#{DASH COMM}「The Universal Mind」

[everlastiingiimmortals]

"...Hey... Who're you calling a muscle-headed idiot?" Hush, Feixiao, this isn't about you--

[godinmyhands]

"Never smash. Dissect. Slowly slice open to examine the insides. Preserve what you can for study and, potentially, future utilization."

[viatrixtravels-a]

ーー Why is it always the pretty boys!?

Albedo, Lyney, Heizou...All of them are just too smooth. It's bad for her heart.

[taro-pdf]

Humans are space oddities: Security personel

i need advice on action scenes i just made it up and kept it short

Humans were common in the universe, but mostly on interstellar missions. That's why Faja was excited for aer first off-planet job aboard the Missive; there was a human on board!

Ae was working in a mailroom sorting an intake bag into piles by destination when a sudden commotion came from the hall. A flask flew past aer face as ae looked out. 

“I don’t care if they’re busy, I need the captain now!” screamed a quadrupedal being, jerking out of the grasp of a smaller bipedal staff member. They cantered forward and grabbed the flask from the ground and took a gulp, then glared down at Faja.

“Hey you! Take me to the cockpit.” Their grip was rough as they dragged aer out and threw aer in front of them. Tuscia had few offensive measures, so Faja walked. As they went, other beings retreated, calling into their comms for security.

“I had to cut my coffee break short for this,” yawned a someone as they stepped into the centaur’s path. “But nice to see I’ll be having an exciting trip. I’m Prak, he/they,” he smirked as he finished his introduction, “human.”

This was the human? Faja’s mind raced through what ae’d heard of the infamous species to try to predict their next move. 

“Human or not, I’ll be speaking to the captain about this ship’s uninhabitability. It’s unacceptable!” the centaur growled.

“Sadly, the captain doesn’t want to hear what you want to say, and my job is making what the captain wants happen. I suggest you don’t resist.”

Humans were known to be fierce, but the centaur must weigh two or three times more than Prak. However, though Prak had no obvious offensive measures, Faja didn’t see any submissive posture coming from them.

The centaur pawed the ground and huffed a warning. Prak raised an eyebrow and lowered themself into a ready stance. Stepping forward, the centaur reared, towering above Prak.

Dodging their front legs, he slid to one side in order to brace himself against the wall and kick the centaur off balance. Then, as he took a blow from their claws, he flipped and jabbed his thumb into one of the centaur’s eyes. The centaur stumbled back, clutching at their face. Prak slid away, then dashed forward again, pulling out a tranquilizer patch.

He slapped it onto the centaur’s side and grabbed their back fur to direct their momentum away from the onlookers. He kept them away from the crowd until they finally took stumbling steps and fell to the ground, the last echoes of their clash fading away.

Prak stepped back, breathing heavily. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and turned to the crowd. 

“Alright folks, move along. I’m tired and not in the mood for witness statements. I’m going to take a nap.” Personnel rushed forward to put restraints on the centaur and load them onto a trolly. Faja watched as the human bent, wincing, to rub his ankle.

“Um, shouldn’t you go to the med bay?” Faja asked tentatively. The human’s translator took a second, then they laughed.

“Not for just a strain. If I wrap it, my body will do the rest.”

“But Prak, ser, what about your internal bleeding?”

“The bruises? These are nothing. I can self heal them in a week or two.”

Faja looked at them in shock. Not only did humans fight well, they also could self heal to that extent? On Faja’s birth world, creatures had only one or the other. Humans were a more flexible species than ae had heard about, and ae was looking forward to learning more. Like Prak said earlier, this was going to be an exciting trip.

For your information: Faja is a tuscia, a species which has five gender roles and five main bio sexes. They communicate in higher frequencies than humans, and sometimes older translators have difficulty picking up their words. Here's some more Faja :)

This is one of many ships Prak has worked on in order to avoid the earth-fruit and their mortal enemy, pineapple. You can read about Prak being cool here and here, or being a wimp here.

[dontpetmeibite]

OOC ("dashboard commentary")

// Ravage cannot read your mind. Nothing she posts is meant to imply that she can do that or that she has done that.

// I only RP Transformers and I sometimes forget that people from other universes, especially OCs, may not know this; mea culpa.

// I do have two passively telepathic Transformers (Soundwave, and Viridian, the semi-OC daughter of Ravage and Soundwave, but they really don't want to know what is in everyone else's heads.

// Soundwave canonically gets bombarded with everyone's everyday garbage thoughts and roofbrain chatter when his shielding tech isn't working right and Viridian also has this problem. It is annoying and the opposite of useful.

// Any and all intentional plot-related mind-reading by my characters will always be negotiated by all parties concerned.

// "Dashboard commentary" or short versions thereof in the tags are absolutely not meant to imply that characters are reading each other's minds.

// I was also surprised the first time someone dash-commed something I hadn't intended as a direct communication to their character, but after I'd been here a couple weeks, I realised that sometimes we just pretend we're reading our multiversal robot tumblr dash feeds. I tag things I want to keep private/personal for plot reasons or for 'she wouldn't say that to everyone in the room' with tags like "personal," "private" or "only for addressees'. I've never had anyone dash comm a post so labelled.

