#that must've been a Deliberate Choice

[plutoswritingplanet]

Hand That Feeds (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female!Reader)

a/n: as promised, here's the full chapter. as a person who's only played skyrim and oblivion, writing for fallout is like throwing a hot dog into an empty corridor (i will not elaborate)

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Attempted Kidnapping, Medical Malpractice, Cooper is a mean old man with a boner. Takes place before the events of the TV series.

Summary: The Ghoul takes up a bounty that has been gathering dust for quite some time. You, bored out of your mind, decide getting kidnapped might be the perfect way to entertain yourself. Both of you bite off more than you can chew. Cross-Posted on AO3

PT. 2

Copper knows this job will be different, before he even decides to take it up. 

Scribbled with flaky charcoal, your face looks at him from the notice board every time he delivers a bounty. For months now, a humble title of "The Healer" hangs without change, between criminals, raiders, and people who were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

Cooper hasn't considered going for you, it was never his first choice. The bounty on your head was moderately low, in comparison to your notice board neighbors.  He had other priorities, bigger than a smeared over pretty face, for half his usual reward.

Until one day, as he stomped his way through the dusty floor, his eyes caught onto your wanted poster yet again. 

Well, to be frank, his eyes strayed towards your portrait almost every time he crossed the threshold, but he would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself. Like a constant companion, overlooking all his accomplishments since he decided to stick around the place, your empty gaze followed every transaction, every head delivered onto the table. Some semblance of a routine, he supposed, looking over the board. 

 There, under the regular information, freshly painted numbers stared back at him. A new bounty, significantly bigger than any reward on the board. The red paint was still dripping down the yellowed paper, the addition must've been made quite recently. 

A hefty price. One, that would supply him with enough chems to last for half a year at least. Tempting. Especially now, that he's down to only a couple of vials, his coughing fits becoming longer and closer between. So tempting, in fact, that he tears your wanted poster from the board, finally getting a closer look, a deliberate one. 

Booker gives him a raised eyebrow, all the commentary needed, encapsulated in this simple gesture, and Cooper shoots him a nasty look. There aren't many requirements regarding the job, except one, annoying detail. 

You have to be alive and in good condition. 

Now, alive Cooper could do. Alive is easy. Good condition, however, opened a whole shitbag of problems, which he would be a fool to overlook. Still, the prospect of such money couldn't be ignored. And, he'd be damned to admit it, but he was curious. Who were you? Why haven't you been caught for such a long time? What caused this sudden raise in bounty?

- Did you piss someone off that bad, little lady? - he asks the yellowed paper, and gets no answer, as expected. 

***

The bar is filled with patrons, all tripping over themselves to loose as many caps on cheap alcohol and chems from under the table. It's not as rowdy, as one would expect. This settlement must be one of the few more civilized ones, for the Wasteland's standards at least. Farmers, mechanics, shopkeepers, they all clam together, smelling of smoke, sweat, and alcohol. 

You're here too, hunched over your drink with a sour expression. Your shoulders are slumped, covered by a piece of cloth, that used to be a shawl, but currently looks more like a rag used to wipe down countertops. Despite that, Cooper sees in the way your body is poised, taunt and graceful, that you're neither a naive Vault Dweller, nor a scruffy raider. A skinny scarf is tied around your neck in a fashion, that reminds Cooper of the old westerns he used to star in. 

The sudden influx of memories is neither wanted, nor useful, and he clicks his teeth in annoyance at his own betraying mind.

The Healer, he thinks to himself, making his way through the crowds, until he reaches the side of the bar, one seat from you. Not a glance is spared in his direction. The townsfolk must be used to seeing Ghouls run around the place. Still, when he orders a glass of moonshine, out of the corner of his eye, he can see you peaking at him with curiosity. There's a intelligent glint in your eye, and Cooper feels a shiver of curiosity climbing up his back. He scolds himself for being too old imediately after. 

By all that's holy, you look tired. And not the kind of tired, that sticks to a person living in the Wastelands, no. It's the exhaustion of a shitty day, dragging your eyelids down to flutter against creeping up sleep. The alcohol can't be helping your state, however, it will most definitely help Cooper. He almost feels sorry for you, but if your dumb enough to leave yourself in the open like that, while being hunted, there's nothing more he can do but take advantage. 

Cooper turns his face ever so slightly towards you, looking over your expression for any signs of recognition. He sees none, more than that, there is no emotion at all, not even a blink at his fucked up face. Raising his hand, he touches the rim of his hat in a wordless greeting. 

That finally wrenches some resemblance of a reaction out of you, and with a blink, you tip your glass towards him, before downing its contents. Your cheeks are flushed, lips wet with remnants of moonshine and there's a lock of hair falling out of place, and damn it, Cooper suddenly feels so old.

Ordering drinks while in your current state wasn't the most intelligent thing you could've done. The harsh taste of alcohol burned your throat in a way that was less than pleasant, and for a moment you consider turning to some good old chems for help with... Well everything really. 

It started with Old Lady Sal. 

You've replaced her hip a while back with some scrap metal and a fuckload of reused body parts. Now, every other day she demands you check it out, make sure it's in working order. Which it always is. This isn't your first replaced hip, you know what you're doing.

Then, you had to sit through the insanely uncomfortable marriage offer from Old Lady Sal's grandson, who is not only dumb as a bag of rocks, but also fourteen. 

And to top it all off, suddenly everyone needs you to solve their particular pains of the day. There must be an epidemic of aching heads sweeping through the town, because as soon, as you flee from Old Lady Sal's home, you're being hounded by everyone and their mother, looking to you for help. You were in town for two hours, and your herbs reserve went down to one fucking leaf. 

The Ghoul keeps looking at you from under his hat, and at this point it's gotten from uncomfortable, to straight up creepy. You were not about to pretend this stranger's interest in your particular person didn't unnerve you. Although, thanks to your mother's efforts, and later your own, the town practically worshipped the ground you walked on, the same could not be said about the rest of the Wasteland. 

You had enemies. You had people, who would love to get their hands on you. You were also deeply aware of the bounty placed on your person. Last you checked, it was quite small, but Ghouls don't have it easy out there, and if there's anyone looking like a bounty hunter in this fine establishment, it's the shady guy giving you a shameless once-over. 

So, you place a couple of caps on the counter, and gather yourself best you can. 

Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach was not the best idea, because as soon as you slide off the barstool, your head does a flip. Your balance completely off, you trip over your own feet, already accepting the floor, as your soon-to-be companion. 

That's when something strangely warm wraps itself around your waist, hoisting you up against the counter. The Ghoul smells just about as pleasant as one would expect, but moonshine is a powerful sedative, and instinctually, you lean into the warm embrace. Eyelids flutter, as you look up into the sunken eyes of your savior, and you can see his throat move, as he swallows thickly. 

- Careful now, sweetheart - the voice is low and reminds you of wind whistling through leaves - Gotta keep you in good condition.

Now, if you were completely sober, or at least less drunk, those words would fire an orchestra of alarm bells in your head. Instead, you smile, teeth on full display, as you reach up, to undo a tattered scarf from around your neck. 

- Mmm - you sigh, throwing the piece of cloth across the Ghoul's shoulders - My hero. 

Then, you grab onto his arm, still holding a tight grip around your waist, and lift it up by the sleeve of his coat. Despite your drunken disposition, you duck under the limb gracefully, and shoot the Ghoul a nasty, fully aware smirk. Realization flickers across his face, but before he can move to catch you, a series of body-wrecking coughs shakes his entire frame. 

You hesitate just for a second. The instinct to help is ingrained into your very being, passed down like a mantle from your angel of a mother. But then, self-preservation kicks in, and as the strager reaches into the pocket of his coat, to find his inhaler, you're already out the door, throwing yourself into a mad dash towards your cabin.

You were drunk, not stupid. 

***

The sun has barely had time to rise, when you're rudely awoken by the sound of a fist, pounding desperately on your front door. Hard enough to make the hinges squeak and shake. 

It tears you from your already light sleep, and you scramble to your feet, hastily pulling a shirt over your head, as you make your way towards the entrance. Hand on your pistol, you look out through the small space between two planks, which make up your door. 

