#but more or less I think I have their designs more settled than anyone else’s

[cerealmonster15]

heeheehoohoo

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Next Part

Chapter 1. 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓲, 𝓿𝓲𝓭𝓲, 𝓪𝓿𝓪𝓭𝓲.

Dorian de Beauvoir was an old soul. Something people would often never notice. After all, with his youthful features, no one would think he was past his thirties. He was attractive and he knew it. Blonde with blue eyes, the duke was often approached by ladies and gentlemen. Most encounters didn't end well for these people. If only they knew. If only they knew what he really was. Because behind all this pleasant — and perfect, dare he say — exterior, hid a monster. Dorian was a vampire, a creature of the night lurking in the shadows, ever watchful for unsuspecting victims to sate his unholy hunger.

This, in fact, was exactly what he was doing this afternoon. While he had a chevalier ring, shielding him from the effects of the sun, his preference was to hunt under the veil of night or during overcast days, when more humans ventured into these forests under a less harsh daylight.

Among these sunlit wanderers was a young maiden. Dorian could hear her footsteps and the faint hum of a tune as she ventured into a woodland clearing. Her attire, a simple woolen dress with an apron, bore the marks of labor and grime. It didn't take long for him to discern her as a peasant girl, no older than fifteen. With a determined expression, she foraged for mushrooms, collecting them diligently in her wicker basket.

She didn't notice him, too focused on her task to pay mind to anyone else. She was young. He typically avoided feeding on children, and yet, he found himself unable to look away. Still, Dorian observed from a distance. He himself wasn't sure why. Perhaps it had been because of the gaping hole he felt in his chest. Loneliness. A curse many vampires were accustomed to.

Once she was done with her task, she sat on the grass. Closing her eyes and sighing, she seemed to be exhausted by the work. The sun had set not long ago and Dorian questioned whether she intended to return home at all.

His decision was made, he left his vantage point and approached her quietly. "The sun has set," he spoke, causing the young lady to jump with a start. "Do you not have a place to be?"

She appeared surprised. Vampires had this ability to creep up on mortals without them noticing. The girl stood up abruptly.

"I— Yes," the peasant confirmed before beginning to walk away quickly.

"Let me accompany you." He followed her and soon caught up to her. "A young girl such as yourself shouldn't walk alone at this hour of the day," he commented, justifying himself as he added a pleasant smile. 

"That won't be necessary," assured the girl, "my Lord," she added, noticing his expensive attire.

"I insist."

And that was that. He had spoken with conviction, showcasing how he wouldn't change his mind. She looked tense, but didn't dare to refuse.

"Do you live nearby ?" He asked after a long moment of silence. She nodded mutely.

His attempts at small tasks proved to be fruitless, but he didn't mind too much. Nevertheless, the journey proved brief, as they reached a small cottage at the forest's edge within a quarter of an hour. Dorian's reaction was immediate—a derisive sneer contorted his features as he regarded the humble dwelling with disdain.

This... thing wasn't even the size of his wardrobe. It was a humble structure, its thatched roof weathered by time and rough-hewn wooden walls bearing the scars of years. The simplicity of the cottage's design and construction was an eyesore to the noble, who was accustomed to the grandeur of opulent manors and palaces. The dichotomy was painfully apparent.

A light chuckle escaped Dorian's lips as he surveyed the unimpressive abode. "This place?" He inquired almost rhetorically, his tone unimpressed by the humble dwelling.

The girl's demeanor stiffened visibly, and her response came with a touch of defensiveness. "Yes, it's my home," she almost snapped, a trace of pride in her voice.

His smile wavered, an odd sensation settling in his chest. It seemed as though she didn't quite belong here, amidst such simplicity. He looked down at the little mortal. He felt as if she shouldn't be here.

The door cracked open, a woman that looked quite similar to the little girl came out. Her mother. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

"(Y/N)," called the woman with a relieved smile. She put a hand on her hips and pointed at the young girl. "You were supposed to come back before the sunset, young lady," she scolded her with maternal authority.

(Y/n) appeared sheepish. "Sorry, mom," she said, a bit embarrassed. "I ventured a bit farther than I usually do. On the bright side, I found more mushrooms."

The mother sighed good naturedly before turning to Dorian. She now looked uncomfortable. "I apologize for my daughter, my Lord," she hastily said, her hand moving protectively to grasp her daughter's arm. "I hope she didn't cause any trouble."

The man's indifferent face shifted into a charming smile. "I can assure you she didn't," he answered. "I simply found this young lady alone in the woods and suggested bringing her back home."

The peasant woman expressed her gratitude with a touch of hesitation before they exchanged pleasantries and bade each other farewell. Dorian continued on his path, returning to his hunt, but his thoughts lingered on the girl. He couldn't help but wonder if this chance encounter had left as indelible a mark on her as it had on him. 

[grimfalcon746]

Crashing on an Alien World

***Okay look, this one got away from me a little on the length. I just kept writing and didn't realize how long it got. Not sorry, just want to warn anyone before they start reading thinking its might be shorter than it is. ***

***

"All hands brace for crash landing" Came the captains voice over the alert system.

For the life of me I will never understand how they managed this, everyone on the space ship came from different worlds, had different cultures and languages, yet everyone understood each-other. I was told it had to do with the badges we all had to wear. Signified our rank, for sure, but apparently also instantly translated all languages to that of the wearer.

I strapped myself into my seat calmly, while everyone else did so while panicking. I just shook my head. We had all been warned of the danger, warping through uncharted space has its dangers. Sure the ship automatically disengaged warp drive when it detected a planetary body within a certain range, but that was usually too late to avoid it. All that was left was to strap in and hope the pilot could pull out of the crash. If not, well, we just hope to survive the crash.

The ship came apart as it slammed into the ground hard, scattering itself across the landscape as it rolled and skid. This seemed to be by design, kind of like the crumple zones on cars back home. It ensured the whole crew was still breathing when the dust settled. My body hurt from where the harness strapped me in, if I hadn't been firmly held in place i wouldn't of survived.

I assumed everyone would know the process here. How wrong I was. First I released myself, and did a self assessment. I was fine, would be sore for a few days but alive and mobile none the less. Time to check on my crew mates. Four other crew hands staffed the ship, along with four officers. The crew hands were all alive, three were unconscious and one was having a panic attack.

Carefully, over the debris and remains of the ship I made my way to the bridge to check on the officers. The captain was in the worst shape. Unconscious and bleeding, as he was the closest to the impact zone in the pilot seat. The Lieutenant was slightly better, not bleeding but also unconscious. The communications officer and medical officer were both disoriented, but alive, awake and breathing.

This was about the best case scenario here. First I made my way towards the medical officer. Not an easy task, as the bridge was warped and smashed after taking the brunt of the crash. I could tell he was still trying to get his bearings a little bit, but we had pressing matters to attend to.

"Officer Scutuk" I shot. "Are you okay?"

"I. I think so. Pain, but that can be managed." Officer Scutuk replied.

"Are you able to perform your duties?" I asked. I did not enjoy pressing this hard right after the crash but had little choice here.

"Yes." Officer Scutuk replied confidently after a brief assessment of himself.

"Excellent, the captain needs immediate medical attention." I instructed. "Three of the other crew hands are unconscious but seem to be okay, the Lieutenant is also unconscious and appears to be in rough shape. I have not checked on the communications officer yet.

"I will take care of the captain and ensure the officers get out of the ship safely. Please get the crew out of the ship and away from the debris as safely as you can. I will do a full assessment of everyone when I can." Officer Scutuk replied.

It was a relief to see he had his bearings and composure again. With a nod I followed the orders. The others were already starting to come around by the time I made it back to the crew area. Crew mate Sisseah had come out of their panic attack and the others were awake, in a very loose definition of the word.

The ship could shift, roll or collapse any second. With no time to coddle the crew I started giving instructions. With a bit of help from the more aware of the crew, we managed to get everyone out of the ship and onto the grass. We were on a foreign planet, fortunately one that was hospitable to life. The wooded area we landed in was in rough shape, however somehow we managed to avoid lighting a wildfire. A miracle to be sure but a welcome one that this point.

This is where things started to go off the rails a little bit. Well, at least more off the rails than crash-landing on an alien world. While the crew were all sitting or laying on the ground outside the ship awaiting the medical officer to assess them. The officers however were a little ways away, the captain on the ground and the medical officer tending to him, however there was clearly an argument being had.

Every part of my being wanted to go over there and see what was going on, but it was not my place. The officers would have to work it out, and what they decided to share with us after the fact we would have to accept. In the mean time I asked the crew about pain, nausea, being light headed, anything I could think of that would indicate a serious problem. This was in part to pass on to Medical Officer Scutuk, but also to keep them occupied, hoping they would not notice the officers fighting among themselves.

Eventually communications officer Strarciek made his way over to me. "The Lieutenant would like a word with you." He demanded.

"Lieutenant." I greeted as I approached. "You wanted to speak with me."

"Yes." Lieutenant Brurlod confirmed. "I wanted to thank you for your composure and assistance after the crash."

"You are welcome. I was just doing what should have been done though." I replied.

"Correct, however crew are not usually so proactive. Glad to see the newest member stepping up when needed."

"If I may." The voice inside my head would not let me keep my mouth shut. "I noticed you and the officers arguing a minute ago, could I inquire about the nature of that disagreement?"

"It's nothing really, a minor disagreement" The Lieutenant lied.

"We have 24 hours of food for everyone, assuming we can locate it in the rubble, and the closest possible rescue is 150 hours away." Medical officer Scutuk cut in.

"Officer Scutuk!" The Lieutenant chastised.

"So we need to hunt for food." I cut in, as the Lieutenant was about to continue.

You would have thought I had suggested we cast a spell to generate food with their response. They eyed each-other, before all gazes fell back to me. Looking back at their dumbfounded looks, I felt the need to clarify, which did not help the situation.

"You know, hunt and gather. For food. Sustenance. That stuff we shove into our face holes to stay alive." I explained before I could shut my mouth.

"We know what food is!" The Lieutenant shot. "What the hell do you mean hunt.

"You are an exploration vessel. Surely you guys went through survival training?" I asked.

"Well yea." Communications Officer Strarciek confirmed. "We learned how to send distress beacons, even when the main power of the ship was out. Also how to use the ships shields to keep dangers away until rescue arrived. Things like that."

"That. That's it!" I asked in disbelief. "What about hunting, gathering, building shelter, finding water supplies, building fires, prioritizing survival necessities."

"Why would you want to build a fire?" The Lieutenant asked. "Those are dangerous."

"To keep yourself warm in a cold environment, to cook your food, keep predators away. The list goes on!" I shot, losing patience.