[onestepfcrward]

tag dump ; one year later

⭐ — i just want to make a change. ❪ ic. ❫ ⭐ — tv taught me how to feel ; now real life has no appeal. ❪ social media & texts. ❫ ⭐ — the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes. ❪ aesthetic. ❫ ⭐ — you never knew your mind was dark. ❪ musings. ❫ ⭐ — you can dig so deep for scars. ❪ headcanons. ❫ ⭐ — go ahead and try to see through me ; do it if you dare. ❪ visage. ❫ ⭐ — i never lose my confidence. ❪ attire. ❫ ⭐ — dear diary... life is trying me. ❪ dash comm. ❫ ⭐ — you idiot! you ate all the eggs! ❪ crack. ❫ ⭐ — step inside and hold on for dear life. ❪ inbox. ❫ ⭐ — the world is just illusion ; trying to change you. ❪ anonymous. ❫ ⭐ — fly me to the moon ; let me play among the stars! ❪ dash games. ❫ ⭐ — i’m now becoming my own self-fulfilling prophecy. ❪ memes & prompts. ❫ ⭐ — i honestly couldn’t think of a clever tag here but hey check out this sick blog. ❪ promo. ❫ ⭐ — when i’m older i’ll be silent beside you ; i know words won’t be enough. ❪ queue. ❫ ⭐ — i am some of me. ❪ ooc. ❫

[bcnes-archived]

tag dump

[ameliasstories]

Mars - Chapter 3

The Jedi were not built for war. And though Cody was quickly realizing that no one in this galaxy was besides his brothers, the Jedi were different. Already, they had proven to be nothing at all like how he’d been trained to expect. They were soft and kind. Their lightsabers were used defensively, and offensively if needed, but the movements were imbued with flow and flourish indicating none of them were trained for hard combat.

No, the Jedi he had encountered so far were neither godlike nor cruel and cold. The Kaminoans had outlined their abilities in their courses. According to them they were connected to the very thing which holds the universe together, aloof as the Kaminoans themselves. Their other trainers described them as trained warriors; able to control minds, destroy any weapons with a flick of their hand, and cut any man clean in half with a swing of their sword.

Yet, each of them radiated warmth. The Jedi Temple was bursting with it. Even from the outside, it seemed to glow in the sunlight of Coruscant, and the traffic around it was heavy as if all beings here were drawn slowly into its orbit.

Bly was already all but smitten with his Jedi General, whom he’d met on Geonosis. Cody had been injured in a training accident, the source of the new scar on his face, just prior to the deployment and hadn’t been allowed to go along with his batchmates. Like many Commander-General duos so far, Bly and his General had taken to each other instantly, negating the need for any reassignment.

The only proper description of the  Jedi he’d been able to wrangle out of Bly was “skin as blue as the ocean on Kamino, but warm, and eyes brown like nothing at all like Kamino, like nothing in the whole Galaxy.” The declaration had received him a kick in the shin from Fox, who, though he refused to admit it, was jealous he was being assigned Master Yoda, who would not see much combat.

Though all clone batches were born at the same time, technically, each of them was placed firmly on a spectrum from older to younger brother. Fox was assuredly their youngest. Each of the batch doted on him in their own ways, mostly by letting him get away with being an absolute menace in training. Where Bly was calm and centered, Fox was excitable and wicked. On the rare occasions he took his helmet off other than for mealtimes, his eyes were always glinting with mischief and determination.

The Jedi’s ranks were filled with little ones who had been running up toward the clones all day, eyes shining with curiosity. Cody shoved down a stab of that growing swirl of emotions. It was like a small star of anger, which sometimes lashed out in solar flares, the heat of it reaching into his throat and fingertips. He reminded himself that their fortune was not the cause of his misfortune. And if what his brothers had told him of the war was true, the Jedi would lose their peaceful warmth soon.

The Quad they were waiting on was wide, open. Stairs on the north most side lead directly to the Temple entrance. The square was filled with Jedi Knights and Masters milling about, talking with clones, or simply going about their daily business. Despite the protection these Jedi, and their lightsabers, provided, the kids were allowed to roam freely. Evidently, they were not worried about whether the clones would be gentle with them.

“Do you think that’s Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Waxer drew his attention to the steps leading up to the Temple entrance with a nod of his head. A Jedi had stopped there, kneeling and talking with some of the Jedi cadets, one of whom had fallen down on his dash back upward towards the Temple.

“It is,” Cody conceded, having just received the ping on his comm from one Master Mace Windu that the Jedi was on his way. The information he’d received about the General was sparse. And Cody had not had the time to research their assigned General independently.

What he knew was that he was a human male, 35 years of age with auburn hair and a beard. The Jedi on the steps matched this description. After some short internal debate on whether to wait for him to approach first, he resolved to go up and greet the Jedi. “I’m going to meet him halfway. Everyone else is to stay here, parade rest.”

The walk to the steps seemed longer now than it had from a distance, and the little Jedi dashed away at his approach, except for the one who had fallen who continued to cling to the older Jedi’s leg. “Sir?”

The General, and now that he was closer Cody could tell he was undeniably the General, straightened himself, one hand brushing against the cadet’s head gently, and met his gaze. “You must be the 212th’s Commander.” He smiled, and the expression miffed Cody, “I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Cody said and, muscling past his instinct to protect his name from outsiders, introduced himself, “I’m CC-2224 but I would prefer to be called Cody.”