It's not hard to understand what is happening. You remember one of the men standing outside your door from the nearby town. Benny or something like that, you were never good at remembering names. Hanging on his arm was another, barely breathing man, who was currently bleeding out right onto your porch. Pete. This one you recognize as a farmer and a hunter. You've treated multiple bites and scratches on him. So did your mother. 

Cursing under your breath, you undid all the makeshift locks with record speed, throwing the door open.

- I'm sorry to bother your so early in the morning Healer - you wince at the title, already making a beeline for the table in your kitchen - Pete and I were just...

Both men follow you closely behind, Pete's boots making a disgusting, sloshing noise. 

- Put him here, face up - you command, throwing a couple of papers to the floor.

- ...Coming back from a night hunt, and this fucking Ghoul was asking around town about you...

- Cut his shirt - another command, thrown over your shoulder, as you begin to rummage through a cabinet filled with chemicals and various herbs, barely registering the words. 

- ...And when we started asking questions back at him, he just shot Peter, right then and there...

You pluck a couple of twisted, dried herbs into your trusty, stone mortar, spitting into it, to gather some moisture. Throwing a semi-clean rag at the man, your voice cuts through his rambling.

- Put pressure on it.

There is no exit wound, and you almost sigh with annoyance at the prospect of fishing out a bullet. It had to be done, however, putting your sleep depriation and a building headache aside, you scoop out some of the herbal paste with your fingers, before pushing past the man.

- Hold his legs down - you mutter, taking a blink-and-you-miss-it moment to check Pete's temperature.

- ...Thankfully, he didn't kill Pete on the spot, so I brought him here straight away.

Pete flinches on the table, as you apply the paste to the wound. That's about as big of a reaction he's capable of, given the amount of blood he just spilled onto your porch. Another thing to clean up, after you take care of the table. What a way to start a fucking day. You can see his eyes follow your movements, barely conscious, but still alive. Sweat beads and gathers at his brow, and you reach out with a clean rag, to dab it off his skin.

Then, as if coming out of a stupor, your eyebrows scrunch together. The story of this faithful encounter finally registering in your brain. 

- A man was asking about me? - you ask, despite already knowing the answer. 

- Well, kinda. A Ghoul. 

You knew which Ghoul, it was not difficult to piece together. 

- And he didn't kill Pete, just injured him - you can feel another headache brewing just behind your eyes, as the sheer stupidity of the man in front of you finally comes to the surface.

They led him to you. 

Three, steady knocks to your door, smug and confident, interrupt the conversation, and deep down you can see the future of every person present in this cabin. As if you've developed some magical powers. 

Stilling your suddenly trembing hands, you settle the mortar back on the table. Thenyou instruct the man to keep pressure once more. Covering yourself with a robe you got as payment for stitching up a sliced finger, you make your way to the door. Fabric flows around your feet, shuffling like the wings of a moth. 

Your eyes flicker to the side, where, placed against a wall, stands a small end table. Under it, you've hidden a rather large kitchen knife, and for a second you debate, whether going for it now would be the best course of action. Call it dumb optimism, but deep down, you pray this is some big misunderstanding, and you'll be allowed to go back to your patient, preferably sooner than later. 

There's no need to bother with a gun, no time too. Pete is bleeding out faster than a stuck pig, and you were not one to leave your customers unsatisfied. Or, in this particular line of work, dead. 

The door opens with a slam. There's a small indent in the wooden wall, where the door handle has hit the surface.  The cabin is slowly entering the state of ruin, although, some places are more taken care of than others. Still, it has a roof, a semi intact entrance and even a window with actual glass in it. Quite the luxury in the Wastelands. 

Cooper didn't know what to expect, not really. Seeing you for the first time gave him a mixture of varying feelings, as well as a rather uncomfortable throbbing in the nether regions. Who could blame him, really? Your wanted poster gave you no favors, and although he was able to recognize you almost immediately, he still felt slightly short of breath.

He scolds himself for getting distracted by his thoughts, and as your eyes lock down on him, he lifts the barrel of his gun, touching the rim of his hat. Your eyes shift like little sparkling gems onto the weapon, before your jaw locks.

- Salutations Ma'am - his voice is rough from lack of use, the southern twang even more prominent, than usual. - I believe our introduction was cut short.

Yellowed teeth flash in a mirthless smirk, and then his expression tightens.

Cooper is used to people reacting, let's say, negatively towards him. Fear is the most common, and he can't blame the masses, he really can't. Disgust, as well, happens quite often. But as he looks over your feverish gaze, he can't really see either one of the emotions. 

No, what you give him is an annoyed roll of your eyes, and he's surprised to say, it bothers him more than he'd be comfortable admitting. He's a goddamned bounty hunter, a ruthless one at that, and a fucking Ghoul. Fuck you mean, you're annoyed by his presence?

- Look - you're already turning away from him, shooting a look towards your kitchen, where he can see a leg twitch in a spasm on top of your table - I ain't got time for whatever this is - your hands wave around in Cooper's general direction. - You'll have to wait your turn.

- Ah, well, I'm not the patient kind.

A squeak of surprise leaves you, as the Ghoul pushes past your body, entering your house gun first, murder clear in his deep set eyes. His steps take him through your living room, dangerously close to your kitchen. You know exactly, what's going to happen, and your arms shoot out on instinct. His body is unnaturally warm, even through layers of clothing, as you wrap yourself around his waist, tugging him back with all your might.

 He looks down on you, more bothered by the sudden contact, than the fact you're trying to stop him. It gives you a small leverage, and you push him back a couple of steps, settling yourself between the entrance to the kitchen, and the bounty hunter, raising your hands and getting ready to fight. 

- I don't have time for this kinda bullshit. Git. - Cooper snarls at you, his gun-free hand coming up to grab at your hair.

Before you have time to react, five fingers twist hard into your roots, and you stifle a scream, as the Ghoul pushes you off of him. On instinct, your hands come up to tug against his wrist, nails digging into the leathery skin. He lets you go with a hiss, and you use that second, to throw yourself towards the end-table. 

Your fingers find the handle with a practiced ease. Then, your body twists like a radioactive viper, and all Cooper sees is a flash of metal. The blade is rusty and chipped, but it could still do some damage. Especially now, that it's pressed against Cooper's jugular, the dull, cold presence halting all his movements. Your eyebrows raise in small recognition at the thin fabric tied around his neck. The scarf. Your mouth goes dry.

- Everything okay back there? - Benny asks from the kitchen, you can hear his approaching footsteps.

- All's well, kee pressure on the wound - your voice is tight with nerves, but the man obeys. 

Cooper watches your face carefully, his gun tucked neatly into the meat of your stomach, ready to fire, should the situation escalate. You can feel it, pressed right into the hollow space under your spleen, a good place to be shot, if you could even say that. You're dealing with a professional, apparently. 

- We seem to have a bit of a conundrum on our hands, little lady - Cooper drawls, voice bordering on a whisper, his eyes follow the way your tongue darts out to lick your chapped lips. 

- I have a patient, he needs help - you explain in an even tone, breathing shallow - After that, I'll deal with you.

Despite being at a loosing position, you refuse to back down, your eyes glued to the Ghoul in front of you. You're bracing yourself for the imminent pain, should he decide shooting you would be easier, but it never comes. Instead, the barrel of the gun presses further into your flesh, before lightly retracting. The cold metal is dragged up, across the expanse of your stomach. You bite the inside of your cheek, and surpress a shiver, when it travels between the swell of your breast, and settles into the dip of your collarbones. 

You swallow thickly, Cooper's eyes catching the movements of your trachea like a hungry vulture. The tip of the gun touches the underside of your chin, pushing your head to one side, then the other, as if the bounty hunter is taking inventory in a butcher's shop. Once he's had his fill, he lifts the gun completely, raising his hands as a peace offering.

- Git - you whisper back at him, and a flash of something rushes through his mangled expression. 

