lights surrounding a cave. They seem to speak in scripts I don’t recognize, and by her puzzled, inquisitive gaze I suspect Rose hasn’t a clue either.

“This is…otherworldly. What have you found, Mira darling?”

“Is that not your job to find out?”

“Well, it’s not an eel’s lair, I’ll tell you that. Come, let’s go.”

Without a thought she drifts almost lazily into the cavern, gazing at the walls. There are no more markings, but there are metal bits strewn about; I don’t recognize the metal, or any colors, or even the shape. No armor would break like this; what is all this? A damn ship’s remains? Not in a cave like this- no ship could make it here.

As we go further in, there are more metal scraps. At some point, Rose notices something- she dashes to pick it up, and we look at it together. Strange strings- they feel smooth to the touch, and are assorted colors. The insides have very thin metal wire- for what, I wonder? And how are they so thin? Cut with a saw?

“Mira.”

Her voice is soft, serious, in awe. I cannot focus on what she says, like this.

“Yes?”

“This…this cannot be of this world.”

“Yes.”

I can’t quite comprehend what she means. Not fully- I know, literally, what that means. The idea does not register the same way she understands it; such is evident in her absolute awe, compared to my very near boredom. If she wasn’t such a beautiful damn witch I’d leave right now.

Finally, she starts to move again. Slowly, through the tunnel, looking for more strange artifacts. A strange black panel, with the strings come out of it. There is glass on its top; I only know because it is shattered. A little square of some strange material, with a symbol on it- mildly resembling a “k,” but slightly off. Also, backwards.

The silence is ominous. I feel that something is coming; I do not know if it is hostile. Instincts, do not fail me; it feels foreign, as if even when I meet it I will not understand a damn thing. I don’t feel hostility, but that does not mean it will not fight. I must be prepared, but not hostile myself; my sword is in my sheath, but it is unhooked.

Rose is slow and methodical with her movements as we approach a breach in the water. She doesn’t let the bubble pop above the water; she wants to observe. We see more strange, unidentifiable objects. There is no one there, as far as either of us can tell. I know she thinks so, too, as she is slowly approaching.

I don’t know if this area is hostile. She doesn’t, either; I see the fear in her every move, the apprehension in her eyes. She’s about to surface; I can’t let that happen. She’s begging me not to; not with her voice, but with everything else in her body capable of begging. Or maybe I’m just under a spell.

The water splashes loudly with my arrival to the surface. My lungs go from gills to my nose; I cough a few times, still getting used to the fresh air. So clean, too; it gives me a heady feeling, how nice this air is. Perhaps this is another enchantment; perhaps Rose has simply never seen another witch’s magic.

“Zu thrien kra? Li'phren ku shren, hh…. ku'vren?”

“What the hell?” Whispers Rose, but we’re already getting our answer.

A woman- woman? I don’t know- steps out of a turn we didn’t see. Her top half looks normal compared to the bottom- a normal person, almost, except for the teal skin and light colored pupils. And her hair, which blends its colors- a vibrant blue on top, fading to dark at the tips; little teal stars dot it, as though there’s a galaxy within her long, curled mane. There are two crystals on her head like hair clips, the same color but with none of the stars; there is seafoam, or perhaps mist, or something of that nature gathering like a tiara sitting upon her head.

Her coat- which is all she wears- is certainly not from this realm. It has strange patterns on the shoulders, with little gems hanging from it in the same green, glowing hue as the outside markings. Said markings line the bottom of her coat, and the cuffs; they are folded, seemingly but line up perfectly with her outfit. There is a strange dangling link in the center of her chest, connecting the two halves rather than buttons or the like. Three teal crystals hang from it.

And then, her bottom half. Tentacles- too many to count, more than an octopus- similar to her hair, but in reverse; mostly dark, with light-tipped ends.

“…eh? Kali-vr– I mean, offworlders?”

Her voice is deep, and has a strange accent I can’t place.

“Er, this would be home, for you, hm. I am the stranger, yes?”

“I would believe so.”