Despite Bly’s insistence that the Jedi would respect him, which Ponds didn’t quite confirm but definitely didn’t deny, Cody was still hesitant to expose himself so quickly. A name was personal, for the clones. They were shared readily among brothers, but the Kaminoans had never approved of them and react badly to any assertion of their identity.  

There was no precedent on how to approach sharing names with natborns, so Cody, as Commander, had to set one. He didn’t want to share his own name yet. But if the General did end up using it it would be a far improvement to his numerical designation.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan said, and Cody narrowed his eyes behind his helmet, watching every twitch and flicker of his expression carefully. The General seemed stricken by something, his mouth pulled down into a sharp grimace and his brows furrowing together. Cody worried it was his name that had caused the reaction, and straightened up slightly, squaring his shoulders. “Why don’t you hurry along?” He spoke the child, who reluctantly separated himself from the General’s robes and dashed back to join his friends at the Temple entrance.

The General tilted his head to meet his gaze once more. Some strands of hair fell at the sides of his face, sweeping down to the edge of his jaw. The rest of his hair was brushed neatly behind his ears. The robes he wore looked both light and thicker than some he’d seen. Distantly, he hoped that the General was planning to wear at least some armor once they actually engaged in battle. “I’m sorry, Cody” he said, and Cody’s anxiety over the General’s reaction to his name was replaced by a growing confusion. “I’m sorry for the situation, you have been forced into, all of you.”

His words were unexpected, to say the least, And Cody had to think for a moment of a reasonable response to give to such a statement from a man he’d only just met. Cody knew the situation was hardly his fault, he’d been trained too well in warfare to blame its beginnings on any one person, even if the ugly feeling bubbling in his chest made him want to lash out at him, at anyone. “Respectfully,” Cody replied, trying hard to keep his voice measured and even, “it’s what we were made for.”

It was the response he’d had drilled into him for all his life. They were made for this. For war and for the Jedi, to live and die and protect and fall at their side. No apologies from General Kenobi would change that, now or ever. But the General looked at him as if he’d been made to eat something vile. It reminded him of the way his face had scrunched up the first he’d undergone training for foreign food acclimatization on Kamino. In a moment of instinct, he nearly apologized to the Jedi in turn, for upsetting him, but he bit his tongue. He had nothing to apologize for.

Instead, he redirected. “The men are anxious to meet you, sir.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi took the change in subject graciously, though his brows remained knotted together on his forehead a moment longer. “I look forward to meeting them as well.” He smiled at him again, softer this time, as if he was testing the waters of their new relationship. Cody simply nodded his head in return, And the two began to walk down the stairs toward the battalion together, Waxer and the other Captains stepping forward to meet them at Cody’s signal.

Cody had not lied. The men were anxious to meet their General, riled up by the other clones' description of both their kindness and battle prowess. Not many of them had caught onto Cody’s hesitation. Or if they did, they did not let it affect their excitement. As each of them introduced themselves excitedly by name, not designation, Obi-Wan Kenobi did so in turn, mirroring their excitement easily.

-

many thanks to my wonderful beta @cassie-isms

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you have any good coffee shop au fics? Danke schön!

Hey Nonny!

Ahhh, Coffee Shop AUs aren't totally my thing, BUT I did find a couple I loved, and I've a few on my MFL list that's tagged with Coffee Shop. Check it out, and feel free to add more, friends!

COFFEE SHOP AU

See also:

Coffee Shop AU (Updated Nov 2020) (COMM RECS)

Coffee Shop AU Fics (Alexx's)

Coffee Shop AU – Part 2 (Alexx's)

Teenlock Coffeeshop AU (Alexx's)

Caffeine and Adaptive Programming by DemonicSymphony (E, 5,540 w., 1 Ch. || Androids AU / Bond Fusion || Android Sherlock, Coffee Shop AU, Pining John Hinted Bond / Q, Toplock) – Sherlock is a coffee shop android slowly falling for a regular customer. But he's not supposed to be able to feel emotions.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

-----

MARKED FOR LATER (TO READ)

Espresso Patronum by zigostia (T, 1,750 w., 1 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || Clueless Sherlock) – “I'm joking,” John said breezily. “Girl's name or not. I don't mind, if you know what I mean.” “Ah,” Sherlock said with uncertainty.

Giveaway Fic #4 - Coffee Shop/Mary Has Left/Sherlock Is Not Okay by ConsultingPurplePants (T, 2,498 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Everyone is Unhappy, Happy Ending) – They sit in silence for a moment. Sherlock fumbles a sugar packet when he tries to get it into his coffee. He looks up to find John staring at him. “It’s… good to see you, John,” he tries. John doesn’t look at him; he’s too busy looking at the way Sherlock’s hands are trembling. Too late, Sherlock realizes that no matter how well he washed his hair this morning, there’s no hiding his emaciated appearance. “When did you last eat, Sherlock?” John asks, but there’s none of the friendly teasing from Before, only a hard-edged, muted anger. Part 4 of the 1000 Tumblr Followers Giveaway Fics series

Whatever you say, Gobbo by Ewebie (T, 4,608 w., 1 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || Balletlock, Rugby John) – “I purposely get your coffee order wrong just so you’ll talk to me again” AU. Part 33 of the Tumblr Shorts series

Crossing Paths by prettysailorsoldier (T, 5,346 w., 1 Ch. || Uni/Teenlock Coffee Shop AU || Crosswords, Christmas, Fluff) – It seemed like a great idea, a 24-hour coffee shop near a thriving university campus, but, when everyone goes home for the holidays, John finds himself trapped in a ghost town, wiling away the hours of the overnight shift any way he can. Of course, that gets a whole lot easier when a handsome insomniac starts making regular visits, and, somewhere between the case files, crossword puzzles, and copious amounts of coffee, John discovers he doesn't mind the late shift so much after all.

