#I mean I know her species has naturally small snouts but I still say something is up with this design

[dracocheesecake]

...I realized something:

[happyhollow-mellowmarsh]

A Day in the Life of Gumi

“Zzzz……”

The camera continued to film the sleeping bunny for a while longer, before a small banana was brought into the frame, closer to the camera. The stem was cracked, and immediately the rabbit woke up with a start, looking around for the source of the banana… Before letting out a yawn.

“Awawawa…” 

Yawn finished, the rabbit hopped over, and began to munch on the banana. A smattering of Japanese kana floated across the screen, with the corresponding English translations captioned.

“Ohayou, everybunny! It’s me, Bubblegum, everyone’s favourite bun-bun!” The subtitles spelled out even if the rabbit herself didn’t actually vocalize anything. “Sorry for waking up late, peko! I was celebrating my third birthday yesterday… There was so much soda and I tired myself out partying!”

As she continued to munch, the camera was set down on a table. Their owner stepped into the frame of view still holding the banana, revealing a young Japanese woman in a white dress and a black hair bow: those of you who had knowledge of the idol scene (or had just read the channel’s about page) recognized her as the underground idol known as TASOGARE, or Dusky to others.

“Mama’s here! I mean, she’s always behind the camera, but she’s here now! And I love her so much!” Her free hand gently ruffled the back of the bunny’s ears. “Awawa! She always pets me just right!” 

A soft melody started playing over the two of them, before the overlaid intro card spelled out just what you were in for:

The next scene faded into a lounge room, where Bubblegum was being chased by what looked to be a tiny italian greyhound, barking as he went. Watching them frolic from atop a couch was an interesting animal, one that looked like a large cat the size of a boxer dog, but had fluffy wool much like a sheep possessed. She regarded the two on the ground impassively, as if waiting for the perfect time to strike, or simply because there was nothing better to do.

“Today, I want to introduce everyone to my familiar friends! The iggy chasing me is Bucephalus, though most of us usually call him Buce as a nickname. Say something cool, Buce-kun!”

“Yipyipyipyipyiphellohellohello!!” The tiny dog finally caught up, and booped his snout onto the fluff of Bubblegum’s tail. “Tag!”

This prompted the bunny to turn tail and chase after him back, and would not have been able to catch up to his superior speed if not for the sudden appearance of the sheep-cat, who bounded off her couch and down to block one of the greyhound’s escape routes.

“And this is my cousin, Baaby! She’s a really strong and magical sheep-cat hybrid! Please don’t call her a shat, she doesn’t like that.”

He dodged the large feline with a whine. “No fair! Why are you on her side?” 

"Because you slept on me... again. And you drool in your sleep." Baaby mewled lazily, licking one of her paws.

The chase continued for a few seconds more, before Buce bounded straight into the camera and knocked it into a black screen, setting up the next scene transition.

An underground lake framed the scene this time, as Bubblegum hopped along the water’s edge. Finding the first of her two friends, she thumped a foot in a high-five against the tailfin of the winged magical fish that leapt out of the water.

“This is Astrid! She’s a fairy koi, and she likes to swim down here. Mama likes to help her friend feed Astrid whenever she has the time to.”

The camerawoman, presumably Dusky, holds out a handful of apple blossoms towards the water. The fairy koi’s eyes light up from a distance, and she jumps out of the lake in a miniature water bubble controlled by her own magic, before swimming in the air over to munch.

“OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM!!”

Finishing up all of the flowers, the fish let out a burp and smiled. “Thank you! Much appreciated! Astrid is very happy and full.” She blew some water bubbles into the air above Bubblegum before swimming back to the lake, popping her own water bubble as she did.

“See you around, Astri-tan!” Bubblegum waved, before continuing to hop along the perimeter.

Eventually, she came across a majestic horse-like creature resting on the side bank of the lake, with mottled green skin and a mane that looked more like seaweed than hair. A bright red eye cracked open at the sudden presence, as the sea-horse lifted her head to regard the rabbit.

“This is Undaria! She’s a kelpie, and she’s also my sister! Well, technically, half-sister, her dad and my mama are dating and all, but she’s my sister all the same! Say hi, Unda-chan!”

The kelpie neighed softly, prompting Bubblegum to hop closer. “What is it now, Bubbles?”

The bun hopped onto her half-sister’s back, before beginning to run her face through the kelp. “I’m helping to groom you! Because I can!” As she continued to trim through the kelpie’s mane, Bubblegum chirruped softly, “I love my sis so much! She’s the tsun-tsun to my dere-dere!”

“What does that even mean?” Undaria whinnied haughtily. It did not stop her from allowing the grooming to happen, or from gently setting the rabbit back down onto shore once she was done.

“See you later, nee-chan!” Bubblegum thumped happily, before skittering away to a new setting.

Now she was in the middle of a pumpkin patch, nibbling on some pumpkin leaves. “Hello again! My next friends are flying at the moment, so I’ll introduce you to them when they come down!”

A few seconds later, and they did. A white pigeon with streaks of purple and red in his wings glided down to land on a pumpkin, followed shortly after by a pale yellow budgie with a dash of small white spots on his head. They raised a wing in greeting. 

“I’m Berry!” The pigeon coos, before he scratched his head. “Still don’t know what kind of berry I’m supposed to be, but I guess it depends on the day.” He eyes the camera, and the person behind it extends a baked cracker, which he comes over to eat.

“And I’m Alkonost! I- ooh, cracker.” Distracted, the budgie hopped over to munch on the cracker. “Where was I? Oh yeah, I’m visiting today! Mom works somewhere else usually, but her girlfriend was in the area so I tagged along.”

While the birds were busy, Bubblegum moved further down the pumpkin patch; once they were done consuming the cracker, they led the camera over to their next pair of familiars.

Unsurprisingly, the massive clydesdale horse stood out first. Towering over Bubblegum and the two birds by a magnitude of at least ten, he had a dark brown mane with a matching brown tail, and a chocolate brown body with white patches around his face and legs. A loose red bandana was tied around his neck, and part of his mane had been braided to rest behind one of his ears.

At his feet was a strange snake-like creature, but this one was distinctly less long and slithery, and more compact and chubby. A glow stick necklace circled around this one’s neck, and his forked tongue stole chunks of pumpkin flesh as he vibed, brown and green stripes vibrating.

“This is Johnny Kane!” Bubblegum introduced, gently thumping her paw against the stallion’s leg. “I’ve been trying to get him interested in Unda-chan for a while now, but since he only comes to visit every now and then, there’s never really been much time to schedule a date.”

Judging by the long face on the horse, both metaphorically and literally, she was the only one in support of the idea. “Charmed.”

“And this is King!” Despite the natural tendency for rabbits to fear snakes, she approached him with no fear whatsoever. “He’s a tsuchinoko! Yes, tsuchinoko real. Do you wanna say anything?”

“Flpflpflpflpflp…” Retracting his tongue, King gave a toothy half-smile. “I mean… party rock is in the house tonight? I dunno, but I’m always down to have some fun.”

While rabbits weren’t usually capable of smiling, Bubblegum could trill happy vibes very well. “Aren’t we all? Thank you guys for showing up, I’m going to go find the others now. Stay sweet!”

Hopping away, she sped past the camera to the final pit stop in her adventure quest, a snazzy recreation room that contained a karaoke machine and a countertop bar. As she hopped inside, something ran outside, a black blur of an animal with the briefest flash of yellow eyes.

“That was Teto! It’s alright if we didn’t get to see her, she’s not very sociable.” Bubblegum sniffed. “Unlike the other black cat in the mansion… my mom’s boss, Trouble!”

She pauses in her tracks, scrunching up her face. “At least I know I’ve seen her as a black cat at some point a while ago… Maybe she likes transformation magic? Or maybe that’s just her fursona.”

Hopping onto a bar stool, the rabbit came face to face with a rooster on another stool. This was no ordinary rooster however, as instead of brown or white feathers, every inch of the sun bird’s body was covered in multicoloured flechettes. Both his comb and tail feathers had little balls of what looked to be concentrated fire, and he let out a cocky crow at the sight of the camera.

“This is Bata! He’s a sarima… sarima…” The subtitles were clearly poking fun at Bata’s species, even if both rabbit and mistress probably knew what he was. “Sun chicken! He’s a baby.”

“I am not!” He clucked back. “I am a very proud rooster who eats lots of big man food and can still find the time to give my Dad feather hugs whenever he wants them!”

Bubblegum blinked. “That’s… oddly specific.”

“Shush, don’t judge me, you get hugs from your momma all the time too.” He stuck out his tongue.

“Fair enough!” Bubblegum conceded with a trill. “And you will always be a baby because that’s what I remember you as when you were still a chick. A baby!”

Bata let out a squawk, preening his feathers. “Lies! Slander! I’m bigger than you, Bubble-brain!”

The two continued their friendly banter as Dusky stepped into view and pressed the service bell on the bar’s top. A little scratching noise was heard, before a mouse scampered up onto the bar: this mouse looked to be a little old, with a small witch’s hat that had probably seen better days, but he nonetheless squeaked cheerily to ask for orders.

“A tall glass of apple cider, please. And some water for them.” Dusky requested, giving the mouse a gentle pat on the head. The mouse moved to go make those drinks, and seconds later the order was set out in front of all three of the bar’s current occupants.

“And that’s Jeffrey! He was, um… he belonged to mom’s teacher before she passed away, but he’s still working here out of loyalty to my mom’s bosses. Really great mouse, who serves great drinks!” Bubblegum happily starts lapping at the water.

Once they were done, the idol scooped up her rabbit, waved goodbye to the other two familiars and walked out of the door. The scene cut back to the inside of their room, where Bubblegum is set down gently, and the bun hops around the room to exercise, just a little.

“As you can see, there’s a whole bunch of friends here with me in the mansion, and they come in all sorts of shapes and sizes and some of them are plenty magical, too!” Rubbing the back of her ears with a paw, Bubblegum yawned. “Familiar or not though… we’re still like everyday animals and we all have our own needs. Food, sleep, and of course, love!”

Dusky shows up one last time, simply to press a kiss onto Bubblegum’s eager forehead. “And I’ll always give you as much love as I can.”

“Yay! That’s all for tonight! I’ve been Bubblegum, and I wish you all a gumi-goodnight. Goodbye!” While the outro music played, Bubblegum hopped around in a circle before she binkied herself into her bed, waving at the camera one last time before the ending card signalled the vlog’s end.