"All features the ship is capable of." The Lieutenant said in a matter-of-fact voice.

With my patience teetering on the edge of a very steep cliff I replied when I should have kept my mouth shut. "You are entirely correct, I sure am famished but can't seem to get the stove to turn on, could you assist me please?"

"Of course it wont turn on, there is no power." The Lieutenant rolled her eyes.

If the point were water the Lieutenant would have missed it after falling out of a boat.

"So you see the problem. None of those features work when the ship has no power!" I snapped.

It was almost worth the court martial I am sure to experience when we get back, to see the look on the Lieutenants face as she realized the comforts of the ship will not help them anymore.

"Have the rest of the crew search for the food. Hopefully It is still intact. I will head out and hunt for food. Panels of the ship can be used for shelter, set up an area just inside the treeline, lean them against some thick sturdy trees at a forty-five degree angle. It will need to be improved but will work as a quick and dirty shelter until we can get something better set up. Water is going to be the problem. Don't suppose you guys saw any water sources on the approach?" I start issuing orders.

"I am the Lieutenant and you are the crew, you do not get to order me around!" The Lieutenant shot.

"Fine do nothing and die. The choice is yours." I replied already walking away.

I had not been on the crew long, less than a week, actually, however I was already starting to understand why there there was a perpetual vacancy on this team. It took some time, but I managed to find my luggage. Weapons were not allowed on the ship, as were were specifically listed as a non combat exploration vessel, however, fortunately, they did not seem to recognize a compound bow as a weapon. They believed it was a musical instrument. The arrow shafts I managed to convince them were fancy tools for demonstrations important to my culture. As for the broad-heads, fancy cutlery required for the consumption of certain foods. Looking back on it I should not be surprised they were so dense about survival tactics.

Bow in hand I went out into the woods to hunt for some food. for the first hour or so i was starting to wonder if this planet had no life on it after all. But then I found some tracks to follow. I was not an expert hunter but I knew the basics stay down wind, move slow and make as little noise as possible. It did not take long before I found a small deer like animal drinking from a pond. Perfect I thought to myself, two birds one stone. Some food, and a source of water. Both not too far from our camp.

Without knowing anything about the anatomy I could not risk aiming for where the heart should be, I had to aim for the head. The arrow found it's mark as the animal collapsed before it even knew what had hit it. It was heavier than I thought it would be, but I could still manage to carry it. Getting it onto my shoulders was a difficult task but once I managed, carrying it back to camp was tiring but simple.

I dropped the animal in between the makeshift shelters the crew had set up while I was gone, as the Lieutenant started her way over to me.

"What is that?" Crew mate Gusqan asked.

"Food." I replied.

"You just happened to find a dead animal out there?" Gusqan asked.

"No. I found a live animal. Then I killed it." I replied. The look of horror on the others face was a little exasperating.

"You have disrespected me in our conversation earlier and on top of that you brought a weapon onto a ship not rated for it. You must leave the camp and our staff immediately." Lieutenant Brurlod demanded.

"No." Was my simple reply. I did wonder how she thought this conversation was suppose to go, as she was literally suggesting I just wander into the wilderness to die on an alien planet.

"I outrank you. You do not have a choice!" The Lieutenant ordered.

"Technically only the captain can dismiss crew." Crew mate Sisseah interjected.

"And with the captain unable to fulfill his duties-" The Lieutenant started.

"He is unconscious, not dead." I cut in. "Besides that what is your survival plan without me?"

"What do you mean." Gusqan asked.

"Nothing." Lieutenant Brurlod lied

"They have 24 hours worth of food for everyone here. Closest possible rescue is 150 hours away, and the officers have no survival skills. Without me in the party you wont survive half that." I explained before turning back to the Lieutenant. "I am not going to allow you to sentence everyone here to death because you got your feelings hurt.

With some backing from the crew, the Lieutenant finally backed off. The crew had managed to find some cutlery in the remains of the ship, a far cry from proper skinning and processing knives for wild animals but they were sharp and got the job done. I was sure to teach the other crew how to do so, in case they needed to some day. They seemed impressed but also terrified of the concept.

After processing the animal and cooking over a fire (I also had to teach them how to build a fire, and do so safely as no one else knew how) It was time to turn in and get some sleep. I slept well, as I had spent many nights camping back on earth, but I also woke early. As I pushed myself up and stretched, I say Crew-mate Thruziel sitting on the other side of the fire, which they had kept going, staring at me.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Keeping watch." Thruziel replied.

"You know the fire and smoke would keep animals away right?" I asked.

"Keeping watch on you." Thruziel explained. "You are dangerous."

"Because I know how to survive?" I asked.

"You kill for sport, carry a weapon despite the rules and know how to skin an animal. You are dangerous." Thruziel replied.

"I mean, it's simple survival skills but sure." I relent.

"Why did you not kill one of us for food? You could have, and we were closer." Thruziel asked.

It took me a minute to come up with a reply that would satisfy him. I mean, technically he is correct. it would not be cannibalism, as we are not the same species, and with the state of everything after the crash I could have easily taken control of everyone, especially since I am the only one with a weapon. After a minute my brain found an answer that I thought he would accept.

"Sure. Humans are violent, brutish and impulsive. At least by your standards." I explained. "But there is also a feature of humans that you are forgetting. Our pack-bonding mentality. I did not even consider you as a food source because you are friend."

"Pack-bonding?" Thruziel asked again.

"It means we grow attached to those in our company." I explained. "Basically once a human see's you as a friend they will rarely hurt you. Some humans will, usually during formative years when our hormones block our critical thinking skills, but adult humans usually will not hurt their friends."

"You could just be saying that to placate me." Thruziel asked.

"You are right I could." I shrugged as I got up. That did not seem to ease his mind.

There continued to be tension between the Officers and myself, but considering their options without me were death it did not really matter. After a few days another ship landed. I returned empty handed from a hunt to find the new landed ship. Our crew-mates were no where to be found. The Captain was still laying, unattended where he was left, as he had still not regained consciousness. The Lieutenant was against the landing gear of their ship, arms bound up as she was beaten and bloody.

The aliens that had landed were huge. Nine feet tall and build like a brick house. Their four arms and orange skin unnerved me slightly. Given the state of the Lieutenant they clearly wanted to fight. They obviously had not noticed me up to this point, so I decided to strike with the element of surprise. Stringing my bow I took aim. They wore armour on their heads, but their torso's seemed to be regular clothing. I hoped that was correct and their heart was in the same spot as humans as I released the arrow.

My second arrow was already in flight towards the second when the first one dropped killed my first target. Their reaction speed was impressive as the second slashed my arrow out of the air with is sword, cutting it in half. My mind immediately started calculating. I was too far away with their reaction speed to get a successful shot off again, and I had no hand to hand weapons.

Just as my brain was realizing I would not be able to win without a close range weapon, one of the other aliens grabbed their fallen comrades sword and tossed it over to me. Landing blade first, it buried itself in the ground to the hilt. I braced, ready for an assault as I reached for it, before my Lieutenant spoke up.

"Run! These are Vilguls, you can't win!" The Lieutenant ordered.

"Take it." The alien spoke. "We want a good fight."

"Where are the rest of my comrades?" I asked.

"Most scattered into the woods, two others were taken onto the ship by our other two comrades." The alien replied.

"You are being rather forthright with your information." I subtly inquired.

"I could tell you everything. It matters not as you are going to die anyways." The alien boasted.

Tentatively I reached for the sword, ready to fight.

"Why aren't you running!" The Lieutenant demanded, pulling at her bonds.

"They have assaulted my Lieutenant, taken my comrades hostage and are hell bent on killing everyone on my crew. I tend to take stuff like that personally." I explained as my hand found the sword and I pulled it out of the dirt.

Tossing my bow and arrow to the ground I squared off to the aliens. Preparing for them to come at me together, however, only one approached me. Wanting to inquire, I thought better of it, and decided if they wanted to fight me one on one, who was I to change that. As the first combatant stepped up, I began to ready my sword.

They were faster than their size would suggest, as he swung at my head. Ducking the blow, barely I rolled behind him. Popping up already swinging, I cut a deep gash in my enemies back. He swung back, and I blocked it with my sword, causing me to be thrown back a good five feet. Rolling backwards as I landed I popped back up to my feet quickly. Noticing the aliens had a hard time seeing on their peripherals as a result of their helmets, I decided that what how to attack.

Time to go on the offensive. Raising my sword, I charged at my opponent. Smiling, he raised his weapon. When I was a few feet away, I sidestepped as far as I could before charging behind him. As he turned to keep up with me, I cut back. It was an aggressive move, as I almost lost my own balance, but I managed to get into his blind spot. With a thrust of my sword, I buried it to the hilt in his torso, cutting through both lungs and his heart.

With a final swing of his arm, he sent me flying as my grip on my sword failed me. The landing took all the wind out of me as I rolled coming to a stop on my stomach. Once my wits were about me again, I quickly jumped to my feet and reached for my fallen opponents sword, expecting the other one would have charged.

I was dumbfounded. The other one watched my kill his comrade and did not even charge while I was down. Sensing my apprehension the next alien spoke.

"We have no loyalty to our comrades. A hierarchy that must be followed sure, but a Vilgul falling in combat is their own failure. If I had attacked while you were down, it would have been an easy kill, but I would have been denied the sport of the fight." He explained.

"Your funeral." I challenged.

This one did not come towards me, but rather waited for me to approach. Taking off his helmet, he clearly noticed my tactic on the previous fight. Once I was in range, he stepped forward the swung his blade straight down on me. Side stepping it I swung back, aiming for his neck. Leaning back he smiled as he recoiled, drawing his sword back up. When he stepped in a second time he met my sword with his. Knocking it clean out of my hands with ease, he smiled.

I could see why he smiled, he thought he had won the fight as my sword was knocked away from me and I could not exactly turn my back on him to run for it. What he had not counted on though is where the sword ended up. It had happened to go straight towards my Lieutenant. The blade had cut the ropes binding her hands, cutting a deep gash into the back of her left wrist to boot.

I backed away slowly, also stepping to the side, forcing his attention directly on me and keeping his back directly to my Lieutenant. To further distract him, I spoke.

"How does a species who fights so well care so little for their comrades?" I asked.

Beaming, he answered. "Losing a fight is a failure. We fight hand to hand wherever possible. Projectile weapons are the cowards attack. Basically if you are a Vilgul, you are either strong, or you should die. That is our culture, how every Vilgul gets raised."

