#so i wanted to ramp it up and damage him for real

[tinyetoile]

more character designs for my cluck AU

Heroblight Ganon and Cucco Zelda. 

I want to make clear that Link’s spirit has been evicted from his body, and that’s Ganondorf’s consciousness that has taken residence within it, so the character technically isn’t an evil Link.

Ganondorf doesn’t actually like being in Link’s body very much. He misses being tall, and buff, and not constantly hungry. Zelda takes offense to this, because at least he’s not poultry, thank you very much.

About Link’s injuries: While fleeing from the rampaging Guardians 100 years ago, Link tried to block a laser blast with his shield, and while his reflexes saved his life, his left arm was still severed, and the flaming debris from his exploded shield burned his face and ear. The Sheikah managed to recover the arm and put it in the Shrine of resurrection with him, which reattached it, but while it’s still useable there isn’t much feeling in it, and his left eye is blind (Ganondorf compensates for this with the Malice Eye in the helmet). The malice on his face covers the burn scars and clouded eye.

[morning-star-joy]

pining and anticipation (Sub!Joel x F!Reader)

Pairing: Post-Outbreak, Sub!Joel x F!Reader

Summary: You and Joel have been longing for each other for months. When the tension finally seems to be about to break, you realize that the strong, tough man isn't as dominant as you would have thought.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI Explicit Smut: face sitting, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, creampie, dom/sub themes, Sub!Joel, praise kink, yes ma'am kink, orgasm denial kinda? Pet names: Joel calls Reader sweetheart, darlin', baby; Reader calls Joel cowboy, baby, sweetie, good boy. Arguments, Mutual Pining, Language

Wordcount: 4.8k

A/N: Forgive the bit of exposition! Also only gave this one readthrough before posting at 12:45 am so forgive any grammar issues too!

Joel x Reader masterlist

You knew Joel Miller was a complicated man, but that would never stop you from longing for him.

Besides, you weren’t the easiest person to be around either. Both of you were stubborn, and many of your discussions ended up in disagreements—nothing too heated, usually just differing opinions on how to handle situations that arose around the settlement.

Then came the day you may have pushed him a little too far, earning his rage by risking your life for him on a patrol. You had scraped by from the skin of your teeth, escaping being cornered by a group of Stalkers with skill and, honestly, more than a fair amount of luck.

Back at the safehouse afterwards, once Joel had made sure you weren’t too badly injured, any brief glimpse of concern for you that made your pining for him increase tenfold faded as his face morphed into thinly veiled rage.

“The fuck were you thinking?” he had snapped, grabbing your shoulders firmly, and your shock quickly shifted into a glare up at him.

“The fuck was I thinking?” you replied angrily, shrugging his hands off your shoulders before pointing a finger up at him. “The fuck were you doing, Joel? Heading in alone like that. Those Stalkers would have torn your head off.”

“They almost tore yours off,” Joel nearly snarled the words, pacing away from you as he ran his hands through his hair.

What ensued was a real argument, unlike any you had had before, emotions running high and tension ramping up until Joel interrupted you with a loud explosion of, “Jesus Christ, I can’t lose—”

You froze at the confession that nearly slipped past his lips, eyes wide as your heart raced in your chest, even as Joel quickly shut himself up when he realized what he was about to say.

His eyes were as wide as yours before he quickly closed his gaze off, brushing past you out of the safehouse, towards the horses with a mumble of, “We should head back. Need to get your injury looked at.”

During the days that passed after that, you didn’t catch so much of a glimpse of the surly survivor.

Left on your lonesome, you were doomed to repeat the words he had almost spoken over and over, wondering how differently things may be between you now if he had just fucking said them.

Because, Jesus, you wanted him to say them. You wanted it, wanted him, for so long that sometimes it felt like you could hardly breathe around him.

Yes, you got onto each other’s nerves more days than not. And, yes, you had both said some pretty nasty things to each other after that patrol that left you with a new scar on your hip.

But for all of his stoicism and emotional issues, for all your heated discussions and pointed glares, you had found yourself longing to see what…other ways you could explore this tension that had been building between you for months.

What you were not aware of, was how deeply Joel was longing for you, too.

It was something more than a pure physical desire, something that he hadn’t felt in such a long time.

When you were around, Joel felt at ease. Yes, you irritated each other, but somehow you were still able to bring Joel a sense of safety he thought had long since slipped from his grasp.

Just hearing your voice was soothing, healing to his damaged soul. Just seeing your face was calming, putting him at what was almost peace, or as close to it as he could get.

Really, Joel just had it so fucking bad for you, and if you wanted him half as badly, he would gladly let you do whatever you wanted with him.

He stood there now on the edge of your property, days after your most heated discussion, after you had scared him nearly half to death by risking your life. And for what? For him? No, no fucking way. He couldn’t lose you, especially not for the sake of his own survival.

Joel thought back then to how he had almost admitted to that fact: the knowledge in his soul that he couldn’t lose you, lest he be torn apart.

He had just barely stopped himself from admitting it then. But after not seeing you for days, after missing your face and aching to have you near him again, he was almost at the breaking point of just fucking saying it, if only to have you argue with him again about it.

If anything, he just wanted to see you. He just had to see you.

And there you were, sitting on your front porch, sipping coffee from a mug as you stargazed, like you weren’t even more captivating than those multitude of lights in the night sky.

Joel took one step forward across your lawn.

Stopped.

Took a step back.

What did he say? What the fuck could he say? How do you tell someone that you’ve been thinking of them day and night for months?

Dying to have them, dying to feel them.

Because, fuck, he wanted your body just as much as he wanted you.

Joel shook his head, snapping himself out of it as he repeated the same process.

Step forward. Stop. Step back.

Eventually, he must have shifted in some way that caught your attention, and your head lifted, glancing up from your mug towards where he still loitered on the edge of your property.

When you saw Joel there, you froze, brows furrowing as it took you a moment to realize it was him.

And when you did know exactly who was standing there, your mug nearly slipped from your grip, but you held onto it tighter, almost like you were trying to absorb courage from the warmth of the mug that seeped into your palms as you called out softly, “Hey there, Miller.”

Joel’s head tilted, but you couldn’t see his face, shrouded in darkness from where he stood as he replied quietly, “Hey.”

You waited for him to come closer, to step into the light so you could see him.

After a few moments, he did take a few steps closer, before stopping and taking one step back.

How fucking classic of him.

“So, what?” you started, scoffing under your breath as you raised your mug towards him to gesture towards where he was still hiding half in the shadows. “You gonna come here and just stand there?”

Joel didn’t respond. Unmoving, not speaking, and concern sparked through your body like a wildfire as you leaned forward, brows furrowed.

“Joel?” you said softly, placing your cup down on the small table next to your chair, rising from your seat to walk towards the porch railing.

At this angle, you could actually see part of Joel’s expression.

And when you saw his eyes, and the uncertainty, the pain, the fucking longing in them, your breath caught in your throat.

Then you were already down the porch steps, walking swiftly across the lawn to throw your arms around him and pull him down into a tight hug.

Joel’s arms wrapped around you quickly, holding you close without a hint of the doubt he had just been showing, and you sighed softly, placing your hand on the back of his head as his face rested on your shoulder.

“Oh, Joel…” you whispered, eyes shutting as you hoped you could offer him some kind of comfort to whatever he was torturing himself over.

There was no way for you to know that you somehow were making him feel so at ease, while also increasing that self-inflicted torture, that pining for you, by tenfold.

Your hand stroked his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades in a soothing manner as your other hand found his hair, fingers running through his curls as you murmured sweet words to him.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, closing your eyes as you sank into the embrace. Part of you had a feeling he was still beating himself up over the close call on patrol, and you whispered, “I’m here, Joel. I’m always here.”

After a moment, you heard his deep voice rumble next to your ear as he replied, “I know.”

Joel pulled back then, glancing over your face with that look of longing still in his eyes, and your heart ached with equal longing for him as he gently placed a hand on your face.

But when he gave you a smile, even though it was small and weak, you returned it without a second thought, your own hand reaching up to rest over his as you sank into the touch.

Emotions were hard for you, the same way they were difficult for Joel. Neither of you were all that good at expressing your emotions.

And so you let your hand drop, glancing away from him in a way that made his own hand fall from your face as you asked quietly, “Do you want to come inside?” 

You glanced over his tired face, the bags under his eyes, and added, “I have coffee on the stove, if you want some.”

A soft laugh left Joel’s lips, the sound of it making your heart race, and he replied softly, “Yeah. Coffee sounds real nice right about now.”

Your smile brightened at that, and you couldn’t help but wink as you teased, “Knew you couldn’t turn down a hot cup of coffee.”

Turning, you led the way back up your porch to your front door, only stopping to pick your own mug back up before bringing Joel inside.

In the kitchen, you were in the midst of pouring him his coffee when his next words hit you out of nowhere, nearly making you drop the pitcher, “I missed you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes wide before you softened at the words he said so surely, so warmly.

The fight you had after that patrol was stupid. He had been scared that you got hurt, and that it had been to keep him safe. And you had been angry, determined to do what it took to protect him.

Days had gone by without you speaking to each other, feeling regret for your argument.

Now all you wanted was to tell him exactly how you felt.

And so you did. 

“I missed you too, Joel,” you murmured, giving him another smile as you passed the mug to him.

Your fingers brushed over his, and your heart rate jumped before accelerating, suddenly feeling hot all over by how his gaze darkened at your touch while he watched you over the rim of the mug.

“It’s far too quiet when you’re not around,” he drawled slowly, and you huffed out a quiet laugh, crossing your arms over your chest as you glanced away.

With your gaze averted, you didn’t notice the way Joel’s eyes were drawn to the collar of your tank top, noting how the fabric dipped to show your cleavage, pressed together from your arms, the sight sending arousal shooting straight to his cock.

But when you looked back, even though Joel’s eyes had lifted from your chest, you still caught the way his pupils were dilated.

Your head tilted, glancing over his face, noting the way he sucked in a breath just from the way you were analyzing him closely. Eyes dancing down his form briefly, you quickly noticed the bulge that was already forming in his jeans, and desire pooled between your legs just at the sight of it.

Biting your lip, you looked back up at Joel, watching as he cleared his throat and shifted, gripping the handle of the mug tighter as he looked at you in a way that almost said he was anticipating something.

Anticipating you?

Interesting.

“Really?” you asked, smiling at him as you took a step closer towards him. “You really missed little ol’ me, Miller?”

Joel’s breath escaped him in a heavy exhale, his dark eyelashes fluttering as you stepped closer and he found himself whispering earnestly, “Really.”

“Careful with the flattery, cowboy,” you hummed, stepping up right in front of him to fix the collar of his flannel where it had gotten messed up during your hug earlier. “I may think you wanna kiss me or something.”

You bit your lip at the boldness of your comment, avoiding his eyes as your cheeks flushed at the words you spoke.

But you were starting to get a strong feeling, standing here with him like this, and when you felt his chest begin to rise and fall faster under the warmth of your palm now resting on it…

Gotcha.

“Well,” Joel said slowly, and you glanced back up at him, watching as he licked his lips slowly, his gaze on your own as they parted while he murmured, “Maybe I do.”

Heart racing, a large smile slowly curled onto your lips, and your hand moved to rest on his shoulder as you leaned in closer.

“Oh yeah?” you hummed, blatantly, shamelessly flirting now as you continued to watch him closely for his reactions that were slowly helping you put the pieces together on just what this strong, stoic man wanted you to do to him. “How would you want to kiss me, Joel? Describe it to me.”

Joel bit his lips now, his mind spinning at your flirtatious words, and he slowly set the mug down before reaching for your hip at your demand—demand. Fuck, he was a goner.

“Well, darlin’...” Joel whispered as he tugged you closer a bit with the large hand that covered your hip. “First, I’d pull you in real close."

You hummed, your pussy now throbbing with a need to have his hands or mouth on it, completely fucked by the way he was looking at you, like you were…everything.

“Would you hold my waist, then?” you asked, glancing down to where his hand rested on your hip before looking back up at him through your eyelashes. “Or my hair?”

“Your waist, your hair…” Joel murmured, his hand stroking along your hip and up your side before he lifted it to run through your hair, a sigh slipping past his lips before he whispered, “Anything you want, sweetheart.”

“Anything?” you whispered, your breathing becoming heavier just from the heat of the moment, the tension that kept growing between you.

You wondered how long it would take before it broke.

“And would you stop there?” you asked quietly, deciding to test the waters, to take a leap to see if you really could satisfy that ache in your core that he was causing. “At a kiss? Or would you want…more?”

Joel faltered then, eyes wide as his fingers nearly became tangled in your hair before he grabbed the strands tighter, drawing a quiet moan from your throat that elicited a low groan from him in turn.

“More,” he murmured breathlessly, head tilting down as he stared at your lips as they began to tilt up into a smirk.

“Where would you want me, Joel?” you asked breathlessly, deciding to play your game with him for a little longer. “Against the wall?”