“Hello, then. My apologies, I don’t know language well. Not many…” She makes wild gestures with her hand, trying to find a word.

“Resources?”

“Hm? Ah. Probably? Not very good with this language, ahaha.”

“That’s alright. I don’t know yours, so I can’t quite blame.”

“Oh, of course. Only the Aaciren know our words. I had forgotten I am on another home right now- another planet.”

“You come from space?”

“Hm? Ah…kind of, yes! Space works, yes. ”

“An alien.” Breathes Rose, as her first words of a century. Her eyes are dumbstruck, and yet hold a curiosity only ever sated by vigorous testing and interrogation. I almost feel bad for this alien woman; I don’t know quite enough to empathize, yet.

“Ah, is that the word for it? In our language it is quite different.”

Suddenly, Rose seems to remember that we are still in water; she shivers, from the temperature. I notice, at about the same time. Even for an underwater cave, this place is strangely cold.

“Ah, apologies! I perfer the chill- er, that is wrong, yes? My, my, silly Orall'vren. Give the guests the warmth, even home that is tradition- that’s not the right words? Hm. Strange language.”

The alien moves about, gathering something from farther in the cave. I look to Rose; all the intrigue is gone from her eyes, and in its place is fear and cold.

I can’t leave her like that. I hold her hand, first; she looks to me, scared, looking for some stability. I haven’t a clue what has given her a fright, but I refuse to keep that look on her face any longer. I gently nudge her into my embrace; she moves, stiffly at first, then practically launches herself into my arms, shivering against my armor. It is warmer than she is, I know this; thank Uvirel for this armor.

By the time the alien comes back, Rose is looking satisfied again. She looks at me once more with a clear thanks in her eyes. There, again, is a third look I am addicted to. Damn witch, casting her charms even now, even here. I will never tire of it.

“Here, here. Blankets are warm.”

The alien doesn’t lie. They are warmer than either of us; we huddle under two like scared kittens rescued from an abusive owner.

Now that we’re safe, Rose looks around curiously. I see the search for knowledge slowly come into her eyes again, like the slow beginning of the rising sun. Everything she looks at she looks more sharply at. She isn’t speaking again, though. Still, her voice escapes her.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, of course! Hospitality is important- that was correct, I am sure of it.”

“May I ask you a question?” Rose, finally , starts to speak to the alien.

“Yes, of course. Ask away! I will answer as best I can in this language.”

“What’s your name?”

“Orall'vren.”

[darkcloud-kcalifornia]

Well, time for me to do another couple of days after commentary on a pony episode everybody who’s actually interested in the show has already seen.  But I haven’t seen it yet.  In fact, I have no idea what this one is about at all.  Only that the title is “It Isn’t the Mane Thing About You”.

* Oh hey, the three panicky mares run a business together as florists.  Neat.  And there’s a holiday called Mare’s Day?  Wonder what that’s about.  I don’t think it’s a Mother’s Day analog, as Rarity referred to the recipients in general.

* Also, Rarity is so fabulous she glows, baby.

* Rarity, one of the only two competent business ponies in Ponyville.

* Pinkie’s mane might not be photogenic, but it is certainly a curiosity that should be examined in greater detail.  Just how does she manage to use that thing as both a bag of holding and a drill?  Or is the drill also just stored in her mane?

* Heh, spooky eye humor. Although now I’m kinda hoping the immediate future does contain a sudden photo flash from the dense underbrush.

* Also heh, Zecora has some pride in her mohawk and knows the feels of tricky hair care.

* I’d ask why Zecora has hair-care horror stories, but considering her role in Luna Eclipsed she may have “spooky story teller” as a side business.

* Aaaaaand predictable bottle mix up.  Shenanigans are about to ensue.

* Huh, decided to show Pinkie’s side first.  Oh well, drawing out anticipation is a valid story telling method.  That or they thought their audience might not get it otherwise.

* Pinkie, I know that the contents of that bottle isn’t what you think it is, but still, don’t hand magical solvent to toddlers!!!

* Yeah, that was more than a couple of drops that Rarity used.  And she focused on her mane.  This ain’t gonna be pretty.