He had opened his mouth to continue, but my Lieutenant had seized the opportunity to attack. Running the sword into the back of the skull, the Vilguls words were cut short as he collapsed to the ground. As I grabbed his sword, the Lieutenant spoke.

"The other two officers are inside. The rest scattered into the woods." She informed as she applied pressure to the wound on her wrist. "You should still run, I won't be of much help in my condition.

Without speaking I carried my opponents sword into the enemy space ship. I thought it might be hard to track them down, but I heard quite the commotion coming from down the main corridor. Opening a door I was greeted with the sight of my two officers in the middle of the room, looking terrified with a sword each, as the two Vilguls covered each exit. The one covering the door I opened turned around and took a couple steps back.

"I'm here for my comrades." I demanded.

Smiling the one closest to me spoke. "We are forcing them to fight to the death. The winner gets to die by our hands."

I stepped through the door, causing the Vilgul to step back again, and motion to the middle. "Perhaps you want to join in the competition?"

"Why would I compete for the right to fight you when I've already killed three of you?" I mocked.

The Vilguls eyes widened at that remark. "That is not possible!"

"Actually it was rather easy." I mocked. "If you guys are going to insist on fighting hand to hand you should probably get better at it."

Allowing anger to take a hold of him, the Vilgul launched at me, thrusting his sword at me. Stepping to the side slightly, i directed his blade into the flesh on the side of my torso, through the fat, missing all organs and grabbed his wrist.

Smiling, he opened his mouth to mock me. Not in the mood for it, I thrust my sword into the bottom of his chin, cutting through flesh and bone as i shoved my sword through his brain. Giving my sword a good pull I drew it out of his skull causing his limp body to drop to the ground.

The final Vilgul looked on in horror, as I pulled the sword out of my torso. "Are you insane!" He demanded, drawing his own sword.

"Well, I'm human, if that answers your question." I replied.

"Human? From earth?" The Vilgul asked.

"Yes." I confirmed

"Take your comrades and go!" He offered as he turned around and left through the door he was guarding.

"Get off the ship. Now." I ordered my officers as I pursued my enemy.

Without waiting for further direction, both officers scampered out of the ship. My opponent only had one way to go, and I was close behind him. At the end of the hallway I came to a door, locked from the inside. Before I could challenge him to come out, the unmistakable sounds of the ship firing up could be heard. Realizing they intended to take off left me with no choice. I turned and ran to get off the ship.

The ship was already twenty feet off the ground by the time I made it to the door. Throwing myself through the open door, I landed hard, rolling through the landing the best I could, it still hurt like hell. I do not know if it was the exhaustion or the impact of the fall but I lost consciousness.

When I did wake up, Medical officer Scutuk was tending to the wound on my torso, other than that wound I seemed to be okay.

"How bad is it?" I asked.

"What kind of psychopath allows themselves to get stabbed in order to open an attack on an enemy.

"Maybe not the smartest idea." I admitted.

"You'll be fine. Just try not to overdue it or your stitches will tear." He ordered.

It took a few more days after that, but eventually a rescue ship arrived following our distress beacon. The captain was still unconscious but managed to wake up on the trip back to port. No one in our party was too worse for wear and the rescue ship had great medical officers and equipment, it seemed the worst was behind us. After arriving at port, I collected my things and left the ship.

"Where do you think you are going? You have another six months on your contract to us!" The Lieutenant demanded.

"Actually I do not. In case you forgot, while we were on the planet you dismissed me. I only stayed with the group because you needed my help to survive." I reminded her.

"You. You can't take that seriously." The Lieutenant tried to back pedal.

"Actually I can. Best of luck on your future adventures." I replied walking away.

"So you are just going wander the port forever?" She asked.

"I'll find another crew. One that appreciates me." I replied not even slowing down.

"Good luck. No one will want you with your attitude" She snapped back.

"Excuse me, are you Jacob, the human who killed four Vilguls who attacked the distress beacon." A rather formal looking man asked.

"Yes." I replied.

"We are a mercenary group who have been commissioned by the Intergalactic Council to hunt down the one who got away from you. Attacking a distress beacon is a crime punishable by death after all. We would love to have another capable soldier on or staff." He replied.

Giving my former Lieutenant an 'I told you so' look, I accepted. "I would love to. When do we leave."

"One hour. Let me lead you to the ship. Our Intel suggests he went to Sade 57." My new captain explained "I am Captain Tilzeox, our mercenary group has served the IC for almost 100 years."

"Glad to be on board." I acknowledged as I made my way to my new ship to meet my new crew.

[vodika-vibes]

i was rereading some of your tup works and figured i'd drop in another request for your follower event!! i’ve been reading some horror stuff lately so what about something where reader (gender neutral) is like a type of eldritch horror monster please?

the reader would be something tall and shadowy-like with super long fingers/claws and sharp teeth with a long tongue. and tup is just himself, a normal guy?

like the reader and tup fall in love, so tup wants to introduce his partner to his brothers. the rest of the 501st are shocked, but also not really surprised lol

just something cute and romantic and funny please!! absolutely no rush at all for this btw

Monsterous Love

Summary:  Tup loves you and while you’re not sure why, you don’t doubt his affection for you. So when he says that he wants to introduce you to his brothers, you agree.

Pairing: Clone Trooper Tup x GN!Reader

Prompt: The reader in an interdimensional eldritch being

Word Count: 1628

Warnings: None, really

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @kimiheartblade @mire-draws-things

@bad4amficideas @justiceandwar98

A/N: So I'm not sure if I hit what you wanted, but I hope you like it anyway!

Tup is staring at you.

He almost always stares at you; if you were anyone else, you’d probably be self-conscious about how much he stares at you. 

You tilt your head and regard him curiously, “You are staring.” You note absently.

“I can’t help it,” Tup replies immediately, “You’re perfect.”

You tilt your head in the other direction, “I exist simultaneously on every plane of existence, including the past and the future. And I have an incredibly difficult time staying in a humanoid form.”

Tup’s smile is love-struck, “Like I said, perfect.”

“You are a singularly strange human man.”

He laughs and you can feel your human-ish facade ripple before it settles again, though you’re fairly certain that pastel blue isn’t a normal human shade…well, not in this reality at least.

You squint at your hand and the color turns to a pale purple. The color makes you happy, so you leave it there for the time being.

“Strange in a good way, right?” Tup asks, his grin broad.

“If I thought you strange in a bad way I would not have saved you from the…things.”

“The Kaminoans?” Tup asks, laughter in his voice.

“Is that what they are called? I forgot.”

Tup stands and walks over to you, and you release a surprised noise when he allows himself to fall on you.

Your human form pops, like a soap bubble, and you revert to your true form. It’s hard to describe, as your form changes based on your needs, but your truest form is shadowy. With sharp teeth and long claws.

Also, according to Tup, you’re very soft and comfortable to lay on.

You wrap your arms around him, careful to keep your claws away from his delicate skin, and you release an embarrassing purr as he buries his face in your neck.

“I have an idea,” Tup says cheerfully.

It is difficult to speak in this form, long teeth are not designed for human speech, but you have more than one way to communicate. Is it a good idea? Or is this like the idea you had where you wanted me to raze Kamino to the ground? You ask.

“That was a good idea.” Tup defends as he trails his hands over your shoulders. “Which is why you did it.”

You narrow your eyes at him, You are a horrible influence.

He probably shouldn’t look so smug about that, right? Is it not right that a human should be able to influence an ancient, eternal being? Right? Ah, whatever.

“I want to introduce you to my brothers. And the General.”

You slowly blink at him as you adjust your claws so that you’re less likely to hurt him, and you start playing with his curls, Do your brothers not think that you are dead, Tup?

He shrugs, “I miss them. Besides, Dogma already knows about you.”

That is because I intervened to save his life.

“And I love you for that. Just like I love you for intervening to save Fives and Hardcase.”

You’re still not sure why you did that, honestly. Other than you don’t like the look that Tup gets when he hears about his many brothers dying.

If that is what you want, then we can make it happen. You finally say, not wanting to think too hard about the influence he has on you. Your form shifts back into a more human form, though you’re still a bit taller than Tup, “However, I am going in a human form.”

He huffs and reaches up to press his hands against your cheeks, “I want them to know the real you.”

“This form of me is as real as all of the other ones.” You point out, “I…do not want to cause them any distress.”

His gaze softens, and you can feel adoration radiating from him before he leans in and kisses you. Tup pulls back after a few moments, his hands still pressed against your cheeks, “I love you and I love that you want to make sure that they’re comfortable. But they love me and will accept you no matter what.”

“I am not so sure.”

“Trust me.”

You blow out a heavy breath and allow your form to shift back into your normal form, They might assume that I will hurt you.

“You never have.” He presses his forehead against yours, “And it would be so easy for you to do so. So, will you do it?”

I suppose I will.

“Yes!” He kisses you again and again, and you marvel, once again, that he seems unbothered by your monstrous form. He really is so strange. “Are you ready to go?”

Wait? Now?

“Yes. Now. Before you change your mind.”

Stubborn mortal— Still you shift to a more human form, standing a little taller than Tup, and you lightly push him to his feet, “As you like, Tup.”

He beams at you and takes your hand. “Great! Now, how do I get to Coruscant from here?”

You shake your head. Here, of course, is the house of mystery. The plane of existence that you call home, and also where Tup calls home now. “You still haven’t learned?”

“This House exists in every reality all at the same time, how am I supposed to learn it?” Tup asks cheerfully.

You shake your head and tug him down a hallway. You take three lefts, a right, and then two more lefts, before you open a door that leads to the Coruscant of his reality. “See. Easy.”

“I’m fairly certain that you’re the only person who thinks that.”

You tilt your head, “Oh?”

“Not everyone exists everywhere all of the time.” Tup teases as he cups your face and pulls you down into a kiss. It’s not a long kiss as neither of you are overly fond of PDA, and Tup is eager to introduce you to his brothers.

For all that you’re an interdimensional being, you don’t actually know Coruscant, so Tup is more than happy to guide you to the lift that will bring you up a couple of levels.

You’re surprised when Tup brings you to the 501st barracks. Surprised because it’s a lot more rundown than you expected based on some of the stories he’s told you.

“...I believe that mold has gained sentience,” you note as he leads you inside and through a hallway lined with black mold.

“Eh, it’s fine. Probably.”

“I also believe that is it toxic.”

Tup shrugs, “Probably. We’re just clones, babe. It’s not that big a deal.”

You blink at the back of his head, “Tup. If you want me to raze Coruscant to ashes, this is the way to go about it.”

He stops suddenly and bursts into laughter.

“I am not so sure why you find this funny.”

Tup turns and pulls you into a quick kiss, “I love you, that’s all.”