You let your voice get low, husky, your panties so damp with your desire at this point as Joel breathed heavily, hot breaths falling against your lips as your faces naturally moved closer as you continued to tease him, “Or would you want me in my bed, Joel? On top of you, or below?”

“On top,” Joel murmured without a second thought, that fucking Southern drawl a low rasp now, and you shivered at the sound of it, at the hints of his submission that you had been picking up on, that were now becoming even more clear to you.

A moan got caught in the back of your throat as he admitted he wanted you on top, lips parting with need.

“I bet you’d like that, huh?” you whispered seductively, tilting your head back and leaning up so your lips brushed against his jaw, humming at the feeling of his scruff there. “You’d like seeing me like that. I bet the thought gets you all hot, hm, Joel?”

He groaned again at your words—a low, delicious sound that made you want to sit him right at your kitchen table so you could suck his dick until he was seeing stars, right then and there.

“It does,” Joel admitted, his voice almost one of defeat, but also of pure, unadulterated lust as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close enough to feel his erection through your pants, and your head tilted back, lips parting as you rolled your hips against his, revering in the moan your movements pulled from the back of his throat.

You shivered at his moan, feeling yourself get so fucking wet you were sure your pussy could take his entire cock in one stroke now, your body growing hot as you leaned back down to kiss his neck a few times before biting down softly, lapping your tongue against the mark before whispering, “Do you like me marking you, Joel? Do you like me claiming you? Making you mine?”

“Fuck,” Joel hissed at your bite, his large hands grabbing your hips tightly, directing them up against his erection, creating friction that made you both moan as he whispered desperately, “Oh God, yes. Yes, I’d do anything, baby. Everything for you.”

“Joel,” you gasped, pulling your face back, unable to resist him anymore, giving up on your teasing as you grabbed his face and leaned up to kiss him.

It was hard and passionate, desperate even, your lips moving together as if you couldn’t get enough of each other as you kissed for the first time, with a hunger you didn’t think either of you had truly experienced for anybody else in a long time.

“Joel,” you gasped his name again, hands grabbing at every part of him, like you were trying to take him in all at once, but it wasn’t enough.

Too many clothes, they needed to come off, now.

“Come on,” you murmured in between passionate kisses, tugging him after you towards your bedroom. “Let’s make your fantasy a reality, cowboy.”

“Sweet God,” you heard Joel whisper behind you, hand gripping yours tightly as you led the way. “Yes, please, ma’am.”

You whimpered at that slip of ma’am, unable to resist murmuring a “good boy” at the sound of it as you turned back around once in your bedroom, pulling him right back into your arms at the sound of his unabashed, low moan at your praise.

Tugging at his clothes, it didn’t take long until they were covering your floor, leaving him completely undressed with his red, leaking cock slapping against his stomach with the push of his boxers down.

You moaned at the sight of it, large and hard, just for you. Throbbing and ready to spill inside of you, but you weren’t going to let him get off that easy.

Pushing him back onto the bed, you watched him with half-lidded eyes as you murmured, “Lay back and watch, baby.”

You watched Joel settle back against your pillows at your words, loving how his cock twitched, needing to be touched, to be satisfied, as he watched you make a show of undressing for him.

Your hands slid over your skin as it became bare for his eyes, teasing and squeezing yourself in just the right places that would accentuate your natural curves and make yourself feel good, biting your lip at every groan that left Joel’s throat as he watched you. You stared at the swollen head of his cock as you brushed your thumbs over your nipples and moaned for him, clenching your thighs together as he whimpered at the sight of you stimulating yourself.

“What was that, Joel?” you murmured as you heard him mutter something under his breath, some kind of sound of approval, as you let your panties fall to the floor, stepping out of them before crawling up onto the bed.

You hooked your legs around his waist, hovering above him so your pussy wasn’t touching him, but letting him see how soaking wet you were, how ready to be filled by him you were, as his head tilted back against the pillows with another whimper as you demanded, “Use your words, sweetie.”

Joel’s eyes flickered all over your body, as if he couldn’t decide what to settle on, what part of you deserved the most worship, until finally he whispered in a rasp, “Perfect. Fucking perfect. You’re a goddamn goddess, darlin.”

You laughed softly, eyes bright with warm amusement at his words.

“What a pretty mouth,” you whispered, teasing his cursing before leaning down to kiss him, slipping your tongue into his mouth. “I want to taste every moan you make, baby. Keep making those sounds for me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel nearly whined his submission, and you kissed him harder, faster, before pushing him back down even further against the pillows.

“Get comfortable, Miller,” you instructed as you began to pull yourself even higher up his body. “Want to sit on your face.”

“Oh fuck,” Joel whispered, eyes wide with lust, his hands grabbing your hips—not directing your movements, but following them as he leaned back, and you situated your pussy above his face. “Yes, oh God. Fucking yes, sweetheart.”

You hovered above him, teasing him with your dripping folds inches above his mouth, watching with pleasure as he parted his lips, tongue darting out to try and taste you, but you leaned your hips up and away from him.

After a few more times of teasing him like this, Joel whimpered, fingertips pressing into your thighs with desperation as he whispered roughly, “Please, darlin’. Let me taste you, I’m dying for your sweet pussy.”

You whined, biting down hard on your lip as you grabbed his hair, tugging it to make his head tilt back, forcing him to make eye contact with you as you ordered, “No touching yourself, Miller. You hear me? You’re gonna cum inside me. I’m gonna take every last drop of you. No touching yourself.”

Joel’s hips were thrusting weakly into the air at your words, desperate for friction, but he nodded, eyes wide and completely submissive as he rasped, “Yes, ma’am. Anything. Anything for you.”

You nodded, whispering “good boy” before finally lowering yourself, still using your hand in Joel’s hair to direct him towards your pussy so he could drag his tongue along your folds for the first time.

He moaned at the same time you did, your head tilting back as his tongue traced that path again, and again, lost in the taste of you as you slowly seated yourself fully on his face.

You whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair at the feeling of his face pressed completely to your pussy, the strong slope of his nose bumping against your clit making you gasp, toes curling as he repeated the motion while his tongue slipped past your folds and inside of you.

Joel fucked you with his tongue, rapidly picking up the pace as he grabbed your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, his nose rubbing against your clit until you were shamelessly riding his face, eyes fixed on the ceiling as you whimpered your way through the build of pleasure.

If Joel was having a hard time breathing, he didn’t let you know, holding you tight against his face as his tongue delved into you again and again, stroking along your walls and pulling increasingly louder and obscene noises from your throat while his nose stimulated your bundle of nerves until you were coming against his face for the first time.

Your toes curled, vision blurring at the intensity of the orgasm, hips gyrating to rub yourself all over his mouth while you rode out the high, soaking his facial hair with your release until he had to pull back with a gasp.

“Joel—”

“More,” Joel panted, readjusting his grip on you, taking a few more deep breaths before pulling you right back onto his face, making you gasp, hips jerking forward as his skillful tongue quickly brought you reeling from the end of one orgasm right into the next.

You lost count of how many times Joel made you come like that, unable to tell one orgasm from the next as he muttered “more, more, I need more,” until you were pulling him away from your pussy with your hand in his hair, slipping off of him with a satisfied, lazy grin as you saw the evidence of your orgasms all over his face.

“That’s enough, baby,” you whispered, shaking your head at the brief concern on Joel’s face, placing your hand on your chest to reassure him before you added, “Wanna make you feel good too. You’ve been such a good boy for me, Joel, you deserve a reward.”

Joel’s chest was rising and falling with heavy pants as you moved back down it, lowering yourself to rub your pussy that was soaked from your desire and his saliva over his throbbing cock, eliciting moans from both of your throats at the contact.

“Jesus,” Joel whispered, head tilting back, mouth falling open just from the feeling of you grinding your wet cunt against his cock. “I—fucking hell, darlin’, not gonna last long if you keep teasing me like that.”

You planned to finally show Joel mercy, wanting to make him cum so hard that he’d forget anything other than your name, but you couldn’t resist replying huskily, “You’re gonna come when I tell you to, Joel. Understood?”

Joel whimpered, and you pulled your hips away from him slightly, causing his hips to lift in a desperate attempt to chase you, fingernails digging into the soft skin of your thighs as you repeated, “Understood, Joel?”

“Y-yes ma’am,” he gasped, nodding desperately as he looked down at you as your hand found his cock, bringing the head of it to push past your folds as he rambled, “Yes, please, I’ll do anything, whatever you—fuck!”

The last word was a snarl, Joel’s head tilting back against the pillow, hips lifting from the mattress as you completely sunk yourself down onto him in one go. His skilled pussy eating had left you more than ready, and you moaned at the feeling of his cock completely filling you up, letting yourself adjust to the size of him as he whispered to himself, words that sounded like he was trying to stop himself from coming now just from the feeling of being inside of you.

You slowly began to roll your hips, testing his reaction, and when he didn’t immediately burst, you lifted yourself up, letting his cock nearly slip all the way out of you before coming back down, drawing a harsh moan from his throat as his eyes snapped up to meet yours.

“Lord have mercy,” Joel murmured under his breath, watching the way your breasts bounced with your movements as you rode him, slowly at first, then faster, hands finding his chest for leverage as you leaned forward, moving your hips to take him in and out, in and out, listening with satisfaction as he began to pray to you instead of any god.

Your name left his lips, over and over, in whimpers and pleas for release as you rode him harder, and you sighed in affection as you realized that even now, when he began to buck up into you to meet your movements, he was keeping himself from coming because you hadn’t given him permission yet.

Leaning down, you brushed your lips over Joel’s, whispering your new command against his mouth, “Come for me, Joel. Fill me up.”

With a cry of your name, Joel’s hands on your hips brought you down roughly to meet his hard thrusts once, twice, before his cock was pulsing deep inside of you, emptying himself into you as his dark eyes glazed over in complete release.

When his eyes regained a bit more clarity, and his cock began to soften inside of you, your hand stroked down his sweaty face, letting him slip out of you as you lifted yourself off of him, but not without giving him a long, deep kiss.

Falling onto your back beside him, you stared up at the ceiling, blissed out from your multiple orgasms and the satisfaction of feeling the intensity of his, the evidence of which was leaking out of your pussy and staining your thighs as you giggled to yourself.

“What?” Joel rasped, his eyes focusing on the side of your face, and you shook your head, turning to meet his gaze with a grin.

“Never would have pegged the big, tough Joel Miller for being a total sub, is all,” you teased, and Joel scoffed, rolling his eyes at your comment, even as a deep blush settled onto his face at the truth of it.

“Shut up.”

[ihavethedreamies]

Desert Storms | Woozi

Lee Jihoon (Woozi - Seventeen)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~4k

Pairing: Woozi x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Sci-Fi AU!, Reader-Insert, Smut, Some Plot, Hookup/One-Night-Stand/Strangers to Fucking

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Doll, Baby Girl, etc.), Swearing, Kissing, Oral (M! & F! Receiving), 69-ing, Bondage? Tied up but not like that, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom!)

Author's Note: I plan on doing a story for each member of Seventeen that is this Sci-Fi, desert world, Alternate Universe, but not according to any kind of schedule.

-> Series Hub <-

-> Hoshi's <-

-> Wonwoo's <-

-> S.Coup's <-

I am cross-posting this on Archive and Wattpad. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other sites. Happy reading!

"Shit. Shit. Shit-" You cursed. You cursed yourself, you cursed the desert, the planet, everything. Why? Sandstorm. Your rover was having trouble keeping ahead of it and you were pushing her to her limits. One of the real issues with sandstorms on the planet of Sierra-Victor-Tango versus Earth was…acid. The giant burrowing space worms that lived under the dunes spit literal acid. Because of this, the sand at deeper levels was infused with that acid. So, you really, really didn't want to be out in that. The problem was, if enough of the acid sand hit the rover, it could damage it badly, and take out the glass. Then you would have been screwed. The storm was getting worse as it traveled and to stay on the road, you couldn't drive straight away from it. All of a sudden, a message came over the transceiver.

"Hey, uh, I can see you from my base. In like a kilometer take a right and then you'll be able to see it and then you can just drive straight in." A man's voice came in, the receiver made the audio crackly from the high wind. You knew about the base, but it was private, so you didn't really know anything about it. If the guy was offering, you would take him up on it. You hit the button on your radio and shouted over the noise, "Okay, great, thanks!" You weren't sure if he saw you on some kind of radar or what. Right where he told you, you took the turn and cringed at the rattling noise your rover let off. Unfortunately, the direction he had you turn was leading you more into the path of the storm. Luckily though, you didn't have far to go. Slowing down a bit, you saw the hatch to the base open just enough for your rover to fit through. As soon as your rover started to go down the ramp into the base, the door closed, and you could hear your own thoughts again. Slowing down, you sighed in relief and stopped the rover. There was another one parked down there that was much nicer and much bigger. You pulled up and shut it off, honestly not knowing if it would start when you went to leave. The motor rattled as it shut off and you had to kick the door open after you pulled the handle. Slamming the door shut, you coughed as a bunch of sand dust blasted back at you.