* That was a rather loud horrified scream.  Surprised there’s even that much of her mane left to be honest.  And of course, it must be said: “Of all the worst things that could have happened, this is the Worst.  Possible.  Thing!”

* Sorry Rarity, no easy fix for baldness.  But hey, if Zecora actually does manage to come up for a cure, think of how much money she could make!  Cranky’d be interested, at least.

* So nopony recognizes Rarity by her face in her cloak of shame?  Maybe if she bedazzled the Tartarus out of it…

* Actually looking at her head in that think I’m reminded of Princess Styla from Zelda: Triforce Heroes.

* Also Rarity seems to be suffering from the same kind of problems Fluttershy was in Putting Your Hoof Down.  Maybe she should head over there for help.

* Dude, selling a reserved piece is not cool.  Sure, you make an immediate profit, but your reliability ratings just tanked.  Don’t expect much customer loyalty.

* Maybe Celestia or Luna know a spell?  They seem to have mane magic down pretty well.

* Did… did Twilight just steal the doo of some random pony in the Crystal Empire?  How in the wide world of Equestria did she manage that?!

* Sadly, that pony probably never got their hair back.

* No, you fools! Don’t cross the stylin’ streams!

* Um… maybe Rarity can make a wig from all that excess hair Spike is wheeling out?

* No time spells! Although… maybe if instead of going back in time to prevent the problem, they sped up time to allow the hair to regrow “naturally”.  Oh sure, Rarity would need to consume huge amounts of protein so the hair is actually made from something and one wrong move could dramatically age and or kill her, but that’s a small price to pay for good hair, right? Wrong.  NO TIME SPELLS!

* Well at least the wig idea has been brought up at this point.  Shot down, but it was brought up.

* Also, I expect there to be at least a few dirty jokes about somepony milking an equally sapient species.

* Huh, Rainbow’s attempt was surprisingly not bad at all.  Still didn’t work, but a valiant effort.

* Bears are not hairdressers.

* Man, that little bird has been all over the place this episode.

* …That’s a lot of ice cream.  Medically speaking she should have soft serve coming out of all of her orifices by now.

* You know, I’d advise she at least shave what’s left of her mane so it can grow back in evenly. Sure, complete baldness would be embarrassing, but it’s still better than what she has there.

* The punk look? Really?  Well, so long as it works.

* Say, what did happen with Pinkie and the Cakes?

* Not much apparently. Besides bubbles.

* So wait, we’re getting a conclusion months in the future?  Weird.  I wonder if they’re going to keep the ending hairstyle for her future appearances this season, if this is an instance where they’ll just say “and nothing of import happened for the next few months”, or if this is one of those times where episodes are out of order and this takes place at the end of the season.

 Well who can say, as that’s the end of the episode.  This one wasn’t particularly deep or anything, but it had entertainment value. Enjoyable enough, wouldn’t mind seeing it again, but nothing to really talk about afterward.

[fattkittykat]

A Documentation of the Fattest Planet (Part 3)

Stardate: 25121225 - 6122

Earth Relative Time: 0800

Location: Landing Site - Planet ID 6554 - Solar System Demeter - Ambrosia Galaxy

Well, a series of increasingly strange occurrences happened today. First of all corporate got back to me from Persephone and they seemed... unimpressed.  It was all pretty routine of a planetary probe check-in, essentially an acknowledgment that I’m not dead, I guess complex carbohydrates aren’t as noteworthy as they used to be. I have a feeling that corporate will be more impressed by what I found today, though.

I put on the standard issue Exoplanet Exploration Suit, essentially a tight jumpsuit meant to monitor and regulate vitals. I kept the helmet down, as the atmospheric reading confirmed breathable oxygen. I guess I wasn’t ready for the environment to smell so... delicious. I guess it makes sense, considering the aromas found in last night’s chemical analysis, but it smelled like a bakery. The ground was soft, almost plush. Even though the sky was a brown haze from orbit, the sky was a bright blue on the surface. The vegetation of the planet was far more robust than I expected. Towering trees that spun sunlight to the ground, bright green leaves, and fruit of tremendous size and brilliant color.