“I am fond of you as well. But I am also unsure how my comment caused this.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a human thing.” He kisses your hands, and then tugs you into a large room, “Hey Cap!”

The room, which had been filled with lots of noise, falls silent at Tup’s voice.

“Tup?” A blonde man that you vaguely recognize as Rex says in disbelief, “You’re alive? And here?”

“Yup.”

“How?” Fives demands, “You killed a Jedi. I definitely remember that happening.”

“The situation is complicated and also not my fault.” Tup motions to you, “Everyone, meet my cyare. You can just call them cyare.”

“I do not think that that is an appropriate nickname—”

“They won’t be able to say your actual name, babe. Human tongues aren’t designed to make those sounds. Cyare is perfect for you.”

“If you insist.”

“I do!” Tup beams at you and then turns back to his brothers, “Cyare saved me. They’re amazing.” He pauses, “They’ve also saved all of you on more the one occasion.”

The room falls silent and all eyes turn to you. “You are overstating, Tup.”

“I’m not.” He squeezes your hand, “Go on babe, show them.”

“I still do not think that this is a good idea.” You want, though you release his hand and allow your human form to fade away into your true form, You are lucky that I am so fond of you.

“I am lucky you’re so fond of me,” Tup agrees with an adoring smile, “This is cyare’s true form.” He says to his brothers, “They’re an interdimensional eldritch being.”

The room is quiet for a moment, and then Dogma, at the back of the room, releases a laugh, “Yeah, this doesn’t surprise me.”

“Somehow,” Rex agrees, “This makes total sense.”

“I told you they’d be fine with you,” Tup says with a grin.

There must be something wrong with your DNA. You are all very, very strange men. You counter as you settle on the floor, But, I suppose this does make me claiming you all as my mortals a little easier.

“But I’m your favorite mortal, right?” Tup asks.

You sigh heavily, Yes, Tup. You’re my favorite mortal. You release a disgruntled noise as he leans heavily against you. Not that you can’t support him, but you’re not an armrest.

Still, as Tup leans fully against you, his arms tight around you, while he answers questions about you and him and the life you share, a sense of peace settles over you.

This is okay. More than okay. 

Tup might think that you’re perfect, but he’s the one who took one look at an eldritch monster and decided, “Yes, that’s the one I want.” so in your book, he’s the perfect one.

Now you just have to make sure that no one will every hurt your mortals ever again.

Easy.

[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi: 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬 (5)

In which he feels like this could be all he's ever wanted after all.

Tags/Warnings: Vampire!Yoongi, Human!Reader, mentions of 'being high' (drug usage in a way), friends to lovers, blood (duh), red haired Yoongi, Listen I am Jungkook focused but I will put Vampire Yoongi on the menu and you'll better finish your plate

Additional Chapter Warnings: cuddly Yoongi??? Part 2, we're moving guys buckle your seat belts

Chapter Length: short/mid

A/N: Surprise bitch

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He chuckles simply watching you hurry as you crawl underneath the blankets, dramatically sighing when you're finally bundled up underneath them.

"Can you turn off the heat?" You ask from your spot on the bed up in the designated spot inside the RV.

"Aren't you cold?" He wonders up at you, though he does turn it off before he checks if the door is locked.

"Yeah but I also don't sleep well when it's too warm.." you mumble sleepily, yawning as he slowly makes his way up and into bed as well, making sure to adjust the blankets around your side before he slips under as well. "Yoongi?" You ask, and he nods, hums a reply.

He really can't get tired of you saying his name.

You always say it so.. careful. Careful not in the way of being fearful or hesitant- but more like it's something important. Like he's something important to you.

"Is it okay if I hug you tonight?" You wonder quietly, and he chuckles.

"I thought we already talked about cuddling?" He tells you, reminds you of your earlier moment together, watching the fire outside while holding each other. But you're worried. What if he still misunderstood what you were trying to tell him simply because you're not able to properly put it into words?

"But that was then.. I mean, now." You explain yourself, and he nods.

"Are you gonna ask for permission every time you're gonna want to cuddle?" He wonders, and you look at him sheepishly.

"Maybe? I don't know. What if you don't want to cuddle?" You ask, and he shrugs, watching you in the darkness of the RV.

"Then I'll tell you." He says. "I promise I'll always be honest. There will be times when we just don't want to be around each other, and that doesn't need a reason. It'll still be fine, I'll still love you no less than now." He explains honestly, and you nod.

He's talking about love.

One thing you always appreciated about Yoongi was his blunt honesty. He never sugar-coated things to make them seem like something else. He always made sure to be upfront and clear with you. It helped you tremendously and subsequently also led to you valuing his thoughts and opinions more than anyone else's. Yoongi always says it how it is, and for him to talk about love- well, it's a big deal.

"Yoongi..?" You ask after a moment again- and he thinks you're gonna ask to cuddle again, so he chuckles and puts his phone away, turns off the last light and moves closer to you to hold you against his chest. "Pssst, yoong-"

"I am literally cuddling you right now-" he laughs.

"-did you mean it?" You ask, and he stops at that.

"Mean what?" He wonders quietly, unsure what you actually mean.

"You said you 'won't love me less than you love me now'. You know." You mumble against his chest.

"Hmhm." He nods, closing his eyes. "Now sleep."

"Can you say it?" You ask, and he groans lowly, squeezing you closer stubbornly.

"No, sleep, I'm tired." He denies, and you whine.

"But Yoongi-!" You whine his name against him.

"Sleep, why do I have to say it? You know it already, now hush you big baby!" He scolds, glad the lights are all off so you can't see how red he's probably in the face from shyness.

"...well I love you." You huff, settling with your legs around his, and it grows quiet at that, except for the soft sounds of nature outside the Van you're sleeping in.

And yoongis soft, whispered 'love you too' that he grants you.

...

"I heard that-"

"Shut up and sleep."

[stilljuststardust]

i'm really better in my self concept, have less doubts and fears, but three thinks are haunting me, i'm manifesting my dream life and together i'm manifesting "smaller" things, the first point is, I confess that i'm little afraid of manifesting, because when things "dont work" i get a little frustrate.

the second is that I saw many bloggers telling that you already have and I really believe in this, but when I think about doing a method, seems contradictory cause why would i do something about that if I already have it?

and the third is, i'm passing through a tough break up, he went back talking to me after two weeks separate, showing feelings and end up choosing someone else and saying that doesn't feel anything anymore, sometimes I feel a pain and i'm not sure if it's about the break up or the shifting part, this things are correlated cause i'm manifesting being with her again, and this feeling makes me confused and in doubts about, if this is disturbing my manifestation?

Methods are not unnatural.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

1: is doing a method contradictory?

No.

The quickest way to explain this is through example. Let's say your chosen method is affirmation.

Take a look at the following sentence:

"I am so happy we're together again"

Does saying that to yourself in ANY way contradict being with him?

No of course not because that's exactly what you'd be thinking NATURALLY if it had just happened.

More in-depth:

To explain this I'll have to explain how manifestation works.

You have an internal world comprised of thoughts, mental images, assumptions, etc. This is your internal perception of reality. Also known as your inner world, imagination, or the 4D. When you accept something as a fact within the 4D the physical world has no choice but to reflect it and conform.

When you persist in an assumption it is now fact in your internal world and the physical world or the 3D has to reflect it.

All methods are designed in one way or another to change your internal world in a way that implies you have what you want.

Almost every method is something we do naturally.

Affirmations are just thoughts, if you've ever said "I bet he's mad at me" you've affirmed. If you've ever imagined what's he's thinking about you you've visualized. If you've ever decided you were going to do something regardless of what people said about it you have persisted.

We do all of these things all the time because manifestation is our NATURE.

Nothing is more natural than manifestation.

2:

Don't let yourself fall into overthinking when you start to feel doubtful just shut yourself down mid sentence and affirm.

When I first tried affirming I made the mistake of trying to battle every thought I had.

This is YOUR mind, you have the power here, doubts don't even matter to you.

It's just your subconscious telling you what you're most familiar with. Just keep repeating the new story, don't battle the old one.

(also side note, do you really want this person? They sound like a bum. Yes it's possible to change anything about people etcetera etcetera, but counterpoint: bum. You can manifest ANYONE with the law. Don't settle. Not trying to tell you what to do just trying to remind you that old Mcbum isn't your only option)

[max1461]

Thinking about it, it's really weird that some languages are more conservative than others, right? Like, really weird.

With biological evolution, conservatism can be explained in terms of settling into an ecological niche that's very stable. Such a niche provides a stable equilibrium: once a relatively optimized design is found, slight genetic deviations will generally make the organism less suited for the niche and will be selected against, thus acting against random mutation to preserve traits for the long haul. But this state of preservation has to be actively maintained by selective pressure. Absent such a stable equilibrium, the weight of random genetic drift would indelibly build up and turn the organism into something else over long periods. At least, I think that's how it works.

But with language change, we don't have any form of selective pressure acting on language structure, as far anyone can tell. There's no force at all acting to maintain an equilibrium. So it would seem that random changes should build up across the board, and linguistic "living fossils" should be impossible. But then you have languages like Finnish, which are notoriously conservative in morphology and phonology. Proto-Germanic *kuningaz was loaned into an earlier stage of Finnish and to this day remains kuningas, whereas it became kung in neighboring Swedish (and, of course, king in English). Everybody just accepts that as a fact of life, but upon close inspection it is really weird.

[fitrahgolden]

Partners

[NOTE: Competency kink, anyone?]

“Oh. Kate.”

Anthony was surprised to find his wife reclined in a chair in his study, book in hand. She looked up and smiled as he approached.

“I thought you were accompanying Franny to the modiste this morning.” He kissed her temple as Kate closed her book and placed it on the side table.

“I was. We returned an hour ago.” She answered, seemingly bemused.

“Well, you should have found me.” Anthony looked down at his pocket watch, his eyes widening when he read it. “Ah, I do seem to have lost track of time.”

“Yes, it seems.” Kate’s soft laugh was good-natured.

“Oh, the modiste! Our account needs to be funded for the season.” Anthony moved to his desk.

“It is,” Kate said, causing Anthony to pause before settling into his seat. “I have confirmed it.”

Anthony raised his eyebrows. “When?”

“This morning,” Kate said, adding, “while we were at the modiste,” when Anthony didn’t immediately indicate understanding.

“Oh, right. Of course. Forgive me.”

“No need,” Kate got up and walked over to lean against the desk beside Anthony’s chair. She ran a hand through his hair as she asked, “Are you quite alright?”

Anthony caught her hand in his. “Yes. It is simply that the beginning of the season can be quite…” he exhaled dramatically, “taxing, to say the least.”