Not Your Doctor, Not Your Captain by weneedtotalkaboutsherlock (E, 8,645 w., 1 Ch. || AU || Daddy John, Barista Sherlock, Legal Age Difference, First Kiss/Time, Blow Jobs, Texting/Phone Sex, Anal, Rimming, Felching, Praise Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Pet Names, Doctor John) – "Coffee for John Watson," a voice calls, a low, deep rumble that sends a shiver down John's spine. The thought is pushed aside, his shoulders sagging at the sight of his long-awaited coffee. "Thank God." His eyes lock with long, elegant fingers around the rim of the cup, dimpling the carton in a way that John can only describe as sensual. It shouldn't be. It's seven-thirty in the bloody morning. "I'm afraid that God had not much to do in making your coffee this morning," the barista replies. "I, on the other hand…"

Percolate by cwb & Ellipsical (E, 13,793+ w., 6/16 Ch. || WiP || Unilock Coffee Shop AU || Barista John, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Insecure Sherlock, Patient John, Case Fic, Flirting) – This work is a collaboration between Ellipsical and cwb and promises to be a lighthearted, fun romcom with strong themes of mutual pining, awkward flirting, and panicked impulsiveness. POV will alternate between Sherlock and John; cwb writes Sherlock, Ellipsical writes John.

Mistletoe and Misdemeanours by Robottko (T, 20,738 w., 12 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || Christmas, Fake Relationship, Coffee Shops, Victor Trevor, First Kiss, Holmes Family, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Drama, Kidnapping) – When Victor Trevor backs out of the Holmes family Christmas at the last minute, Sherlock panics because he has no way to impress his parents. Thankfully there is a handsome army doctor with nowhere to go in his coffee shop, though it would be more helpful if he were a bit more willing.

sherlock and his daddy series by rory_kent (M, 24,433+ w. across 6 works || Series WiP || BDSM / Sugar Daddy AU || Sugar Daddy John, Age Difference, Sub Sherlock, Daddy Kink, Military Kink, Subspace, Hurt/Comfort, Coffee Shop AU, Unilock) – Sherlock didn't mean to upset daddy he really didn't!

A Wizarding Barista's Field Guide to Seducing a Muggle by paradigmfinch (T, 29,344 w., 9 Ch. || Harry Potter Coffee Shop AU || Fluff, Wizard John, Muggle Sherlock, Bisexual John, Flirting, First Dates, Harry Watson, Secret Identity) – To help pay for Healing tuition, John Watson gets a job at a coffee shop in Muggle London, where he soon sets his sights on a particularly gorgeous customer. John's seen plenty of Muggle films. How different can it really be to woo a Muggle?

Four Shots Series by Opy3332 (T, 34,736 w. across 5 works || Series WiP || Coffee Shop AU || MI6, Barista John, Developing Relationship, First Dates) – Series of stories revolving around John and Sherlock meeting under different circumstances--when John takes a job as a barista at SIS headquarters and meets Sherlock there.

Blond Barista Seeks Dashing Ballet Dancer: Inquire Within by prettysailorsoldier (E, 43,847 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock Coffee Shop AU || Rugby/Barista John, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Fluff) – Between classes, his job at a local cafe, and being captain of the rugby team, John Watson's life is plenty stressful enough without the addition of a mysterious ballet dancer he can see through the windows of the dance studio across the street, but, somehow, he can't bring himself to mind.

Captains of Industry Series by 221b_hound (E, 131,398+ w. across 34 works || Series WiP || Australian Hipster Coffee Shop AU || Barista John, Security Consultant Sherlock, Awkward Flirting, First Kiss/Time, Panicking Sherlock, Patient John, Cuddles, Grooming, Anal, Bathing/Washing, Coming in Pants, Frottage) – Captains of Industry is the most hipster of Melbourne hipster cafes. It's bespoke suits, artisan shoes, sculpted facial hair and the most exquisite food and coffee all the way. Sherlock Holmes, Digital Security Consultant, has become a regular patron. And one day, perhaps one day soon, he will work out how to successfully flirt with the hot barista, John Watson.

[everlastiingiimmortals]

saying this publicly because i am going insane, lauri you cant do that to jing yuan he is going to faint

[godinmyhands]

...just doing some quick mental calculations on how much physical space could be potentially turned into a black hole if you suddenly infused a Scourge with too much Chaos energy....

[im-the-king-of-the-ocean]

I’m not sure I’m ever going to be completely happy with this one, but then I’m seldom satisfied with my first forays with characters I haven’t written before, so there’s that.

Anyways, I’ve edited and re-edited it a lot, so I figure I’ll let it go out there and see what happens.

.

To Leave, As To Give Opportunity For Return

Love.