[rebellect-writes]

[SIZE=1][b]Name:[/b] Jess. [b]Age:[/b] 21. [b]How did you find us?:[/b] I didn’t. You found me.

[b]Name:[/b] Ripley York. [b]Nicknames & Aliases:[/b] Rip, Ripper. Yorkie. [b]Age:[/b] 37. [b]Date of Birth:[/b] 12th of April 1975. [b]Gender:[/b] Male. [b]Sexual Orientation:[/b] Bisexual, though he’s more comfortable with males. [b]Occupation:[/b] Works in a bookshop in town.

[b]Animal Species:[/b] Spotted Hyena. [b]Animal Description: [/b] [IMG]http://i672.photobucket.com/albums/vv90/bloodwillout/app%20pics/spotted-hyena_1.jpg[/IMG] He’s your typical spotted hyena. Standing at 3’1 at the shoulders and from snout to rump, he’s 5’5. Ripley’s not very heavy though, only weighing in at 130lbs at large. His coat’s a lot softer then it looks, though don’t get any bright ideas and try petting without asking because his strong bite is worse than his bark. [b]Do you have a hybrid/alpha form?:[/b] Nope. [b]Rank:[/b] Rogue. Will join if the group returns.   [b]How long has your character been a lycanthrope?:[/b] 16 years. (Infected at age 18.) [b]Mindset:[/b] Both. [b]Power level:[/b] Beta.

[b]Face Claim:[/b] Matthias Streitwieser. [b]Description:[/b] [IMG]http://i672.photobucket.com/albums/vv90/bloodwillout/app%20pics/2e2j6md.jpg[/IMG] [i]Height:[/i] 6’2 [i]Weight:[/i] 178lbs. [i]Eyes:[/i] Blue. [i]Hair:[/i] Brown. [i]Build:[/i] Average, muscled in all the right places. [i]Visible marks:[/i] He has a small black star on the inside of his right wrist, and the Chinese characters for ‘Ruby’ at the nape of his neck. Ripley also has faint bite marks along his neck and wrists that you can't really see unless you're looking close. [i]Style:[/i] Jeans, t-shirts and a thrown over jacket. Anything comfortable and practical is best. He will wear suits if he has to do so.

[b]Special Skills:[/b]  [LIST] [*] He does know Greek and Spanish, and he’ll remember how to speak it in his own time. [*] He does know how to hold his own in a fight thanks to AJ helping him out. [/LIST][b]Personality:[/b]   Ripley’s quiet and laid back most of the time. He’s been trained to value manners so you’ll rarely hear him forget them. He’s also been known to lapse into old tricks, where he won’t speak until he’s spoken to. If someone that’s a clear alpha or Master speaks to him, he will rarely look them in the eye unless they say he can do so and it’s little things like that that make things bearable for him. The last thing that he wants is someone to rip out his throat for something he didn’t even mean to do. On saying that, that doesn’t mean he’s completely submissive when it comes to those with more power than he has. Ripley has a deep rebellious and stubborn streak that shows its face at times, mostly when he’s in a sticky situation.

Some may even say that he gets mouthy and sarcastic when this streak of his rises to the surfaces, but Ripley hasn’t honestly noticed anything different except when people give him odd looks. When he’s around people that are younger than him in power, Ripley’s a little more open about things. He likes to laugh and joke around and even though he doesn’t out right say it, he’s the type of person that will give others another chance even though they’ve burned him in the past. Trust is something special to him, There’s only a couple of people that have his trust however, at times when he’s in pain or upset, he even closes down on them to protect himself. Maybe he doesn’t open up fully, but that still doesn’t stop him from being unspeakably loyal to the people that do him a good turn.  

What people don’t know is, and what Ripley doesn’t remember is that he’s got a bad side. He won’t hesitate to do something if an orders given, if that means attacking someone and drawing blood, so be it. Sometimes an order doesn’t have to be given, he’ll go on the defensive if he has to, and the offensive if he needs to, to protect himself and those around him. It’ll hurt him, sure, but half the time he doesn’t even register that pain. He doesn’t like seeing people in pain, but it’s a trigger that’s so deeply rooted in his subconscious that he jumps before he really thinks. Another thing that hasn’t shown itself is that he’s addicted to a vampires bite, craves it and has for over twelve years, will do anything to get the fix. No doubt it will show, but for now, Ripley’s just a mite emotionally retarded and no one’s complained so who knows what trouble he’ll get into.

[b]Likes:[/b] [LIST] [*] Curling up with a good book when it’s raining. [*] Being bitten by a vampire. [*] Cooking. He’s a natural in the kitchen surprisingly. [*] Being stroked in his hyena form. [*] Watching a movie when he can’t sleep. [*] Exploring Jackford when he’s not working. [/LIST][b]Dislikes:[/b] [LIST] [*] When he can’t sleep because of tension headaches. [*] Drama. He can do without it. [*] Others shedding blood for no reason. [*] When he’s reprimanded. [*] Loud annoying music. [*] When he’s talked over by people but he won’t say anything. [/LIST][b]Strengths:[/b] [LIST] [*] He knows when to keep his mouth shut and eyes on the floor. [*] Can follow orders to the letter. [*] Doesn’t let how much pain he’s in show. If he’s in pain. [*] Good at giving people a shoulder to cry on if they need it. [*] He’s got all your standard shifting abilities. [*] Keeping his inner hyena on a short leash and away from others. [*] Giving people what they want to hear most of the time. [/LIST][b]Weaknesses:[/b] [LIST] [*] Won’t hesitate to put himself in the line of fire for someone else. [*] Doesn’t have an alpha form. [*] Can’t repeatedly shift repeatedly in one day, the most is five times back and forth. [*] He’s a bite addict. [*] Silver. [*] Hasn’t even known a true cackle. [*] Doesn’t always tell people when things are bothering him. [/LIST][b]Family:[/b][LIST] [*] Manuel Lagana; Father, died in an RTA. [*] Lucinda York; Mother, died in an RTA. [*] Dominga Lagana; Grandmother, died of natural causes. [/LIST][b]History:[/b]  

During April of 1975, one man’s life came crumbling down around his ears because of a drunken one night stand with his best friend’s younger – and underage, at the time that things got hot and heavy in the bathroom – sister. Manuel came home one evening to find Lucinda on the couch, screaming and hollering as his mother and uncle scurried around trying to stop the baby that was coming one month early. One call was all it took when his common sense kicked in at the sight of the blood, to get Lucinda to the hospital and the help the teenager deserved. Despite the few complications with the birth and the consequences that followed, the baby now named Ripley, was allowed to come home just a little over a month later with Dominga Lagana – the baby’s biological grandmother on Manuel’s side – as the legal guardian, Manny and Lucinda being more babysitters than parents.

Growing up in Leeds; Ripley felt at home in the urban wilderness and it was the only thing that he knew. Lucinda always told him that she was his mum, he believed her, and he’d seen the pictures on Dominga’s albums. What he didn’t get though was why the York’s didn’t approve. They made it known that he wasn’t wanted when Lucinda had to take him along when she went to see her brothers or parents place. In the end, the strain that Lucinda was under, forced her to dump Ripley on Manuel and Dominga more and more, much to his Grandmother’s delight. She didn’t like the prissy little white girl or the judgmental patronising parents that sneered and crossed the street when they were walking the same way as them.  The tension lasted for almost three years and everyone suffered for it, Manuel tried to patch things up and show to Lucinda’s parents that he wasn’t trash and Lucinda tried to show her parents that she wasn’t a child anymore and could look after herself, it was a bit redundant really, Ripley’s mum was twenty and legally an adult capable of looking after the five year old boy with Manuel who was twenty nine at the time. Dominga didn’t like that one bit but there wasn’t much that she could do at the time but sit back and make sure they didn’t kill Ripley by mistake by giving the kid drain cleaner or something instead of milk over his cornflakes in the morning.

Even school wasn’t a big thing in Ripley’s eyes; he was in and out of it for a lot of reasons. The majority of the time though, was for medical reasons; sometimes he wasn’t there because of life at home. By the time he was fourteen years old, he’d been permanently excused from physical education due to his poor health, expelled from two schools and facing being kicked out for the third time because of his slipping grades and general attitude to authority figures in his life. Lucinda even went as far as to send him to see a therapist because of these things and it just sent Ripley spiralling down a path of rebellion and hate to for the world around him. In fact, the only time he really seemed at peace was when he was with Granny Dominga’s dogs and the old gal used that to her advantage. He didn’t go to college, there was no point. Education wasn’t really something he’d excelled at and he didn’t want to stay at home for the rest of his life, so when Granny Dominga offered him a place to stay and work in her small greasy spoon cafe, he snapped it up and moved in with her. It really wasn’t that exciting afterwards; he lived with his Gran and saw his mum and dad every other day when they stopped by after their shifts at work. Basically, it was a rinse and repeat life and that suited him fine.

Fine, until just after his eighteenth birthday. His parents had ‘kidnapped’ him away for the day to have some good old fashioned bonding time; the truck that hit them came out of nowhere. One minute Ripley had been groaning about Britney Spears on the radio and the next there was chaos and the world was spinning as the car was pushed off the motorway and then there was simply silence. Lucinda and Manuel had been pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital and Ripley was rushed into surgery for multiple internal injuries and head trauma.  He didn’t even know that his parents had died until he came around a couple of days later, and he’d had to plead with his Gran to find out what had happened to them. It was a shock, something that shocked him to his core because no matter how much of a brat he’d been to them growing up, he’d still loved them.

No one bothered to inform him, that the blood that had been used during one of several transfusions had been contaminated with lycanthropy. Maybe no one knew, but that was the hand that he was dealt. It probably would have been better if he’d know though, while he was healing up, because the following full moon after a particular nasty bought of the flu – or at least what he thought was the flu, little did he know that his body was changing and if he had, he’d have probably mad a joke about puberty hitting twice. – Ripley was locking up the cafe for the night and the hyena made itself known. It ripped its way out of him and destroyed the cafe when it found there was nothing to eat. The morning, once the animal had gone back, Ripley woke up in the remains of the cafe, sore and confused but feeling better than he had done in weeks, didn’t have a clue that he’d turned into a hyena though. When Dominga demanded to know what had happened, he told her that someone had broken in and trashed the place and that it had probably been a junkie looking for a fix.