"How'd you get caught out in a sandstorm?" You recognized the voice of the guy who contacted you, actually able to hear it clearly. You stepped around the rover to look at him standing in the doorway that actually led into the base. He was…gorgeous actually. Not very tall yourself, you had no room to talk, but he was pretty short. However, he compensated for this by working out it seemed because he was thick. His black shirt was sleeveless and tight, his pants were equally as tight. He had longer wavy black hair pulled halfway back into a small ponytail. You waved to acknowledge his presence and retrieved your pack from the hatch of your vehicle and slung it onto your back. Approaching him, you got an even better look at his face. There was a small scar over his brow ridge that left a clean cut into his eyebrow, another small scar on the opposite cheek near his jaw. A set of snakebite piercings rested under his lower lip and his eyes were red. Not like bloodshot, his irises were red. You didn't know if it was natural or not. His ears had some ear piercings, a long pendant hanging down from the left ear with an upside-down triangle-like design. Each finger had an identical silver ring on them that probably served some purpose.

"Thank you for letting me shelter here." You told him, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

"Here." He reached for it, and you hesitated for a second but handed the large pack over, keeping your satchel with you. Motioning with his head, he went deeper into the base, and you went up the short three metal stairs and inside, the door sliding closed behind you. You followed him down the short hallway, the metal was old and worn but more or less clean. There was an intersection not too far down the hall, but he kept going forward. You reached another sliding door and when he led you in, it was a stark contrast. Everything looked brand new, fancy, top of the line. It was a giant open living space with a large sectional couch and fancy holo-screen. There was a giant round table to the left and there was a decorative wall that had the kitchen on the other side. It looked like there was another big open space behind the kitchen with a bunch of consoles and other equipment set up. On the other side of the living room there was a large bedroom with the doors open and the hall went in both directions past it.

"Wow…" You gaped, looking around. The same logo that was on his earring was found in multiple places around, a big hologram floating above the center of the table, printed on the glass of the decorative wall, even scored into the glass of the coffee table.

"The storm is supposed to dissipate soon, but then another big one is coming in. You can stay here through it, no one else is here. Normally my co-commander is here too but he's not right now." The man told you and his voice brought you attention back to him. This place looked like more money was put into it than your entire hometown.

"What is this place?"

"Ever heard of the Rangers?"

"Yes?"

"This is our main base." He motioned with his head again and you followed after him as he led you down the hallway to nearly the end. The door at the end opened and he had brought you to a beautiful bedroom with a sitting area, king-sized bed, and a giant bathroom behind the bed.

"I can stay here?" You gawked and he let your bag thump on the ground as he smirked.

"Yeah, no one is using it. Woozi." He held his hand out and you nervously shook it. Even though he himself was pretty short, you were still a good three or four inches shorter than him.

"Oh, uh, (Y/N)."

"Where are you from?" Woozi moved back out of the room, and you trotted after him as he led you back toward the kitchen.

"Morgran town." You informed. He told you to take a seat at the counter and you jumped up on the stool and he opened the ice box.

"I'm not a wonderful cook so I don't have any fancy ingredients, but I can mix all this together with some rice." He had taken a bunch of small containers of leftovers and set them on the counter.

"Okay!" You were starving and hadn't had a normal meal in quite a while. He set up the rice cooker and you wondered if this was how homes on Terra looked.

"Were you born here?" Woozi asked.

"Yes. You?"

"Nah. I was born on Pledis and moved here when I was about eighteen."

"Why?"

"The co-commander, Seungcheol, convinced me to come here with him and start our own faction of Rangers. Not only are there a lot of runaway criminals here, but a lot of people who need help in the middle of the desert." He cast you a sly look as he hit the button on the rice cooker. You laughed nervously at this, and he leaned against the counter in front of you. Lord, he was hot. The way he was positioned, the muscles in his arm flexed and his shirt spread tight over his chest. He huffed when he noticed you were ogling him, and his hand came to your chin. He moved your head up, so you looked him in the eye again and your face exploded into a blush.

"U-uh, I…I'm-"

"Don't worry, doll." He tilted his head to the side, looking over your face, his thumb coming up to stroke your bottom lip. Woozi backed up with a smirk and you avoided his gaze, turning in your stool to get down and go near the couch.

"Your holo-screen is huge." You marveled and he moved out of the kitchen to join you, pointing for you to sit.

"Tap the table." He told you and you saw a little flashing light and pressed it, a holographic module popping up that worked as the remote.

"Watch whatever, I have to go finish something." He told you. You watched from the corner of your eye as he went to the room behind the kitchen, your eyes moving down to look at his ass in those tight black pants. When he got completely out of view you looked back at the module and found a listing of movies and shows that you had only ever dreamed of seeing. They even had ones that were over a hundred years old! Selecting one, a movie series based off an even older set of books about elves and wizards, you sat back to watch it. There was another button on the module that flashed, catching your attention. You tapped it, and a second smaller screen popped up in the corner showing the radar of the storms incoming.

"Shit." You groaned. Woozi had been right. The one you just escaped was still lingering over the area and there was another bigger one coming right behind it. At the bottom of the corner there might have been a third one developing as well. Oh well, it could be worse than being stuck in a fancy underground base with an extremely attractive man.

It was only about thirty minutes after you started the movie he came back out, the only reason you noticed was because the rice cooker had gone off. Pausing the movie, you got up and went to sit at the counter, watching as he mixed everything together and your mouth watered. He left it all in the same big bowl, grabbed two spoons, then nodded for you to follow him back into the living area. You hesitantly sat down, and he sat way closer to you than you even hoped for and handed you a spoon. Glancing at him, you sat back still mostly rigid, and hit play on the movie. After you got to eating it and realized how starving you were, you soon forgot that he was so close to you. He watched in amusement as you scarfed it down and you both had soon finished it off.

"Thanks for letting me stay here. I looked at the radar and it looks like the storms are just going to keep coming." You groaned, resting your head on the back of the couch. Your eyes were closed so he took the chance to look you over like you had been him. The thin fabric of your shirt had ridden up some and revealed the smooth skin on your tummy and waist, tanned with a smattering of freckles from sun exposure. Your long hair was tied back in a braid, and you wore tight leggings with mesh side panels to allow for more breathability. It wasn't too often he ran into anyone, even women, who were that much smaller than him, let alone that cute. His eyes shot back to your face, your eyes still closed and he wondered if you had fallen asleep already. Woozi wanted to just grab you and haul you onto his lap. Living out in the middle of the desert with only the rest of the guys in his Ranger group didn't give many opportunities for him to be with a woman. Now, one had just happened to show up. He didn't want to push it, but with you how you had been looking at him…

"Ugh, I think I wore myself out trying to get out of that storm. The adrenaline has finally gone away it seems." You tipped your head back and forth, your neck popping to relieve some pressure. He glanced at his watch, and it was pretty late. This time of year, the sun didn't get very low, so it was bright nearly all of the time.

"Go sleep then. If I'm not out here when you get up, you can just grab whatever from the kitchen. I'll let you know if the storm lets up sooner." He stood up with the bowl to clean it up and he watched you trudge sleepily down the hall and into the room he let you use. When you got in there, you marveled at the luxury and peeled your clothes off so you could take an actual legitimate shower. The water felt like heaven, and you were glad your spare underwear and clothes were clean. Just putting on your leggings over your panties and redoing a wrap-around breast band, you climbed in the amazing bed and immediately fell asleep.

A loud and echoing crash startled you awake, the sound of metal crunching was the opposite of reassuring. When it happened again you jumped out of the bed and ran out of the room and down the hall. You assumed the only room with the door closed was his and you got ready to knock, but the door just slid open. He was sitting up at a desk across from the bed and he glanced over at your panicked face.

"What the hell was that noise?"

"The metal crushing?"

"Yes!" You gaped and came further into the room.

"Sand worm. We're fine." He assured you, and when it happened again, you jumped so hard he got up and went to you.

"Hey, it's fine." He placed his hands on your arms, and he felt you were shaking.

"That's NOT a sand worm." You insisted, the noise happened again but louder. Even he was a little surprised by the volume of it and he walked past you and toward the equipment room. You followed close behind him and he typed on the console and a hologram of the base popped up, a bright red flashing dot appearing the top right corner.

"Oh, great." He grunted and you looked at him then back to the dot.

"What?"

"The storm must have damaged the drone silo; it seems they're all falling out of the hangar." He clicked his tongue, and you sighed in relief. Sure, that sounded expensive, but a giant monster wasn't going to break in. You were still shaking a bit; your adrenaline had spiked again but your body was so worn out that it wiped you out more.

"(Y/N)?"

"Yeah?" He stepped closer and he was dangerously close to you now.

"I won't let anything happen to you, doll." He smirked, his finger coming up and brushing a lock of hair away from your face, which turned red.

"No?" You stepped even closer, your own hand moving to trace over the rings he had on each finger. The smirk grew and the hand you were touching wrapped around yours and he pulled you to him. Chest to chest, his other arm wrapped around you, your other hand resting on his shoulder. Woozi brought your linked fingers to his lips and kissed over your knuckles, and when he reached your thumb, he sucked it into his mouth. You exhaled harshly and your free hand cupped his jaw.

"How about I help you relax?" He asked, his fiery gaze meeting yours.

"Please." You whispered; his lips so close to yours now. Letting your hand go, you dropped it to his other shoulder, and his strong arms engulfed you, pressing you into him. Woozi sealed his lips over yours and you whined, his tongue immediately swirling around yours. He tasted good, almost like some kind of soda you only had once or twice in your life. His hands on you were hot, his body pressed to yours was hard and his kiss was consuming. When he finally pulled away from the kiss, a trail of saliva connected your lips and you nearly slumped against him. His presence was all encompassing, and your head was already swimming, he was some kind of drug.

"Can I do something?" You ask, his lips still close to yours, your breath mingling.

"Whatever you want, doll." Woozi complied, so you pulled back a bit but instead of stepping away from him, you sank to your knees. His finger came to your chin and made you look up at him.

"If you're going to do that, I want you to sit on my face while you do." He told you and your eyes widened.

"Okay." You shrugged and instead of reaching his hand to help you up, he bent and scooped you into his arms and carried you to the bed. You weren't big, but he did it so easily. Letting out an 'oof' as he dropped you onto his bed, your eyes got bigger as he began to strip. The tight black shirt came off and you nearly drooled. His body looked just as good as it felt, and you couldn't wait for him to drop his pants. He undid his belt and with an aggressive snap, he pulled it off and dropped it on the floor. With a smirk, he made eye contact with you and let his pants fall. You were not expecting him to have nothing on underneath and his hard cock bounced some from being released, smacking against his stomach. Your mouth watered. Stepping out of the clothes, he stalked over to you and pushed you onto your back. It wasn't hard or aggressive, more playful, and he hooked his fingers in the waist band of both your leggings and panties, then yanked them off. Woozi deftly unsnapped your breast band and threw that off you as well. Laying on his back, he patted his shoulders and you hesitantly moved to where he wanted you.

"Come on, doll." He wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled your dripping cunt onto his face. You squealed, falling forward, and catching yourself on your arms. You found yourself right in front of his pretty cock and since he was already shoving his tongue into your core, you enveloped the head of his cock with your lips. Neither of you could get over how the other tasted and he grunted when you just kept swallowing his cock deeper into your mouth and throat. His arms tightened their hold around your thighs, and he sucked on your clit. You twitched at the sensation, losing your pace and you gagged on his cock. The spasming of your throat squeezed his cock deliciously and he couldn't wait to fill your cunt. When he buried his tongue inside you as deep as he could, you moaned again, the hand loosely holding his cock squeezed a bit and his hips jumped, making you swallow him more.

"Cum, doll." He ordered, nipping your clit and you did as he told. The vibrations of your moan hit his cock and you sucked hard, setting his own orgasm off. Spurts of sticky white cum painted your throat and mouth and dripped down his shaft when you couldn't contain it all. Still semi-hard, you pulled your mouth off of him with a pop, then licked him clean.

"You taste so good~" You cooed; he was about to tell you the same thing. Helping you dismount his face; you just roll over onto your back and flop to the bed. He smirked, sitting up and rolled you again so you were on your stomach. He kneeled behind you and lifted your hips up, making you rest on your knees. Your chest and face were still touching the mattress and he rubbed his thumb over you dripping folds, then the cold metal of his rings touched the flesh and you shivered.

"W-what do those do anyway?" You asked.

"Wanna find out?" When he asked you turned to look at him and nodded. Little blue sparks flew off of them, then a hologram-like gauntlet surrounded each hand. Suddenly, warmth spread over your skin, and you yelped as ribbon like tendrils shot out from his hands and wrapped around your body. It wasn't bondage, they just wrapped around like vines, over your legs and arms, your abdomen, and breasts. They were warm and tingled and when it got done, the end landed right above your clit.

"Oh, god." You gasped; the sensation dull but incredibly sensual.

"What about this?" He asked and then the ribbons tightened, and this forced a moan out of you. His hands then grabbed the flesh of your ass, the tingling hologram on his hands leaving the same sensation as the ribbons.