That’s the thing, isn’t it? Nureyev muses to himself.  He swirls the deep red wine in his glass.  His gaze roams and lingers to meet that of quite the beauty, all silken, flowing hair and curves to caress, sitting at the club’s bar.  He smiles.  They smirk back.

He just can’t resist, a pretty face, can he?  Nureyev inhales his wine’s aroma and then sips.  He lets his tongue flick out over his lips suggestively.  The perfect image of mysteriously handsome with a dash of temptation complete, he allows himself a single, indulgent memory.

Juno’s face certainly is a pretty one, with or without the loss of one eye.  Although, he could do so much more, aesthetically-speaking, than the plain eyepatches he prefers to adorn himself with.  That’s one of the draws of Juno, Nureyev supposes.  His preference for function over presentation is quite admirable, in its way.  There’s a certain allure to Juno’s bluntness.  Where others will decorate and costume themselves to conceal their identity, Nureyev himself included, Juno seems satisfied presenting ‘as-is’.

Nureyev’s ‘friend’ from the bar approaches him, offers a hand, and nods toward the dance floor.  He graciously accepts.  As he’s passing the stage, Nureyev slips a credit to one of the musicians, and whispers, “play something to set the mood, would you?”

The musician winks, quickly gestures something imperceptible to anyone but his bandmates to them, the lights dim, and the first notes of a soft, amorous melody are plucked.  The dance begins.

Oh, but it is so much more than mere looks that draws Nureyev to Juno.  Looks can instigate a dalliance, but they can’t sustain it.  Not for as long as it needs to grow into something deeper.  There has to be a spark.  A breathless moment.  The kindling of passion catching and burning so bright not even the darkest of night can smother it.

It’s not an easy thing to replicate.  Not genuinely.  But, Nureyev seldom needs to.  The motions of attraction, the indications, they tend to get him as far as he needs.  Simply present them and doors once locked will willingly open themselves to him.

The slow, smooth music notes of the band’s instruments drift around Nureyev and his partner of the night.  He lets the melody inform his movement, lets it guide his body into languid, sensual poses.  A dip here, a slight, ‘accidental’ caress there.  Perfection.  An image turned performance art.

Ah, his feelings for Juno, well, they had caught, hadn’t they?  Even now, so very far apart, Nureyev’s heart flutters for none but his lady.  He wants nothing more than to be with him, holding him close and whispering sweet, sultry nothings in his ear.  Feeling Juno squirm with embarrassment while nestled securely to his chest.

The universe seldom bends to personal desires, does it not?

Nureyev skims his hands down his partner’s sides.  They press into him, and exhale a breathy gasp in his ear.  He nuzzles back, and, in the distraction, they doesn’t feel his hands nimbly lift their comms from their pocket.

There is the lingering dream of what could have been, yes.  A few steps danced differently in a previous performance.  A spaceship not left behind among the stars; a sitting duck for the authorities he beckoned to it.

Nureyev could be riding off into his own metaphoric sunset, into a happily-ever-after, if he had so chosen, and, yes, he’ll admit, there’s a version of himself who desired nothing more.

There’s so much more to it than that, though.  A history spanning decades.  His life.  A play, enacted for none but himself, but witnessed by an audience he did not choose and could not control.  The tale of the young revolutionary turned master thief completely.  A show for the ages.

One that owed itself to deep, deep debts.

What would be the point of a lovely, fantastical future if it could so cruelly be ripped away by the vengeful, spiteful at being ignored, or disregarded?  Was there anything to a fleeting happiness that winked as soon as it began?

Certainly not for one who still danced on puppet strings pulled taut by the marionette of another’s hand.  For if a puppet were to strategize, nothing would indicate its plans more to its master than a tug on the strings too early.

And yet, at the same time, if left unattended too long, once dazzling bright  affection could flicker and fade.  The tune which plucks a heart’s strings could change, and, if heard again, the original would not be recognized at all, or welcomed back.

It is the simplest of matters for Nureyev to let his partner slip out of his grasp and into the arms of another.  He steps back into a shadow.  For a moment, there is an empty spot, an absence, on the club dance floor.  Then it closes, and the memory of his presence is cast aside for more exciting options.

Juno, Nureyev thinks as he ascends the stairs at the back of the club and uses the stolen comms to open the door there, is perhaps one of the only people he personally allowed a glimpse of his private theater.  It’s a wonder Juno never searched for a hint of it on his own.  One that’s both relieving and disheartening.  To have the love of someone who doesn’t need to know who he was before, who loves who he is in the now, it’s an impossible gift.  At the same time, to want for who he was before to receive that same love, it’s a desperate ache.

Perhaps there’ll be a day when there’s harmony in such emotions.  It is not now.  The rest of this job is not deception through performance art.  The safe he must crack has no mind to perceive or comprehend him.  It is simply a device to puzzle out.

And so passion is put away.

Until such a time when he needs to call upon its skill again.

Nureyev can hope it won’t be a performance then, but he cannot admit the the indulgence to himself.

[airly-yo]

The aftermath

Chapter 1

Alarms blaring. Red lights flashing.

“Warning. Warning.” The constant reminder from a women’s robotic voice, that the ship is about to explode.