The following weeks became a blur, more rinsing and repeating until one evening he felt an unmistakeable pull to just leave work. Just like that. There was no warning, no nothing. He just felt the need to go. He walked across the city to some seedy back alley dive that was home to all the drunken scum of the nation, or well, the city if you wanted to be technical. Defiantly not his place, and from the few others that were milling about that he noticed didn’t fit in, not theirs either. He found out exactly what was up though when they came in, lanky crew, pale, avoided mirrors and standing directly under lights, looked like the supporting act for the guys that did the YMCA. For a moment Ripley had thought that he was being set up by his friends, because bikers with fangs? Really? It was so wrong. So out there, so unnatural, and yet so normal all at the same time, and it just made Rip curious and scared for what was happening next. The crazy red headed chick in the corner that was cackling and stroking a flipping big hyena was even more out there and put the fear of God into him.

Ripley York never came home that day and wasn’t seen by his Gran again.

He was dragged down to Cardiff with the vampires and the red headed bint with a few of the other guys that had ended up in the bar with him. Mistress Ruby – the self proclaimed Queen of the merry little band – told them what was happening, how he’d service the vampires just like the others that had come to her call. Ripley refused and started mouthing off, and so he was punished. Ruby ripped his inner beast out repeatedly before forcing it back over the space of three days. Then Theodore – the king of the band, a big guy that could’ve snapped Ripley over his thigh for disobedience – decided that that wasn’t enough and decided he wanted a taste, and a taste he got and then some. Just like the rest of the rogue band that called the Hyena Queen and Vampire Master their leader because to them, Ripley and the hyenas that had been Called where nothing but animals meant to be used in anyway their Masters saw fit. Theodore didn’t just have hyenas at his beck and call, there were other shifters as well that were pets to the thirteen vampires that he ruled, while he was a rotting vampire, there were Belle Morte rogues and fear masters and beast masters to boot and each and every one of them where young enough to be a power to be reckoned with and still hate the way that the vampire council did things.

Over the next twelve years, between Ruby and Theodore the young hyena started to lose himself. The rebellion and need to fight what was happening to him died, painfully and slowly, but it did die. Gone were the days he had to go around wearing a collar and on the end of a leash and had to be escorted by one of Ruby’s older and more treasured pets. He was no longer handcuffed to the bed of some two-bit vampire Rogue. He was allowed to come and go as he pleased, because they had something he needed, something he craved so badly that he broke out into cold sweats, shakes and shivers. He craved them. Needed them just like the air he breathed some nights that he would go down on his knees and beg to be bitten. It wasn’t always easy either; Ripley would have to do things that he didn’t want to do but did it anyway. Mistress Ruby explained it one time when she’d been waiting for Theodore to wake, she told him that it was them simply asking for a favour because they’d given him a gift.  

That wasn’t to say that it was all doom and gloom, despite his current situation, Ripley made friends. One such friend was Sissy. It wasn’t exactly a fun evening for the both of them. Ruby and Theo’s second in command dragged him along to a local tattoo parlour that had a decent reputation in the inked circles. The Mistress wanted something new and exciting, and the vampire and Rip were only sent along as bodyguards for the crazy bitch. Ripley wouldn’t have done anything if the beast master male hadn’t taken a shine to the girl, oh he’d seen her, she’d been chatting with an artist or something, but the vampire took an instant dislike to her for some reason. The artist was rolled, mentally told to forget that they’d ever existed as the vampire went after Sissy. Ripley was left with Ruby and boy, did he want to help the girl.

The moment blood was drawn; he had an idea and turned to the bitch queen that had sat giggling the whole time. He bargained for her safety, offering Ruby anything she wanted in return. Liking that idea, Ruby pulled the beast master off the red headed girl, and after checking on Sissy to make sure that she was ok, Ripley turned to get what was coming his way. All she asked was that he get a tattoo of her choice in return for the girls life and safety, Ripley didn’t even question it and let the Mistress do what she wanted, sat through the rolled tattoo artist branding him with the Chinese characters for ‘Ruby’ at the nape of his neck, after his Mistress and the beast master got theirs. Theodore never noticed that his servant and queen had left her permanent mark on another man,  if he had then they would have destroyed the parlour, killed Sissy and the artist that had done their work, instead they stayed in town, the vampires and shifters coming and going as they got new ink and Ripley got to know Sissy a bit more.

Eventually the group moved on to a place called Jackford at the back end of 2010; they rolled into town and found that there was so much chaos they could create. They didn’t have to do anything; there was no time because Ruby, during a Christmas shopping break, was smacked down by a blonde harpy. The Oba of Jackford didn’t like another in her territory and she made that clear when she drew first blood, Ripley had grinned at that, seeing the scarlet streaks down on freckled cheek. Ruby didn’t have time to defend herself, and even if she had, Theo was the ruler and he declared no one was to help and Ruby was furious. She gave it all she had, but on her own with no vampires or hyenas to help her, Petra Graves whooped her skanky ass fair and square then told the rest of the mob to take Ruby and leave her town. Theodore was fairly reasonable, as an Old World gentleman at heart, he agreed and they made plans to leave though he requested a little time from Petra because it was Christmas. His logic being that it would be their first proper Christmas together and sadly, Petra agreed.

Over the next three months, the rogue band drifted apart. There’d been moments when Ripley had wondered if he could just slip away and make a run for the Kiss that had been reconstructing itself from the ground up. However he didn’t have to. In February, one of Ruby’s other pets made a big fuss about not being marked in front of Theodore of all creatures. Ruby, desperate to shut the idiot up, snapped his neck but it was too late for that. Theo had heard enough and dragged Ripley close to check and sure enough, the Master saw the tattoo was there. Theodore crushed Ripley’s throat and tossed him aside like trash to die in the gutter, before dragging his whore-queen off to deal with her. The two hyenas bodies where left in a semi completed housing estate, but that wasn’t the end of them, nobodies in a sea of silence.

Ripley should have died, except he didn’t. The male had no idea what had happened but one moment he was choking and struggling for air that wasn’t there and then the next it was daylight and he was blinking up at the faces of two werewolves that called the Fun House home. One of the wolves, Eric, had ripped Ripley’s inner beast out to try and save him and it had worked, mostly. As a result from the event, Rip didn’t know what had happened, who they where, where he was. Nothing at all except his name, and the flashes that he gets sometimes when he’s stressed, he hasn’t spoken of them to anyone at all. So here he is, in Jackford, a ward of the kiss and still a nobody.[/SIZE]

[damienthepious]

tuesday time for soft and angst and soft (and kisses)

No More Changes (I’ll Still Love You The Same) [Chapter 4]

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [ao3] [chapter 5] 

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, (tho not THIS chapter certainly), Curses, human!arum, (but not… because he WANTS to be), (it ain’t good y'all), Panic Attacks, Overstimulation, Rilla Is Queen Of Comfort, Damien Does Not Consider The Consequences Of His Words, The Keep Is Best Mom, Body Dysphoria

Summary: Lord Arum and his Keep have fought off curses before, but they have never dealt with one quite like this. They have never dealt with a curse while having a couple of humans around to help them, either… though it remains to be seen exactly how helpful Arum’s lovers will be, in the effort of restoring him.

Chapter Summary: Self-care is vital in times of crisis.

Chapter Notes: We all needed a little soft. And therefore this is. the LONGEST chapter so far. Chapter title from the song Riches and Wonders, by The Mountain Goats. However the song that best fits the general tone of the day is Soft, by Babygirl.

Chapter 4 - Guardians of a Rare Thing

~

Rilla steps through the portal and emerges on the other side in Arum’s workshop. She sighs in frustration, ready to scold Arum for trying to work in his current state, but as she glances around the workshop she realizes it’s empty. Is the Keep really that disoriented by all this? Did it bring her to the wrong room? “Uh, Keep? Where’s Arum? I need to see him.”

The response comes slow, and maybe a little softer than usual, but Rilla can hear the warning in its tone all the same. Of course. After Damien… Of course it would be afraid for Arum- afraid of Rilla, and what she might say to him. If he’s really as upset as Damien said…

“Keep, please. Let me see him. Damien made a mistake. You have to let me see him. Please, he has to know that we’re going to fix this. He can’t think that-“

She cuts off as the Keep lets out a relieved sigh, and she hears the shifting of vines. She watches as the Keep carries a mass of vines and leaves over to her and deposits it gently at her feet. She can see the shape of Arum curled up, nestled and tucked into the bramble. She can just barely see his face through the tangle of foliage, and his (painfully plain) gray eyes refuse to meet hers.

She gives a relieved sigh of her own, setting her bags down and moving closer to the vines.

“Arum-”

"Has he sent you to convince me?" Arum says, low and bitter, only half his face visible through the Keep’s embrace. "To present me with some ultimatum? Some simple human mathematics to bolster his case?"

"Arum, you know-"

"I suppose the numbers add up, when you truly simplify it, don't they? The happiness and convenience of two humans held against the desires of one monster- oh, and the monster's home, as well, but it isn't as if there is anyone left to understand and translate for it, so it does not really matter what opinion the Keep holds on the matter, does it? And besides, I am sure we are all well aware of the relative value placed on the wishes of a monster, anyway. Or- ha, or do my desires count for more, now that I am one of you?"

“No. Listen to me-”

Arum laughs, or chokes, she can’t quite tell. “A more effective curse than even they intended, I would wager. Weaken me, mute my bond with my creator, force me to face the conditional nature of human affection-“

“Arum. Damien is an insensitive ass, and he fucked up.”

Arum’s eyes finally meet hers, then, and it nearly breaks her to see the pain and hope shining there, the redness from the tears already shed, the shine from those that might still fall. Saints, oh saints but he doesn’t deserve this-

“What?” he says, suspicious, and Rilla sighs.

“I’m sorry,” she says gently. “I know- I know that Damien said some just- profoundly callous things to you. He’s- he’s just-” she shakes her head. “I just shouldn’t have left like that. I’m so sorry you and the Keep got stuck alone like this. That wasn’t what I wanted for you.” She pauses, biting her lip. “Are you- are you gonna let me in, or do you wanna have this conversation through branches? That wasn’t a judgment- whatever makes you more comfortable is fine by me.”

Arum looks away again, working his jaw soundlessly for a moment before he mutters something she can’t quite hear. There is a pause, and then the Keep shifts the vines around him, creaking them apart but not away until it opens a little window. She can see him a little better, then, see him shrunk in on himself, curled into an even tighter ball inside the embrace of his home.

She plops down on the floor beside him, because she'd rather die than try to pull him away from the Keep right now, and he tilts his head just slightly, though he does not move either towards or away from her.