"Ready?" He asked and you felt the fat head of his cock at your entrance. Your body was buzzing in so many different ways and you whined positively, and he started to ease in. The burn of his girth fucking opens your walls heightened every other pleasurable sensation in your body and he groaned at how tight you were, so wet you were literally dripping.

"Ah~ (Y/N)…" He groaned finally filling you up completely. Your head was swimming and he simply grinded as deep into you as he could, his pelvis meeting your ass. When he didn’t do anything more than that you whined pitifully, needing him to move more than that.

"Woozi…" You mewled and he groaned.

"You're so tight, baby girl." His voice had rumbled through you. You yiped when the ribbons tightened then began to move again. You couldn't see behind you, but when he groaned, you felt the ribbons wrap around his cock as well and the heat intensified, and he began to move. His thrusts were shallow but hard, and he made sure to roll as deep as he could with each thrust.

"Fuck, I'm not letting you go anytime soon, doll. Even if the storm lets up." He grunted with each thrust, then stopped. You were about to complain but he leaned over you, his hands landing by your head, and you could see better the blue light around his hands.

"You want more?"

"Pl-please…" You huffed and he pumped his hips, snapping his cock into you hard after nearly pulling out all the way. Your mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out and tears pricked your eyes at the intense feeling of him rearranging your guts. He was fucking you like an animal, nearly growling above you, drool was leaving a dark spot near your mouth on the sheets.

"W-Woo-Woozi!" Feeling your orgasm coming fast, he leaned over you more, wrapping his arms around your middle to haul you up, his chest to your back. His hands cupped your breasts and the ribbons tightened even further and he grunted two more times, spilling inside of you, this sent you over the edge. One of his hands was on your throat, just lightly holding you in place as your whole body spasmed. You orgasm faded shortly after his and your body stung, the ribbons leaving you calmed the burn, and he helped you curl up in the bed. You watched the dancing patterns of the screen saver on his wall display, dazed, barely registering him moving around. When he came back into view you slightly noticed the continuing metal crunch of the drone silo, but it was the least of your concerns.

"You know, I think the storms might last a few days…" He sat on the bed next to you, wearing a pair of boxers now.

"I hope they last the whole month," You mumbled, and this made him laugh.

"Me too, doll."

-> Series Hub <-

Master-Master List

Seventeen Master List

Taglist: @gaslysainz

[dr3comebackera]

Daniel Ricciardo on his Zandvoort crash, surgery on his broken hand, recovery process, and return in Austin

Tom Clarkson: "Now you mentioned the elephant in the room, Zandvoort. FP2, Turn 3, what happened?"

Daniel Ricciardo: "I *awkward laugh*, I mean I obviously can remember it very clearly, since I didn't hit my head. Erm, but, so you come through, turn, I guess it's Turn 2, and it's over kind of a crest, but then you stay quite tight, because, then the line for 3, you ride the top of the banking. So you know, you're not taking a conventional racing line, so you're not like looking at the apex, you're looking at the top of the corner, pretty much. Like, as a driver, we're always looking ahead and normally like at the apex, but the way you exit 2, you then kind of look straight ahead and pick your braking point."

DR: "So at that point, I'd exited 2, I hadn't seen any yellows, nothing like that. And then by the time I've looked and braked, I then looked where I need to turn, and I see Oscar. This all happened so quickly, but I remember, I can, obviously I'm picturing it in my head now. So I remember, okay, the line we take is high and by this point I'd braked, so I'd already committed, so I knew the speed I was going. My only choice was to take the high line, but I could see his car was at the top of the track. So there wasn't enough room for me to pass through the high line. I'm going too fast to take a low line, so it was either, probably look like a real idiot and crash into him, or try and just slow the car as much as I can, and likely just crash into the barriers, which is what happened."

DR: "But yeah, because it was all, I guess I'm still trying to figure out what I'm going to do, by the time then I'd committed to just going straight, I hadn't then realized, 'okay, take your hands off the wheel.' And a lot of us still don't do it, because crashing is not natural. And it happens so quickly, because you don't plan to crash, so a lot of the time you don't kind of have, yeah, the time to be like, 'okay, I'm crashing, what do I need to do? Brace myself, okay, take my hands off the wheel.' Sometimes you just don't have the luxury of time."

DR: "So, that was it, I hit the wall. I've only watched one replay, but I just don't, I don't want to. Basically, when I've gone in, I'm pretty sure like the right front, it's just the angle, right, the right front would've grabbed the Tecpro [barrier] first, and then that's, like, pulled it in, so it's, it's like I've turned really hard right, the way obviously it's grabbed the wheel. So because the wheels then turned so quickly, I've basically lost grip, so it spun out of my hands, and the bottom of the [steering] wheel, which is pure, hard carbon, has then come up and basically karate chopped my hand."

DR: "So then, you've got the shock of the crash and then adrenaline, so I've come on the radio, and I'd, I think I'd been like, oh sorry, like I've crashed or something. And then, is he like 'oh, you alright?' or 'can you continue?' and I was like, 'no, the car is damaged.' And then, I could feel my hand, and I was like, 'ow, my hand, my hand.' And then I just, it started to, like the pain just went, obviously ramped up really, really quickly, and I feared that something was bad. So, as I'm, I wanted, I was like, 'I need to get my glove off, I need to get my glove off.' And as I'm pulling my glove off, I remember, I was thinking, *awkward huffy laugh*, I was like 'if there's a bone through the skin, I'm gonna pass out.' So that's all, I was just like 'please, please don't let me see anything gruesome.' I'm not good with this stuff, I'm sweating telling it, like I'm serious. I suck at this.

TC: "Have you broken a bone before?"

DR: "I broke my arm as a kid at school, throwing a tennis ball. Anyway, yeah, another very random accident, and I didn't need surgery, that was like a long, long healing process."

DR: "But yeah, so, alright, so I've pulled my glove off, and I, I could see it was already quite swollen, but no bone through the skin. I was like, 'okay.' But then the pain just got so bad, so as soon as I jumped into the medical car, I was *long pause* making a lot of noises, because I was in a lot of discomfort. So I knew that it was not good. I knew immediately, obviously, I wasn't going to race on the weekend. Like I didn't need a doctor to tell me. I feared it was a broken bone. I think the first thing that really kind of just made me sad, was I just had a very, very productive summer break. I felt really, really good physically, and I was just, yeah I was just ready to go. And this just felt like an unfortunate setback. But I was just more worried about surgery and all that, because I'm, again, I'm a bit of a wuss.

TC: "What happened next, I mean, you went down to Barcelona, to Dr. Xavier Mir, who is renowned in the MotoGP world, for mending those sort of breaks. I also think he was, didn't he help Lance Stroll earlier in the year as well?" "Yeah" "So who put you in touch with him, or did you know him already?"

DR: "So from the medical center, we went to the hospital there in Amsterdam. Got scans, and they're like, 'yeah, it's broken.' And by this point, it's the size, like, looked like an elephant stepped on my hand. The doctor there said, 'look, I would recommend surgery.' He's like, 'you can have it here, but you probably want to wait anyway a few days for the swelling to go down. Speak to whoever you need to speak to and obviously you can have your surgery wherever you want, I'm just going to give you my advice.' So then we reached out to Lance, we reached out to, well Jose, a friend of ours who works with Alpinestars, so he knows all the MotoGP guys, and he, he's Spanish as well, so he knows. So he, I think, put us into touch with Xavier Mir, and then, yeah, Lance was like 'go to him' as well. All signs were just pointing to, this guy's done this too many times, just go see him. Like, like don't even bother, just go there.

DR: "So it was, it was a blessing and a curse because, *laughs* he does a lot of MotoGP guys, who, are not human. They are not. It's fact, they are not. So, I think there's an expectation of me going in there, he's like 'oh, F1, MotoGP, same! Not human, don't feel pain.' 'No, doctor, I feel pain. I'm going to cry for the next 48 hours whilst I'm in this hospital.' So it was just funny, they, I think, you know, all the doctors and nurses and that who were helping me, and they were great, but I think they were, they were just quite, they would laugh a lot, because I would wince and pull away and ask questions every needle that went into my arm. Erm, so I think they just thought I would be tough like a MotoGP rider, but I am not."

TC: "I'm sure you were."

DR: "No, no, trust me, I'm not. The break itself was quite significant. It was a shatter, like it wasn't like, oh you just break it clean down the middle. I think it was in eight pieces or something. So it was also, for a bone that can be quite a simple one, it wasn't too pretty."

TC: "So it's your pinky that was being affected by it?" "Erm, well..." "On your left hand?"

DR: "It's like the outside of the hand. So that's the bone I broke, in between like the wrist and the pinky, like that knuckle. So like along the outside there. But even me just rubbing my finger over the top of my hand, hurt like crazy. Maybe I just feel pain more than others, I don't know. *laughs* But er, sorry, I just want to, just let's also say one thing. There was also the reality where, yes, I would moan and complain because I don't like the pain. But it was a broken hand, so there was also a part of me which was like, 'look, dude, yes you're in pain and it's going to be a bit of a process, but people have worse injuries, people have bigger accidents.' So don't get me wrong, I also tried to reality check myself through it all, and I think that's what made me quite, like remain quite positive."

TC: "You missed five races, you came back for Austin. Was there any talk of you getting back earlier, maybe for Qatar?"

DR: "So I knew, I was doing physio every day, and I was, I was doing what I could to come back as soon as possible. But I also wanted to make sure, and I think, you know, Red Bull/Alpha Tauri were really good with this, I wasn't fighting for a world championship, like it's not like, dude you need to just drive through immense pain and just get a point, you know because this is your titles on the line. Like it was, let's make sure you do this and heal properly, and get the right treatment, because also you've got, hopefully a second part of your career which is going to be long and glorious. So it was just, don't compromise anything that you then have a bum hand for the next two years of your career, three years, whatever. So it was good, I could just do it properly."

DR: "Qatar was talked about, I went on the sim the week of Qatar, on the Monday, but I couldn't, er, yet, drive with the full force of the steering, like so we would like bring the feedback down. Er, I just couldn't grip it and do more than like two laps at full strength. So it was very clear that Qatar was out of the question, and also for me to come back and like, yeah, I don't know, not drive at my best and then, no, that no one benefits. I don't benefit, the team doesn't. So er, it was that, at that point we're like, let's just go all in for Austin and make sure I'm good for that."

TC: "And Liam was doing a decent job as well"

DR: "Exactly, he was doing well and there was also, I think Red Bull were great to give me a contract whilst I was injured, to give me a contract for next year. So I, I had that-"

TC: "That was very significant, wasn't it?" "Yeah" "They actually signed you long-term when you were on the sidelines?"

DR: "Yeah, there's so much about being back in the Red Bull family this year that's felt good and right, and I think that was such a, yeah just such like a big thing for them to do that. I think obviously it showed they have a lot of faith in me. It also put to bed if anyone was like, 'oh you know, is there still any issues from their previous relationship years ago? Like is there any carryover tension or whatever?' Like, for them to do that, I think it was very much like, he's our kid and we're going to support him because we believe in him and- So that was really nice."

TC: "So you come back for Austin, and were there any ill effects there? Because I mean, that's a quick track, sector one in particular."

DR: "Er, no, like in, in short no. Erm, I think the race, I got into it quickly and, and, and I was actually honestly expecting more pain in Austin. I was expecting like every kind of bump or kerb I'd hit would be like 'ow, ow, ow.' But it was okay, and erm, I think it was just an endurance I needed to build so like, towards the end of the race, I could feel like my grip strength was maybe not as good as at the start of the race. But honestly, I was, I was fine. And I think that was another thing, I didn't want to get back into a race and then be like, 'yeah I could have done better, but you know, my hand was not up to full strength.' Or like, I was like, this can't be an excuse, and it wasn't, so it was all good."

TC: "And Daniel, you were never going to miss Austin, right?"

DR: "No, I couldn't. I would've loved the result to be better, but no, I couldn't miss Austin.

TC: "The track, the place"

DR: "Yeah, yeah. I love it."

[novantinuum]

no, so like-

i watch a lot of reactors, yeah? and they all have varying opinions on SU s5 and what they thought about the pacing.

gonna be real here.

i genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, can not imagine Any other pacing for the end of the season at all and literally just think. it's fine.

i feel like people kinda like... take the behind-the-scenes knowledge that Crewniverse had to pull some storytelling strings to wrap up in a limited number of episodes and then copy paste that Real Life situation and all the nebulous what-ifs over the actual Fictional Story that we got, which. is not a "poor" ending at all, as i've seen some claim. it hits all the beats it needs to for the ending to make thematic sense. it re-introduces plot points when they're relevant. the moment the wedding happens it all moves forward at a swift clip yes, but like. god i am so, so fucking tired of the term "rushed."