“Of course.”

“With so much to do, I sometimes find it hard to decide where to direct my focus.”

“Well,” Kate pointed to a stack of papers at the corner of the desk, “Here is a task for you. I have applied my signature where I could and those contracts have already been collected. Those are the accounts that will not accept my designation and require yours,” the latter part said with much derision.

Anthony nodded wryly at his wife’s annoyance. He turned his attention from Kate to the papers in question, and paused again, furrowing his brow. “What is this?”

Kate looked over her shoulder. “Your… desk? I would think you would be familiar with it after more than a decade, but perhaps I have overestimated–”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, but what has been done to it? I do not think I have seen so much of the actual surface of it in years. Surely something of significance is missing.”

“Ah. No, nothing is missing. I simply organised it, so that I may actually get some work done. Honestly, Anthony, I do not know how you managed to be so productive for so long considering the state in which it was.”

Anthony looked from this desk to Kate, who seemed to be giggling at his wonder. “When did you do this?”

“Anthony, I have been managing to keep it orderly since we returned from the country,” she scoffed. “Most recently, before breakfast, so that I could review candidates for Francesca’s new lady’s maid. You and I have appointments to meet with them this afternoon.”

“You have already…” A laugh bubbled out of Anthony, spurned on by a feeling he couldn’t quite name. Disconcertion? Relief? Embarrassment? Perhaps some combination of the three, or something else entirely.

Anthony shifted his chair towards Kate and pulled her into his lap. She settled in happily.

He kissed her jaw before speaking into her ear, his voice low. “Is all this the reason our bed was cold when I awoke this morning?”

He smiled smugly when he felt her shiver. Encouraged, he gathered the skirt of her dress in his hands until the hem skimmed up over her thighs, giving him the access he sought.

Anthony could tell Kate was struggling to keep her voice even as she answered.

“I… am afraid, as the season gets underway, my attention must be further divided, which means less time–”

“For me?” Anthony’s hand reached its destination, and had its desired effect, as Kate seemed to lose her train of thought, if only for a moment. 

“Only in a singular aspect, yes.” She leaned her head against his and he ghosted his lips over the shell of her ear.

“Well, that simply will not do.” A second finger followed the first that had disappeared into his wife’s core.

“No?” Kate whimpered.

“No. I will not stand for it.” His thumb started moving over the outside of her, causing her to grind her hips into his lap.

Kate said breathlessly, her eyes screwed shut, “What remedy then, husband?”

Anthony tsked, shaking his head. “Viscountess… I have every confidence that you will find a way to manage your time such that none of your duties are shirked during the season. You are undoubtedly the most capable woman–” He laughed at Kate’s ability to glare at him even in her current state, “–person in all of England. And I will offer my assistance.”

She laughed as she gripped his shoulders desperately. “Oh, how grateful I am.”

“Kate?”

“Mmm?”

“What were you doing when I walked in here?” With his free hand, Anthony started undoing the buttons on the back of his wife’s dress.

“Rewarding myself for… all my hard work with a… um, a book.“

“Might I also reward you?”

Kate was starting to take over the pace, working against his hand more than his hand was working against her. Still, she managed to speak between gasps.

“Reward? I suspect these current means of yours may actually be for a selfish end.”

Anthony’s laugh was dark and foreboding. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I should stop.” He wrenched his hand away.

“Anthony!”

“Shh.” He soothed Kate as he moved her to sit on the edge of the work surface, pulling down her loosened bodice. Speaking before closing his mouth over her nipple.

“I think we should make use of this immaculately organised desk.”

[dollsorwhatever]

2023 Ariel Restyles

These girls took me nearly three months to finish lol What started as a very simple attempt to redress my 2023 Ariel dolls in nicer outfits turned into an annoyingly expensive 3-month project in which I purchased multiple Ariel dolls, outfits, accessories and tons of sequins and pearls and repainting supplies in order to construct what I imagine a set of 2023 Ariel dolls would look like if they had the same budget, design team and quality of early-mid 2000's Mattel Disney dolls lol Literally so much fucking text below the cut because I couldn't help but explain every minute aspect of my decision making for these dolls like anyone cares!!!!

Mermaid Ariel is wearing a lot of different pieces combined together; my desire for this set was for them to look and feel like they had been manufactured and released by Mattel, so I pulled a lot of elements shared between various mermaid Ariel dolls that they've made over the years and combined them to look like a natural continuation of what they had been doing prior to 2016! Her tail comes from the 2008 Ariel and Friends gift set but has been given a few extra details that were heavily inspired by Forever Hair Ariel from 2004, the bra is from a hasbro Ariel but was altered to fit the Mattel body (and once again has details added to match the tail), and the starfish clip is from the 1997 Ariel and baby Sandy set with the addition of some extra shell sequins in a slight homage to the 2003 Charming Princess Ariel doll's hairpiece. The purse is from the 2023 Getting Ready Ariel doll but has been painted purple to match the rest of her outfit; this piece took the longest because I had to spray it with a base (Mr Hobby Base in White) in order for the acrylic paint to adhere which is something I have NEVER done before and felt incredibly daunting to even attempt (thank you for the help John!!!) but I finally got the courage to try and it worked out perfectly! I was originally dead-set on using real sculpted accessory parts from actual Mattel dolls to construct the embellishments on her outfit because Mattel will rarely use pre-made sequins and buttons for their dolls, but eventually I came to the conclusion that it's not too far out of the realm of possibility and I would be better off creating something that is evocative of factory-made dolls and has the right balance of colors and fabric than it would be to make a less cohesive outfit with a bunch of mismatched sculpted parts that don't look like they were made by the same person. If she were an actual release by Mattel, I think she'd either just be called Deluxe Mermaid Ariel or maybe Magic Pearls Ariel if she were a gimmick doll (perhaps with a color change gimmick on the pearls, hairclip and purse?) lol Some photos of the Ariel dolls that inspired me (Forever Hair obviously being the biggest inspo):

Pink Dress Ariel is a lot simpler but actually took the most work and took me the furthest out of my comfort zone when it comes to skill; her dress comes from the 2006 Glitter Princess Ariel doll but has been heavily embellished to look more 'deluxe playline', the peplum was gathered for a little more volume at the waist, pearls added to the waist, hem and collar and the darts on the front of her bodice were tightened to fit the bust on 2023 body more. Pink Dress went through the most trial and error because I couldn't figure out what to use for her tiara or the embellishments on her dress, but I eventually settled on sequins and pearls to match the Mermaid doll because I felt it would give the impression that they were designed as part of the same collection (and it also just looked the best out of everything else lol) Her tiara is from the 2023 Color Splash Ariel doll but was sprayed white and painted over with pearlescent white acrylic paint; I only painted it with one color because Mattel doll tiaras are rarely painted and the original Glitter Princess tiara is also one solid color. Originally I tried using a few Barbie tiaras that already came in the color I needed, but eventually came to the conclusion that she would only look right with an actual 2023 Ariel tiara lol Finally I gave her a choker (a very common design element with Mattel Ariel dolls that I really love) as well as the dinglehopper and shoes from the 2023 Getting Ready Ariel doll! Some photos of the Mattel Ariels that inspired me the most for her design (Glitter Princess is ofc the most obvious inspo):

As well as a bonus photo of her standing with my original 2006 Glitter Princess Ariel to show how the dress looked before all of my alterations:

(Glitter Princess didn't originally come with that choker but I had to give her one too lol)

For how deliberately playline-esque and simple these dolls are, it was honestly such a big project to put them together; I learned so many new skills through this project and it was a lot of fun to explore the elements that made the old Mattel Ariel dolls so special in order to combine them in a way that feels authentic, even if it results in a set of dolls that are purposefully lower-impact than a more elaborate custom would be lol

[averagejoesolomon]

Gang, I could not be more delighted to share this chapter with you. I know I always tell you to buckle in, but for this one, you ought to buckle in. I'm so serious. You don't have any idea what you're in for. And if you're new here and want to get in on this madness, you can read Full Circle from the beginning on Ao3. Enjoy!

Chapter Five

The most prominent religion in Russia is Orthodox Christianity, but the national church is the Bolshoi Theatre, where crowds worship week after week, night after night, among gods by the name of Ramanov, Stalin, and Gorbachev. Built less than a mile away from the heart of Moscow's governing epicenter, the Bolshoi weaves ballet into the political pulse of the country. It announces a national pride on stages across the world. It is an institution. It is a sacred arthouse. It is the venue of choice for Russian chairmen and it is the top item on the visitation itinerary for any and all foreign dignitaries.

It's also a spy's worst nightmare, crawling with the sort of people Matt's made a career out of avoiding.

He can think of at least two-dozen different ways to spend this evening that don't include revealing his face to the better part of the Soviet parliament. A single misstep—one unlucky run-in, introduction, or incident—could spell serious trouble for Matt someday down the line. When he brought this concern to Rachel, she had suggested he wear a disguise.

"I can't do my job wearing a disguise," he had told her, and when she inquired as to why, he had said, "Disguises, by design, draw the eye. If you want me to be your guy in the crowd, you can't paint a three-inch scar on my face or put me in some God-awful gaudy wig."

This must have been a convincing enough argument, because she didn't have a counterpoint to match it. Instead, she calmly pointed out that he could either show his face anonymously at the ballet, or he could wait until the Soviets found it next to his name, age, place of birth, and designated passport number. The choice, she had said, would be up to him.

So now he stands at the base of the Bolshoi foyer, an exposed American nerve in a hostile crowd. "All good, Ace?"

It had been Rachel's idea to travel separately, all four of them staggering their arrivals across the past six hours. Grace has been onsite for ages, posing as a photographer for a famous Russian newspaper that took a bribe from Langley five weeks back. Abe followed close behind, masterfully playing the role of low-ranking British royalty and receiving all of the VIP tours and introductions that come with his faux dukedom. He'll join Matt and Rachel for the performance later on, watching from the elite visiting dignitaries box while the two of them slum it in twelfth-row center.

Matt, for his part, has already slipped in through the maintenance corridors under the guise of a furnace inspection that's been scheduled for seven months. He's shed himself free of the branded navy coveralls to reveal the perfectly tailored Versace below. As he fusses with his ivory cufflinks, he wonders how Rachel managed to pin down his exact measurements, but knows a fella shouldn’t ask questions he doesn’t want answers to. "Patience, Nebraska," she says, voice crackling in his ear. “Good things come to those who wait."