You take a step back, chest rising in falling rapidly, blade still in front of you, just in case. Then another step, and the bounty hunter dusts off his coat, before sitting down on a stool in your cluttered living room. You don't like the way he looks at you, eyes shining from under his hat, as he occupies your space like it belongs to him. Long legs apread in front of him, and you try very hard not to sneak a peak between them. Finally, you cross the entrance to the kitchen, and the knife is tucked under the leather belt of your pants. 

A sigh, a roll of shoulders, and you're off.

Cooper watches with curiosity, as you immediately start to work on the poor bastard stuck on your table. Your back is taunt, hands bloodied but steady, as you lean down to take the metal bullet out of the wound. The herbal paste you've provided earlier has dried up, and is currently working wonders for the bleeding, while you reach inside with not-so-sterile pliers. 

- Hold him down - he hears you say, as the legs on the table start to twitch again. 

Finally, a metallic sound of the bullet hitting a dish is heard, and you stand up, making your way towards the cabinet filled with chems. There is a grace to your movements Cooper wasn't expecting. Reminds him of dancers, ballet ones. 

Back in the day, his ex-wife would drag him to all those ballet shows, ones that made him feel stupid and uncultured. He swallows around the memory, willing it to die down, as you shoot him a cautious look over your shoulders. 

He wiggles his gun at you lightly, a reminder, that all this is happening because of his good humor. You scoff. 

Pete starts screaming as soon, as you begin to dress the wound properly. Chemical smell fills the air, and although Cooper lacks the nose to feel it, his eyes water all the same. You seem to be unbothered, years of doing this exact job must've hardened your senses. Finally, it's done. There's nothing more you can do for the man, and you wipe your hand on your forehead, leaving a large smear of red.

- He'll be fine - you mutter towards the other man in the kitchen - He needs rest, and a loads of it too. 

A couple of small bottles and dried herbs land onto a checkered cloth, and you tie it closed, like a small care package. 

- Dress his wounds twice a day - you press the package into the other man's hands while he helps his partner off the table - Good luck. 

Cooper glares at the men, as they stagger out the front door. They don't seem to pay him any mind. Well, the shot one definitely doesn't, he can barely walk on his own. His friend is too preoccupied with keeping him on his arm, to even acknowledge that this whole situation was orchestrated by Cooper himself. Or perhaps, he's to stupid to connect the dots. It's hard to tell these days. 

The door closes with a click, and Cooper stands up from his stool, sauntering over to the kitchen. 

You're currently trying to wash blood off of your hands, which are stained crimson almost up to your elbows. It goes about as well as expected, and as you dry your arms with a rag, there's still a pinkish stain to your skin. 

The table is a mess, blood and herbs seeping into the wooden planks which make up the surface. Cooper leans against the doorframe, as he watches you splash some chemicals onto the wood. It bubbles up in a disgusting mixture of red, green and yellow. You let it sizzle for a moment, before taking that same bowl of water you've been using to clean up, and dumping it all onto the table. The mixture flows down to the floor, the residing surface looking much cleaner. 

- Now, as much as I'd love to sit around and play house with you, honey - Cooper starts, and has to clear his throat, when you look up at him wordlessly, blood on your face and fire in your eyes - I have a bounty to collect.

Sighing, you push your hair back from your forehead, exhaustion, which is synonymous with living in the Wastelands seeping off of you like a tidal wave. 

- Do you have a name? - you ask, reaching for a leather bag sitting on one of the chairs. 

- I do - he says, and you roll your eyes at the deliberate lack of information his answer has given you. 

You mutter something that sounds scarily close to "asshole", and begin to chuck a couple of vials into the bag, then some herbs, then a water canteen. It's like you're ready to move out at any time, and a sneaking suspicion arises in Cooper's mind. This isn't the first time you're in this situation, if your calm demeanor is anything to go by. Suspicious, highly so, and as you turn around to face him, Cooper raises his hand ever so slightly. 

Your eyes fall onto the bundle of rope in his grip, eyebrow raising in annoyance. 

- You serious? 

- As a funeral, sweetheart - he sways the bundle lighty, his other hand pointing the gun at your abdoment - Now, are you going to be good, and come over here? Or should I come over there and make it unpleasant for us both?

- You're already making it unpleasant - you mutter, but cross the kitchen towards him, raising your hands, palms up. 

- Wait. 

Confusion hits you, when the Ghoul reaches into his pocket, producing a small piece of torn cloth. Your entire body goes still, as he grabs onto your chin, cold metal of his gun digging into your cheek, the barrel settling into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. Then, despite your best efforts at freeing yourself from his grip, he brings the cloth to his lips, wetting the fabric with his tongue. 

The bloody smear on your forehead is wiped down rather roughly, and you twist in place like an impatient toddler, when Cooper leans his head back, to look at his handywork. You shiver with disgust, at the feeling of his drying saliva on your skin, and as soon, as he lets you go, you begin to rub at your forehead with the sleeve of your robe. 

- Good condition - he rasps, and if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under.

He gives you a nasty smirk, settling his gun down for just a moment, and grabbing your wrists together, so he can tie them up. Which is all the time you need to make a decision, and kick out your knee, nailing him right in the crotch. He doubles over, cursing loudly, hands shooting out to grab you, but all he catches is your tattered robe, which you slide out of easily. 

Fater than he would've anticipated, you grab at your bag, and bolt to the back of the kitchen, where he watches you jump over the table and all but slide out of the house through an open window. It's like a choreographed dance, the way you move out of his grasp. When he reaches the window himself, there's no sight of you, other than the rustling of tree branches somewhere in the woods behind your cabin. 

- Fucking women. - Cooper whistles.

He can't deny the shiver of excitement running down his back, as he secures the hat over his eyes.  If that's how you want to play, he would oblidge. It's been far too long since he could actually enjoy a more challenging bounty. Cooper slowly walks out of your cabin, looking over all the little trinkets you've gathered inside. Then, almost lazily, he lifts the robe you've left him to his nose. He feels nothing, of course, but he has quite a vivid imagination. Vivid enough to supply him with a memory of a scent from his past life. Lavender, he'd bet you smell like lavender. 

Your tracks are deep and visible across the ground, and so, the hunt begins. 

[iwonderwh0]

I wanna expand on Emma's character. She likes attention, she likes filming herself. There are piano in their room, so it's practically inevitable that she learns to play it. Who is her teacher? It's possible that it is human as, you know, music, maybe her rich parents think that it's best to learn it from humans. At least, we never heard that household models could teach playing instruments. Or actually, she probably learns using built-in program in the piano itself. Like, we saw this holographic screen when Markus was playing, it must include some learning modes.

She has favourite bands. She probably has some kind of spiritual beliefs, probably not like any specific religion but a mix of some new-age ones, at least their home looks like they are like this, like, if I remember it correctly there are Buddha statues so that's one thing. I think Emma, at least, believes in a few things, like karma and manifestations.

Her wrists are full of those handmade bracelets. Did she make them with someone? Alone? Are those friendship bracelets and there are some friends of her that have them too? She must've made at least one of those with Daniel, and it would be such a nice detail for him to wear one in-game. Missed opportunity. Maybe he took it off?

Daniel was activated for four years (huh, I thought longer, but it's still years though), so his character must've been quite developed for a while even prior to deviancy. Or, actually, maybe he deviated a lot earlier than the day we see him in the game. It is entirely possible that there was another event that made him freak out of his line, perhaps after fucking up and accidentally endangering Emma (they kept it a secret. I headcanon that Emma loves secrets. It makes her feel special), but he just stayed and continued his life with Phillips as if nothing happened without change because he liked it and felt responsible about it. I mean, it's not like he had somewhere to go — he doesn't know about Jericho as was confirmed in the evidence room. But ever since that day of his potential deviation he started to accumulate suspicions and paranoia that tipped over when he found out about AP700.

You know, it's kinda ironic that kids with household androids raise them as much if not more than household androids raise them. For kids those androids are part of their life, for androids it's their whole world (I mean, outside of some additional errands and other family members interactions that I don't think are composing even half of the time androids spend with kids they're looking after). Emma was 5-6 years old when Daniel was first introduced into her life. She must've already had friends and all kind of interests by that time, so Daniel didn't raise her from infancy.