(also bc when people say it isn't "rushed," then they're saying it's "filler," and. damn. what the fuck do y'all WANT lol you get nonstop plot heavy ep after ep and call it rushed and the moment you get a few fun little breather eps as a courtesy you're complaining that you're not getting plot. geebus.)

because honestly, like. okay. pretend for a moment that the wedding episode still happens completely as-is. exactly what are people proposing takes up the space of a complete season and a fourth before moving to its conclusion, without compromising the entire theme and vibe of the ending? the precise second the diamonds know who steven is, you're already in endgame territory. there is Zero situation in which the show can dawdle after that, because if steven has revealed himself to the diamonds then he's going straight to work, and he's going to press them about healing their corruption damage. in my mind there is Zero way to insert any meaningless fluff here that is not one hundred percent steven gunning to get white diamond's support because it would not make Sense for him to run off on little side adventures when he has the pressure of his mother's biggest goal bearing down on his shoulders.

in sum the diamond days arc is FINE, it serves its purpose in ramping up to the climax of CYM perfectly, and i just wish more people would stop letting the nebulous "what-if" game tint their view of the already really, really good show we GOT, and stop arbitrarily "warning" reactors that season five is "rushed" and thus swerving their opinions of the end of the show before they can even make any themselves

[innerchorus]

Arslan Senki Chapter 133

ArSen is a horror series now.

I know I've already posted a smattering of screencaps and thoughts on this one so this post is bullet point mop-up duty and will cover anything that didn't make it into those, or extra thoughts related to those parts.

Pleased that I called the chapter title (more or less) when the last chapter was released.

I've gotta say the atmosphere in this chapter is top notch. Arakawa ramping up the tension and the sense of wrongness, both in the ominous spreading of those dark clouds and the presence of and interactions with the undead warriors, and then the horror peaks when the winged apes descend.

Gieve's "Why are there dead people here?!" made me let out a nervous laugh. The confusion is rife, because those standing before them are indeed who they appear to be... yet not.

Kharlan is clearly still intending to attack again. Just catching a glimpse of him facing Hilmes and Zandeh, followed by Kubard and Isfan being confronted by Shapur was enough for my heartrate to kick up a notch, my personal dread is building for what might be coming. Given the words chosen by the other undead warriors who speak in this chapter, I am expecting EMOTIONAL DAMAGE (both for myself and the characters involved).

I was discussing this with @tired-reader-writer but may as well pop it in here as well; if the undead warriors can speak, while their speech right now is very Team Zahhak, maybe they will have some genuine words for their loved ones before the end, once the sorcery has been overcome?

Whatever words undead Shapur uses to hurt Isfan, I need him to know that they're not true. It would make my day for Kubard to be able to say "Your brother would never say that about you." But it's so hard to know what we're going to get. Maybe this Shapur will have some barbed words for Kubard, too. I do think on some level Kubard likely feels regret over what happened to Shapur, not regret for his own choice to flee necessarily, but regret that he didn't manage to persuade Shapur to leave too, that he left him to what turned out to be such a horrible fate after they argued.

Petition for this awfulness to be balanced out by Arakawa showing us some happier memories once all this is over and done with. I need those flashbacks, I want these characters to remember the good, the real relationships they had, not these harsh words and these twisted resurrected forms.

Copy-pasting again but the idea that those hints of bloody tears I talked about in the previous chapter mean that deep inside their consciousness (soul?) is still there is seeming more likely. I'm writhing because this is all so painful but it's so good. I can't wait to see what Arakawa does with it next.

Daryun's mind racing as he faces Vahriz, and Narsus on the sidelines running through the same possibilities in his head as he and Arslan look on is some good shit. The knowledge that he has been 'brought back from the other world' by Zahhak's powers (presumably the powers given/taught to the sorcerers) is chilling. Like, that's supposed to be a one-way journey. If the 'real' Vahriz's consciousness is still there, that's got to be horrific. If they're aware of what their bodies are being made to do... Things they would never have done in life... I hope they are laid to rest again properly.

Anyway, Vahriz at least lays it out in the open. And why should Team Zahhak hide their intentions now? So, they want to eliminate Arslan. But do they want anything different from Hilmes, or are they simply aiming to kill him, too? That remains to be seen.

Fighting on horseback is not going to work (as we've seen before, horses are spooked by sorcery and given what's about to descend on the city they're going to totally lose their heads now). Kishward facing Manuchurh and resolving to deal with him was pretty badass, I hope that works out. Realising that it's both Manuchurh and not Manuchurh... I hope all the other characters come to the same conclusion about those they're facing.

Tus asking if he has permission to eliminate Khayr. I liked that. He doesn't question the job, just checking he understands what Kishward is asking of him. Because it's quite a thing to ask. And it won't be easy.

Gieve's blow should have decapitated Manuchurh, but no. Nothing. So that got me thinking, how can they be defeated if not by sword or other weapon? Well, if there's a sorcerer controlling each of them... Kill the sorcerer who is responsible. Maybe they're lurking close by, and with their death the sorcery binding the undead warriors to this world will break. It's telling that we haven't seen the sorcerers themselves in all of this chaos. It makes me think they are hidden nearby, controlling these things.

Very worried about how Estelle and those others outside the city are going to defend themselves from the winges apes. Hide under overturned carts? Flee inside and trust that the Parsians have a bigger problem to worry about than the fact some of them are Lusitanian?

How best to defend the city against winged apes? Get inside and shut all the doors and windows? Use arrows when you can? Fight on foot in the streets because your horses have lost their minds to fear? These things likely have corrosive blood too, just to make matters worse. This is all sounding so horrific and I'm here for it. Let's hope Farangis has some idea of how to fight them.

Also I hope Don Ricardo gets a break soon. The man's been through so much. I want him to survive this.

[petrichorium]

i am barging in to demand (humbly request) the shanks/pluvi lore. specifically how you met. please. i just really wanna know your vision

I am always ready and eager to talk abt shuvi lore truly i hope ur ready for So Much Yappage here 🙏🏻

The basic gist of it is I’m a lighthouse keeper and I end up kinda saving his life when the red hair pirates wreck near my island bc they didn’t listen to me LMFAOOOOO but I’ll put a more detailed account under the cut 🫣 and talking abt this inspired me to make a lil moodboard for our slowburn while i still live on my island (for a timeline it takes about two yrs for him to finally wear me down enough that im like yeah sure ill fuck u, n then abt four more yrs of us in a steadily ramping up fwb until i finally do leave w him—which is a Fraught Decision and a Whole Thing i will not get into here LOL)

It's a year after shanks lost his arm and they left the east blue, uta's with them bc the vague "uta is canon but film red is an au" thing lets me do what i want and what i want is for her to be integral to me warming up to the whole crew LOL (i have aged her up a bit tho, she's 12 here; shanks is 28, im 32ish bc again i do what i want and what i want is to age myself up KJSHDBFJKH). Anyway again im a lighthouse keeper, there's a storm brewing and i see their ship in the distance so i call them up on their transponder snail..........

I think they're coming in from a scuffle tbh, kinda intending to make landing and lick their wounds as they wait out the storm. im like hey ur Too Late and Too Far and ur gonna wreck if u try to make landfall rn. they do not listen to me and attempt anyway. it's a mess, the ship's already pretty damaged and the crew tired and in the chaos uta ends up going over—shanks jumps in after her, one armed and all, and they r swiftly separated from the ship in the storm

uta's fine enough when they wash ashore right beneath my lighthouse and shes also Loud enough that i hear her over the wind so i make the trek out and take my little pulley-lift down the cliffs and like listen. nearly unconscious man i know was one of those pirates who didnt listen to me...... i would not have bothered. but little girl soaked and sobbing and terrified clinging to him........ would be cruel not to help. so i grumble and bitch and trudge over to throw his arm over my shoulders and Attempt (w uta's "help" which is more just her bawling and yanking on his shirt, and also his help which is a bit more useful but still Not Great) to lug him back to my lil lift.

Im in like. Work overalls and a pair of grungy waders and a big ol wool sweater and a coat thrown over—real waterman chic yk—just soaked to the bone bc it’s pouring and the seawater’s doing nobody any favors, cursing up a storm bc shanks is a big fucking man and I’m very much doing the heavy lifting. Anyway he’s half conscious and drops a uh...... clearly addled “you’re beautiful” and I’m like okay dude if ur awake enough to be pulling that bullshit ur awake enough to walk better than this cmon now……….

Anyway we make it to the lift up to the lighthouse w uta just absolutely inconsolable and shanks drifting in and out of consciousness. Im taking the moment to catch my breath and steadily get more and more pissed bc she’s called him captain enough times for me to know he’s definitely the one who just Blatantly Ignored my warnings And she’s called him Shanks enough times that I’ve finally put a finger on who he is—bc one of my responsibilities as lighthouse keeper is also to warn the island of who’s approaching so I keep tabs on the more Infamous pirates of which the red hairs are so I’m even more irate LMFAOOOOOO sooooo serious I am such a cranky spinster in this selfship (even tho again I’m only like. 32 JDNCKSNKDND)

Anyway. Once the lift brings us up to the lighthouse/keeper’s quarters I help shanks to the spare room and grab him some dry clothes and he’s Out by the time I’ve showered n gotten into my own. Uta’s a bit better esp once I get her showered and dried too, she hovers near him for the first lil bit and then is spooked enough by the storm and yk her unconscious father that she ventures back out to stay w me. To help calm her nerves I decide to call into town and see if the rest of the crew has popped up (bc i know the currents and know generally where a ship like that would end up)—im decent friends w the local bartender and shes like yeah they showed up n now theyre weathering out the storm. she puts me through to beckman and he talks to uta and then he n i kinda agree better to just wait until the storm passes and then theyll come take uta and shanks off my hands

it takes like a couple days!!! the lighthouse is abt thirty mins from town but the storm's so bad the route is too dangerous for a bit. shanks remains largely unconscious for most of that; i take care of uta and she n i rlly bond during this time, in fact i let her sleep w me bc shes too flighty to sleep well w shanks.

and then she lets her fleet of uncles into my house while im tending to the light and i come back to be jumpscared by beckman and im like wow this is awful gtfo of my house take ur captain with u i want all of u G O N E 😭😭😭 i am not a people person and i do not naturally get along w men esp not. the kinda men the red hair pirates are i fear so i am very curt and quick to send them off.

it takes shanks another day or so to sleep it off n then he wakes up to a disheveled crew and a wrecked ship w them all stuck for at least a month while the ship is repaired. He only has very hazy memories of me regarding the whole ordeal and it's one of the primary reasons he comes out of it A Bit Obsessed but v much nothing concrete.......

ofc when i finally venture into town beckman points me out and shanks approaches me very eagerly n offers to buy me a drink n im like :) no thank u i would rather not do that actually pls take ur arm off my shoulders and never speak to me again JSHIBFJHB idk........ it takes a couple of other interations && watching me w uta before his Full Infatuation sets in but within the week shanks is v much enraptured and also in denial abt the romantic aspect (in his head he just wants to be friends w me bc uta adores me and i saved him; its like a funky little challenge in his head LOL)

then it's two yrs of him finding every excuse to come back "for uta's sake, shes always asking after her favorite auntie" and slowly coming to realize hes into me and then starting to be Very Obvious about it until i again finally give in. its sweet, idk hes the kinda guy in my head who falls Hard but doesn't realize until hes in the thick of it, poor Beckman who saw the entire future the moment he started asking uta about me when he woke up LMFAOOOOOO

n e way there we go 🙂‍↕️ 🙂‍↕️ i hope it lives up to ur expectations JHADBFJHB

[shanie]

Look, I'm gonna be real with you. Wizard101 may pass itself off as a kids MMO.

But by GOD is that game fuckem'd up.

And not only on a level of the players IRL doing dumb shit.

Like, imagine being some 10 year old who is trying to play through arc one and you're presented with this guy who everyone says is the most evil man in the spiral, and all he really wants is his dead wife back. That's all he wants. The guy was willing to set aside the spiral as collateral damage for love and you have to fn MURDER him for it.

How the fuck does the 10 year old even begin to process that? How can you ask them to?

How do you then go on to arc 2 and suddenly you're confronted with Morganthe? You're dealing with British Colonists, literal murder plots, psychological slavery, mass genocide, the extinction of an entire planet, and the complete unmaking of creation. Oh, and that poor guy who wanted his wife back? He's a zombie now. He's a zombie and you have to kill him AGAIN so maybe he can possibly find peace with his dead wife this time around.

All while your character is STILL A STUDENT. And then by the time you get to act three, your character has ramped up so fucking hard that now you aren't fighting bad guys, you now have to become a divine entity to face off against the primordial creators of time and space. AND THAT'S NOT EVEN THE END OF THE GAME!!!! How the hell did this happen?? This was supposed to be a quirky little wizard game that you played as a kid and had fun with! Why the hell am I being tasked with killing GOD?!?!

Seriously, someone needs to stop teaching the wizard how to summon Cthulhu (who is now your bestie or something? I don't know arc 4) and get them some goddamn therapy. So much therapy. Just give them a nice house in the country and let someone else take over because the sheer volume of trauma response this kid has at this point, Jesus criminy.

[crystalelemental]

Unit Teambuilding - Sygna Suit Lear

Sygna Suit Lear vies for one of my least favorite sync pairs, not because Lear, but because Gholdengo.  Its entire design does not sit well with me, but the fact they also made it something that's so competitively dominant and then keep reminding me it's there like they're proud of it just pours salt in the open wound.