Last, but certainly not least to arrive is Rachel, who carries enough natural poise to breeze through the Bolshoi's front doors without a second glance from anyone in sight. From his place at the bottom of the Bolshoi's elegant double staircase, Matt spots her through the crowds above, clocking the familiarity in her movements before anything else—the stubborn set of her shoulders, a graceful glide of her hand along the banister, confident steps as she begins her descent in his direction.

And by God, she is a sight to see.

Her dress is the classy sort of affair that suits her perfectly, a solid black number sewn from silk and cut into a simple silhouette. The neckline settles along her collarbone and swoops from shoulder to shoulder, paired with soft loops of fabric that drape listlessly along either arm. This weighty, sophisticated feel curves down to her hips, where the dress drops off into an inky sheath that pools at her feet, as though she's been poured straight over the steps. She lifts her hem with a gloved hand, the motion effortless and practiced, and she never looks more like herself than when there's a string of pearls around her neck. With each step, Matt notices her anew, taking in the sheen of the silk, the red of her lips, the soft, subtle bounce of a relaxed updo pinned in place by Swarovski crystals.

Just when he thinks the sight can't get any better, she looks up at him and smiles. "There you are, darling."

Her Russian is technically perfect, the same way her shots always land dead center, and her punches always strike in exactly the right spot. "Are you ready, my love?" he responds, his own contrasting Russian forged in the streets of Leningrad. "I was beginning to grow worried."

He meets her at the final stair and passes along a sleek glass of bubbling Champagne to match his own. Neither of them will drink tonight, but the glass had given Matt a reason to look busy while he waited for her arrival. Somehow, she makes it look like the perfect golden accessory to her ensemble and, after a demure sip that doesn’t make it past her lips, he holds out an arm to her. When her sleek glove slips through his elbow, he can’t hide the warm, tingling shiver that buzzes straight down his spine.

"You will never truly understand the woes of the women's restroom," she replies, and he senses some truth in this predetermined conversation point, despite it being scripted to subdue wandering ears. "Do you have the tickets?"

With his free hand, Matt reaches into his inner pocket and produces two strips of cardstock placed by Rachel before leaving the safe house. This sparks a subtle satisfaction in her, as she mentally checks another box in her fifty-point plan for the evening. Change into her dress, check. Meet on the lower level, check. Pretend to be married, and dating, and in love—check, check, check.

Etiquette dictates that he lead them inside, for the sake of chivalry. Handily, the mission brief also dictates that he lead them inside, for the sake of discretion. Guided by the two complimentary motives, Matt greets the usher with a perfectly neutral hello, and the usher tears their stubs with a hospitable smile. They both receive a program and make their way into the low hum of chatter inside the theatre doors.

Matt has only seen the inside of the Bolshoi once before, when the agency first sent him overseas to train and take in the culture. It's just as striking as he remembers, six balconies carved from intricate gold and dressed in heavy, burgundy velvet. In those early days, a more senior agent had suggested that this place was designed to highlight its visitors just as much as its on-stage talent, because if one could afford an extravagant evening at a Bolshoi performance, then they were certainly the type of person worth noticing. This is especially apparent with the presidents’ box, which takes up two full stories at the center of the balconies and is accented by all the usual curtains and trimmings one might expect to adorn the stage.

Matt and Rachel’s seats are less auspicious, which is entirely by design. The carpet sinks beneath their shoes as he guides her toward a stout velvet seat tucked beneath the first balcony. They offset one another, Rachel’s sharp vigilance balanced by Matt’s casual covertness. As they walk, Matt spots Abe three stories up, chatting to a gentleman with a round gut and a distinguished mustache. Grace is out of sight and, if all goes according to plan, she will be all night. The ambassador to Turkey is ten yards away, the Minister of Justice is sharing a drink with the Minister of Transport, and Matt’s fairly certain that the young lady seated two tiers above them is a descendant of the long dethroned royal family—at least, she’s surrounded by enough armed goons to make people think she is.

If they get out of here without incident, it’ll be a miracle. "After you," he says, gesturing toward their seats. He wraps a possessive hand around to the small of her back, intending to let his lady lead the way like his pops taught him, but something in his brain snaps when he feels her bare skin at his fingertips, a warm and golden flood now washing every thought downstream.

So caught up in surveilling the crowd, he’s neglected to notice one key element about his partner—she seems to be missing half her dress.

The modest neckline sweeps into a wholly immodest back, a deep black V dipping low along alabaster skin. The silk hugs the outer edges of her rib cage, narrowing until meets at a single point that cradles the base of her spine in a gentle, swooping ripple. She's surprisingly soft for someone so fit, carved from demure muscle perfectly suited to the deception of spycraft. The smooth slope of her traps. The rounded angles of her shoulder blades. Matt's eyes trail along her exposed vertebrae, connecting the dots down, down, down her back until he's thinking the sort of thoughts that would have his mama clutching at her pearls. It ain't hard to imagine—except, no, he ain’t going to imagine. It ain’t right. It ain’t gentlemanly, to picture his fingertips brushing down her backbone. To hope she’d melt beneath his touch. To crave the feel of his hand at her back, reeling her in close, holding her right up against his—

"Darling?"

And it just ain’t fair, the way she puts on that alluring tone. The way she glances over her shoulder with a pout that sends his pulse plummeting. The way her dark eyes flicker over her dark dress and the way he could tear that damn thing off her, here and now—

God almighty, he has got to get a grip.

"Uh-huh." He feels his cheeks flushing, not with the sight of her, but with the images running through his own head. He blinks them away, silently scolds himself, and clears his throat with the hope that this one action will clear everything else, too. "Coming."

When they sit, Rachel makes a show of reading the program, expertly delving into the sort of bored small talk that belongs to socialites who have spent their entire lives in gorgeous theaters. But beneath the surface, she’s taking stock of every last detail around them and Matt knows he ought to join her. He knows he ought to note the exits, count the security officers, spot every diplomat that might be spotting him. Except the part of Matt that’s trained to notice everything can’t stop noticing her, all of his good sense getting tangled up in the sight, the smell, the presence of Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.

Three cameras cover his closest exit. Rachel’s lips form thrilling new shapes around her Russian. There’s a plainclothes guard sitting two rows ahead. Rachel has a birthmark below her chin. The director of ballet walks in the east entrance. Rachel’s breath hitches on the rise and fall of her chest.

The house lights dim, and Matt uses his Champagne to wash down all the want.

He takes on his own private mission of reigning in his rampant thoughts, but she doesn’t make it easy on him. She smells like wildflower fields and Nebraskan sunlight. She looks the way rock and roll feels on US-20, when all the windows are rolled down. She sounds like a good idea he can’t quite shake. And that dress, that dress. It turns his insides into a mid-April storm, and he’s not sure how he's supposed to sit beside her for the rest of the night, especially not when his brain insists on identifying and cataloging every latch he'd need to unhook in order to unwrap the rest of her.

The orchestra hums to life and the glow of the stage fades into the crowd. The low, blue light seems to catch Rachel in all the right places. The curve of her nose. The pout of her lip. The sharp edge of her jaw, the tender lines in her neck, the elegant curve of her collar bone. The Bolshoi is known internationally for its magnificent mastery of the ballet. It is, in the eyes of many, the most beautiful expression of the most beautiful art form in the world. And yet, as music fills the hall and dancers fill the stage, Matt just can't bring himself to look away from Rachel.

One day, he’s going to kiss her right there, and there, and there.

He will never kiss Rachel Cameron.

One day, he’s going to hold her close, and closer, and closest.

He will never hold Rachel Cameron.

Matt sits through five full movements of Tchaikovsky’s finest, wrestling with back-and-forth thoughts, before Rachel reaches through the darkness and effortlessly laces her fingers in between his. Her hand is cold. Her hands are always cold. It’s one of those things he already knows about her, and the familiarity is enough to send a pang of longing straight up his arm, filling all the empty spaces in his chest until he’s about ready to burst. She’s playing a dangerous game, dancing on the edge of something Matt’s barely managed to restrain. He remembers with a start that she’s wearing a wedding ring—a diamond-studded gold band made to look old and worn, courtesy of Langley’s top jeweler—and he reckons this might be it. This might be the final crack in a dam that’s already on its way out.

That is until Rachel leans in close, her words a whisper rolling over his shoulder, and he realizes that this, actually, is the thing that ends him.

Her breath raises goosebumps along his neck, his shoulders, his back. It’s all twisted up in the raspberries and walnuts they shared in the afternoon, a sweet and earthy scent in equal measure. There’s nothing between them now, except the single inch of her mouth from his ear as she leans in with all the casual belonging of his supposed wife, and he gets so caught up in the feel of her that it takes too long to realize she’s back to speaking English. “Fifth balcony,” she whispers. “Ten o’clock. What do you make of her?”

On instinct, his eyes flick up to her target. He spots it too, a young woman rapt with the dancers below, leaning along the railing just to get a better look. To the untrained eye, she looks like anyone else in the crowd, but as someone who spends plenty of time trying to blend in, Matt notices all of the ways she stands out. Her hair is tied in a low, unglamorous ponytail. Her dress isn’t couture, like so many others here. She wears modest jewelry made from mixed metals—a cardinal sin among polite society. And he’s seen that bag before, in a shop window somewhere in Manhattan.

His attention falls back to Rachel with every intention of crafting an intelligent response, but he gets caught on her eyes before he can get anything out. The way they wait for him. The way they dance between each of his. The way they drop to his lips. The way he can’t help but drop his own gaze to match.

He will never kiss Rachel Cameron.

“The bag,” he mutters instead, and he can’t tell if he’s still looking at her lips or not. He thinks he might be. He probably is. Is he speaking in Russian or in English? “I think its…”

He’s never noticed the low point of her cupid’s bow. The downward draw in each corner of her mouth. The way her cheeks divot ever so subtly, as though she was supposed to have dimples but never found the time for them. Red lips curve around the unsaid end of his sentence. “American made,” she confirms.

The flood is back, biblical and mighty, and his insides warm with the rushing current. Every nerve in his body seems to have found a way to his front, and the shift in weight sends him forward, forward, forward, heavy in her direction. She’s looking up at him—not the stage, not the ballet, but him—with eager eyes, chin raised high, just as it always is.

Except the orchestra trills to a stop. Applause surrounds them. The house lights come up.

Intermission.

The lights break through whatever feelings were fostered under cover of shadow, and the only thing remaining are Matt and Rachel, far too close to something neither one of them can explain. “I should—” he starts at the same time she says, “You need to—”

He waits for her. She waits for him. Finally, when the space between them grows too tight, she reaches through it, hands landing on his bow tie. She straightens each end, then brushes lint from his shoulder. “That’s your cue,” she tries again. “Don’t lose your head.”