You know, it's possible even that those kinds of androids get jealous of kid's other friends and family members. Daniel definitely feels like a jealous type, I doubt August 15 was his first time feeling resentment. The fact that he became Emma's first choice in four years must've been a really deliberate effort on his part, which, I mean, he spends the most time with her so he had this advantage.

Daniel belongs to the Phillips family but at the same time Daniel developed such a possessive attitude towards Emma as if she was his property. He integrated himself into her life as a "need, not want" and he will take her with him on his death row. He wants to believe that Emma needs him, but the truth is he needs Emma much more than she ever could. And it drives him mad.

Hear me out

What if

What if he was so jealous of Emma's other friends and so paranoid about her distancing herself from him that he cultivated circumstances where Emma preferred him over anyone else. A victory. And he put so much effort competing with other people for her attention that possibly of Emma replacing him with another android never crossed his mind. Until it hit him like an anvil. All of his work was for nothing. All this time he thought of himself as her friend. A person. Competing with other people. Turned out he wasn't even within the same category. He had always been only a toy.

[inchidentally]

I just saw Carlos' girlfriend when they kissed and she is stunning!! Do they stay private like Oscar and Lily? I've never seen them together. I laughed so hard at Lando's dad being nosy watching them 😂

she is !!! her modeling reels are so impressive she's like 90s model level of chic. and you could actually hear her screaming on the broadcast bc she was one of the few high voices in that masculine Ferrari team asfgsalgfslajgfa

and the renaissance painting quality of these photos where he reaches for her is !!!

NO SAME I laughed so hard at Zak discreetly looking away to give them a moment but Adam is full on pulling a Lando and O.O the whole time sfashlfhaslfhal

and she gets so much hate and abuse from ppl who either want to be with him or want him to be with Lando you would not believe. and like, it's one thing to choose not to rb wives and girlfriends at all but it's rly obvious who is doing it for that reason and who just wants to police these men's choices in partners.

so as of this season they definitely made the decision to be fully public and allow fans to take photos with her in them when they want to which is <3 (it's also sadly why the hate has ramped up)

but they started out extremely private and all we saw were grainy sneaky fan photos. ppl managed to find out who she was and I think the paps managed to get her a couple of times even though she tended to walk a bit apart from him to avoid it. then Pierre accidentally hard launched her in one of his pictures of a group hanging out with Carlos and then he deleted it minutes later. it's so funny too bc she had deliberately scooted further down the table against the wall and wasn't looking at the camera so he must've just forgotten to crop it aslfgjslaf. I can't always watch the broadcasts so I can't remember how early she started going to races but I remember seeing pics of her and Charles' gf Alex around the paddock by about mid-season? they were definitely still hiding her a fair amount around Mexico and Brazil bc she was on the flight Lando and Carlos took bc ppl spotted her cardigan on one of the seats (if I ever go missing btw give the case to gossip sites they'd find me in 3 hours flat asgkfgalfgla). and ofc she and Carlos posted parallel carousels of their little private holiday in Bermuda (I think?) so they didn't rly mind ppl putting 2 and 2 together by then. she didn't do the walk to the garage with him until around Vegas I think? and since then she's gone to every race when she isn't working. she was invited to Dakar and Spanish media filmed her walking w his family. Carlos' mom and sister attended her runway show in Madrid, Rebecca went to lunch with I wanna say three generations of Sainz men a couple months ago and there's been sm commenting back and forth going on. so it's been very gradually but steadily been getting more public and now I think they're relaxed into it.

my favorite part tho is that Carlos has been leaving emojis on her photos for a while but she doesn't comment on his content so I feel like she's more pushing for not posting each other atp bc the comments are likely to be a cesspool. she's already restricted and monitored comments on her own content.

this is totally my pointless take but I feel like the fact that she works and travels so steadily as a model and keeps her own family off her social media is rly ideal for a Virgo micromanager like Carlos? he very much likes to manage what he shares and when.

[lassieposting]

God though do you ever think about how, at least in the show, Kirigan creating the nichevo'ya was probably not even a conscious choice?

We see him get attacked in the Fold. That volcra absolutely slams into him - and, since he's clutching his ribcage when he crawls out of the Fold even though his kefta doesn't seem to be damaged there, it's entirely likely that impact broke ribs. And that first volcra isn't alone. They're either pack hunters or opportunistic enough to attack in a swarm, and now he's down - the easiest prey.

In that moment, he would not be thinking clearly. He'd be stunned, winded, panicking, in pain. If he's landed hard - or wrong - on a shoulder, elbow or wrist joint, he could easily have briefly lost the use of that arm, and briefly is enough to kill him. He knows he's about to die, and die horribly - assuming they're like other predatory animals he'd be familiar with, they're most likely going to fight over him, pull him to pieces, and possibly start eating him while he's still alive. Conscious thought shuts down. Instinct would take over - the instinct every single living thing has to fight for its life. Even if he can summon, his shadow summoner ability is a "beacon for the volcra", so he only has one weapon left to protect himself, and that's merzost.

He's not thinking about the price he'll have to pay. He's not thinking about how much independence to give his creations, or how he could maintain control over them. He acts in that instant because he's got no other choice. He doesn't know how badly it will hurt to make them, or that they'll keep feeding on him long after he doesn't need them anymore, long after he's started to fear them and their increasing aggression towards him. He doesn't know how creatively they're going to interpret the vague purpose he gives them in that moment: protect me.

Like. He's not stupid. He fucked around with merzost once and got burned, very badly, for hundreds of years. Relying on it again deliberately, out of pure spite, would be absurd for a man who's been playing the long game for so many centuries against people who've wronged him far worse. That he used it implies fear, and desperation, and animal fucking instinct.

(And he suffers so much for that split second of self-preservation. Buying himself time to get out of the Fold while his monsters drive the volcra away from him. He's irrevocably scarred - which show!Aleksander seems to find distressing, given how many times he reacts badly to seeing his own reflection - and he's sick, and he's in pain all the time, and he's also still just as overtaxed and exhausted as he's always been. The monsters he created to save him from a vicious and agonizing death are killing him too, just slowly, drawn out. Like. The amount of fear and stress and pain he must've been battling the whole season and nobody even noticed. And even though he's clearly struggling on a personal level, he still takes the new weapons he can't get rid of and uses them on the front lines, because above all else he is a soldier and he has always been the one to make personal sacrifices for his people as a whole.)

Anyway cuddles for darkles for one thousand years, he deserved better

[neurotonic]

From your old Marshall drawings, it seems to have lost one arm first, and then the other. Are we allowed to know what specifically happened? Obviously some sort of field incident, but of what nature?

Even older Marshall drawings have both of its arms intact (Plus a Very different personality), it's also a progression of the character making process I do sometimes :3c

The thing is ..... I would give you an answer if I had one ready. but.... I Do Not DSKJGHFD All I know is that Marshall lost its arms and its eye in three separate incidents. Probably a lot of explosions that made it hard to salvage what's left. It's a little rough for it out there.

You did get me thinking though ... the first incident must've been rookie's first accident. The second and third might have been more of a deliberate choice of risking fatal injuries for the sake of saving someone in the process. Safe to say it succeeded in doing so.

[raising-harmony]

[In-person scene.]

[The commotion of their new arrival starts to settle down gradually. After getting introductions with Drayden squared away, and handing out the gifts he'd brought- just snacks and some fidget toys for all of them, nothing too extravagant- Concordia scurried off to give N his share. Anthea would follow after her just minutes after, though she seemed far more interested in talking to the new guest than expected. Alder found it a bit funny that somehow, Drayden's stilted and former demeanor was actually something Anthea appeared to find comfort in.. Maybe it was a sense of familiarity, flames knew Ghetsis was a stickler for manners, just judging by how the girls carried themselves. But that was only a guess.

Now Drayden's gotten his overnight bag placed in Alder's room, and the two men pause to share a tender embrace and a kiss. They both look haggard and they know it, with dark circles under their eyes and fatigue worn on their faces, Alder's fiery hair somewhat unkempt.