“Ahh! Come on! This is aircraft 0475, stand down this is one of your own. I repeat, stand down! Ahh Comms is down! Gosh damn it!!” The young girl dashed left and right on the control panel. ‘Seriously, what is going on? Do they not realise that we are in a star storm!! Why are they attacking me? Or more like who is?’ her mind screamed. Bang! She cried as she hit the ground and groaned. Her body was covered in cuts and bruises, her left ankle cartilage was torn. She wasn’t going to make it. A different alarm buzzed, a red warning hologram appeared and she swiped on it as she was lifting herself up. Left wing smashed. The constant robotic voice of the women glitched and jarred. The system was shutting down. She needed to get out of the storm or she will be screwed, but It was too late. She already lost the controls of the steering, now she is about to lose the entire ship. She has a serious puncture on the right side of her right thigh that was gushing blood. Thank gosh it wasn’t an artery. Quickly she grabbed her supply bag, with her little supplies left and ripped the GPS from the control panel. ‘I’ll fix it later and get it working again’ she thought. There was no time, her defence system was down, one hit is all it needs. Using the last of her energy she summons a portal, the last sight she could see was an aircraft right before her ship… her eyes went wide, there was no pilot. She was then consumed with clouds of blue before she musted, with her dying breath “…safe…”. In the nick of time the ship blew up and she was lost with her intention to get her somewhere safe, away from space.

Gasp! The young girl jolted upright. Her body ached in complaint from her core. Dried blood patched all over her body. Clots were blocking the spots where new blood was trying to break through. The surroundings were funny and she just couldn’t grab her bearing. After a full minute of her ears ringing, her senses came to life. The warming rays of the sun above slowly soaked through her skin, its bliss relaxing her thrilled nerves. Just where was she? Taking a moment looking around, sand dunes enclosed around her. It appeared that she was at a beach. The soft sounds of the ocean calmed her even more. Behind her was this great cliffs further proving her point she was at a beach. Now turning her attention to her screaming body. It doesn’t matter where she is at the moment, she’ll figure that out later. Right now there was no visible threats and there was a strange comforting silence. She just hoped for the best there was no creatures that would pry at her at this state.

Counting her fingers to see if she was in just one piece and that she wasn’t in any abnormal form with any extra or missing fingers. Wouldn’t be the first time anyway… Her powers were strange to her, she only discovered them, like what? Almost two years ago? But she could summon portals that would allow her to further places or into a different universe. That is when stuff gets dangerous, who knows, you could come back out with two heads. It is something you do now want to mess with. Even bringing something from a different reality is even more dangerous. It could start a black hole. Though one of her limits was indeed time travel. That task she could not do. Snapping out of thought she looked at her petite body. She was a mess. Her bulky supply bag was just in arms reach in front of her. Good so she hasn’t lost that at least. Reaching it, she looked inside. She had one medical box, some water, little tracker gear and some tools. Oh also a spare set of clothes too. Ever since that accident with one of her crew members how had acid burn through their clothes, and didn’t have any spare, she always remembered to pack some anywhere she went. Speaking of crew, why was her own fleet attacking her? Surely they would come looking for her right? The G.S.P.F (Galactic Star Protection force, was formed after the Incident with Thanos.), never leaves someone behind, that is like their whole motto. Yet here she was, damaged from an attack by them. She had so many questions to ponder. Looking up into the blue sky, not a cloud in sight, just the blinding sun. A deep feeling knew why but part of her didn’t want to believe. Was that whole mission about a crystal pure bullshit to drag her away? Or is there a bigger picture here?

“I need to wash the blood and junk of my clothes and cuts if I want to heal myself or at least fix me.” She could only muster from a raspy voice. Clearly the damage from the oxygen leaking on the space ship did some short term damage to her voice. She then proceeds to ask herself questions to see if her brain was still intact.

“Ok what Is my name? Y/n Done. What planet did I originate from? Earth. Why did I join the force? Cause it was the only way I could escape.” Y/n continued to survey herself. For as far as she knew she was intact. Looking up to the giant dune in front her, she a rose to her feet. Trekking up the dune to the very top. Sand stuck to her like glue, yuck. All the dried blood and sand in her clothes made her very uncomfortable. She needed to wash, and who knows, perhaps some salt water will be able to chill her nerves. Thighs were burning, sand was such a hard thing to climb up on. With grunts and groans she finally made it to the top. Y/n couldn’t believe the sight before her eyes! She was on the most gorgeous beach she had ever seen! Lush soft white, yellow sands that stretched into the distance and a gorgeous ocean calling to her. Y/n laughed in disbelief, she knew she was safe. Who ever was attacking her must think she was dead and she would like to keep it that way. Worries drifted away with the calming ocean breeze, her pain floated away. What was even better was that there was no alien birds in the sky, no unexpected holes in the ground, just peace. It occurred to her that this place looked like Earth. Hopefully…

[clockvvorker]

I’m working on a full about page for Miku right now, hopefully finished in time for Meeks Day, but a break down of how I play her since she’s a little more......unconventional than just having a main verse and AUs:

*might want to view on my blog so you can see the proper list indents!

the main Miku has knowledge of all her other counterparts- she sort of exists as a meta manifestation of herself, wherein she knows what’s going on with everyone else, even if she can’t control them. In this sense, she’s capable of making dash comm of any other Miku, which she may do if one of her modules does something stupid (looks directly @ World is Mine module).