It is entirely too late for that, but he swallows this thought down, and opts for a simple, “Yes ma’am.”

It takes more effort than it should to stand from his seat. Somehow, she now sits at the gravitational center of the room, and he has to strain against the pull, one step at a time. Eventually, he manages to join the dozens of other attendees who rush toward the bathrooms and the bars, and the further he walks, the weaker her pull.

When he finally makes it to the lobby, his head clears just enough to wonder what in the Hell just happened.

The events come to him like a mission outline, as though he’s about to debrief with a superior and desperately needs the notes for reference. It’s the only way he can wrap his head around the moment, working through it one step at a time. Except no matter how many times he runs through it, he comes back to the same two steps.

He leaned in.

Then she leaned in.

And he reckons he can understand the first part easily enough, but it’s the second part he keeps getting stuck on, because there’s not a room on this Earth they’ve shared without a fight. On the relational spectrum of people likely to kiss and people likely to brawl they’ve always leaned more toward the latter, and now seems like a Hell of a time to make a leap in the other direction. This is the same woman who tore him apart in Baltimore. The same woman who told him to get lost for two years straight. The same woman who, when they first met, took one glance at him and vowed to make his life harder than it had ever been before.

A lady like that doesn’t lean in. She fights, and yells, and holds grudges. She tells him where to be, when to be there, and what to wear. She gives orders. She makes plans. Rachel Cameron does not lean in—and she certainly doesn’t do so on a whim, in the middle of a mission.

And it occurs to him that this is just another check mark on Rachel’s list. Another scripted moment in her perfect strategy. Of course it is. A wife kisses her husband before he leaves. It’s a cover. It’s a legend. She’s always been one step ahead of him with this sort of thing.

At least, that’s what Matt tells himself as he meanders through the crowds, and it helps his racing heart slow to his resting rate. Mind clearing, he brings his mission objective into focus and works his way toward the fifth balcony using one of the paths Rachel mapped out for him weeks ago. He stops in bathrooms, refreshes his Champagne, and swipes a bite-sized chocolate desert from a passing cart, partly because it’s his best bet at cover, and partly because he’s a sucker for a chocolate mousse. One staircase at a time, he climbs that magnificent Bolshoi Theatre and works his way onto a balcony that isn’t his.

In Rachel’s grand Moscow plan, Matt has six pre-approved options for approaching a potential target. Since the first requires their target to be a man and the second requires there to be a gun pointed at his head, Matt settles for option number three—the confused tourist gambit or, as he prefers to call it, the National Lampoon. “Excuse me, miss?” he says, in the best lost American voice he can muster. “Do you know the way to the—?”

She turns, and any commitment Matt had to his cover immediately shrivels when he realizes he knows the young lady perched in the fifth balcony. He used to have dreams about her. Spent the better part of a year trying to remember every detail about her, from the red hair, to the ring on her finger, to the way she threw a baseball in the basement of Wrigley field. He last saw her skipping down a stoop in Georgetown and if she’s here now, he knows in his gut that something has gone horribly, staggeringly wrong.

“You?” he says, abandoning all pretense as he bolts toward her. “What are you doing here?”

The redhead moves quick, snatching her leather messenger bag and pulling it in close as she scans the balcony for an escape route. Every instinct Matt’s got tells him that she can’t leave with that bag, so he makes himself big and impassable, barely hooking the leather strap as she tries to slip past him. “Let go of me,” she hisses. “What are you doing? Let go.”

“Drop the bag.”

“We’re on the same side.”

“Drop. The. Bag.”

She’s slippery, in that same way Joe can be slippery when he wants to be, and Matt wonders if everyone in the Circle of Cavan learns to run before they fight. She wriggles against his grip, bright eyes wide with panic, but Matt pins her down easy. He’s got plenty of experience keeping runners in one place. “What are you doing here?” he asks again. “Who’s your buyer? What are you—?”

“On the ground!”

When a third voice interrupts, Matt mistakes the accent for Abe and says a quick prayer of thanks for the backup. This relief is quickly doused when he looks up to find a tall, slender stranger holding a gun to the girl’s head. “Whoa, hey,” he says, holding out his free hand. “Easy with that thing.”

“Get on the ground,” says the stranger, and Matt realizes that the gun is actually being pointed at him. “Now.”

Thirty seconds too late, Matt suddenly understands that he hasn’t intercepted a trade. He’s walked right into the middle of it. What’s more, he’s gone and done the exact thing Joe’s always warning him about—he’s backed himself into a corner, stuck between the buyer and the seller with no good way out. “I’ve got company,” Matt tells the team in his ear. “What’s my way out?”

Grace’s voice is absolute, ready with an instant reply. “Through,” she tells him. “There’s a stairwell to the right, but you’ll have to get off that balcony first.”

“I’m coming up,” says Rachel.

Matt shakes his head, even though she can’t see him. “No time.”

“I’m coming up,” says Abe.

“Better make it quick.”

“I won’t tell you again,” the stranger says, adjusting his grip on the gun. “Get on the ground.”

He holds his pistol like law enforcement, all rigid shouldered and stiff stanced. The sight makes Matt sick to his stomach. “You don’t want to do this,” Matt tells him. “You’re putting real lives at risk, doing this.”

The stranger huffs, like he knows everything and Matt knows nothing at all. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he says. “Give up the passports and no one gets hurt.”

“A lot of people get hurt,” Matt argues still pulling at the bag. “Let’s figure something out. Let’s—”

“We are well beyond figuring something out,” says the stranger. “That ship has sailed, and you’re going to jail for a long time.”

“I’m—” Matt’s already started rolling into his next argument before this sentence has time to land. When it does, it stops him in his tracks. “Hold on, I’m what? What are you—?”

In this profession, there are plenty of people Matt never wants to cross. He spend his days with spies, con men, assassins, and rogues, all of whom know how to make his life miserable in horrible and exhausting ways. Right then, Matt adds another name to the list as he watches Abe Baxter sneak up behind the stranger, grab hold of his weakest joints, and bend them in ways that bring the man straight to his knees.

And when Abe looks down at the man’s face, it’s clear that he isn’t truly a stranger after all. “Townsend,” he groans. “You absolute twit.”

Over comms, Grace says, “What the bloody hell is he doing here?”

“I fully intend to find out,” Abe answers. With a glance up at Matt, he gives a nod. “You got the passports? Good on you.”

Matt doesn’t have the passports, so much as he still wrestling for them, but when he goes to point this out, he realizes that his sparring partner is nowhere to be found. In the time it took for Matt to talk his assailant into Abe’s hold, the mysterious redhead has completely vanished. In her place, the strap of the messenger bag is looped around a small golden gargoyle, and Matt’s been wrestling with a ghost.

“Get up, Townsend,” Abe says, and even though the not-so-stranger Townsend has an extra foot of height on Abe, there’s no questions about who’s in charge. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Matt unloops the strap and digs inside the messenger bag. Sure enough, he finds a pile of little leather covers. He looks over his shoulder, toward the audience below. Toward Rachel, who knows better than to meet his gaze, but does it anyway. He nods, and so does she.

For a single moment, Matt lets himself fall into his own relief. Mission accomplished. Lives are saved. He won’t have to worry about agents arriving at the ranch, or an assassin knocking on the door of the M street apartment. At least, not for now.

But there’s something scratching at his instincts, like he’s being watched, and not just by Rachel. There are eyes everywhere in Moscow, and there are eyes on him now. When Matt scans the crowd below, he spots a gentleman looking back at him. Wide face. Bushy eyebrows. Armed. Matt's short-lived relief fades in a flash as he remembers where he is, and remembers how deadly it can be to be spotted in a place like this.

The house lights flash once, twice, three times, and Matt steps back from the edge of the balcony. Intermission, he thinks, is over.

[prouvaireafterdark]

here's a sneak peek of a little something I'm working on for two of my enablers @bilestat and @claudiaapologist ❤️

***

When Armand sweeps into Dr. du Lac’s graduate level Ethics course on the second day of class, he finds his seat in the center of the small lecture hall’s first row already taken. 

The blonde man occupying it, Armand notices, is older than the average student, perhaps in his early thirties, and the desk he’s stolen is totally devoid of notes, books, or a laptop. Dressed in a designer leather jacket, tight black jeans and platformed Doc Martens, he looks like he’s attempting to channel his inner rock star. The man’s hair has also been pulled back into a low ponytail that would make anyone else look like a founding father, but in combination with his striking jawline and devastating profile, Armand finds it infuriatingly charming in spite of his considerable annoyance.

Armand had chosen this seat carefully, you see. Having just endured a harrowing semester as research assistant to Dr. de Romanus—a Romanist, coincidentally, who had weasled his way into the Religion and Philosophy department after the university defunded their Classics program—and currently staring down the barrel of another, he is keen on seizing any opportunity he can find to serve under someone with a less… draconian approach to pedagogy. Dr. du Lac seems a more promising prospect than the ancient Dr. Talbot by about a mile, and so the stakes for making a good impression are quite high. 

Armand’s eyes narrow as he approaches.

“Excuse me,” he says, standing up as tall and imperious as he can as he stops beside the blonde man. “You’re in my seat.”

“Am I?” the man asks, his English faintly accented. French, definitely, but not Parisian, if Armand recalls from his own considerable time spent abroad—a regional dialect, he would guess. The generous curve of the man’s mouth and the tilt of his head turn mean all of a sudden as he continues, “Apologies, monsieur. I did not see your name on it.” 

The man makes no move to find a different seat, and in fact settles more fully into it, his spine slumped casually against its cushioned back like he could drop off and take a nap at any moment.

Indignant rage simmers beneath the surface of Armand’s skin, mingled with the equally infuriating attraction he feels as an errant blonde curl comes loose from the man’s ponytail and falls over the curve of his cheek as his head tips drowsily forward.

Well, that decides it, Armand thinks to himself. I must destroy him.

[sundragon]

We've been in a weird place regarding...us? our life? as a system. It's probably something a lot of systems go through, at least it seems that way to me. As you get older, you think about what the rest of your life will look like more seriously. For us that means being 40, 50, 60, maybe older, and still plural.

Origin discourse takes such a backseat. It's practically thrown out the window. I think it got shoved in the trunk at some point. Of more interest is where are we going with this? We're not hung up on the lives/sources we miss, we're here in the present and mostly okay with it. Now what? Who are we going to be?

And the scary question - can we be content with just us for the rest of this life? Is that what would be best for us, or should we make ourselves uncomfortable and find another physical bodied companion?