What an ordeal this all has been.

"You look a mess." Drayden says quietly, nose touching his.

"Baby, so do you." Alder laughs, his voice airy and soft. "I never could've thought we'd get caught up in a situation like this. All because of Ghetsis, no less.. I.. I'm glad we can be here for his family, but it's just hard to fathom that I was the best choice. Before he called about Ryuki, it'd been--"

"Fifteen years, I know." He playfully interrupts before he could work himself up with his rambles, running his hand through Alder's hair. "Ghetsis seems like a chaotic man, I won't lie. Though I hardly know much about him.."

Alder shrugs, then nods a bit. He tilts his head into Drayden's hand, eyes faraway with thought. "... I don't even know anymore. He used to be such a social butterfly. A lot must've changed for me to be the only choice for him and his partner." He trails off, shaking his head. "Either way. I really appreciate you showing up. You should get some rest. I'd bet the fly over here wasn't easy."

Drayden looks like he considers this a moment. Then, he starts to straighten out. "How about you rest for a minute. I'll make everyone food."

"Huh--? No, you just got here." Alder grabs his shoulders. "You're probably more tired than I am. I was the one who asked you to come out here, it's only fair." He smiles sweetly at him.

"Nice try. You wanted help, so I'm going to help." He leans down to give him another kiss on the nose, before promptly pulling away and heading for the kitchen. "Do they have any allegeries?"

Alder is left gobsmacked. Poor man. ".. Not that I know of. Just no meat." He relents, dismayed. He can't help but chuckle to himself though, lingering in the bedroom. He's not going to complain about that, he thinks, taking a seat on his bed. The quiet quickly seeps into him, and a few minutes pass, only him and his thoughts.

On the nightstand next to him, a little sheet of notepad paper catches his eye. The words "Lou", "Foe" and "Contrived" are scrawled across it hastily from this morning.

That strange message.

He picks up the paper and brings it closer to inspect, scratching his cheek. He did tell himself he would get back to this, and now was probably the perfect time. Was he just imagining it, or was someone really trying to tell him something? This whole scenario is strange, he won't lie. Ghetsis is strange. People did try to call his attention to that hydreigon repeatedly, and while he was willing to accept that it was behind the attack, he never did learn the why of it. He was willing to assume it was just an accident; Ghetsis, as a part of his liberation program, had taken in a very hurt hydreigon from a cruel trainer, and it lashed out. That would make sense.

Then what was nagging at him?

It.. did stand out to Alder, the fact that Lou never typed like that again for their other messages.

It seemed very deliberate.

He glances down the hall, his door left open. He can very faintly hear the Harmonia kids talking, underneath the sound of Drayden rummaging through pots and pans, but for the most part it remains quiet.

Grabbing his pen, he starts to write, not sure what his end goal is. This feels ridiculous. He's by no means a detective, and yet...

F O E

C O N T R I V E D

L O U

Can you make something of that?

The first letter to stand out would be V. If this is what he thinks it is, that would be the hardest to place. He'd have to place it before or after a vowel, obviously, which would leave him with iv, uv, ov, or ev- or inversely, vi, vu, vo, or ve.

Alder's mouth quirks to the side, eyebrows pinching together. An idea pops in. He tentatively starts to scribble it down, just to test if it works.

F O E

C O N T R I V E D

L O U

... It does.

And the other half is practically jumping out from the page.

F O R C E D

E V O L U T I O N

The paper is set back down as Alder looks over it again.

It's vague, he thinks. It doesn't give him the whole picture. It's not even a given that this is related to hydreigon.

And yet, he knows. He knows, even if he doesn't want to believe it. His heart constricts as the thought makes itself louder and louder. What everyone has been trying to tell him, unbeknownst to him, is the first assumption to stand out in his mind- especially bearing in mind the way Drayden described the poor creature on one of their calls.

"One of his heads is partially paralyzed and malformed. It doesn't appear to be an injury, though, but rather, he seems to have had an incident while evolving. He is completely underleveled for a hydreigon. The only way I believe a pokémon could ever even accomplish that would be through severe stress."]

[End scene.]

[terrence-silver]

If Terry's father had cut him out of the inheritance, where do you think the money would go? Everything about Terry screams only child to me, at least, but do you think he had siblings? If so, where do you think he falls in that dynamic? Oldest, middle, or youngest?

I think he's an only child too. Sole heir.

That type of thing.

Do we really think that if he had siblings he'd speak about having no legacy whatsoever? Do we really think Terry Silver, insanely devoted as he tends to be when he truly wants to, wouldn't be here embracing nieces, nephews and extended biological family, for example? Do we think he would be here trying to make random ass Robby Keene and Kenny into surrogates for something he doesn't have well into his old age if there was any possibility of even one blood related sibling of his existing somewhere out there who happened to have...you know...actual Silver offsprings? I don't think so. I think he's all alone, and it is proven in a great many behavioral patterns of his. Has always been the one progeny his family had. Furthermore, well into the twilight of his life he's the only one remaining too. There's nobody else. Never has been anyone else. Might even add new dimensions of explanation to his care for John Kreese (and Ponytail).

They are, quite literally, the only brothers he ever had.

Terry Silver's unique and the last of his kind.

But, when he was born, in equal measure, I think he was planned, very much wanted and the fact that he was an only son was also pre-calculated as an outcome. There's no accidents for people of wealth and power. Most things they do are deliberate, tactical and practical even when they ''bashfully'' might pretend they ain't to cultivate an air of relatability (after all, Terry himself must've gotten these traits from someone, because nothing exists in a vacuum). Where insurmountable generational money is concerned, I like to imagine that Terry's parents wanted just one child for the sole reason of not cutting their own dynasty into multiple pieces; it's easier if they don't, simply from a legal standpoint. Ask any lawyer. One heir for one legacy. That's the way to go. Which is why Terry Silver going off to Vietnam might've come as quite a shock (or such a huge risk, if we believe his father sent him there under an ultimatum). If he would've had multiple siblings, especially male ones, surely, the blow and the stakes wouldn't have been quite so high because there would be always someone to take over all family businesses instead of him. But, if Terry was the only one, well then ---

I also in no way think Terry was ever cut out of his inheritance.

Where does this notion even stem from?

For some reason, and this is nowhere confirmed, so take this with a grain of salt, but I envision whoever his father was, he was, according to my imagination anyway, too much of an self-absorbed, prideful egoist to simply just...give away dynastical levels of wealth willy-nilly like that. Dare I say, it would take someone insanely charitable and with saintly levels of selflessness to do something like that even if out of spite, and I don't believe whoever Terry Silver's father was was anything like that --- the charitable part, anyway. Giving his only son threats, ultimatums and conditions --- sure. But, cutting him out entirely and writing off his own money to someone or something else? I don't think so. I think, when it came down to it, the process of Terry's inheritance ran very smoothly for all intents and purposes and that if it did not, Terry himself was simply willing to lie, cheat, scam, fabricate and step over literal corpses to secure what belongs to him by birthright. Like it was intended to. He was always meant to inherit the Silver family fortune and so he did just that. By any means necessary. After all, he was the only Silver available.

Was there any other competition or choices stacked up? Didn't think so.

[welcome-to-oslov]

Ok I'm gonna be pervier than your other askers 👀

Loved Malsha's first time with Tilrey. He waited ~16 days I think? Presumably to heal from the brothel night and also to build up anticipation.

He of course made Tilrey be basically sober and alert.

This would've been Tilrey's first time like that - he'd been out of it for Fir Jena's first, then the second time was a thrashing struggle that no one enjoyed as he told it, then the brothel craziness, then the drugged out fvck by Artur right after.