General Overview Steel type is eating deliciously this month.  Arc Steven is an absurd support despite not being Support by default, Solgalillie is excellent for a free pair, and now SS Lear is a powerhouse Steel type damage dealer.  He's also the first Pasio Master Fair, with both a Pasio related Master Passive and a Pasio Circle to apply.  He's neat.

What I think pushes Lear from just an extremely good damage dealer in a rare special Steel type is his supportive effects.  The aforementioned team boosts are one thing, but he can debuff and provide immunity to stat debuffs, status effects, and status changes for the team while his Circle is up.  These are extremely good effects for him to provide, and makes him more valuable in a broader context.

If there's a fault to Lear, it's his specificity.  Pasio has very few pairs, given the dearth of OCs.  Worse, many of them are Support partners, so he doesn't provide quite as much when it comes to offense.  While this feels minor and more exclusive to my hangups from a bygone era, but special Steel is rare and has only premium partners.  He relies in part on physical allies to help him out.  Again, I think this is less relevant given that CS is kinda meaningless now, but still.

Team 1: SS Lear, Arc Steven, Solgalillie This is the current Steel meta team that many are using, probably because of recency.  I personally think it's good, but feels awkward to me because of that aforementioned hangup.  Solgalillie and Lear both have ramping ability, which Steven can easily support with Head Start or Adrenaline.  Solgalillie also has Steel Zone support, which pumps Lear's damage tremendously.  They're an incredibly good partnership that easily gets the job done.

Team 2: SS Lear, V!Thorton/Roxanne, S!Tate Pure special Steel team.  V!Thorton isn't half bad as a tank, provided he gets that Endure effect, and can apply Staggering from Flash Cannon in addition to his Restrain to counter Acute Senses opponents, and sets Steel Zone on sync.  S!Tate can apply debuffs with ease, alleviating some of Thorton's rotation.  Thorton is able to get Free Moves Next whenever he hits a Restrained opponent, so gauge is not a consideration thanks to this and Lear's gauge acceleration. If you don't want to Thorton because he's not particularly great, Roxanne is there too for gauges.

Team 3: SS Lear, Bellelba, MC Solgaleo This is aiming to talk about two things at once. First: Lear's Pasio Circle results in immunity to status, flinch/trap/confuse, and stat debuffs, while Bellelba sets Crit Shield and Dual Screens. This is, to put it mildly, a lot of lucky skill effects floating around a single team. And with Crit Shield being one of them, Bellelba is able to run Head Start, providing Lear with a ramp. This works excellently. The other aspect is MC Solgaleo. Pasio Circle is uh. Strange. I legitimately struggle to really put together team compositions, because most pairs are Not Very Good Supports from the MC's Master BP pairs, or the 4* Pokefairs like Sawyer, Rachel, and Tina. I can't even say the new 5* Gimmighoul pairs are all that interesting. So Lear's real targets are MC Solgaleo, who is a pretty solid F2P physical damage dealer for Steel (if you missed the free Lillie), and Paulo. The former has physical to Lear's special, so CS approaches are rough, while the latter is aiming for physical support as well and is a different type. Paulo does get special notice for also being ramp-centric, that's probably a fun combination, but I did want to talk here about the general issue Lear faces with his Pasio pals. I'd say they need more Pasio OCs, but also I've played FEH.

Team 4: SS Lear, Solgalillie, Poppy Damage Challenge. Lear and Lillie are both Sprint pairs, giving a ton of sync cooldown to the team. Lillie can also apply Steel Zone, which is excellent. Lear has is own excellent DPS pressure, but Poppy's swing is out of this world huge. Poppy also is notable just because Thunder Wave will burn turns. It's all upside, really. This might be a little too diffuse for high scores, but I don't really understand how this mode is supposed to work in the first place if I'm being honest.

Final Thoughts SS Lear seems incredibly good, and serves as another great addition to the Steel type, which seems to be vying for a place among the best types in the game this month. I really do like his ramping and supportive effects, and think he'd be great fun! But also, it's Gholdengo. And I cannot with that thing. God, just...Gimmighoul and that whole intro trailer was so cool, and I cannot express what I felt when I saw what it amounted to.

[atonalginger]

Snippet Sunday

OOoo It's Sunday and I have a snippet from something other than Starborn Saga xD Thanks @eridanidreams for the tag :D

If you are reading this and you have something you'd like to share then come join us! Tag!

Tonight's snippet is from my Rekindling the Heart Sam Coe x Doc Melody story.

--

The walk back to the spaceport was quiet, save for the small family of mossgnath Jamie and Sam came upon. The largest one rumbled a warning at them and stamped their feet but with a few quick steps to the right they avoided real conflict.

The sun was slowly slipping behind the distant hills as they reached the outer wall of the spaceport, several Akila security guards standing watch giving nods to them as they entered. The spaceport was quiet, save for a pilot arguing with one of the technicians over whether the heatleeches on his ship came with him or not. She rolled her eyes at the argument; it didn’t matter how they got there so long as they killed them.

Jamie took Sam’s hand and led him to her ship on the far end of the landing pads, “we can drop off the artifact and clean up before you head back to Coe Manor.”

He chuckled as she pulled him along, “if you insist.”

They stopped outside her ship, a sleek looking custom job with a Taiyo landing bay open to greet them. She watched Sam step around to the side of the ship, looking over the black and teal paint job and general shape.

“Darlin’, that cockpit is low.” Sam nodded at her Nova Galactic Magellan CX2 attached to a first level hab. The bottom weapon mount sat a mere two feet off the pad.

She laughed, “They let me do it.”

He shot her a look the brim of his hat obscured. The faint curl of his lip told her he was amused and yet still shook his head.

“I wanted to keep the clean flow of landing bay to pilot seat that the original ship had without the super aggressive Deimos style cockpit. They’re good, don’t get me wrong, but it’s so cramped and sterile. Nova has better windows and a more comfortable pilot seat. I don’t feel trapped when I’m flying.”

“The cabot series exists too,” He slowly made his way back to the loading ramp, “wouldn’t kiss the ground every time you land.”

“It looked bad,” she shook her head, “plus where’s the fun in that?”

She could see his look now that he stood toe to toe with her. A subtle smile and weary eyes, “won’t be fun when you clip a rock and get stuck grounded on a barren moon.”

“I’ve been flying the Phoenix Aria for 3 years like this and never once hit anything bad enough to be at risk,” she crossed her arms, “Nova Galactic may look held together with gaff tape and dreams but its pretty damn sturdy. Real function over form design.”

“What’d she used to be?” he looked up at the b class grav drive above them, “before you dressed her all up.”

“Oh she was a custom job when I found her,” Jamie led him up the ramp, “found her in the Denebola system. I was surveying the planet and came across a group of spacers guarding what looked like an observation station. I make a point to liberate places like that so they don’t further damage the equipment or find research they shouldn’t have. The place ended up being much bigger and more dangerous than I’d planned for but in the end I found the ship and a unique spacesuit and helmet. There was a whole base down there with extensive surveillance and security systems. I almost thought about staying for a while and getting it up and running but…I had evidence that more spacers knew about the place and didn’t want to have to constantly beat them back so I loaded up the ship with everything I could carry and radioed the team I’d flown in with to tell them I needed to take my new ship to a spaceport to register it.”

They were now standing in the computer core of the ship, the cockpit hatch locked up. Jamie closed the landing bay door and locked it behind her. She watched as Sam slowly explored the computer core, looking over everything she had strapped down and taped to the walls.

“I renamed her the Phoenix Aria when I registered her because I didn’t want the attention. Then I set about redesigning her; she had an armory I didn’t care for and a Deimos captain’s quarters. If I wanted to sleep on a table I’d live out of a living hab. Plus I needed a research lab if I didn’t want to constantly be returning to the university.”

“What was she called before?” Sam returned to her side.

She smiled, “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“She was this gray and olive number named the Razorleaf. Zippy little fighter with a little shielded cargo hold but not something one could realistically live in.”

Sam blinked slowly, his mouth falling open incrementally with each blink.

She laughed at his response, “See, you wouldn’t believe me! Best part of the ship is I don’t get harassed by spacers anymore. They scan my ship and flee the area. Even with the name change, they know the ship. My friend who works at the New Atlantis spaceport said it had to do with the old girl’s registry and SIN. Could undergo a dozen name changes and full body makeover and will still scan as the Razorleaf.”

“The Mantis was real?” Sam finally asked after a long silence.

“Is.”

“Jamie, are you trying to tell me—“

“I don’t go around looking for trouble but I will finish fights I find,” she motioned for him to follow her up the ladder to the second level, “I leave the real crime fighting to professionals.”

[kenobireads]

Vader's Fortress

Today's the dayyy! I posted the first chapter of Vader's Fortress to Wattpad! (Starting to put it on AO3 now!)

Since there are two prologues, one for Anakin and one for our MC, I went ahead and posted both of them! Here's Anakin's introduction into this SW parallel universe! It's a short one, enjoy!

And you can find the story here!

Anakin Skywalker was dead. He died with Padmé. With the Jedi. With the Republic. In his place was...me.

Darth Vader.

When Obi-Wan Kenobi turned his back on me, I gathered the last of my strength and dragged myself two, maybe three meters. According to Darth Sidious, if I had not done this, I would have caught aflame. I'd be unrecognizable—that is, if I survived at all.

I did not believe him. Didn't believe I saved myself.

I still needed the suit. It kept me alive, so long as I did not go long without it. I lost my left leg and my one real hand. The leg had melted, and I felt everything. Sometimes I still did. Multiple organs were damaged.

I still had pain. Saved myself?

No. I saved nothing.

Twelve hours. Max. That was how much time I could safely go without the suit or a special bacta chamber.

I tried to push it, of course. The longest I lasted was eleven hours and thirty-seven minutes before I could no longer breathe, my lungs unable to continue on their own. It felt as if they were collapsing.

At first, I despised the suit. Uncomfortable. Hot. Clunky. Restrictive.

Until I started realizing my strength within it—and my weakness outside it.

After recovering, I spent the first few weeks doing my master's bidding. Each task seemed to require more recovery, starting with Jedi Master Kirak Infil'a for his lightsaber.

I killed the self-exiled Jedi and bled his kyber crystal. I met the Inquisitors and put the 'Grand' Inquisitor in his place. I put in endless orders to the Kuat Drive Yards.

I bowed. Constantly. Palpatine had me on my knees each time we met, and then on my back in agony. Force lightning—worse than I remembered.

Not that it mattered. I deserved every moment of pain, every second of misery.

Why? Because I killed Padmé. My wife. The mother of my unborn child.

I don't know the details, the how or the when. It doesn't matter.

She is dead. And she took me with her. Whatever remained in this broken organic form...it was but a shell, fit only to hold the rage. There was no room for anything else.

I was a masochist. Proven by the red planet coming into view before me: Mustafar. The planet where I lost everything.

This was my second visit since Kenobi left me to die. Palpatine was rapidly building his palace over the fallen Jedi Temple, but Coruscant would never be my home. I needed a sanctuary, and I knew just where to build it.

I didn't know what I wanted, but I was beginning to know the dark side. And it was there on Mustafar.

So, maybe I enjoyed the pain. Maybe I simply felt I deserved it. Honestly, I didn't bother looking too deeply. At anything.

Skipping the cracked landing pad, I lowered my newly modified Actis starfighter to a patch of dried, cooled magma next to the wrecked mining facility. As the ship began to quiet, the sounds of the planet grew louder.

The pop of lava. The swoosh of high winds. Even a far-off roar of some hungry, pissed-off beast.

Eventually, I stalked off the ramp, only to be bombarded with heat, even in my suit. I pulled my hood over my helmet because, as always, I felt like I was being watched. Friend or foe was no longer a question I asked—everyone was an enemy.

I worked my way up a ridge just above the old mining complex until I found a spot that provided a complete view of the surrounding lands. The destruction from my duel with Obi-Wan was beginning to look like a part of the planet as the lava took the area back.

My mask let out two quiet beeps. I shifted to the direction it indicated and waited three full seconds before the reading came up.

A camera eye was following me from the complex walls.

Curious. There wasn't supposed to be anything in this area, not for miles. Nothing else was happening in the ruins, though there was another camera further down on the opposite side.

I shifted slowly, taking in every angle, working in a circle. My back was to the mining complex when I saw it: the very top of a permacrete entry, the kinds the Techno Union used all over Mustafar. I couldn't see the building beyond it, but I recalled a science laboratory being the closest facility.

There was too much distance to get any readings from it. I knew it was unlikely I would find anything there. It was probably Palpatine watching me.

And yet...There was a pull to the place. It didn't feel like the dark side. Nothing was calling out to me. It wasn't a nudge in the Force. No, it felt more real, as if my physical body was being gently tugged toward it.

But my body was my enemy, too. It was barely my own. So as my body felt the need to cooly approach the place, I treated it as I would any other unknown risk.

I took control and approached on my terms.