Main Miku (or Meta Miku, I might call her sometimes) is kind of a lowkey narcissist, but she’s also generally friendly and easy to get along with. Just don’t take it to heart if she offhandedly compliments herself or acts like she knows everything. She’s just.....like that.

Each of her other AUs exist as “modules” of herself. They aren’t normally aware of other manifestations of Miku, although that is also dependent on their canon (i.e. Eve Zvezda is aware of most of the other Evillious Mikus, by nature of them existing in the same universe).

Some modules are more heavily derived from headcanons than others. For example, Seraphim in the Ring Miku has a fairly decent backstory, but no other descriptions other than wannabe-idol-turned-pro-wrestler. Sand Planet Miku has no backstory whatsoever and is more open to interpretation beyond just wandering around the desert like in her PV. On the other side of the spectrum are the Evillious Mikus, who all have very distinct personalities and roles in the story.

If anybody wants to build a story/world with Miku in any of her songs, or as a side character in another VOCALOID’s song, feel free to let me know! I love world-building and character-building, as well as VOCALOID music, obviously :P

Specific headcanons for Project Sekai: just like Meta Miku, PRSK!Main Miku is aware of the existence of all the Sekai Mikus, but none of the Sekai Mikus know about her existence, or the other groups’ Mikus. Until this is proven non-canon, this will not change. Other groups’ Mikus will be able to interact with other characters (i.e. Leo/Need Miku will be able to interact with a Kanade muse), but will neither know that character nor know that they are involved with another Miku. Even if this is proven non-canon, this is how I’ll keep things moving forward for my own peace of mind.

Before anybody says anything, I’m not touching KagePro with a ten foot pole. Love the music, don’t know shit about the series and at this point I’m too afraid to ask. The only way you’ll get me into KagePro is if you also promise to get into Evillious Chronicles, and I know nobody wants that.

Miku is canon to everything, I could not make this up if I tried. It originated as a joke wherein I basically six degrees to Kevin Baconed Miku into every fandom connected to the Smash Bros multiverse, but, like.....seriously, it’s ridiculous how much Miku connects to. It’s just.....Miku. Miku.

......you can call her Miku.

[un-fett-ered]

finder’s keepers

In this universe, Boba invades an imperial base and finds the child instead of the Mandalorian. 

note: So,,, I recently started writing fanfics.  Here’s a one shot that ended up more serious than I wanted, so I probably won’t continue it.

warning: mostly canon-typical violence, a little mention of blood and mistreatment of the child

Boba squats in the thick brush, watching the pair of stormtroopers stand guard for a small back door.  One chats loudly to their partner, their helmet faced towards the other and waving their hands wildly.  Their partner seems uninterested and continues to slowly survey their stationed area.  Boba glances down at his chronometer.  Last night at the cantina, the Weequay had told him a routine supply shipment would be arriving around this time.  

Even at high noon, humid fog was still lingering in the forest surrounding the Imperial base.  Boba’s dark robes clung to his skin, chafing against some sensitive scar tissue on his back when he shifts.  Boba tries to ignore it and instead focuses on relaxing his muscles while he waits.  

The more stoic stormtrooper shifts and both troopers stiffen up, shuffling their feet to a more ready stance.  Boba huffs – their stances are so lax, having not idea of the storm approaching.  The stormtroopers are answering a call from their wrist-comms, catching Boba’s attention.  The supply transports must have arrived.  

Rolling his shoulders and flexing his legs to make sure his body hasn’t fallen asleep, Boba clicks the detonation button.  The charges he had set around the supply drop area set off a satisfying chain of loud booms and the stormtroopers both turn sharply towards the noise.  The previously chatty one immediately punches in the door code, rushing inside before the other trooper can stop them.  The other trooper, clearly the wiser one, at least looks perfunctorily at the forest surrounding the back area of the base before going to punch in the door code.  

Just as the door hydraulics begin to stir, Boba jumps out of bushes and raises his blaster to shoot the trooper before they can rush inside.  Boba curls his lip in disdain at these stormtroopers for leaving their post at the slightest drop of trouble and leaving the door wide open for him.  Oh, how standards have dropped.  Stepping over the fallen body, Boba hears another set of heavy boots stomp away towards the front of the base before he tucks himself through the half open door.  

The recycled air is crisp and dry compared to the heavy, muggy atmosphere outside.  Someone has turned on the emergency red lights and the wailing alarms.  Boba glances into empty dorm rooms as he heads down the hallway, blasters tilted down but finger on the trigger.  A half dressed trooper bursts out of a refresher, still dripping water and pulling on pieces of his armor.  Boba lifts a blaster to strike him twice on the exposed part of his torso then leaves him in the hallway.  Gripping his two pistols, Boba peeks around the corner to the next hallway.  He spots three troopers and a sign marking “storage”. Bingo.  

One trooper breaks off from the group to walk in his direction.  Boba silently backs away from the hallway entrance to attack the trooper when they turn the corner.  Unfortunately for his plan for a quiet kill, the trooper yelps before falling. 

Boba dashes quickly into the closest doorway.  When the other troopers rush through the hallway, their heads are drawn towards their fallen friend on the floor.  