So, this was kinda his first "real" time... just as Malsha wanted to experience (heightened by Tilrey's fear and degradation of the past). I love how you wrote that Tilrey lay there as soon as it was over thinking dazedly, okay, I think I can handle this, I think I can -- then we have Malsha tell us that actually Tilrey's lying there with full-body trembling all over 🔥 What he must've been feeling throughout! Poor boy 😢🥲

Musing over, how did Malsha have him? You know that man wanted to see his genuine reactions 🥵. He must've wanted a position where he could watch his face throughout... and notice the rest of him tensing, flinching, responding if at all. Hear his breathing. Maybe he would like Tilrey's embarrassment in a very open position (sober!), lying on his back legs held up. But at the same time I'm sure he'd want to spend time very physically close to Tilrey, feeling those breaths, those hitches, making sure Tilrey felt him covering him all over. I bet he didn't tell him anything - not open your eyes, close your eyes, stop resisting, start resisting, nothing - preferring I'm sure just to enjoy discovering how Tilrey himself would enable himself to survive through it 👀

You know Malsha way too well! 😅 I never thought specifically about him not saying anything, but yup, that’s exactly what he would do. At least this first time. I think he would be holding back deliberately, making it as “easy” for Tilrey as it possibly can be, because he knows that just having to accept this is ripping Tilrey’s heart out. This is the first time Tilrey hasn’t physically resisted, if you don’t count the time with Artur, when he was so shell-shocked that he really wasn’t capable of resisting. Now he’s at least somewhat back to normal, and he has to make an active “choice” to comply (knowing it really isn’t a choice because the potential consequences are so scary).

There’s another scene that’s in my head and I can’t even remember whether I wrote it, but I think maybe not? Anyway, it’s later on, maybe in their second year together. It’s not a free-night, and Malsha comes into Tilrey’s room and asks him politely for sex right there in Tilrey’s private space, on the night he’s supposed to have to himself—just because he can, and he knows saying no isn’t an option. It’s not anything wild they haven’t done before, but the violation of boundaries is just so 😬, and of course it’s very deliberate on Malsha’s part.

Okay, I need to go make sure I didn’t actually write that! 😅

[astrumocs]

memory + odarem

This one... got long bc i'd actually been meaning to write this drabble for a while,,

Characters: Odarem Mortis, Julian Mercur (AKA Julius), and Kaliya Mortis Setting: Odarem and Kaliya's Hive in the past; Occurs during Julius and Odarem's college days

------ Google Docs Link -------

Odarem and Julian's shared late-night class had just come to a close, leaving the two to chat outside the classroom and briefly deliberate before deciding they'd be better off working on that evening's homework assignment together.

The duo makes their usual way back to Odarem's hive without issue, making teasing and flirty small talk along the way, with the bump of an elbow or push of a shoulder here and there. As Julian heads to the living room coffee table to set out their assignments, Oda makes his way to the kitchen to start brewing some coffee for himself and some tea for Julian.

From out in the living room the bronze calls out, "Are you putting tea on out there? These formulas seem needlessly overworked and I'm going to require the extra energy," he remarks, pinching his nose.

"Already on it, Juli, but I make no promise it's caffeinated and not actually sleepy-time tea-- wouldn't kill you to get some rest for once, frankly." There's a cheeky smirk practically laced in his tone as he calls back.

"You're right, it'd be much better if I fell asleep and left you alone to botch the assignment, Mortis."

"Harsh! It was your idea we work on it together, wasn't it?"

Julian clicked his tongue in a derisive tsk, a tinge of embarrassed blush coloring his face unseen. Odarem, who anticipated such a reaction without even having to look, smiled to himself without turning around.

"Yes, but that was for your sake, not mine."

"My sake, is that right? I didn't know--"

At that moment both of their heads turn towards the front door, whose handle had suddenly begun to shake as someone attempted to put in a key. Julian's eyes anxiously flit over to Odarem, whose own stayed locked on the door.

In a loud whisper, Julian spoke, "You said she'd be out until tomorrow evening..."

In a more level voice Oda replied, "That's what he said, but-"

Before the teal could finish speaking, the door swung open, revealing the younger of the two Mortis siblings, Kaliya.

"I'm back-- Oh? what's this? Rem, you have a cute little friend and you didn't tell me?" their gaze immediately swept over from Odarem to Julian, who shuffled ever so slightly under her gaze.

Julian opened his mouth to speak, but Odarem quickly beat him to it, "Ah, yeah, this is my Kismesis. Guess schedules never linked up for you two to meet until now."

Though he wouldn't admit it, Julian was thankful for the diversion, knowing Odarem did it for his sake.

Kaliya frowned and raised a skeptical brow, "Your first real friend and you start dating him? And you just never mentioned him to me, your own sibling?" his eyes dart between Odarem and Julian before he chooses to settle back on the bronze.

"You and I haven't spent much time together lately, must've just slipped my mind, sorry Kali," Odarem offers as he pulls out two mugs to fill with his and Julian's respective beverages of choice.

The younger teal ignores the explanation offered and speaks instead to Julian, "Sorry he's so embarrassed about you, you're his first friend, so I think he's self-conscious--" They wave their hand in Odarem's direction dismissively and continue, "He's such a weird one, isn't he? What is it you like about him, the putting his hands on dead animals or the nonchalant ego?"

Julian turns towards her as she starts asking a bunch of questions, about to give an answer when, once again, Odarem swoops in.

"Kali, we're trying to get an important assignment done, and it's getting late, would you interrogate him another time?" Odarem half-chuckles as though amused by her behavior.

Julian fights the urge to give his boyfriend a knowing look at the fake laugh, instead keeping his eyes on Kaliya.

She taps her foot on the floor for a moment before finally leveling her eyes at Odarem, "Fine-- pardon me for being interested in my older brother's flourishing social life." With that, she walks briskly to her room past them both and closes her door with a notable thud.

There's a long pause before Julian looks toward Odarem, who's now walking over with two drinks in hand. The teal sits on the couch beside his friend, opening his mouth to speak, but before he can get a word in it's Julian's turn to interrupt.

"...I don't like how they speak about you," he says finally, with a hint of gentleness.

Instantly Odarem offers a reassuring smile, "It's alright, that's how he is- I've gotten used to it."

"Odarem..."

"It's okay, Jules, really. Sorry you got grilled like that, I really thought he wouldn't be back until tomorrow."

"That's not-- don't be stupid. You have a lot to apologize for, but that isn't it."

Another long beat of silence as Odarem sips his drink without a rebuttal to offer. Suddenly, Julian begins packing up their homework, sliding things into folders and bags as needed to clear up the space in front of them.

"Jules?"

"We're going to my hive, I forgot a textbook we're going to need there. I know it's late, you can spend the day so we have time to get things done." The whole time he's avoiding eye contact, putting things away while the tips of his ears burn.

There's a moment when Odarem considers pointing out that whatever textbook his kismet could be referring to is almost certainly here under his own possession, but a knowing smile takes its place instead.

"That's a smart call, it's good to see you using that big brain of yours again Jules."

"Shut up, don't make me regret taking you along before we're even out of the door"

An earnest, barely stifled laugh escapes Odarem at that, "Sure thing, love."

[airasora]

I love all your Helluva Boss designs, though I'll admit to never having watched the show. Must've taken a million years!

I will however also admit to temporarily becoming five years old and laughing myself stupid for a solid 2 minutes about "Odette is the bird one". So there's that xD (which reminded me that it's been so many years and I'm still trying to puzzle over why she would choose a swan themed wedding dress, that was originally designed by Rothbart, for her actual wedding???)

That was 100% deliberate on my end, not gonna lie xD Like I couldn't NOT use Odette as someone from the Goetia family and she looks way more like Stella than Octavia, so it was an easy choice xD

Yeah, I've also always taken issue with that... Realistically, it's just the developers of the movie who didn't want to design more than one wedding dress, I guess, but story-wise it makes no sense.

She was held captive, going through the horrible experience of her body turning into a swan multiple times (which you could compare to medical surgeries being performed without consent and knowledge so there's all that too) There is NO WAY she would want to be associated with a swan ever again. Not only using the dress HE designed, but ANY dress associated with any bird.

I may do a post sometime of putting Odette in different wedding dresses that won't trigger her PTSD cause c'mon she deserves that :3

[mark-of-chrysus]

#20

"Jesus..."

"Actually, It's Daniel."