"If the Keep is giving hugs, mind if I get in on that? Group hugs with mom are honestly the best," she says mildly, and it startles a weak laugh out of him, and after a moment or two he lifts his arms and the vines part a little more, widening the cozy space inside the tangled thicket. Relieved, Rilla slips in beside Arum, and the steady softness of the moss and leaves around the both of them is almost too comforting for Rilla’s worried mind to bear.

When she’s settled in the small space, her arms safely around Arum, she sighs, her brow furrowing. Arum very clearly doesn't know what to do with himself. He keeps moving his hands, slipping them from her shoulder blades to her arms to her lower back, unsettled and uncertain, and she realizes after a moment that he can’t settle because he wants to be holding her more tightly. He wants to hold her as he usually does, and he can't, now. He only has half the hands he is used to holding her with.

"I'm so sorry, Arum,” she says, and this close she barely has to do more than whisper. “We're gonna fix this, though. If we can keep from killing each other over methodology, we can figure out anything, right?"

Arum sags against her.

"I..." he hisses through his teeth, a pale shadow of the noises he should be able to make. "I intended to say that I have overcome worse. I do not actually know if that is true, this time."

“I mean, we’ve both almost died more than a few times by now, so…”

“And yet,” Arum mutters, his soft blunt fingers fluttering against her shoulders. He sighs. “Amaryllis, I…”

“I’m sorry, Arum,” she says again, steady as a boulder, soft as moss. “I’m here, now. I’m here.”

For a moment, he’s glad he’s slumped into her, that she can’t see his face. The line between crying and not-crying is becoming blurrier, and Arum is so, so tired. He can't even tell, anymore, if he's crying because of the near-pain, or out of relief because he knows that it's going to be okay because Amaryllis is here now and she’s promised they’re still going to fix this, that she understands how hard this is for him, or if it’s because even despite his relief at her presence, his thin belief that they will somehow make this right again, that still doesn't mean any of this is okay now.

"Of course-" he tries to straighten up, but she can feel the way he's trying to accommodate for a tail that is no longer there, and she has to force herself not to wince, not to let the heartbreak show on her face. "Of course, you are the only human whose mind I would trust with a task such as this. Brighter than the lot of your entire tepid species."

Normally she would poke him in the snout for a comment like that. Right now she just scowls, the look in her eye indicating clearly that she knows he's being snarky on purpose. "And you're not so bad yourself, obviously. We'll figure it out. We'll get your real body back."

Arum closes his eyes, sighs, nods against her shoulder.

"We need to get you more stable before you start trying to do science or magic, though, Arum," she says, and he grumbles but he is shaking, just a little, and he knows her stubbornness too well to protest, just now. "And... and then at some point, we need to talk to Damien."

Arum flinches, his eyes flying open, and then they narrow disdainfully. "No."

"Arum-"

"He- Amaryllis, I cannot bear to look at him. I cannot- Amaryllis he looks at this body- this stranger, and his eyes shine, already wondering at all the ways this will fix things, will fix his aberrant affection for such a horrible monster-"

His cheeks are wet, again. Rilla can feel her own heart cracking, and she wishes she could parse out how much of this is just the strange new body, and how much is the hurt. It wouldn't help to know, but- "I know. I'm sorry for that, too, but you know that he loves you, Arum. He does."

"Then why? Why look at me that way? Like he is already living in the future, where his days with a monster are past and forgotten? Why yearn for proper kisses, as if every affection passed between us was some poor imitation?" He scoffs. “He loves me. Perhaps. But it is always in spite. In spite of everything I am. Despite the fact that I am a monster, he loves me."

“Arum,” she says softly.

"He loves me and feels it as a flaw in himself,” he continues, sneering. “He loves me and feels himself broken because of it. That has- that has been thrown into stark relief today, Amaryllis. And I cannot push the question from my mind- if this is how he l-” he squeezes her tighter, and the pressure is all wrong, halved and without the cool touch of claws, and when he tries again, his voice has gone so very quiet that she would not be able to hear him if she pulled away another inch. “If this is the way he loves me, Amaryllis, in contempt of everything I am, is that- is that love at all? Is that anything like it? I have very little practice in this arena, certainly, but it cannot be- it cannot be this.”

Rilla can’t help but press a soft kiss to Arum's brow, not wanting the touch to be overwhelming but unable to clamp down on the need to soothe. "He's still caught up in how the Citadel expects him to be. He does love you, Arum. He loves you so much, just like I do, and he's trying. And when I talked to him he- he knows that he's messed this up. He knows he hurt you. And I know that none of that makes this any better, and I know that you’re really vulnerable right now and he tripped right into that, Arum, but-" she feels her heart clench, "but even if you can't forgive him." She stops again, and dammit she's not going to cry too. She's not. "Even if this is how this thing breaks, I think you owe it to him and you owe it to yourself to tell him exactly how you feel. To tell him yourself how he hurt you, and if he wants your forgiveness he can ask for it then."

He doesn't respond right away. She imagines the ticking rattle that usually accompanies his slow thoughtful pauses and it burns like a hot coal in her stomach, and then Arum presses his face into her collarbone and clenches his jaw.

"Please," she says, just quietly. "We don’t have to do it right now, and honestly it’ll probably be better to let things settle a little bit first, but I don't... I don't think you really want the last things you say to each other to be... to be that."

Arum sighs again after a long moment. "I don’t… understand. You are just as human as he is," he mutters. "Yet you seem as eager as I, to restore my proper body. Certainly it would be freeing," he sneers, "for you as well, to love another human. That is- that is what I find most painful, Amaryllis. The longer I consider his words the more I fear he may be right. I only make your lives more difficult, do I not? My own pain and discomfort aside, would your lives not be so much simpler if I were human? We would not have to hide, you would not have to lie to protect me or yourselves-“

“But you aren’t human.” Rilla scowls, and she feels hot with anger. “It doesn’t matter what they did to you. You are not a human. You are Lord Arum, He Who Rules the Swamp of Titan’s Blooms. You are a monster, and that’s exactly who we fell in love with. Not some human. You. We fell in love with you. We fell in love with Lord Arum.”

Arum sinks further into her embrace as she speaks, his breaths slowing, growing more even.

"Love is always complicated," she continues, voice softer. "And yeah, loving a monster is new for both of us, just like I bet loving humans is new and strange for you. But it’s… harder for Damien, to let go of the way he thought before. I was never like Damien, though. I never wanted to fit into the Citadel the way he did. There's a reason why I'm still 'of Exile', Arum. I chose to keep that, and I chose to be with you. I chose to be with a magical construct with gorgeous scales and four arms and a tail and a bad temper, and I'm not giving you up without a damned fight."

Arum pauses for another long moment, and then he swallows roughly. "Amaryllis... I- you know that I- I love you," he rasps. "Very dearly."

Not going to cry. Dammit. Dammit. "I love you too, Arum." She closes her eyes, pressing her face into his neck, missing his frill, trying to let his arms and the vines of the Keep around them steady her. "I'm sorry we can't seem to catch a damned break," she says with a weak, wavering laugh.

"If..." he hesitates, "if you think I should... speak with him again, I will... I will trust your judgment," he murmurs, eyes downcast. "If you believe he will listen to what I need to say. Truly listen."

"I think he will," Rilla says softly, and then she kisses his cheek and lets herself smile. "And if he doesn't? I'll just go ahead and kick him in the shins, and then the Keep can dump him in the wettest part of the swamp to think about what an asshole he's being for a little while."

The Keep gives a satisfied sort of warble as Arum half chokes on a laugh, and if it sounds like a sob on the back half Rilla's certainly not going to mention it.

She cups his face in her hands. "Whatever happens, I love you and I'm with you, and we'll figure the rest out together. Okay?"

"... Okay." Arum leans up, hesitates, and then presses the line of his mouth against the edge of her jaw, and it's strange and stiff and awkward and she is not going to cry, no matter how much her heart is breaking for the casual nuzzle of a scaled snout. They're going to fix this, so there's no reason to cry about it. "Okay," he repeats. "I believe you. Despite my better judgment."

“Okay,” Rilla says, her hands gentle upon him.

“It’s not as if I could stop you anyway,” he mutters. “I think the Keep can hear you better than it can hear me, just now.”

Well. That hurts too.

“Alright,” she says. “Alright, we’ve done enough collective moping for today, huh?”

Arum makes a noise, and she imagines that he’s attempting to growl. “I am not moping, Amaryllis-”

"No, no, I think we both were, for a minute there. But I’ve had about enough of it, I think. And as cozy as it is cuddled up in here - thank you, Keep, I really needed this too - I think we need to get you a little bit cleaned up, maybe.”

“Cleaned-” Arum hunches, defensive, and swipes his hand across his face again.

“First thing you did in this body was to fall in the dirt, Arum, and your hair has literally never been washed before. And, yeah, I think you’ll feel better if you can wash your face, too.” She smiles, as best she can. Little things, just little things until she can shift her focus to fixing the one big thing. “That sound good?”

“I don’t need you to- to coddle me,” he mutters, but he makes no move to push her away.

“Look, it won’t fix anything, but you’ll feel better if you’re not all grimy and stuck in robes that don’t currently fit you.” She shrugs. “If you wanna call that coddling, fine, but I just want you to be as comfortable as possible right now.”

He considers that.

“Fine, fine. Keep,” he pauses, mouth pressing awkwardly closed for a moment. “Keep, can you… hear me?”

Another pause, perhaps a little shorter than before, and then the Keep sings around them, light and attentive, and Arum exhales in obvious relief.

“Prepare a bath, if you would,” he asks, soft, and the Keep chimes a clear affirmation, the leaves of their small shelter shivering around them. “Good. Yes. Th-thank you.”

Rilla holds Arum gently for another moment, then releases him so she can press her palms against their shelter, and the tangle surrounding them slowly creaks outward until they can clamber out. Rilla carefully helps Arum back to his unsteady feet, making sure that he’s leaning safely against her as she leads him through the new portal the Keep has provided to the washroom. It’s heartening, that the Keep is stable enough to do so without explicit instruction.

“Alright,” Rilla says as the enormous cupped-leaf basin that serves as the Keep’s bathtub fills with gently steaming water, “get your robes off, and then when we’re done I’ll find something that fits you a little better for the moment.”

Arum- flinches, clinging to the soft purple cloth covering his unfortunate new frame despite the way it still overwhelms his senses. “I- but-”

“Arum, I’m a doctor, I’ve seen like, hundreds of naked human bodies. It’s not even close to a big deal.” She glances away, and then back towards him with a painfully understanding look, and she does not say that she knows he does not want to look at himself like this, not bare and vulnerable, but he knows that she knows, all the same.