I began to collect samplings, soil, vegetation, and the like, when a rumbling from the near distance caught my attention. I didn’t have the standard issue shocking projectile gun, so I hesitated to move into the brush of the forest, but what caused the noise came to me instead. From the underbrush emerged a humanoid creature. Medium-skinned, straight but flowing red hair, maybe 5′ 6″, and a body akin to human females. Well, akin may be a light way of putting her figure. She had titantic breasts, each one larger than her head, and a butt equally large. She began to approach me, seemingly enamored or concerned, so I fumbled with my Babble, the standard issue in-ear translator, before I could converse with her. Once I could understand her alien tongue, it became apparent her concern. She was saying “My, you poor thing, how long have you been out here?”.

“My name is Gwenevere Rosered from Starborne Systems Intergalactic. I come to you in peace and good faith.” I told her, as is the standard greeting we’re trained to give. Before I could ask the further questions, she had embraced me in her arms and was immediately in a sense of comfort.

“My my, you’re dangerously skinny, let’s fix that for you!” she said as she put her right nipple into my mouth. I consciously registered that this was strange, but something about her was so calming, I complied for longer than I should have. I felt my stomach expand as an endless stream of milk flowed into my body. I can’t really explain the feeling she gave me, but it was so calming, so warm. Only when she switched her boobs after I drained one of them could I snap out of that haze to speak with her.

“I’m sorry, I’m from a different planet, I’m actually here for research, I can’t drink anymore.”

“Oh sugar, you’re so painfully thin though! I mean look at yourself!”

I looked down and my midsection was more bloated than before.

“I don’t understand, I’m sorry. I would like to ask you about your planet thou- *mmph*!” Before I could finish my sentence, she had taken a fistful of dirt and put it in my mouth. A wash of chocolaty goodness flooded my mouth, a flavor beyond sweetness but simultaneously caramelly and chocolaty.

“I get it, sometimes you drink too much, so you need food to balance the drink!”

I pushed her hands out of my face and took a step back. 

“This is all very used to me, I’m not used to your customs. Can we please talk first? I have some questions I would love to ask you.”

She paused and looked at me contemplatively.

“Well ok, but I’m gonna have to make you a big meal while we talk!”

I agreed, and she began to collect various elements of the surrounding environment. She pushed over the trees with relative ease, revealing a fluffy cake filling with streaks of frosting throughout, piling the fallen logs in a pile. She plucked some of the vibrant, blue, bulbous fruits from the trees each one seemingly filled with a translucent goo.

“So what is your name? Let me start there.” To be honest, this was my first time interacting with a new species, and I honestly forgot a lot of what was taught, so I was kind of improvising everything.

“Well, my name is Carrie!” She said while on her knees, digging a hole in the chocolate soil. She quickly hit a layer of caramel, which she scooped up with her hands and drizzled over the timber she fell earlier.

“Are you alone out here?”

“Oh no! I have lots of friends. Some of them are like me, some of them are like Brianna! Omg, you two should meet each other! You’d LOVE her!”

“How is your friend Brianna different from you?”

“Oh, well she’s really tall, and her skin is lighter than me, and her hair is short, and she’s really really strong, like super buff!” Carrie then flexed her arms, which made almost no difference to her form. “Also her boobies are small, not like me!” She then grabbed her breasts, which immediately sunk deep into her flesh. Her right was smaller than her left, on account of her feeding me, but it had been slowly regrowing as we spoke. She then began to milk herself, filling the hold in the ground with her milk.

“So your breasts are large with milk, have you recently given birth?”

“Huh?” She looked puzzled. “Is birth a present you give to people? I give my friends lots of presents, but I don’t know that I’ve ever given anybody a birth.”

“Birth. Like after you’re pregnant and you have a child?”

“Pregnant? Child?”

“Where do your species come from? Do you not sexually reproduce?”

“Oh no, we have sex aaaallllll the time! But we just live?”

“Does your species never die?”

“The plants do, but we don’t! Also, what’s my species?”