Zack craned his neck to look at the tiny figure sitting atop the - frankly massive - pile of bodies. He had stumbled upon the sight on accident and frozen in shock, mouth agape. If he looked more closely all the bodies seemed to belong to well-built muscly men who, judging by the various bats and DIY weapons strewn on the ground, had been armed. This was no accident, but a coordinated attack that had been thwarted by...by a toddler?

"Uhh..." Zack said, ever so eloquently.

The midget turned around a did a backflip (and almost gave the boxer a heart attack in the process), landing in front of him with a large toothy smile. Now that they were standing next to each other he seemed even smaller, no way older than 5, Zack noted after he stopped gaping. He wore what looked like an old yellow t-shirt with a smiling cat, splatters of blood clear on the thin fabric, and a pair of brown cargo shorts. In the middle of December, at night.

Zack resisted the urge to voice some choice words about the kid's parents as another freezing wind cut through his own thick winter coat. He kneeled to be on eye level with the smiling little menace and extended his hand, deliberately slowly not to spook him.

"I'm Zack."

"Oooh, nice to meet you!" Daniel shook his hand eagerly.

'Yep, his hands are freezing', Zack thought bitterly, looking around for his guardian or someone that could resemble a responsible adult. He found none. The alleyway they were in was pretty out of the way, not a place where a child should be, although... judging by the piled gangsters behind him he could handle himself. A bead of sweat rolled down the boxer's cheek, 'Not even I could beat so many at the same time' and wasn't that saying something? Even after being trained by that monk, Gongseob Ji, there were still people who were stronger than him without even trying.

"Achoo!"

That broke him out of his thoughts, and he wasted no more time in unzipping his coat and scooping the child in his arms, before rezipping the coat with the midget's head poking out. Uncaring of what he must've looked like [*cough* pregnant *cough*] Zack got back up and began walking out of the alleyway.

"We're going to get you something warm to eat and then we can try to figure this whole thing out, mkay?"

The midget nodded his head furiously and gave him another blinding smile before settling on his chest like a happy cat. Neither spoke until they finally found an open convenience store. By the time they got what they wanted to eat and sat down in the little eating area of the shop it had begun snowing heavily. Zack put the kid on one of the stools, with his coat still wrapped around him before opening the two cups of instant noodles and pulling out the little bags of condiments. He kept an eye on Daniel as he moved to pour warm water from the dispenser. To his credit, the little one waited patiently, swinging his legs in the air, his eyes glued on the taller male as he prepared their meal.

"So, where are your folks, midget?" Zack asked as they waited for the noodles, trying to keep his tone light.

In spite of his efforts, the boy curled in on himself, his eyes dimming. 'Sore spot, then' he thought, making a mental note to avoid bringing it up again. He couldn't imagine anyone willingly abandoning this ray of sunlight of a child, so he assumed they must've been dead. 'Yes, that's the only explanation' Zack nodded to himself, before addressing Daniel again.

"Do you have anywhere to go?"

The kid nodded eagerly, but the boxer still had his reservations.

"Let me rephrase that, do you have anywhere to spend the night that you know you can reach and where you won't freeze to death?"

"Uhh."

"Right, so that's a no. Great!" Zack rubbed his forehead tiredly.

He pulled the top packaging off the cups of noodles and broke apart a pair of chopsticks mixing them into the steaming meal before handing it to the midget and doing the same for his own cup.

"Ah, thank you!" Daniel chirped before digging in like a starved child.

'He probably was' he thought bitterly, swallowing a mouthful of noodles. For a few minutes, all you could hear was the sound of them eating, but soon enough the boy pushed away his empty cup. Once more, Zack didn't hesitate or even find it weird how his arms moved on their own to place a small packet of chocolate biscuits in front of the kid's nose.

"Eat up, midget." he encouraged, cringing at how sappy he sounded. "Those aren't going to eat themselves."

'Damn it, why am I acting like this?!' The older boy bemoaned mentally, thankful that none of the people who knew him were here to witness how fucking soft this little menace was making him. After finishing his noodles Zack got up to throw the two cups away when he felt a tug on his sweater. Looking down he found an impossibly large pair of doe-like black eyes gazing uncertainly up at him.

'Ah, my heart!' he mentally clutched his heart which had been pierced by an arrow marked "CUTENESS".

"I'm just going to throw these away!" He quickly reassured the little one, gesturing towards the two empty cups in his hand.

"Are you going to come back?" Daniel asked in a small voice which nearly made the boxer kneel over.

"Of course! Of course! I'll be right back!" Zack assured before nearly sprinting to the trashcan and back, to the bewilderment of the cashier.

"See, right back!"

Daniel hummed happily in agreement with a big smile that made him ponder the benefits of having a pair of sunglasses always on hand. he would probably need a pair if he didn't want to go blind from this unbearably bright ray of sunshine. 'How has no one kidnapped him yet?' Zack wondered, sparking a flame of protectiveness in his chest.

You know how you hear people say that they see something, usually a small child or an animal, and go 'yeah, that's mine now'? That was exactly what happened at that exact moment in Zack The Wimp Lee.

Did it raise questions the next day when he showed up to fight with a toddler on his shoulders? Maybe. Did he care? Absolutely not. He kicked names and took ass looking like an absolute badass and a brilliant model for his new little brother. The highlight of his day was when some random extra tried to hit Daniel as a way of getting back at Zack and got promptly locked through a brick wall by a giggly 5-year-old waving around a purple dinosaur plush in one hand and a blueberry popsicle in the other. The looks on everyone's faces had been enough to make his week.

[nickgiles]

[Research] Arnold Newman

Photos by Arnold Newman: Left; Iron Stravinsky, N.Y.C., 1946. Right; Truman Capote, NYC, 1977. All works are found in his portfolio on Artnet.

Arnold Newman was a photographer known for his environmental portraits. He is also famous for doing celebrity portraits such as Marilyn Monroe amongst many other people.

What I find most interesting is that even when coloured photography was available to the public in the late 70s, he stuck to his black-and-white style of photography; there are very few pieces I could find with colour, whether this was a deliberate choice or not, makes his work even more interesting to me.

The piece on the left I really felt drawn to, because of how out of proportion he is compared to the rest of the image which is taken up by a grand piano. But we still are able to make out his face and expression. A very soft lighting is coming from his left which is helping to brighten him up and make him stand out against the inky blackness of the grand piano.

On the right side, we have a rather lavish piece, a woman lying on a couch with a busy pattern surrounded by objects. The objects captured my eye before the lady did; I didn't even notice her due to how busy the couch was. The wall in the background is really working wonders to help control the busyness of the piece as it's creating space for the eye. I can tell from the photo that it was taken in natural lighting whether that be sunlight or moonlight, a window's curtains must've been open due to the angle light coming in.

[twatkcox]

[Happiness Is A Choice, But Life Is A B***h...]

I suppose I should begin this post by sharing with you guys about how I feel at the moment.

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"How could anyone love Him? What did you just tell me yourself about the world? Don't you see, everybody hates God now. It's not that God is dead in the twentieth century. It's that everybody hates Him! At least I think so." ~Anne Rice

Whatever you read about me hating God and everything, you're reading it right. And I have my reasons. I'm sure some of you actually know how it feels when your prayers appear to have been ignored, right? Well, not exactly in my case since I don't usually pray to God, but I had the feeling that he may have done this (all the bad things that have happened to me) deliberately out of desperation, even though I never asked for such a thing. That would make me question his goodwill. After all, he is supposed to make a person's life better, not worse. Putting a person in numerous (difficult) trials without a way out is like trying to make a person commit suicide.

Going deeper into the misotheism, I don't think I'll ever settle things with God, even if he had better plans or intentions for me. Well, I don't mean to sound harsh, but putting me into this kind of misery doesn't make him holy. He is notorious for giving me (and some people) a whole lot of unwanted burdens in life, not to mention that he is putting me in a tight spot with no means to get out. See? All he does is make people suffer.

And so, my mind's already made up. I'll try my best not to make it sound blasphemous, but I'm going to say this once and for all: God is not my savior. He is the primary cause of my sadness, misery, and depression. He should've stayed dead for good. It's not like anyone would appreciate his help, anyway. He's f***ing useless. He deserves a middle finger for that. If ever I see God in person, then I'll make sure to say it straight to his face.