He huffs, but then he rolls his eyes. “I suppose that makes sense,” he grumbles, and then he steels himself and starts to pull the robes off, wincing as he goes, gritting his teeth as the cloth slides over his sensitive skin, shuffling it down and baring a decidedly uncomfortable amount of this soft terrible skin to the open air.

“Oh- dammit, Arum, hold on-”

Arum blinks and freezes as Rilla comes close, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and angling the limb so she can see his forearm. With no small degree of bewilderment he sees a distinct scrape, speckled with grit and purpling dark with bruise beneath the redder parts of the wound.

“I- when did-”

“Probably right when you first changed- when you fell,” Rilla says, her brow furrowed with irritation. “You must’ve hit a rock or a root or something, and you didn’t notice because of all of the rest of it.”

Arum huffs, gritting his blunt teeth together. “Ridiculous fragile body cannot handle a fall of a few feet? Absolutely absurd-”

“Hold still, would you?”

Her medical bag is still at her hip, and she starts methodically pulling out what she needs to treat the injury as Arum stands and scowls and shuffles his feet. Now that he is aware of the wound it feels sharp and strange, much more present than a similar scrape would have been on his scales. That would have merely been superficial, and certainly this must be as well (humans cannot possibly be fragile enough to take permanent damage from so small a mishap, they simply cannot), but regardless it feels so vivid. To feel an injury this much in his proper form, it would need to truly pierce his scales, not- bruise him.

There is a safety in the look on Amaryllis’ face as she attends him, though. A familiarity. In matters of healing her focus is always unwavering, a universal force he trusts without needing to even consider it. By the time the bandages are safely wrapped around his new skin, his new injury (do bandages always itch on human skin?), he feels reassured for more reasons than just the treatment of the wound.

Amaryllis solves problems.

Foolish as it may be, he trusts that she will help him fix this one.

“There,” she says, voice soft and steady, and instead of letting go of his arm, she simply slips her hand down to take his, brushing their fingers together with barely any pressure at all. “Now. Let’s get you in the water, okay?”

Her grip on his hand is a bit tighter as he dips his toes in, and it’s a good thing, too, because these damned feet have no grip, no claws or scales for traction, and he nearly slips on the edge. She keeps hold of him, though, and with no major incident and only muted grumbling he settles into the mellow warmth of the water. It is still… somewhat overwhelming, but less so than the cloth of his robes, and at least with the water in the way he doesn’t really have to look at his current form. He cups his hands in the water first, then, and splashes his face, as if one sort of water can pretend away another. He does… feel marginally better, after even just that little bit.

Rilla sets her bag aside and settles to sit by the edge of the basin behind him, taking the basket of soaps and other mysterious jars and oils that the Keep dutifully hands to her with a smile, and Arum tries his level best not to feel like a damned helpless hatchling, forced to rely on Amaryllis and his Keep for something so very simple as bathing himself.

The frustration must show on his face, though, because Rilla’s expression goes infuriatingly sympathetic again, and she sets the basket down and reaches out, gently nudging him forward.

“Lean back for me?” she says, soft, and he gives her a suspicious look. “Gotta get your hair wet before anything else,” she elaborates, and Arum works his jaw stubbornly, still feeling so unutterably humiliated for a tense moment before Rilla exhales sharply. “C’mon, you’ve helped me wash my hair before, just- let me do this for you. I want to do this for you, Arum.” She pauses. “Please.”

Arum looks away from her, his throat feeling tight, and then he leans into hands, allowing her to dip his head into the bath, the bizarre sensation of warm water on his scalp making him shiver.

“Okay,” she murmurs when he’s up again, and then he hears her uncork something, and then she says, quite seriously, “You have to let me know if it feels like too much, Arum. Okay? Last thing I want right now is to make anything worse.”

He grumbles something wordless, not really wanting to acknowledge the idea that a simple touch might push him past some limit, but she does not touch him yet.

“Promise me you’ll tell me, Arum,” she says behind him, and Arum is absolutely certain that he has never in his entire long life done anything to deserve this degree of care.

“Fine, Amaryllis, fine, I will inform you if this pathetic form is overwhelmed by soap, are you happy?” he gripes, and he is satisfied to hear her laugh lightly at his back.

He sighs, settling an inch or so deeper into the water, covering his shoulders, and then he feels her hands, just light at the nape of his neck, slipping up into his unfamiliar mess of hair, and Arum’s eyes slip closed without a thought.

It feels-

It is intense, certainly, especially when whatever soap she is applying starts to foam, and when she starts to work her careful fingers through the tangles, attentively working them out, her blunt nails dragging along his scalp, he understands why his humans- why Amaryllis enjoys it so, when he runs careful claws through her own hair.

“So, obviously, this whole situation is rough,” Rilla says suddenly, without preamble, and Arum scoffs at the understatement as he pulls his knees towards his chest, curling into a more awkward ball. “I'm not going to pretend that it's not, Arum, and I don’t expect you to be happy about any of it. That being said, though… you know, it doesn't have to be all misery and gloom. You've got a pretty unique opportunity, here!" She grins, pulling a hand from his hair and rinsing off the soap so she can touch his shoulder, stroking her thumb over the crook of his neck and watching the way that makes him shiver. "We'll get your body back. Obviously." She shrugs, as nonchalant as she can manage even though he’s still facing away, even though he can’t see her. "But in the meantime, you get to have, just, a bunch of unique new experiences that it's unlikely that any other monster has ever gotten to have!"

"Such as... what, precisely, Amaryllis?" He glances at her suspiciously over his shoulder, but he is leaning towards her as he resumes his former position, allowing her hands back in his hair and obviously more curious than he wants to let on.

Which. Saints bless. It's been so hard to see him this unsteady, this upset, and if she can just draw back some of the fire in him- well, he deserves to at least have some good in this horrible ordeal. Plus, gauging his reactions to new stimuli might turn out to be helpful in figuring this mess out, too. Rilla is a big fan of tasks with multiple purposes.

"Like... right now, like how you’re getting first-hand experience in how it feels when you play with my hair." She grins, and Arum’s posture goes a little stiff, his face a little blank, because it feels as if she has plucked that thought from his very mind. "You can see how it feels to us, to touch things with our fragile human skin. I can show you how kissing like a human feels, just for comparison." She pauses, and he glances over his shoulder again to see the slightly awkward tilt of her smile. “If- if you would like that, I mean.”

“A-ah.” He flushes dark. She misses the frill pretty acutely, for a moment, but it's interesting to have confirmation of her perpetual suspicion; Arum blushes easily.

Her smile softens again, and she cups his cheek very, very gently in her less-soapy palm. "We'll fix this sooner rather than later, so you'd better see what all this being human stuff is about before we change you back, right?"

“If… if you say so, Amaryllis.”

“I do say so,” she says, and he assumes that the smugness in her voice is a veneer. He can respect that. Her hands scrub across his scalp with just slightly more pressure and he- he cannot give the gentle throaty rumble he wishes he could, but he can sigh, at least. “Lean back for me again?”

He does as instructed, indulging the herbalist with a mild frown, and when his hair is submersed her careful touch works to rinse the soap out, and even if it feels just on the bare edge of overwhelming it is the most pleasant sensation he has felt in this body so far.

Damien always loves to say that their herbalist has healing hands. Arum abhors hyperbole, but at least in this assessment, Sir Damien speaks with precision.

He lifts out of the water again, and Rilla works something new into his hair, something smoother. Then she holds out a cloth over his shoulder, for him to take. “Here. Help me multitask and we can get you out of there before the water gets too cold.”

Arum takes proffered cloth from Amaryllis, but as she hands him the bottle of soap he fumbles it. His grip is all wrong, he no longer has to accommodate for sharp claws, and so his loose grip and stubby fingers are not strong enough to hold the nearly full bottle. It falls into the bath with a loud splash, and he snarls automatically and flinches away from the water that splashes up into his face. This- this absurd body, these hands. The frustration- the frustration he cannot even find words for, of trying to reach, trying to catch with limbs that are no longer a part of him, and he feels so useless as Amaryllis gently reaches around him to pull the bottle up out of the water and pour a bit of soap onto the cloth for him.

He bites back a snappy remark about how at least she trusts him with a cloth, if not a soap bottle, because she’s… trying. This is difficult and frustrating for him, but that doesn’t mean he has any right to take it out on her. She’s trying so hard to make this better for him. He knows she’s not… judging him for this. He hates feeling pitied (Damien’s voice in his mind, overly saccharine and indulgent and eager: I am sorry you have been so maligned, darling, but no curse could ever-) but Rilla doesn’t make him feel that way. Of course she’s sorry for him and he knows that, but she never makes him feel uncomfortable. She’s always rational and logical, never overwhelming him with emotions like… well.

He shakes his head to clear that thought and focuses on the feel of Amaryllis’s hands in his hair again, slow and easy. After a moment, he takes the washcloth and begins to run it over his arms. As he runs it over his left arm - careful to avoid getting the fresh bandages wet - he notices the skin there, just above his elbow, is unmarked. The scar that he’s… grown accustomed to, since his first meeting with the little knight, is gone. As if it never happened.

It’s… fitting, he thinks bitterly. He can almost imagine what Sir Damien would think of this new development. You see, my love, just as this new form brings a new kind of freedom to our relationship, so, too, are the old injuries and mistakes erased.

He bites down a laugh he would be unable to explain to Amaryllis. How Damien would thrill at the idea of that old injury merely ceasing to exist. How happy he would be, to know the harm he had caused could simply vanish from the world as though it never occurred. The harm, yes, and also- also the erasure would absolve Sir Damien of his heresy, that blasphemous mercy his Citadel would only ever condemn him for. As if it never occurred.

It would never occur to Damien that the mark he left on Arum would be… significant. A reminder of exactly why he lo- of where his interest in Sir Damien began. A single act of mercy, and with it a promise. A promise that Arum’s monstrous nature was not enough on its own to condemn him to death. A promise that Damien wanted him, a monster. Wanted him alive, if nothing else, and then more than just that.

Now even that simple, meaningful mark is gone. Just as Damien-

Well. Amaryllis does not wish for him to wallow in misery in gloom, does she? Why he is even thinking of the poet now- it’s ridiculous. He is being ridiculous, and all the while Rilla is steady behind him, hands holding him as safe as he can be in this form, and he should allow himself to enjoy that, shouldn’t he? He cannot say how much longer he will be allowed it, after all.