[romegaketh]

if you are open for snippet requests I would like to humbly ask for any speculation au writing you have 🥺 (esp the conflict of moxbry telling yuta to go off his suppressants and the conflict therein. also danny i love him)

ok this is from wheeler yuta is not a therapist and i am genuinely crushed i did not finish it lol. bcc-typical gore! thanks for the ask ❤️

BOSTON. 

The Best Friends used to do team meetings in a hotel room, around a table packed with preferably-vegetarian takeout, and Fast Five on in the background with the volume turned way down. Chuck Taylor would write up an agenda on his phone, and Orange Cassidy would pretend to pay attention but fuck up by gasping at the big chase scenes, even though Trent was halfway through some long complaint about something or other. 

Surprising nobody, Blackpool Combat Club is different.

"Is that all you got?" Jon Moxley spits. Blood bursts from his cut lip and spatters across his chin. He’s on his hands and knees on a pile of mats in a boxing gym outside Boston. 

In front of him - above him - is the American Dragon. Bryan Danielson’s laugh is low and mean. "You know it's not." The crack of his hand across Moxley's face rings through the air. An angry red stain sinks into Moxley's cheek. 

Moxley pushes himself up onto his knees. His tank top is stained with his own blood. His jaw set with determination and real, clear, rage. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you,” says Danielson, grabbing the back of Moxley’s neck with vicious glee. His hair has fallen out of the little ponytail, and is loose around his face. He looks - not angry, but not not angry. Like something dark is inside of him and he is grateful to let it out. 

If Wheeler wasn't wearing blockers right now he is sure he would be choking on the scent - even with them, he's breathing in fire and copper, as thick as it would be in rut. It’s a shitty little gym but it’s empty; it’s theirs. It feels like being downwind of a forest fire. And not downwind enough to feel safe, either. 

Wheeler signed up for this. He did it clear-eyed and hopeful. He didn’t know how swift it would be, how immediate. One day he was outside, but today, he belongs. 

"Boys will be boys," William Regal sighs, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped under his chin. It’s strange to see him in a hoodie and sweats instead of the suit, but everything about today is strange. "I'm glad you're here. I think they're behaving better now that they have company." 

Yesterday, Wheeler wrote BCC in blood on his chest. Today, he’s here, watching Moxley and Danielson try to kill each other. It’s supposed to be a demonstration. What, exactly, it’s a demonstration of still appears to be in question. 

Moxley raises his head. His eyes flash to Regal, and then to Wheeler. Hot, sharp, furious. When Wheeler crossed the ramp - when he turned away from his friends and came to the future - he thought, now Moxley will know who I am. Well, he does. But maybe now Wheeler is learning who Moxley is. 

Yesterday Wheeler bled like a fountain, but Moxley matched him. Right now Wheeler is sitting next to Regal, with a protein shake the size of his head and a power bar; right now Moxley is pinned beneath Danielson, while Danielson bends his head so his mouth is against Moxley's ear. 

Normally they're better matched. It feels good to know Wheeler did some damage: Moxley isn't slow but he's slower. Wheeler had to scrape himself out of bed this morning. His head still hurts. 

“How’s he looking?” Danielson asks, looking up for Regal's approval like an alpha half his age. Moxley snaps at him, teeth out, but Danielson darts away with the same easy grace he shows in the ring. 

Regal laughs. "Bryan," he says, fondly. "You're showing off."

Danielson shrugs. Moxley's blood is on his cheek; it makes his grin look feral. "You heard the boss," he tells Moxley. "You want a nap?" 

Moxley growls, a low deep sound, big enough to fill the whole building. He looks like a kid, too. A baby alpha, tussling, for the attention of a bigger one. But Moxley is Jon Moxley. And that's Bryan Danielson. Everyone who's ever watched a wrestling match knows how sharp their teeth are. 

Regal puts his hand on Wheeler's shoulder. Gentle, careful. He's not possessive with Wheeler like he is with them. Wheeler is grateful for it, though he feels like he shouldn't be: he didn't sign up to be treated with care. But maybe he did. Bryan said he would be - under a wing. A dragon's wing, he'd thought, tossing and turning, before the day he made the decision. 

Regal isn't a dragon. Regal is a man. Because only men have power like this: the power to speak, and be obeyed. "Settle down," Regal tells them - both of them, it's clear. "Don't make me come over there." 

Danielson wipes Moxley's blood off his cheek and the dragon recedes. He's just a man on a mat, with Moxley a foot away on his knees. The warmth comes back to Danielson's face, and to his hand as he reaches down for Moxley -  long fingers extended, palm wide and open. 

But Moxley glares, turning his face away, to spit onto the floor on the other side. 

Something flashes in Danielson's face. Not anger, something quieter. Before Wheeler can look deeper, it's gone. "Gross," Danielson says, easily. "I'll get you a paper towel for that."

Moxley rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." It takes him longer to come back to himself. Wheeler is maybe glad. He's not sure how to feel. He knows that - for whatever reason, rightly or wrongly - he fought Moxley and Moxley fought him. And it mattered. 

Danielson is crossing the floor, the bright, easy smile on his face. "How are you feeling, today, Wheeler?" 

Wheeler holds up his power bar. "Perfect," he says. "I even got snacks."

"Fantastic," Danielson says. You wouldn't think he is a predator, like this. He just looks like a cool alpha you'd meet at the gym. Except for the blood. "You were great last night. Really gave Jon a run for his money."

"I did my best," Wheeler says. The cut on his forehead itches. "But thank you. It means a lot."

Danielson smiles. "Good. We're very happy to have you."

To have Bryan Danielson standing in front of you - in shorts and a bloody white t-shirt, with his hair up, with his hands bruised - it doesn't feel like it happens every day. It feels like another world. But Wheeler fought to get here. He did. He earned this. "I'm glad to be here," he says. 

"I'm certainly glad we got you away from the Best Friends," Danielson says, amicable and easy, like he'd say, buddha bowl hold the tempeh. "I hate to think about how you'd have been wasted staying longer under Orange Cassidy." There's a cruel smirk when he says the name. Something uglier. The dragon peeking out from behind the man's eyes. 

Wheeler's shoulderblades prickle. He feels his own hands form fists. Just because he’s not on Orange’s team anymore doesn’t mean Orange didn’t train him.  

"Hey." That's Moxley. All of a sudden he's at Danielson's back, his hand on Danielson's shoulder - the difference in their heights enough that Moxley is looming. His voice snaps through the air. "Cut it out, Bryan." 

"He was a good teacher," Wheeler says, looking at Moxley. It feels like, when he was bleeding, and he almost got that pin, and Moxley looked - Almost. Not quite. "I'm grateful to him. To all of them. I'm glad to be here, now." 

Danielson looks up at Moxley. "Yeah?" 

"Bryan," Moxley says. It's so clearly about something else that Wheeler looks at Regal, whose mouth has compressed into a thin line, and whose hands are curling into balls against his thighs. He can't read it; he doesn't know Regal. He could guess. If he were to guess he would say - nervous, uncertain, and a little remorseful. But that doesn't sound like William Regal. Not William Regal, who headbutted Moxley when he was dripping in Bryan’s blood. 

A conversation passes between them. Not so much a conversation as an unmoving fistfight. Moxley, scowling; Bryan, a contemptuous shrug. Wheeler really did think they liked each other. Maybe he just got used to the Best Friends. Even when Kris was being a jerk, he knew she liked him. 

Moxley wins. Danielson spreads his palms open, shrugging.

Moxley spends a lot of time looking awkward. You don’t realise that when you spend most of your time with Moxley with him kicking your ass, but actually - he’s kind of tentative. Feeling things out. Like he thinks Wheeler is going to say, fuck off, and turn around and go back to the Best Friends.

Wheeler likes it. Maybe he just likes Moxley. Maybe he just has a CD full of Mox matches in a drawer somewhere in his mom’s house. Who can say?

"Anyway," Danielson drawls. "I wanted to say." He taps his fingers against the side of his neck. "Do you wear them all the time?" 

Wheeler's stomach drops through one of those trap doors in Indiana Jones, right into an extremely culturally insensitive pit of snakes. "To the ring, yeah." Regal is looking between them like a sunning lizard, so Wheeler explains, "Blockers."

The patch on his neck doesn't itch. It's only been on for a minute. He slapped it on in a hurry. 

“You’re an alpha,” Regal says. 

“Yeah,” Wheeler says. Maybe it’s generational. Maybe Regal’s actually an asshole - the wrong kind of asshole - and Wheeler needs to get out now. “I wrestle in them so it makes sense to train in them, too.” 

Danielson raises an eyebrow. “Well,” he says. “You might gain some reaction time if you lose them. Usually it’s about half a second.”

Mox says, “Cut it out, Bryan.” His hand moves, but he doesn't grab Danielson's shoulder. He just puts his hand on his own hip and rolls his eyes. "The kid's been here a minute. Let him do some fucking pushups before you completely overhaul his life."

Danielson doesn't move. He keeps his eyes fixed on Wheeler, but it's very clear that Wheeler is not who he is talking to. "Improving his technique is not overhauling his life, Jon."

Wheeler clears his throat. "Company policy," he says. "Everyone's entitled to their preferred presentation." He’s paraphrasing from a lecture he's been given multiple times by Daniel Garcia. "Up to the point at which it encroaches on someone else's presentation." (That's a reference to wrestling in heat. Also rut, but in practice it's only really omegas who get in shit for wrestling under the influence. That's also a paraphrase from Daniel Garcia. Wheeler wasn't the object of the lecture. He was just in the vicinity and it stuck.)

Danielson tilts his head. “Is that a moral stance, Yuta?”

“Kind of.” Wheeler swallows. “Actually, you know what? Yeah. It is. You wore them at WWE. I wear them here.” 

Mox looks at him. A longer, deeper look. Like he did after he got the pin, when Wheeler was lying there on the mat. 

Danielson smiles. The smile is broader, wider. “Okay,” he says. “We can work with that.”

Regal says, “If you’re quite finished, I think now would be a good time to demonstrate some holds for young Wheeler.” His voice shades into calm reproof. “Since he certainly didn’t learn any from whatever you were doing before.”

Mox ducks his head but Danielson just laughs, a big laugh, like a bell. “All right, all right,” he says. “Point taken. C’mon, Mox.” 

It's just Wheeler and Regal on the bench again, both of them watching Danielson turn Moxley into various shapes while Moxley grimly allows himself to be bent.

“To be perfectly honest with you,” Regal says, “I’m very glad you came along. They were about to kill each other.”

“Great, now they can kill me.” Wheeler is only half-joking. It’s not like he knows if Danielson is a good teacher, or Moxley. But he was taught well before. He’s confident in his own ability to figure out what he needs.

“We’re lucky to have you,” Regal says, abruptly. “I hope you know that we know that.” 

“Oh,” Wheeler says. He thinks about Danny and Lee - Danielson wanted them, too. He wanted them so much he’d have bled for it. But Moxley bled for Wheeler, and now Wheeler is here. “Thank you.” 

“I know it’s a lot,” Regal says. “I know -” and he gestures, with a big sweep of that broad, scarred hand, “they’re a lot. But they’re good. They really are. And you’re good. They’ll make you better. And I will, too. We’ll do our damnedest.”

“I never had any doubts,” Wheeler says. That’s not a lie. He could have turned around. So many times. All the times. But he didn’t. He stayed the course. He’s here. 

Regal’s eyes crease. “They’re hiding something from me,” he says, quietly.

“Oh,” Wheeler says. 

Regal smiles at him. It’s a wistful smile; the craggy face of a mountainside, stretching onwards and upwards, despite snow and sleet and spring avalanches. “It happens,” he says. “Sons hide truths from their fathers. I hope one day soon you’ll come to hide the truth from me, as well.” 

Wheeler swallows. “I’ll do my best.”

Regal’s laugh is soft. “Good. I’d expect nothing less.” 

Wheeler lets himself look. Regal is an old man. You can see it here, in this shitty gym, with its bad lighting and the smell of sweat; the lines around his eyes, the tremor in his hands. But there’s something else there too - not just the man Wheeler watched on tape for years, not just the myth - but kindness, too. A deep well. Wheeler did not expect to find that. “They know you love them.” He didn’t mean to say it like that. Abruptly, out of nowhere. Too obvious. Chuck Taylor would say, get it together, kid. Chuck Taylor is very good at talking to people. “They couldn’t not know that.” 

But Regal says, “Oh,” his voice softening a little, with a little joy. “Thank you. I’m glad you see it.” 

“Anytime,” Wheeler says. 

Regal rakes his fingers through his hair, leaning back so he can look at Wheeler with the full force of his gaze. “I’ve got a question for you, young Wheeler,” he says. “Who is the most important member of the Blackpool Combat Club?”

It’s like the slap: it’s a test. There’s a right answer and three wrong ones. Maybe more than three.

Wheeler aced the slap, though. Full marks, gold star. Extra credit. He looked right into Regal’s face, but he didn’t hit him. He stood his ground; he didn’t lose it. 