That's it. I ain't gonna settle things with God, even if I die through whatever means. I don't want my body to be blessed and I don't need a damn requiem mass. I am so done with this life, I want to go somewhere else.

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I guess I must've spoken too soon about how 2024 will be a great year. We're not even done with this f***ing water rabbit just yet, but I fear that the dragon might bring an even greater catastrophe than the ones we've experienced so far. Yeah, the worst things in my life happened in 2000, the year of the f***king dragon.

Just to tame my tongue a little, I don't think there is really such a thing as a lucky year, even if it happens to be the horse (I was born in 1990, which is the Year Of The Metal Horse).

I must be pretty unlucky being born into a dysfunctional family, no thanks to God. He must be enjoying himself seeing unfortunate people and unhappy families getting f***ed up really hard. So much for being a "God", huh?

Whatever. I hope that this year will turn out to be different from the previous "Year of the Dragons" that I've encountered so far. I just want to make sure that this year will be kind to me. Otherwise, I'll definitely going to kill myself. Now that I think about it, maybe I'll treat it as an ultimatum to God to prove that he isn't really useless after all. Maybe I'll get him to undo the damage he caused during the pandemic.

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Happiness is not just a choice, but a basic right. After all, would you rather stay lonely all the time even if you don't want to?

This world is pretty hopeless. My life is hopeless. I don't think I'll ever get to enjoy my life the same way ever again.

[mandy4ever69420]

ok actually this is fucking killing me now because with that in context + mickey's life of weird horrible pressure because of societally unconventional + "unacceptable" (read: severely punished) preferences it's kind of occurring to me that there was a pretty big opportunity to switch up the fucking order of a lot of s11 into just ian wants kids -> offhand mentioning yevgeny onscreen -> mickey's dad dies + mickey still hates talking about feelings under any circumstances -> THEN "who's the woman" as a reaction to mickey suddenly face to face with the fact that he's never getting the approval he wanted (even though he already knew that, logically, the feeling only hits with the grief) + a little backslide because of his grief, and how that comes with regret, because to me it really looks like mickey loved his dad, no matter how much he didn't want to. like it could have been a super coherent narrative. + been a part of the "show in its final season" thing that i think works best where they'll bring back, to reference or reiterate important stuff from the whole series.

they could've also made a great point about the effects of incarceration on parenthood + children's sense of safety here. i don't actually think shameless is deliberately telling an abolitionist narrative. i think their main goal is to go for realism and my instinct is to read realism as pushing abolition because of who i am as a person. but they expressed some of the indisputably some of the negative outcomes of sending someone who did, in fact, do the crime they're being punished for to prison. the fact that there are parents in prison who have no choice but to be absent and kids who miss them is a big one that is just not mentioned + as a theme it'd fit extremely well with debbie and sandy's plots as well. since debbie spent ?? time incarcerated while franny was very young. she adores that kid and it must've killed her to be away. and sandy never wanted or ever grew any attachment to her kid as misogyny would expect, the way mickey accidentally did his, as is not the stereotype given for men.

shameless lost some of its shine at balancing really intense themeing over comedy as i assume writers were slowly quitting and getting rehired but TBH ian could still be a weird dick about "hey neanderthal there's no man in our relationship" for this one - i adore ian for being a weird oblivious dickhead even when he's doing his best to be a kind and understanding little soft boy so you don't even have to nix the griping and bitching (which quarantine couldn't have helped) from your comedic repertoire.

The whole Yev situation is complicated, but I do find it a little strange how he was not mentioned in season 10 and 11 when Mickey and Ian talked about having kids. Did the writers forget about him?

ive mentioned this before. mickey was raped, he never wanted a child, yev was (presumably) happy and healthy with svetlana after her final marriage. they probably had a conversation off-screen where ian tried to talk about it or tell mickey where yev was and mickey responded "if he's with him mom and being taken care of, i don't wanna talk about this" and ian dropped it. yeah the writers probably kinda forget about his existence, but i feel there's a very simple in-character answer for why gallavich never touches the subject

[takenene]

me as a writer: i must make this thing absolutely perfect or nobody will ever enjoy it *distressed noises*

me as a reader: *will read literally anything, even only half-comprehensible, as long as i get a whiff of plot that interests me* YAY! FREE WORDS! GIMME MORE <333

[fandangotales]

About Nahida's information on the Abyss Sibling... Fandango theorizes again!

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 3.2 ARCHON QUEST'S LORE UTC!!!

A/N: I know I'm taking a break from writing, but I reallyyyy wanted to write this out for you guys!

A quick recount of what Nahida shared with the traveler at the end of the Sumeru archon quest:

The heavenly principals are the Unknown God.

Heavenly principals have been quiet ever since the Khaenri'ah disaster 500 years ago.

Irminsul (Teyvat's world tree) recorded information on the abyss sibling, leading Nahida to think that they are of Teyvat, as Irminsul only records information on beings of Teyvat.

The abyss sibling suddenly appeared in Khaenri'ah, and then they explored the 7 nations of Teyvat.

However, just before their adventure ended, Irminsul's records became "fuzzy".

Someone/something is deliberately hiding the abyss sibling's fate.

Descenders, a term coined by the Fatui, are external beings that do not belong to Teyvat.

The abyss sibling is not classified as a Descender, but the traveler is classified as Teyvat's 4th Descender.

Nahida thinks the 1st Descender is the Heavenly Principals, but the 2nd and 3rd are currently unknown.

How I think this connects to us, the players.

The traveler is probably recognized as a Descender because of us. We of course, are not from Teyvat. Since the abyss sibling has information recorded in Irminsul, and is not classified as a Descender, this probably means that they are originally from Teyvat. And, since twins are born at the same place at about the same time, it is reasonable to assume that both the siblings are from Teyvat. However, this may or may not be true, as the traveler remembers traveling many worlds with their sibling. Although, these memories could be false. Anyways, the traveler has a different classification from their sibling, which probably links to us, the players. We were there since the moment they began their journey, exploring Teyvat in their body. We are probably the reason for their classification as a Descender, because if you really think about it, we've never truly left their body. All cannon interactions with NPCs and any kind of quest are done through the Traveler's body. So, it would make sense that as we are perceived as the traveler, the traveler is also perceived as us. This also makes sense because we choose the name of the traveler. So, the Fatui are not labeling the traveler as the Descender, but instead they are labeling us, the real outsiders, as the 4th Descender.

My thoughts on why we met both siblings in the very beginning of the game

Now, mentioned in the top section, Nahida said that someone was "deliberately hiding" the abyss sibling's fate. I think that this person, or this thing is the Heavenly Principals. In the opening scene of Genshin Impact, Aether and Lumine are attempting to leave Teyvat, most likely because they found out the "truth" of the world. By which I mean, the "truth" behind Celestia. Since the Heavenly Principals are labeled as the 1st Descender, and since they are related to Celestia, I think that Celestia was actually not from Teyvat to begin with at all. This would explain why the archons seem to dislike or even hate Celestia. Celestia must've came from another world, and decided to take over Teyvat, quite literally. As of now, they are considered the highest authority in Teyvat, above even the archons. It is still not known who was in power before Celestia, but it would make sense that the highest authority before Celestia would be the Primordial One, the literal creator of life on Teyvat. (You can read more on the Primordial One in the Byakuyakoku Collection book in game) Anyways, as the twins were stopped by the Heavenly Principals, and for some reason, we were there to "save" a twin of our choice. I think they were trying to leave Teyvat to either look for help outside of Teyvat, or to attract the attention of us players. After choosing a twin, the abyss sibling adventures throughout the 7 nations, all our twin is deep asleep. Before the abyss sibling's adventure is complete, their records in Irminsul are blurred out. My guess is that near the end of their journey, the abyss sibling found information about Celestia, information that either proves that they are the enemy, or information on how to ultimately defeat them.

Now, I'm just left with one burning question...

Who the heck is Paimon, and how does she connect to this???