Because even if Amaryllis is correct, even if they can overcome this, even if this time tomorrow Arum is wearing his own skin again, he cannot say what will come of his- his relationship with these humans he has allowed into his home. Into his- into his heart. His two partners were intertwined long before they knew him, after all. If he breaks from one of them-

How could he expect the other not to break as well?

Arum feels his throat clench again, feels the tension in his chest that he is unfortunately becoming quite familiar with.

Arum- Arum needs to let her know. To let her know it’s okay. She has offered so much- so much gentleness and care, more than he could possibly deserve, and-

He may as well say it now, he thinks. He may as well say it while her hands are upon him, while he needs not look her in the eye. He does not think he would have the bravery to say this, otherwise.

"I know you have promised, Amaryllis, to... to assist me in this. To help restore my form." He pauses, and she doesn't, her hands steady and soothing in his strange new hair, working some mysterious softness through his dark locks. "But… but I will understand, if Sir Damien and I cannot reconcile-" he swallows, and forces himself to continue. "I will understand if you and I must part as well, in turn."

Her hands finally stop moving, and she pulls them away to rinse off in the water before she tilts his face back towards her, cupping his cheeks in her hands. "Arum. What?"

"I would not ask you to part with your betrothed," he says, and he still cannot meet her eye because if he does he will dissolve again to nonsense, because all he wishes to do is draw her closer and closer until she can never leave, because he is selfish. "If he and I- if we cannot endure this together, I do not expect that you will humor me alone after you are finished with the task of restoring me to myself. I would not ask this of you."

Her breath catches, and it doesn't sound quite like a laugh. "Arum. Do you really think that I would just-"

"There would be a symmetry to it," he murmurs, very suddenly unwilling to hear her confirm his suspicions. "A symmetry- you came into my life because I needed you to heal my Keep- if we parted after you helped to heal me- yes, it would be a rather logical arc-"

"I'm not going anywhere,” she says, her voice thick, and when he glances to her in surprise her eyes take on a determined glint. She pushes closer, lifting her leg over the edge of the basin and slipping into the warm water beside him fully clothed, despite his surprised yelp of protest, and she wraps her arms around him, squeezing tight. "I'm not giving you up, you absolute idiot."

"Amaryllis- I- I know you feel the need to- to comfort me,” he says, his new voice shivering wild like an aspen in a light breeze, “and I- I admire your kindness, you commitment, but-"

"Idiot," she hisses. "I don't know how things are going to work out between you and Damien, Arum, and yeah, I'm not going to pretend that doesn't break my heart. I'm not going to pretend it's not going to be hard, no matter what else happens. But I love you," she presses her face into his neck, the pads of her fingers digging sturdy and solid into his shoulder blades. "I love you. And I already told you, I'm not going to give you up without a fight."

"Amaryllis this… us. It's all so new, and difficult, and... Damien and yourself- you fit together so perfectly already, as though you were made for each other. I do not… I do not belong with you the way that he does."

"I don't believe in fate, Arum. I believe the choices we make create our fates. And I chose you, just as much as I chose Damien."

Arum squeezes his eyes shut. Why she chose him, he’ll never understand. After all he did to her, after what he almost did to all of them-

"And... to be honest, Arum? If... if Damien can't see how much he's hurting you-" Rilla pauses, and Arum can feel the tension in her frame, can feel that she's holding herself rather tightly. "If he really has convinced himself that this could be better for you, somehow, if he's really willing to be that selfish, and that cruel… I have a hard time believing he's still that deluded, but- if he really is... I don't know." She exhales, her shoulders drooping. "I don't know. I- it would be... hard. It would be hard to- to be with him, after that. I feel like I would need some time- that he and I would need some time away from each other, at least. To figure out how I feel about that."

“But-” Arum’s mouth hangs open for a moment, “I-” he pauses. “And if- if Damien and I- if we cannot reconcile, and Damien remembers that he does not wish to share you with some- some monster any longer?”

She scoffs, her expression going wry. "Frankly, Arum, I don't respond all that well to ultimatums. If I actually felt like I was in a position where I absolutely had to-" she makes a noise that's not really a laugh, "to choose between the two of you, I don't have the first clue what I would do with that. I love both of you. I love both of you so much, I don't know how I would- how I could possibly-" she pauses, inhaling sharply and visibly centering herself. "But. And honestly I very much doubt that Damien would ever do this, but if for some reason he thought he could come and try to twist my arm in some tacky "it's him or me" scenario- well, let's just say that I don't think that would end particularly well for him."

Arum cannot speak, not for a number of breaths after that. Rilla doesn't speak either, but her silence feels more deliberate. "A-Amaryllis," he says eventually, uncertain and unsteady. "You- you should not be forced to toss aside your bond with Damien, not for my sake-"

"I wouldn't be," Rilla says, and her own voice is even, now, her cheek resting easy on his shoulder. "I’m not saying I’m gonna snap my fingers and say goodbye, but depending on how this breaks- I might need some time to think about whether or not he’s the person I think he is. And- and if that's the way it works out, it will be a choice I make for myself."

There is no response Arum can give to that. He can hold her, though. He can hold her, even if it feels like a half-measure, less secure with two less limbs, as if she could slip from his grasp with barely any effort.

She does not want to, though. He reminds himself of that.

“You’re gonna get all pruney if we stay in here much longer, though,” she sighs, squeezing him and then pulling back enough to meet his eye. “Did this help? Even a little?”

“You helped,” he mutters, glancing away and feeling strange heat in his cheeks. “You always help.”

She makes a noise, and when he looks towards her again, she-

There are tears in her eyes.

“Amaryllis,” he breathes, and she laughs strangely, lifting her hands and brushing the heels of her palms beneath her eyes.

“I know, I know,” she says in a thick sort of voice. “I’m sorry, ridiculous human emotional whatever, I’ll have a handle on it in just a second-”

“Amaryllis,” he says again, and he draws her closer, lifting a hand and almost, almost touching her cheek. “No, no apologies, Amaryllis. You-”

She has been holding herself so carefully, he realizes. Spine straight, hands gentle, smile sturdy. And she has been doing so for his sake.

“No,” she says, sighing as if the tears are an irritating sort of imposition, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it, just gimme a sec, here-”

“I love you,” Arum says, helpless against the tide of it, and her breath hitches as he cups her cheek and thumbs away a tear and he- he hates this curse all the more, that it is hurting her, too.

She looks up at him (less up than usual, but still), her lips tilting wryly, and Arum-

Arum sways towards her.

He is accustomed to brushing the thin, inelastic line of his mouth across their lips in request, accustomed to allowing the humans to lead a ‘kiss’ as they desire it, but this time when his mouth meets hers he has even less idea what to do than he normally does.

He understands the fondness they have for the act, though. Why this gentle human curve is so intensely sensitive is beyond his understanding, but the strange sharp tingle of even this unpracticed, unsure kiss is like some sort of wildfire. Skin. However humans manage not to collapse from the intensity of every touch is a mystery.

He also realizes, with some mortification, that he does not know at all what to do next.

In his own body, he would-

He parts his lips, nipping Rilla’s bottom lip with these odd blunt teeth, and she laughs in surprise, pulling away just enough to meet his eye before she dissolves into laughter again.

That is like wildfire, too. Her laughter. The brightness it kindles in his own heart. He smiles when she collects herself, and she shakes her head at him.

“Ridiculous lizard,” she mutters, breathless, and Arum can’t help but laugh along with her.

[skywalkerchick1138]

Across the Stars - Chapter 1

AO3

Prologue

Yay! It finally got done! This chapter went through a ridiculous amount of drafts and rewrites because I was so unsure of what would happen to certain characters in the long run. 

Reminder that this whole AU was inspired by the wonderful @kerbabbles and you should definitely check out her art in the The Ford Awakens AU tag! Thanks again to my lovely friend and beta readers @curls-and-cats! Lola, you’re an angel and without you this chapter would’ve been a goddamned mess. 

One last note: just to clear up any confusion beforehand, yes the twins are aged up to 19, but Wendy is also aged up in this fic to about 23 or 24.

Stanley Pines glanced out the viewport at the dusty planet below. All he could see was the entire surface covered in tans and browns, not a smidge of hospitable life visible, and he knew this was the place.

Jakku.

He pitied whoever called the miserable dustball home…

“Yeesh, what a dump,” he muttered.

“Isn’t that the reason we’re here?” a young voice spoke from behind.

He jumped, eyes darting quickly back to the doorway of the cockpit. A brunet of 19 stared back him with hazel eyes, his gaze being uncomfortably familiar as always.

“Kid, what’d I tell ya about sneakin’ up on me?” he asked the young man.

“Sorry, Grunkle Stan.”

Dipper Pines, as the young man was named, might not have been as gifted as a certain other someone he’d known (no, don’t think about that right now) but the kid sure knew how to be quiet when he wanted to be. Nevertheless, he was right.

Jakku was a vast junkyard and they were in need of some spare parts fast. Their cargo for this run had rather nasty tempers and their borrowed freighter could only handle so much. Probably should’ve known better than to buy one so cheap, but he wasn’t made out of credits.

Stan took one last look out at the planet below before rising from the pilot’s seat, his joints popping as he did so, and made his way out of the cockpit.

“Is Soos done warmin’ her up?”

“Yeah, he’s finishing the last pre-flight check now,” Dipper replied, falling into step next to him.

The plan was simple. The kid would take a transport ship down to the planet, find the nearest junk shop and pick up the parts they needed. Normally, Stan or Soos would accompany him, but again, real nasty tempers. It was gonna be at least a two-man job keeping an eye on the cargo, and the few spare crewman they’d hired on were long gone.

Besides, the kid was 19 years old now. It was high time he did a solo run.

Stan fished out his purse of credits and tossed it over to the young man. “You’re gonna need this.”

Dipper was silent for a moment while he checked the contents. “Are you sure this is going to be enough?”

“Yeesh, kid. I taught ya how to barter, didn’t I?”

“Oh, so that’s what you call it when you throw a flash bomb in their faces and run?” Dipper huffed. “Funny, I thought that was called swindling.”

“Thanks for remindin’ me.” Stan smirked and pulled a few flashes out of his pocket. “You’re gonna need these too.”

Dipper groaned but took the small bombs anyway. If only to appease his uncle, Stan would take what he could get.

“Relax, kid. Flash ‘em those pretty-boy eyes of yours and you won’t have a problem. Simple.”

Yeah, too bad ‘simple’ doesn’t always mean ‘easy’, his inner voice sneered. He soundly told his inner voice to shut the hell up.

The kid didn’t look all that convinced either. The sound of a primed engine greeted them when they entered the yawning hangar bay.