Stand your ground; don’t give it away. He takes a breath. Bryan is the unstoppable force and Moxley is the immovable object. Maybe it's the other way around. Either way, they destroy each other if left unchecked. So there's only one option. Give me a place to stand and a lever and I can move the earth. Regal is both the lever and the place to stand. “You.”

Regal laughs. It’s a warm laugh; it settles in Wheeler’s chest like apple cider on a cold day. "Thank you," he says. "But not quite. Think about it and get back to me."

[bravevolunteer]

@trapton asked: " what the fuck happened to you ? " // blood, blood, gallons of the stuff

IT'S AN APPROPRIATE RESPONSE from his father ( for once )— one look at Michael and the question on anyone's mind would be 'what the fuck happened?' He neglected to even try look less fucked up before dragging himself through the front door— because he honestly didn't expect his father to be home, figuring he would avoid the confrontation until after handling the bloody details. Now, Michael has to deal with his questions on top of the burning pain exploding through his ribs with every step.

Dried blood clings to his face, staining his nose and lips a striking crimson. From his nose, mostly, but a couple small gashes that tore open as well. It dripped to his clothing, a mess down his shirt and arms where he had first tried to stop it. Secondary to the blood is the redness just underneath his eye, swelling skin that has already begun to blossom into purplish bruising. With the way he walks, falters in his steps and a particular focus ( as if letting go of such will cause him to lose his balance and collapse ), there's obvious damage to his side hidden by his clothing. Michael clings to the railing where he was caught hard enough to make his bruised knuckles go white, just barely stopping himself from swaying in a dizzy haze.

"What do you care?" He can't help but snap— even if his father does actually give a shit for some reason Michael can't comprehend, he feels sensitive and pliable and fucking embarrassed. The gaze burning into him doesn't help, catching him somewhere between wanting to keep the truth caged and the urge to spill his guts under the false hope that his dad might do what he's supposed to.

He sighs, knowing he won't get away with saying nothing. "What does it look like? I got my ass kicked." He doesn't insult the person who did it or try to claim it was unfair... the rumors surrounding Michael have been circulating for awhile. As the missing cases ramp up, so does talk, and a lack of real evidence doesn't matter to peers who could easily pin it on the notoriously unstable son of the restaurants' co-founder who murdered his own brother. It was a sibling of one of the kids who started the fight. They had just gone missing a couple weeks ago, pronounced dead even though no bodies are ever found, and Michael recognized the grief in the other's eyes. He was angry, resentful, and likely a better brother than Michael ever was, seeking out the closest thing to closure he could get. Michael tried to defend himself, his own reactivity clawing up his throat and out his mouth when accusations were hurled at him, but it was after the third punch that the energy faded and he just... let it happen. With Michael's lack of resistance, they both sought the same release: taking out their grief on the person at fault.

But he doesn't tell his father any of that. "I can clean it up myself." No matter his insistence, Michael still stumbles when he lets go of the railing.

[the-firebird69]

There's another thing happening here too these people keep harping on our sun to fall for stuff and he's not and he sits there trying to threaten him into it and it's disgustingly stupid. People say you're exhibiting pure **** behavior and they're killing them globally it's getting worse and worse and worse and no they don't want to give up anything so you can be normal to fool them to take their stuff to do the wrong thing. So they're going after you that would be foreigners I guess you call them tons of them and other more lock to for that matter they don't want to take the fall coz you're doing something real stupid. That leads us to right now

That leads us to right now-

= These two **** tried to keep him up last night and didn't work at all and he fell asleep slept all night and they beat each other up and they keep doing it and it's the sun and the father and then going to lose right now they're going at it for real in Costa Rica they'll kill each other. We're helping it out and we're going to make sure there's a ton of damage and it will start a series of movies that will get rid of these **** also last night it was ramped up times three and they managed to get 3.2 times the previous night and they lost about all of them the Pseudo Empire lost a fraction too but these guys lost 0.5% between two or three groups of Mack Morlock they're running around town crying and Trump is at 2.9% and fallen and he's getting worse and meaner and we're gonna take care of him. More shortly

More shortly

Thor Freya

Olympus

[castalyne]

Title: Eye of his Storm

Words: 633

Fandom: The Killing

Pairing: Stephen Holder/Caroline Swift

Summery: Some introspective Stephen Holder stuff, his thoughts on Caroline Swift. Kind of feel like, while he does love and care for her, he fell harder for that shot at having a 'normal' life.

There's mentions of sex here, but it's rather soft and tame.

archiveofourown.org/works/51272152

Stephen Holder falls in love with open doors. The potential for something new, the unknown, the desire for something different. A sense of normalcy, for something that's not his own, a new stab at another life. Caroline Swift is a lot of things to him, someone he could fall in love is one of them. She's patient, gentle and forward and Stephen has to admit it's nice that SHE was the one who asked HIM out. They'd only been working on this case, in different stratospheres, for a couple weeks, but when she asked if he wanted coffee? and to not just 'drink it in the meeting room' like they had done every day for the last 3 weeks with 3 lawyers, 5 detectives and an assortment of other law enforcement officials? She didn't have to ask him twice.

He names his favorite cafe on the very edge of the nicer part of town because there was no way in hell he was bringing her to his usual haunts or 7/11. A classy lady deserved good coffee and vegan options that ACTUALLY tasted like the real thing. When she said she liked it? The place was cute? The vegan options actually tasted good? He was a goner.

When she would say, in so many words, she preferred to stay in most nights, Stephen couldn't be more relieved. No hanging out under over passes, down back alleyways, in the trailer parks across the way, spending nights in the back seat of his car. He got to sit on his couch in front of the TV with Caroline leaning in to whisper something about how hot it was in his apartment and watching her stretch out to pull her sweater off over her head. The movement made his stomach flutter.

The first time they had sex was the first time he'd done it since the Larsen case, the first time he didn't have a head full of thoughts and meth and inner demons to chase. He had everything off from the waist down before she was pushing him onto the bed and straddling his hips and was pushing his shirt up just below his chest before he grabbed her hands and pulled one to his mouth. She turned red and looked back over her shoulder, glanced back to him. "I knew you had sex with your socks on." and he lost it and he laughed and laughed until she leaned in and kissed him until she shook with laughter. She guided his hands over her body, places she liked being touched and she took the initiative to gently ply moans from him as she ran a hand up under his t shirt and stroked the skin there too, over some scars and tattoos he regretted. The first time he applied 'normal' to sex in what felt like forever. He thought it'd bother him more to have her wipe the tears from his face after he came, mumbling something about the stress at work while she cooed something sweet to him and held him in the quiet dark until he passed out in her arms.

It was never like how it was with Linden and he doesn't want to compare them, who was a proverbial storm crashing around in his head that made his body follow suit, ramping up to cause a scene and leave a wake of damage for a greater 'good' whatever that meant at the time. Even if he was caught in that damage, even if she hadn't talked to him in months, he was still fond of Linden. Caroline felt more like the eye of the storm; calm and bright, keeping the darkness at bay until whatever the storm brought next. He hoped, whatever it brought, they'd be ready for it.

[kerink]

you brought up such good points and it gave me a platform to yap more so sorry about that

for PTSD and survivor's guilt: i'm a psychologist and i work at the VA where PTSD and survivor's guilt are the name of the game. you'd honestly be really surprised how people can cope through and compartmentalize some of the most horrific shit imaginable.

PTSD is at its worst immediately following the event and several decades after the dust of your life has settled. i often tell people that once you hit your 40s-60s your PTSD will ramp up again, as bad if not worse than it was after the event. now this is specific to veterans, who are 18-25 typically when the event happens, and then spend their 20s-30s trying to go to school, get a job, have a family, start a home. all of this your brain perceives as "trying to survive" so it doesn't try to deal with the trauma just yet. this is also not true for everyone, it's true in most cases i've seen and it's true for my personal PTSD, but there are also some people for whom they never get a break from their trauma.

so immediately after the event, curly's going to have to be going through pretty extensive medical treatment where his primary focus is still going to be surviving in this moment. he's also going to be going through exhausting and painfully and mentally taxing physical therapy. all of this is going to enable him to compartmentalize what happened on the tulpar, since he will still technically be in a life or death situation and living with his sympathetic nervous system activated. in the game we saw how stressed curly was, how sleep deprived he was, and know he was hallucinating too, but was still able to do his job and support his coworkers. to me this show that curly is very resilient and able to compartmentalize things well enough in order to get things done. i think the initial PTSD effects would be pushed aside, and since you only need to get over that initial hump, after awhile he'd be symptom managing instead of dealing with trauma. that distinction may not make total sense and tell me if it doesn't, but there is a difference.

now the survivor's guilt will eat him alive for sure, people don't shake that one off unless they go full avoidance mode. i think curly would be able to flip it to "i have to live for them" because he's nothing if not self-sacrificial. also, curly would blame himself for having brought jimmy along. and after seeing, hearing, and experiencing everything jimmy did to them only for jimmy to kill himself and get out of being held accountable, curly wouldn't want to take that "coward's way out." he'd want to live and heal and get better so he could face the music. he's going to take responsibility not only for what he did but also what jimmy did. their whole lives he's been shouldering the burden of Jimmy, what makes this any different?

thinking about curly's prosthetics and what physical supports he'll have access to is a real tricky one, i agree with you. esp since we do only have limited capabilities today and we have no idea what the world looks like outside the tulpar.

i see people call the pony express scifi amazon and. yeah... i agree. but we make that comparison because we have an analog. so let's look an our analogs. we have a society where we allow amazon to have the working conditions it does. but we also have HUD glasses, controllable prosthetics, we're working on artificial organs, various forms of vocal recovery (we don't know what the damage to curly's speech system are, if he lost his tongue or if his vocal chords were damaged or if he was just in too much pain to speak), the brain chip thing you pointed out, and all sorts of other things either currently available or in the works. society continues to push to improve quality of life without addressing the systems that cause poor quality of life.

and bouncing off that statement into the next thing i wanted to talk about: we can get an idea of what curly's recovery might look like by turning to other scitfi dystopian stories. the cyberpunk and star wars series were the first ones i thought of when making this post. cyberpunk has a prosthetic and augmentation focus, while star wars (motions to darth vader). anakin skywalker also had full body burns, multiple amputations, and damage to his speaking abilities. and look at what they were able to do for him!

the tulpar has a very retro-future vibe that screams fallout to me, so i think poking around in the fallout universe for inspiration would be meaningful. sadly i dont know shit from fuck about fallout other than from monster factory lmfao

i think curly's situation is ultra complicated, which is a good thing for a fandom. it allows everyone to explore it however they want to, whatever's going to bring them catharsis. which is exactly what curly is to jimmy: something to project his own pain and suffering out on and someone too helpless to stop us taking it out on.

edit because i forgot to touch on the money bit: i think pony express would pay a lot to make this incident go away. even tho jimmy was fucking around on the psych evals, he was doing that when they were already in the middle of their mission. pony express obviously cleared him before he even got on the ship, which is going to show faults in their screening and application processes. there were also only 4 cryopods for a crew of 5, even if that's legal it's going to cause such bad PR that they're going to want to hide it. and there was only enough food and air to get them from port to port with no emergency rations, there was also no automatic SOS system in place that would keep track of the ship and alert the company to an issue. the blood is on pony express' hands, and since it's not clear if they went out of business or if they moved to fully automated shipping, either they or the insurance company responsible for them is going to have to pay up. an event this grizzly is gonna be all over the place, look at how society responded to the chilean miners, uruguayan flight 571, the titanic.

i think they're going to try to deny fault first, but once an investigation is done and the evidence comes out, they're gonna pay out the wazoo to shut curly the fuck up and make this all go away and look like sympathetic good guys taking responsibility.

look at the recent disney scandal, where they tried to get out of the death because the wife had signed up for disney+, then back-tracked when they got bad PR, but tried to say they were allowing it to go to trial because of altruistic reasons.

been thinking a lot today about post-rescue curly

a rescue team is going to want to keep him in cryo until they can figure out not only how to transport him but how to treat him. keeping him in a medically induced coma after that while he goes thru multiple surgeries. what does the medical technology look like in the future? what does his treatment and rehab look like? how easily do his skin grafts take? are his prosthetic neuro-linked and controllable? does he get a cyber eye? or is it long and hard and painful and riddled with infection and rejection and set back like it would be now? will he ever be able to vocally speak again or will he use sign language or an AAC board or other speech generating device?

did the ship's security camera keep running and recording after the crash? during the hearing will curly have to watch everything happen all over again? or did it go out like the radio and curly will have to give detailed testimony over and over and over again?

will he have to face anya and jimmy and swansea and daisuke's families during the hearing or during the settlement process? will they understand? will they hate him? will they blame him? will they comfort him? and if the cameras work and daisukes parents hear that their son was the one who was chosen to survive, but curly got his seat? will curly be able to live with knowing that?

what does his future look like? does he live off the settlement money or does he have to go back to work? does he write a book or sign over movie rights? does he get hounded by media and press wanting to parade him around all over tv and radio and newspapers and magazines? do people pressure him to do a lecture circuit? do true crime people ever leave him alone? how long is it before he's able to just go to the grocery store in peace?

what does a life for him look like?