It was clear to me that whatever this species is, it isn’t very technologically advanced. For the next hour or so, I followed Carrie as she continued collecting pieces of the environment and explained to her who I am, where I’m from, and even some basic things like standard biology.

As the sun began to set, Carrie lit a large bonfire in the clearing and put a large piece of meat, which she actually found in a plant, and began to cook the masses of food she had gathered.

“Alrighty miss smarty pants, you got to ask me your questions and all, so now it’s time to eat!”

She walked over to the fallen cake log that I was sitting on with a red velvet tree trunk and set it down on my lap. She then began taking handfuls of the tree and began feeding it to me.

“Oh, I can eat this myself, thank you!” I insisted.

“Okie Dokie, I’ll bring more over then!”

I was waiting for her to bring some of her fallen trees over to herself, but she just kept dragging logs to me.

“Aren’t you going to have any?” I asked

“No silly, this is for you! I’m not hungry, I had cake tree leaf earlier!”

Was she crazy? It was enough food to feed the entire Persephone crew!

“So is it the ones like Brianna that eat this much food? You don’t seem to be terribly hungry.”

“Oh, yea! They eat aloooooot of food, but not as much as the queens like you do!”

So despite not having developed technologies, or even clothes, apparently, they have some sort of political structure.

“Oh, I’m not a queen.”

“Well sure you are! You don’t have big boobies, and you don’t have big muscles, so you must be a queen! Just, a queen who hasn’t had any food in a long time.”

Well, I guess who isn’t wrong.

“How can I be a queen if I’m not from this planet, remember? I look like a normal person from my - “

“Species!”

She was learning.

“So tell me about the queens? They eat a lot?”

“Oh, yea! Every town has one queen and a lot of people who try to be queens! Then, every year, the town weighs all the people who try to be queen and whoever is the biggest gets to be the queen that year!”

“So the fattest person gets to be queen?”

“Yea! And then, every year all the town’s queens are weighed and whoever is the biggest of them gets to be Queen of the World!”

Interesting. I have done registration paperwork for planets with societies build around all sorts of status symbols, but weight was new to me.

“How much do the queens normally weigh? Do you record things like that?”

“The smaller queens weigh about 14 Notlits of gold, but the bigger ones are about 30!”

“Gold?”

“Oh yea! Queens have to have lots of gold, that’s how they pay people like me and Brianna to feed them! The more gold they have, the more servants they can pay, and the more servants they pay, the more we feed them!”

“So you feed the queens?”

“Oh, I only feed my queen! And I only feed her milk, the ones like Brianna feed her the trees and dirt and things like that!”

Before I realized it, I had eaten the entirety of the cake log Carrie had given me, and I didn’t even feel particularly full. Seeing this, she then pulled the fat, juicy meat off the spitroast and laid it down in my lap. Clearly, food was of cultural importance, and I wasn’t feeling full, so I dug into the most amazing, tender, smoky meat I’ve ever eaten in my life. Maybe it’s just from being 6 months into an 18-month contract on Persephone and am too used to rehydrated quinoa and nutrient supplement, but this was the most incredible food I’ve ever eaten.

“Wow Carrie, you’re a fantastic cook!”

“Oh, this is nothing! It doesn’t even have any of the good spices or any sides! I’ll tell you what, I’ll take you to my settlement tomorrow and cook you a REAL meal!”

“Would it be possible to see where the gold is stored?”

“For sure! And I’ll get to introduce you to Brianna!”

“Sounds great! Should I meet you out here at daybreak so you can take me?”

“Well I was thinking I could sleep with you tonight? It’s awful dark and I’d hate to fall into a Bibli pool.”

I suppose there’s no harm in her spending the night, after all, she did cook for me.

I opened the door to the millipede and before I could pull out a mattress, Carrie curled up right on the ground and fell asleep. I retired to the cot I had set up and heard it squeal just a bit as I settled into it.

- Gewn Rosered (sent from Millipede Unit 33328)

[thethespacecoyote]

He remembers, with spit on his fangs and bile in his throat, the old crone who had called to him, crouching beside the thorny bush where he’d taken refuge to coax him out with crooked finger and soothing tone. He feels anger at his own pitiful trust as he’d crept out from under the brush and into her warm chest.