“Look, with all the holes they’ve been punchin’ in the walls, this ship ain’t gonna make it back without those parts. Our buyer has us on a tight schedule and we’re wastin’ time yammerin’ about it here.”

“I know that,” Dipper mumbled. His head was ducked down, not meeting Stan’s eyes as he picked imaginary lint from his tunic. “It’s just...”

“Just what?”

The young man continued avoiding his gaze. He mumbled something under his breath about the Kanji Klub and flushed. Stan sighed heavily before resting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. The kid really needed to work on his self-esteem issues. And wasn’t that just the wookiee calling the bantha hairy, He thought to himself.

“Hey, none of that now,” Stan cut him off. “Let me worry about Rico’s goons and just focus on the job, okay? You’re gonna be fine out there.”

The soft growl of their wookiee first mate informed them that the transport was ready to go. Stan clapped his hand on the boy’s shoulder one more time, flashing him an easy smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes, and gently pushed him in the direction of the ship.

“Knock ‘em dead, kiddo,” he said, and that was that.

Before long, the transport was growing smaller in the distance and Stan could feel a twisting bout of anxiety pooling in his stomach. He’d already lost two from his family already, and he’d almost lost this kid once too, so maybe it was natural for that to settle in his gut, but this still felt different somehow…

He shook his head to clear those thoughts. This was stupid. The kid was going to be just fine. He was worrying over nothing.

The inhabitants of Tuanul were slowly starting to rise and prepare for the day ahead. Daybreak was still about an hour away, but it was prudent to get started now before the oppressive heat of Jakku’s day cycle arrived. The village was comprised of several different species, from humans to twi’leks to ithorians to togrutas. Some were more suited to the desert environment, but nevertheless they managed to thrive.

On the outskirts of the village stood a lone X-Wing class fighter ship. It was heavily modified, the least of which, not being that it was painted a dull black with a single red stripe running along its flank as opposed to most models sporting beige and orange. It was instantly recognizable, nonetheless.

Fiddleford McGucket found it somewhat irritating as that hardly made the Resistance contact’s presence subtle. No matter; time was of the essence and there was no use crying about it now. The hut was mostly silent save for the low hum of the dim lanterns around them.

By most outward appearances, the small maroon-and-gold cube he held in his hands was unassuming. It appeared to serve no functional purpose aside from decoration. It had no seams and no hinges, it held no energy input or output. The only defining feature of it was a six-fingered gold hand with a black number 3 etched into its face. Yes, to many it would appear to be a trinket of a time long past.

Fiddleford knew better though.

“What exactly does it do?”

He glanced back up to the woman sitting across from him. Pale freckled skin, long auburn hair, and a rigid posture trying perhaps a little too hard to disguise itself as relaxed. She was most definitely not from the desert wasteland.

And she was young. Very young. She probably wasn’t much older than 20. He wondered when exactly the Resistance had started sending children to fight their battles.

Perhaps, he mused, it was when old cowards like himself had run away.

“No one knows for certain,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Even I don’t quite know.”

“Weren’t you friends with him, though?” the girl – Wanda? No, Wendy. – responded with a tilting of her head and a skeptical eyebrow cocked.

Fiddleford chuckled, sounding somewhat ruefully.

“Oh, yes,” he said, “we were friends. Don’t mean I know everything about Jedi relics, though. There was a lot even he didn’t know about the Jedi. Y’have to understand, so much of their culture was lost to time, long before the First Order had any say in the matter.”

He paused once more, turning the cube over in his hands before continuing.

“This is a holocron. As I said, no one knows what exactly they used them for. They can only be accessed using the Force. But legends say the Jedi once used these to store ancient records. Histories, sciences, literature…”

He trailed off, reaching out to the girl. Wendy held her hand out and he gently placed the holocron in her palm, curling her fingers around it.

“…or perhaps in our case, a map.”

The ginger woman’s eyes widened fractionally as she met his gaze.

“You’re sure?” she asked.

Fiddleford shrugged his slumped shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But if there was one thing I know for certain about Stanford. It’s that he took note of everyone and everything he encountered. And I can’t blame him none for that. He had a near impossible task on his shoulders.”

Wendy nodded as she studied the holocron in her hands now. “Well, now I understand why the General’s been after this for so-”

The conversation was cut off then, just as an excitable droid burst into the hut and made Fiddleford jump in his seat. It was the droid his young contact had arrived with and it was a curious model. He had to wonder if it was somewhat modified itself. Most astromechs he’d seen only possessed one optic, whereas this one possessed two, as well as some sort of snout-like characteristic on the face of its dome. It rolled its spherical body in place as it warbled anxiously. Wendy’s eyes widened.

“We’ve got company,” the girl announced, grimly.

She swiftly rose to her feet and marched outside with Fiddleford and the droid at her heels. Two pinpricks of artificial light could be seen just above the navy-blue horizon. Wendy pulled out a pair of macrobinoculars and Fiddleford waited silently, anxious to know what she saw. Her shoulders tensed and Fiddleford’s heart sank. He knew what she saw without needing to ask.

“You have to hide,” she said, still facing the horizon.

“You need to leave,” he retorted.

Wendy turned back to face him, a vehement protest on her tongue. He already knew the argument that she would make, and he cut her off before she could even speak.

“Don’t worry about us here,” he said. “We know how to defend ourselves. Go.”

The girl grimaced and for a moment he was sure she was still going to argue with him. Instead, she nodded, gestured for the droid to follow her, and took off as fast as she could for her ship.

Fiddleford heaved a small sigh of relief. He’d been running for so long, but now he could face anything, perhaps, even death. With the knowledge that just once he’d stood up and done the right thing, a loud warning bell began to blare through the village.

The First Order transport ships touched down on the sand and within seconds the village erupted into chaos. Stormtroopers pooled out of the ships by the dozen, the floodlights gleaming off their pristine white armor, followed swiftly by the sounds of multiple blasters firing.

Wendy Corduroy cursed to herself as she saw the high-tech artillery the First Order troops were carrying, in stark contrast to the beaten-up, patched-together blasters the villagers were firing back. The old man had overestimated their chances of survival and it was going to get the whole village killed. That wasn’t something that was going to rest easily on her conscience, but the old man was right; she needed to get out of here as fast as possible.

Just for a moment a lone stormtrooper stepped in her path, attempting to cut her off. He soon found that was a bad decision; almost without thought she unsheathed the vibroblade strapped to her calf and buried it in her opponent’s heart. A blaster bolt went streaking past her head, close enough that she could feel the top of her hair singe a little. Quickly, she fired her own blast back and it hit her mark right through the knee.

Finally, her ship came within reach and Wendy nearly jumped the remaining distance up the ladder and into the cockpit. The instrumentation flared to life and her droid assumed his position in the co-pilot slot behind her.

Suddenly the ship around her gave a mighty shudder and warning alarms began blaring. Someone had hit her rear. She pulled up a rearview display. 3 stormies were behind her and closing in. Flipping a few switches, she flipped one of her cannons around fired. All three of the enemy troops fell to the sands.

Her feet made a gentle whumph! as she landed back in the sand and scrambled her way back to assess the damage on the engines.

Please, please, please, she pleaded silently, just let me get away one more time

She saw the smoking, blackened wreckage of what used to be her engines and cussed. She wasn’t going anywhere with this ship and she needed to get out of here fast.

“Aydee! I need you down here!”

The little droid, named AD-14, quickly complied and rolled up to his mistress. Ducking from a stray blaster bolt, Wendy pulled the holocron out of her pouch and placed in inside one of the droid’s several hidden compartments.

“I need you to take this and get as far away from here as you can! I’ll distract them.”

The droid trilled out a series of terrified arguments in its binary code as she stood back up.

“I promise I’ll come back for you! Now go! Get out of here!”

As the droid began rolling towards the west, a plan started to form in Wendy’s mind as she scanned her surroundings. All she would need… There!

Firing a few shots towards the enemy, she sprinted in the direction of a worn down speeder bike resting miraculously untouched by the carnage around it.

The battle was over before it ever truly began. The village was all but up in flames, their livestock was slaughtered and their precious water supply overturned into the sand. Several of his neighbors and close friends lay dead at his feet.

He had no time to mourn, however, as the stormtroopers flanking him pulled him roughly into the village center. The surviving villagers were gathered into the square and guarded, stripped of their weapons. A massive, jet-black transport ship was setting down in the sand before them. It’s giant, pointed wings made it look like a predatory bird.

The maw of the ship opened and extended its ramp, and Fiddleford saw three things. First, a new platoon of stormtroopers came pouring out and stood to attention in two-single file lines. Next, a massive figure in silver-chrome armor and a blood red cape marched down the ramp and the other troopers stood a little taller as they passed by. This, Fiddleford reasoned, must be their captain.

Finally, a figure clothed head-to-toe in rick black robes emerged, his gait far more fluid and almost predatory. He was tall, hooded, and broad-shouldered. His face was hidden by a skull-like mask decorated around the eye sockets with gold bands, and his gauntlets featured a singular slit-pupiled eye. He came to stand in front of Fiddleford.

“So,” said Fiddleford, “you’re the one they call Cipher.”

The taller man’s stance changed and without even seeing his face, Fiddleford could tell he must have been smirking. Cipher held his hands behind his back as he prowled in a circle around him.

“Well, well, well!” he cackled.

His voice was warbled and deep as if speaking through a vocoder, but at the same time still held something of a nasally quality to it. Fiddleford couldn’t suppress a shudder. He’d never met the mysterious Cipher before now, but he’d heard stories of his insane and erratic temperament. A hand gripped him by the jaw and the mask came uncomfortably close to his own face.

“You’ve gotten old,” he sneered.

Fiddleford just barely managed to keep his expression in a tight glare and said nothing. When exactly had this man known him enough to make remarks about his age?

“You’re aware of why I’m here. Where is it?”

If anything, Fiddleford clamped his lips shut a little tighter.

“Going to play the silent game, are we?”

The hand released him and Cipher resumed his pacing. A sort of tension was building in his shoulders, indicating he was becoming agitated. Fiddleford couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like a mocking, thoughtful hum escaped his mask.

“Perhaps you’ll loosen your lips if we -”

Whatever the man had been about to say, it was drowned out by the sound of a speederbike’s engine roaring to life. A series of blaster shots tore through the air, a few stormtroopers fell to the ground, and Fiddleford’s heart sank when he saw a flash of auburn hair. What in the blazes did she think she was doing?!

“HEY BUCKETHEADS!” Wendy called out. “THIS WAY!”