Boba slams open the door again, squarely blasting the closest one in the chest.  He jumps at the farther trooper, landing a solid elbow before the trooper can lift their heavy automatic blaster.  Instead, the trooper swings the blaster like a blunt weapon, sweeping at Boba’s legs.  Boba dodges to the right, ramming his shoulder in to push the trooper off balance. One of their arms goes flying out towards Boba, who grabs the arm and pulls the trooper close.  Kicking out his legs in a wide stance, Boba uses the momentum to twist and slam the trooper’s head into the wall.  If he then bangs the trooper’s head a few more times than needed, well, no one is here to see it.  

Boba catches his breath, proudly standing over the mess he just created. Stifling a smile, Boba nabs a free detonator off a trooper’s belt and re-grips his blasters.

Boba puts his head around the corner, looking for any other patrolling troopers. Boba treads up to the first door marked “Storage”, but the door to the right has a visually complicated locking system and no window.  Insecure people keeping valuables in visually secure boxes (as if to reassure themselves that it is safer), only paint a target for thieves.  And Boba had made a living “acquiring” things and people alike. He slips easily past the mechanisms and the door slides open. 

Boba’s foot hesitates in mid-air before he stalks forward and lifts a pistol at the shaking scientist in the corner.  He closes the door behind him.  

“What the kriff is that thing?” Boba demands, pointing at the wrinkly green – thing the scientist had practically shoved into a crib behind him.  

The scientist edges over to block Boba’s view from the crib, holding up his hands, “it’s – it’s just a baby. Please don’t hurt it!”

Boba took in the sight of the baby and the scientist in the lab, the resemblance to the Kaminoans decanting him in the sterile white walls of his birth world. Boba moves closer to the crib and snarls out “what are you doing to that baby?”

“I protected him, I’ve been protecting him! If it wasn’t for me, he would already be dead!” the scientist pleads.  Boba shifts his grip on his raised blaster.  

The scientist blurts out “Please just let me go!”

Boba tilts his head menacingly. “Just let you go? Just you? Is this not your child?”

The scientist furrows his brows, “Well, no” and Boba puts a blaster bolt in this thigh.  The man falls to the floor, clutching his leg and yelling. “What the kark! What was that for?”

Boba glares down at the cowardly man.  He growls out, “I know what men like you do to children.  Be grateful I did not kill you. You stole this child.”

Leaving the scientist to desperately clamp his hand over the bleeding blaster wound, Boba lowers his pistol and carefully approaches the crib.  The child is a wrinkly green mess, somehow looking so unbelievably old and young at the same time.  After getting over his initial shock of disgust, Boba notices the child’s sickly pale color and shallow, uneven breaths.  Though this was not the treasure he was searching for, Boba would not leave this child by itself.  He grips the metal edges of the crib, deciding what to do next.  

Gathering himself again, Boba easily pushes the crib towards the door using the built-in repulsor lifts. After checking the hallway again, which is thankfully empty, he turns back to the scientist.  

“Given the poor state of this baby, I’ve changed my mind.  Hurting a child is unforgivable,” Boba declares and raises his blaster once more. The child does not even stir at the true ring of the blaster bolt.  

[thenocturnalshadow]

Rules

I don’t have many rules but they are as follows.

1. I’m open to rping anything pretty much but I like development and some planning. I try to stay away from things like non-con/rape but gore and stuff is fine. I tag my things and use cuts (Read mores) on anything that I feel is not child/work appropriate. Mun is 18+ and experienced as an rper but will under no circumstances rp smut with a minor. Other adults, possibly, depending on the situation.

2. Mun=/=Muse and as such if my muse says or does something that does not mean I feel that way or agree with it. Thus why this is roleplaying and all.

3. I do not encourage anon hate, bullying or anything of that nature. I follow a do on to others as you would have done to you rule so I try to be nice and respectful to my rp partners and expect the same.

4. I am now semi-selective, I will rp with just about anyone though from any universe, show, game, OC, it doesn’t matter just don’t expect me to know your fandom or your character. That said, you do need to be a mutual. I no longer rp with none mutuals as I can’t tell who wants to rp with me still and who does not otherwise. Note: I also reserve the right to refuse to rp with someone for any reason, though I will likely let you know if I have a problem and poke you calmly about it.

5. This blog is multiship and multiverse and muse is semi-multiverse aware so he isn’t surprised to see alternates.

6. Do not power play, godmode, or meta-game. It’s rude and kills the fun of Rping.

7. I may drop threads, but I will inform you if I do. That said, sometimes I have problems with my tag tracker or I miss something, don’t be afraid to poke me and remind me. I’ll actually be glad you did! On tags, I use them a lot and I always check my tracker so if you want me to see something use TheNocturnalShadow tag.

8. I’m not super picky but try to make your writing readable. I will try to match your writing to a point but I personally don’t get fancy with the format. I use third person paragraph unless it’s a POV which are mostly just little drabbles I do rarely. The more you write the more I have to work with for my replies. //Comms//, Thoughts, “Speaking”, (OOC), is the formula I use when rping.

9. If I follow you I will give a two weeks for a follow back and if you haven’t I will unfollow. It is not personal, I just like to keep my dash clean of those I don’t rp with. In short I will mostly only rp with mutuals past the first two weeks.

10. I have no preferred ships with Shadow, all ships are interesting and I don’t mind exploring them but as for her home universe she is not shipped with anyone.