There had been nothing but pain after that fleeting moment. The witch had a hut deep, deep within the forest where light could barely shine, its walls decorated with skulls and small bones and tufts of fur and strange, glowing vials. A rusted cage became Jack’s new home, despite his desperate cries as he was thrown inside. He remembered how he had wailed, claws clanging against the bars, the metal warming with his smoke until she had struck him on the muzzle.

Soooo I wrote a thing about dragon!Jack’s really sad backstory D:

Warnings for: animal abuse/child abuse, gore, violence, torture....yeah. 

Dragons have very good memories.

It’s one of those things he hasn’t really told Rhys. There’s no reason to worry a kid who already worries his ass off about every little thing with respect to their kittens—are they getting enough to eat? Are they too cold? Too warm? The human honestly needed to take a breather every once and awhile from fretting about the kittens.

Which is why he hasn’t mentioned to Rhys that the kittens will mostly likely remember everything that is happening to them.

Jack knows this, because he remembers.

He remembers his mother very clearly. His father, more distantly, but both have at least the presence of warmth and security in his mind. He can nearly feeling the way his mother licked his face, the way she nudged him along as he struggled to take his first few steps, the way she tucked him into the warmth of her side.

He doesn’t quite recall the moment he had lost sight of his parents and the rest of his clutch out into the open forest around their lair. He can still feel the fear that pumped through his little chest as he had charged through the underbrush, letting out terrified little squeaks as he had searched for his family to little avail, finding nothing but torn up grass and frightened game that darted away from the frantic kitten’s claws and sad puffs of smoke.

He remembers, with spit on his fangs and bile in his throat, the old crone who had called to him, crouching beside the thorny bush where he’d taken refuge to coax him out with crooked finger and soothing tone. He feels anger at his own pitiful trust as he’d crept out from under the brush and into her warm chest.

There had been nothing but pain after that fleeting moment. The witch had a hut deep, deep within the forest where light could barely shine, its walls decorated with skulls and small bones and tufts of fur and strange, glowing vials. A rusted cage became Jack’s new home, despite his desperate cries as he was thrown inside. He remembered how he had wailed, claws clanging against the bars, the metal warming with his smoke until she had struck him on the muzzle. His teeth had been too soft and small to properly bite her, and she had hit him and hit him until he was whimpering, curled around himself in a corner of the cage.

He had tried to break free while she slept, thrashing against the cage and eventually screaming for his mother until his throat was hoarse. The witch had woken up in a flurry of anger and beat him so hard that he had passed out on the floor of his cage. When he had come to his flank and mouth had been hurting, several scales and fangs yanked from his body to join foul-smelling herbs and offal in the witch’s cauldron. He’d whimpered softly, body laying limp on the floor of his cage, not daring to move out of fear of angering the witch again.

Every few days the witch would fill the vials hanging from her walls and leave him with a scrap of food and water inside of his cage. He’d spend the entire time not sleeping trying to escape, gnawing at the bars until his gum bled, bashing against the iron until his soft skin split along his skull. Inevitably, he would stay locked in the cage until the witch would return, and she would reach into his cage with those wicked, gnarls hands and a terrifying pair of rusted pincers, ignoring his screeching and thrashing as she ripped more scales from his flank.

Day by day, more dried blood had streaked the floor of his cage. His stomach had rumbled through his whole body, desperate for more food, but she had kept him starving and weak, too weak to fight back as she’d plundered his body for his scales, his teeth, even his blood and saliva.

And it had only gotten worse the day he figured out he could change into a human.

It had happened while the witch was gone, Jack still struggling to recover from the latest scavenging of his body. His right flank had been aching and streaked with blood, regrowing teeth poking painfully through his gums as he’d sat up and stared at his hands, only to find fleshy pink fingers instead of claws. He’d grabbed at his body, his face, whimpering in distress at the new flesh that graced his touch. His animal mewls turned to soft, questioning moans as he grasped his strange claws at the bars, rattling them as he thrashed his phantom tail.