Wth that, she sped off to the east, and Cipher glanced back at his silver-plated captain but for a moment with a single nod. The captain turned to the squad of troopers that had accompanied them in the command ship.

“Squad 618, send a team after her.” As the troopers hustled to obey their commands, the captain turned back. “TK-938, FN-823, escort the prisoner onboard.”

His two stormtrooper escorts gripped his biceps tighter and began herding him roughly towards the ramp. As he passed by, he heard the captain speak once more with their commander.

“And the villagers?”

“Kill them all.”

NO! Fiddleford began struggling violently in his captors’ grip, fighting desperately for one last view of his home. The sound of screams graced the dawn-light air as the numerous blaster bolts found their marks.

“What’s the codeword I’m supposed to shout when I see a Star Destroyer again?”

Stan wasn’t always the best at translating wookiee-speak, but he was pretty sure that’s what Soos had said. His head snapped up and he shut off the small blowtorch in his hands.

“What?!”

He immediately dropped his tools, ripped the protective goggles away from his face, and ran for the nearest planet-side viewport. His eyes widened in horror. A massive, triangular navy ship was emerging from the far side of the planet.

No no no no NO! Not again!

His aging knees creaked as he sprinted for the cockpit.

“Soos!” he barked into the commlink at his wrist. “Patch me into the kid’s frequency!”

“You got it, boss!”

Stan felt like punching something when he deemed his first mate’s tone far too cheerful. He only just managed to avoid crashing into the pilot’s seat as the two ship’s commlinks made a connection.

“Kid! Get out of there now!” Stan yelled before Dipper had a chance to greet him.

“Grunkle Stan? But I haven’t even -”

“I SAID NOW!!” The Star Destroyer was getting closer and it wouldn’t be long at all before they picked him up on their scanners. “There’s a Star Destroyer in orbit, we can’t stick around!”

“What?! But what about our -” Dipper’s voice was cut off with a crackle and a buzz.

“Kid?! KID!!” Stan swore up a storm and punched the console. The Destroyer was jamming their signals.

“Boss, we gotta go. They’re firing up their cannons.”

Stan’s breath hitched. Whatever the First Order was here for, they clearly didn’t want anyone knowing they were here at all. His hands flew over the controls, preparing the ship for hyperspace. He knew it was unlikely Dipper would hear him at all by now, but he still had to try.

“Dipper, we gotta go,” he echoed. “We’re gonna jump to the next system over, but I swear we’ll come back for you. Do you copy?”

Nothing but static.

“I swear we’ll come back.”

He pulled the lever and felt the familiar tug as the ship entered hyperspace and left the dusty planet behind.

[skarmorydraws]

@tyrantisterror ATOM Create-A-Kaiju Contest Enntry #3: Oz and her Family

Date Discovered: December 25th, 1960 (Oz); November 2nd, 1961 (Dorothy, Toto, and Glinda)

Place of Origin: The Aboriginal Yameneon System

Notable Stomping Grounds: The Aboriginal Yameneon System, The Australian Outback

Height: 50 feet (Oz); 12 feet (Dorothy, Toto, and Glinda)

Length: 60 feet (Oz); 15 feet (Dorothy, Toto, and Glinda)

Wingspan: 100 feet (Oz); 25 feet (Dorothy, Toto, and Glinda)

Biology:

Despite resembling the Flying Tyrant subclade of carnivorous retrosaurs from a distance, "Oz" (short for "Ozdactylus", a corruption of her genus name of Australodactylus) and her children are in fact predatory flying mammals. For a time, their placement in the mammal family tree was uncertain, with a resemblance to primates and the ability to fly like bats. The only instance of close observation of these kaiju has revealed however that their closest relatives are modern marsupials, which ironically includes their favorite food - kangaroos. Convergent to the flying tyrants in form and function, the membranous wings of Oz and her family are supported by elongated, flexible spurs of bone mounted upon their wrists rather than actual fingers, allowing them to soar effortlessly and then swoop down on prey with prehensile foot claws and shearing teeth not unlike those of the marsupial lion, Thylacoleo carnifex.

As with other Australian kaiju, how Oz and her pups survived the extinction of much of the megafauna of Australia is not yet known, but most hypotheses point towards the Yamaneon tunnel system under much of the outback. Notably, an opening to the tunnel system was discovered shortly after Victoria was shaken by a magnitude 5.3 earthquake on Christmas Day of 1960 - while no major damage was reported, it is likely that this geological disruption caused a chain reaction in one or more of the Yamaneon tunnels nearby, eventually resulting in at least one of the tunnels close to the ground level opening up and its inhabitants escaping. Oz herself was originally thought to have been heavily pregnant when she was first sighted flying near Melbourne the day after the quake, but it is more likely that she was instead carrying her still-developing young in a pouch at the time, though how she was able to conceive a whole litter of "marsupial bats" despite atomic fossilization supposedly reducing fertility rates is uncertain.

Oz and her family sport the standard kaiju power set:

Super strength

An enhanced healing factor

Immunity to radiation

History and Personality:

While Oz herself was sighted regularly since her emergence into the surface world, her children would not make their debut until almost a year later. Strange disappearances of livestock and bits of kangaroo falling from the sky had been coming in from much of southeast Australia's rural areas, and the identity of the perpetrator was eventually revealed when a retrosaur-sized "winged monkey" swooped down upon the streets of Sydney. The creature was followed by two more of its kind and they soon went about terrorizing the pedestrians unlucky enough to be outside at the time. However, the intervention of a traveling circus led to the three of them being captured with only a few fatalities - humans turned out to be too bony for their taste, at least compared to kangaroos.

The city soon had bigger things to complain about, however, when word soon came of Oz - who, strangely, looked almost identical to the smaller fliers except much bigger - making a beeline for the city as well. What surprised onlookers was that despite taking down multiple aircraft and causing quite a bit of collateral damage during her visit, she wasn't actually interested in causing destruction, instead attempting to reach the circus grounds where the smaller fliers were being held captive. Once it became clear that these were in fact her offspring, the military backed off and let her leave the city with the pups in tow. It was a well-earned lesson for both sides, with humanity getting to know more about a few of their monsters, and Oz's family in turn now knowing better than to blunder haphazardly into human civilization.

Despite fearful comparisons by the public to Ahuul at first, Oz's demeanor is more akin to a caring but frequently bereaved single parent; scientists have theorized that her ancestors were social creatures, with both parents taking care of the young. Shy and retiring by nature, Oz tends to avoid humanity and more violent kaiju whenever she can - many "attacks" by her are often preceded by her children happening upon a random small town or farmstead and inciting mayhem until she intervenes, and given her harrowing albeit brief experience with the Australian military she knows better than to stick around any large city for very long. If her often exasperated-sounding calls while looking for her litter are any indicator, she presumably wishes they felt the same way. That being said, she loves her children and will throw her all into protecting them; as willing as she is to socialize with like-minded individuals at her size range, the grudges she holds towards anyone who attempts to hurt her pups are long-lasting and most such kaiju bear more than a few telltale bites and scars.

Oz's children were named after characters from the same book as the one whom Oz herself is named after. Unlike Oz herself, her children are full of youthful energy, spunk, and a propensity for mischief. Though they do cause unintended carnage when dealing with cities or other kaiju, they aren't malicious in nature - rather, their intelligence among marsupials often leads to them being easily bored from a lack of stimuli. When that happens, they tend to make their way towards the nearest herd of standard-sized animals, scattering and harrying them but not actually hurting them (unless they're chasing after food sources like grazing animals, which inevitably leads to complaints from ranchers and wildlife conservationists). They also enjoy buzzing skyscrapers, chasing vehicles, startling and teasing other monsters, and pelting structures with debris just to see what will happen - though unless kangaroos are involved, any fatalities they may cause in the process are purely accidental.

Though they're always seen together, each of the triplets has its own color and personality quirks, with the trio operating as a sort of "squad". The reddish-furred Dorothy is the de-facto leader of the three, and seems to behave the most sensibly - the other two seem to follow her around and will wait for her assent before commencing their mischief-making. The gray-colored Toto is the only male of the three, and also the physically strongest and most headstrong, stubbornly pushing his luck against other monsters and harassing military forces even after his sisters retreat, though any spirited defense will eventually ward him off before long. The pale-hued Glinda seems to be the "nicest" of the three, though that isn't saying much; she merely prefers to keep her distance from conflict, using her ominous shadow to scare smaller creatures into stampeding. She is also known to preen herself frequently - she could almost be described as vain, and her glossy, almost silken fur doesn't help much, either.

While the three of them do tend to bicker over food, roles in pranks, and sleeping space in their mother's pouch, these triplets' united spirit is likely to remain unbroken even after reaching adulthood. Wherever these triplets go, trouble tends to follow - as does their mother.

Super super late, but here’s my third entry for this contest! I was a bit sad that the original version of Oz got cut from the “main” storyline, due to being too similar, character-wise, to Ahuul. I decided to change up the character in its entirety, in terms of species, behavior, and role. Oz is now a she, and has little baby Oz-es to go with her - the backstory being an homage to Gorgo and his mom. I’m pretty sure something similar was done with another entry, but I felt that a passive creature would still be distinct enough from Ahuul to work well on its own.

Oz’s new look, the fact that she’s now a mammal and from Australia specifically, is based almost entirely on the obsolete hypothesis that pterosaurs were flying carnivorous marsupials - a notion that’s been explored before in monster artwork. I decided to take that particular concept and slap on a monkey/cuscus-ish head with the teeth of a marsupial lion, because most depictions in artwork have a long narrow snout based on the original Pterodactylus skull and I didn’t want to accidentally plagiarize. The wings are based on the patagium of a sugar glider, which is supported by a bony strut on the wrist; I expanded it into something that could make a conceivable wing, looking suspiciously similar to pterosaur wings but in fact being far more unique. I considered giving it another wing strut on the elbow like Otachi or Aerodactyl, but in the end I felt that the design looked a little better without it. Plus it helps distinguish the wing structure from all those the cartilaginous “bat-wing” struts on Ahuul’s wings. Another design idea was to give them colorful facial patches like a mandrill, but those were dropped too due to complicating the design a tad and being a bit too much of a stretch even for the evolutionary standards of their home universe of sorts. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! :D

I hope submitting these fellers all in one single entry doesn’t mean I can’t send in two more entries - they’re all the same species, treated as a group, and virtually inseperable as the people of ATOM’s Sydney can tell you - but then again, Tyrantor and Tyranta got their own entries compared to Tyrantis. Hmm...