Once she saw him, the witch had flown into a rage, screeching at the poor boy as she’d yanked a weapon from the wall—a long, gnarled wooden handle lashed on one end to a wickedly sharp, blood-stained flurry of metal teeth. He’d screamed in agony as she’d flayed the weapon into his now-soft flesh, splitting the skin wide open. She’d beat him until he had had no choice but to change, scales hardening against her blows as he’d molted back into his dragon form, toddler shrieking shrinking to baleful mewls as he’d cowered against his cage.

Jack remembers all this, all the pain and torture at the hands of the crone. When he looks at his own kittens, playing and cuddling with Rhys, his heart throbs at the thought of them ever having to endure such horror.

The day he killed her had been the greatest day of his live, ’till the birth of his own kittens. Despite being starved and beaten, he had grown—his scales had hardened with the harshness of her blows, his fangs replaced with longer, sharper ones every time she had stolen one from him. His hatred had continued to burn brighter and brighter in his eyes until he kept her up at night with their piercing glow. She had tried to keep him chained inside her cage, even tried to lace his body with constricting charms, but all the wild his own magic had been growing, filled with murderous fury at his captor.

He had changed into his human form, one morning, anticipating her arrival back to the hut with a fiery gleam in his eyes. He had stood up, chains clacking against each other as he’d stared at her, watch her desperately grasp for the hateful axe in one thin, quavering hand. With a furious shriek she had swung it upon him, but Jack had grown quick as she had grown weak, and in one firm hand he’s caught the brittle wood of her axe and ripped it from her grasp. Before she had had any time to react with spell or incantation he had swung the axe at the cage and shorn straight through the bars, before snapping it in half and tossing it to the ground.

Years and years of torture and abuse had fallen away as Jack had leapt upon her, his bulk knocking her on his back as his clawed hands had found her throat. It had almost passed too quickly, and to date one of Jack’s few regrets has been that he didn’t take more time watching the light drain from her eyes before he snapped her neck like a twig.

Freedom was something his own kittens need not ever worry about. Jack ruled the skies, and as long as he still lived they could fly as high and as far as they could ever want without fear. Freedom flowed in their veins, would never come to them like rain to a parched desert, as it had when Jack had stood outside that shack, bare and bloody to the first glimmer of sunlight he’d seen in years.

He had tried, in his long life since that day, to understand humans. He had given them chance after chance after chance to prove themselves as more than cruel, selfish creatures scurrying on the earth for a whisper of a moment before death claimed them.

Jack had shared with them his strength, his knowledge—he had aided them in their time of need and helped them to treasures beyond their wildest dreams. He had tried to forget the phantoms of pain in his scales as he’d learned their ways and led them to untold power.

And one by one, they had all betrayed him.

An earl that had offered him shelter, turned traitor. A former lover. A fire witch who had left him, screaming in agony in the dark dark dark dark caverns deep within mountains flushed with ancient energy. His face burned and scarred, the sight bleached from his eye.

And so, Jack had finally come to hate humans.

Rhys, he knows what happened to the other humans that Jack had brought back to his lair, but the dragon has spared him the details. Rhys knows that Jack had them all killed, had seared and consumed their flesh before leaving their bones to bleach on the mountainside. But he knows nothing about the days of intervening torture, the way Jack pulled errant knights and stolen princesses apart limb from limb, their screams humming in the scar on his face and the memory pains in his scales as he laughed. The way Jack roasted them alive in their suits of armor, the way he cut their tongues from their mouths and let them choke on their blood. He knows nothing of the fact that, had he not been carrying Jack’s clutch in his belly, then the dragon would have torn his arm from its socket and slit him crotch to collar and felt nothing.

Rhys doesn’t need to know about any of that, because as much as Jack hates humans he now cannot bear to hate Rhys.

So he merely watches as the young prince tends to their kittens, wrapping them up in soft blankets and holding them close, feeding them bits of meat and stroking their silky little heads, and enjoys the gentle promise of his young.