But I recognize that shit for what it is, plain amatonormativity. It's gotten to us before. This insidious idea that we have to meet some physical person, and anything else is lesser. It's nonsense. The cognitive dissonance is very real. In our various forms and parts, I've been with Nate for 14 years - that is significant, more than any theoretical significant other.

This came to a fore recently because I just, reminded myself that we do not like people in our space. Doesn't matter if they're friends, and if we invite them. I don't feel like a whole person when I can't be alone in my den each day. Sure, finding a person I can be myself around sounds like a solution, but that's the thing - there is no person who can understand me the way they do, so to try is to fail.

This is the complicated area of the aroace spectrum that we inhabit. It's not a storybook situation. Some parts of it are kinda sad, and by design it means we'll always be longing for each other just a little bit, but that's preferable to forcing ourself to settle. We don't deserve that, and neither would the other party.

Part of that is the fact that for us, a partner is nothing less than another half. If I'm with you, you're half of my whole life. I can be complete without you, but if I'm in a partnership it takes as much priority as my own life does. Dating and hookups are meaningless to me and I'll never bother; entwine our souls or get lost lmao. They can come apart later if they must, but yknow. Point is I don't do casual or halves, your identity matters to me like my own.

That's a tall order, and so far, my brain had to split itself into pieces to make it work. If you want to get mystical about it, you can theorize that I am this way *because* my mate existed beside me once upon a time, and now we're forced into the same get-along sweater. I dunno man, we just work here.

We didn't try to get involved with anyone recently, but everything else just brought these thoughts forward in a way I couldn't keep ignoring, eh.

[cherubchoirs]

I've got a couple so here we go,

-What would happen if any of the other archangel's fell for what ever reason?

-do you think any robots have made any little robot towns in hell? Like robots settle down in one spot with like little stores?

-if V1 likes to stay clean does he jump into water like a bird bath? Does Gabriel do the same?

Sorry if it's a lot in one ask! And love your art!!

aaa no problem i love little sets of questions!! :]

if any of the other archangels fell, they would end up in a similar state to gabriel as they are all powerful enough to survive the death and rebirth process, while their particular sins would determine their appearance/punishment (though some things are universal, such as the loss of flight). i have considered what sin would cause their fall based on their characteristics, with michael in violence, uriel in heresy, and raphael in fraud. michael, had his fall succeeded, would have been left with a need to feed on blood ironically enough, to the point where he would almost be forced to live in the phlegethon as there are barely any sinners left to bleed (unlike v1, a fallen angel of violence is perfectly capable of consuming rancid blood). i also do like following through with the idea that he turns white, both because hakita was right about the red on white aesthetics, but also so he appears anemic and bloodless. uriel would be sort of like gabriel's opposite, suffering from a constant burning fever and would spontaneously combust at times, fires that would leave his skin forever scorched even after putting them out. worst part is that he has no fireproof books to read :( raphael is terribly weighed down and constantly suffering from fatigue, every step so heavy that traveling long distances becomes impossible and he is essentially rendered incapable of helping anyone. his clothes become heavily gilded, and what's interesting is that i actually. sort of came up with raphael's design during my reread of the divine comedy, with the inspiration coming a lot from the hypocrites of fraud SO his punishment is quite similar, with a bit of falsifiers mixed in just for the irony as a healer.

other two answers under here!!

god i would genuinely love little machine settlements, but i think of them as not being organized enough/having advanced enough ai to do so. additionally, there is too much desperation in their situation for building up a village of some kind BUT i do think machines can form bonds with one another and do so even with models other than their own. like i really love the idea of a mindflayer that has several streetcleaners following it around, sort of protecting each other and understanding each other's priorities. also very into a sentry and drone pair, where the drone has worked on being incredibly fast and incredibly annoying so it can distract an enemy until the sentry picks them off lol and and i feel like i DEFINITELY got this idea from someone else (maybe on here? twitter? idk!!!) but like maybe there are just. machines on the surface. machines that don't solely rely on blood and got some of the grid back online and just kind of vibe up there. like they do not look at hell, that's wild shit down there. and they definitely have little towns :]

v1 likes to be power washed lol like it wants to be BLASTED with a fire hose, but it will take any kind of pool/bath it can find! it really just likes the process of "having a wash" - it doesn't mind being covered in blood and guts and every other kind of gore (fun!!!) but splashing around and getting hosed off just never gets old for it. gabriel is definitely a lot less playful and sees bathing as a relaxation thing, but he does genuinely find v1's enjoyment of it incredibly amusing. it's just so happy!!! every time!!! when gabriel's actually taking a bath to get clean however, he is much more like a bird in many ways - he likes having a heavy mist/shower available as well as a pool, and v1 ALWAYS makes sure to be close by when he shakes off his wings. this becomes a bit more difficult when he's a fallen angel, his wings hurting too much to make proper care possible, but v1 joins in to help him clean up through taking the time to mist every feather and then help spread them to air dry. the bath itself is a welcome reprieve from his freezing cold body though, and gabe really enjoys soaking in scalding hot water as often as he can after falling (any temp is fine to v1, so it loves all the bath time they get!!!)

[autumnalwalker]

Find the Word Tag

Thank you for the tag, @ahordeofwasps.

My words to find were open, onward, ongoing, & own.

Passing the (optional) tag to @meerawrites, @midnight-and-his-melodiverse, @dyrewrites, @sleepyowlwrites, @pluttskutt, and the usual open tag for anyone else reading this who wants to join in.

Your words to find shall be pillow, plant, particular, & perfection

Open: A Dream About An End To Loneliness

We have stopped for the night and I am in bed in my room alone, nearly asleep, when I feel light footsteps pressing into the blankets and mattress, stepping over me and settling down on the other side of me.  I roll over and open my eyes to find myself staring into twin glowing red pinpricks illuminating empty dried out sockets.  There is a mummified, bandaged, and animated corpse lying atop the bedsheets, resting its head on the pillow next to mine. 

I do not cry out.  I do not flee.  Perhaps I am just frozen.  Fear is not quite the right word for what’s thrumming through my veins.  Trepidation maybe?

She begins to speak softly.  Gently.  By her voice alone one might think her still alive and whole.  It does not occur to me until the next morning to question how she knows my language.  She is not angry at us for disturbing her rest, but grateful for being set free.  

We lie there whispering to one another into the small hours of the night, telling each other of our lives and worlds.  And, against all good sense, falling for one another.  We are both terribly lonely. 

Onward: The Archivist's Journal, Day 47

Once it was gone, Butat made an awed exclamation confirming the being I had just witnessed was in fact the Wandering God I had heard of.  With less caution than I would like to admit, but still more than Cass ran forward with, I moved to examine the fallen log that had been planted on the side of the trail.  Somehow half-expected, but no less amazing for it, green buds of new growth were forming on the jagged top.  In the time that it took for Daianna to finish urging us onwards I saw yet more new buds forming fast enough to be made out by the naked eye.

Ongoing: Empty Names - 7 - Compilation

“Most of these trees shouldn’t be growing together,” Eris observes aloud.  “You’ve got a white pine next to a mahogany, I’m pretty sure I saw a baobab back there, and,” she points at a nearby tangle of above-ground roots, “somehow you’re growing a mangrove without a coastline.  I’m not going to ask how, because I know the answer is just going to be some magic BS, but why?  Even with magic that still has to be a Hell of an energy expenditure to maintain.”

To Lacuna’s surprise, it’s Glassheart that answers the question in an awe-tinged voice.  “They’re all bridges.”

“Right on the first try, wizard boy,” says Bridgewood.  “We are right now walking through the eponym to the family name.”

Wait, wizard boy?  But he’s so…  Lacuna glances again at Glassheart practically gliding down the path before shoving down the implications of this particular case of gender envy for the time being.  As it is, she’s already flustered enough to almost miss the ongoing conversation.

Own: Kindly Basilisk

I spent a long time in front of that mirror in the ship’s head, memorizing every plane, curve, and angle of the precious gift you had given me.  I stared into its eyes, trying to see the both of us in there.  Over and over again, I traced my fingers along the borders of where you had once tried to mar the designed perfection in a failed attempt to mold the face into one that felt like your own.  You may have given up in favor of simply hiding it all, but to me it is all the more beautiful for its imperfections having been wrought by your touch.

[emerald-cloud23]

Trying to figure out how much time passes in canon between seasons – according to the show itself (and then making rough guesses)

This is so long– also, doesn't include Dragons Rising

Pre-Pilots & Pilots: I don't remember them saying anything about that, though I imagine that it has been less than a year as they (Cole, Jay, Zane) obviously aren't as close as they'll become later in the show, maybe not even 6 months. I'll settle on 4 months for now

Pilots & Season 1: Once again, I don't remember them stating anything in particular so, once again, it's been less than a year. Maybe even just two or three months. The core four ninja have become closer but we can immediately see how distant they still are with that first mailman scene where it's apparently the first time ever the other three find out that Zane is practically an orphan as well as Cole hiding his true relationship with his father from them. Between the Pilots & S1 I imagine the ninja have encountered Lloyd before (according to their reactions they know him but the viewer doesn't), even telling Wu about him and he decided "No, I'm not gonna look after my brother's son"– sorry, going off-track. I'll go with like 3 months

Season 1 & Season 2: Looking at the end of S1 it has probably only been a few hours or like a day as everyone is fixing Ninjago City from the damage that the finale caused

Season 2 & Season 3: Canon mentions that it has only been a few months since the finale of S2. With Lloyd traveling around the island and accepting awards and stuff as well as Wu & the ninja taking over a school (most likely Darkley's), I'd say it's less than 6 months but I can't exactly decide on anything

Season 3 & Season 4: I don't think anything had been said in the show but with the statue from the finale becoming so dirty, the ninja no longer staying together and Jay apparently recording a 70+ episode tv show with a holiday special??? Another few months– only because I don't know how else Jay would've been able to make his own tv show and much less one with so many episodes and even a contestand that had previously participated. Oh, also it needs time for his fans to, well, start being his fans and viewers. I don't know how much time something like this would take but seeing as even Wu being unaware of why the other three aren't training with Lloyd I'd say they gradually left the team in the span of, probably, 4-6 months. If I didn't take Jay's show into consideration I'd say 1-2 months because that seems more logical with the 'skipping training'-bit

Season 4 & Season 5: Canon doesn't say anything. Buuut I feel like Morro wouldn't have waited much longer than necessary to start his search for the realm crystal. He'd find out what happened to Wu, find out about Lloyd & the others as well as that no one knows where the FSM's tomb is. He seems pretty smart so that would probably take barely any time at all, less than a week probably. However,, Wu has to buy a piece of land (most likely already with the buildings on it because construction can take monthssss), register his store, buy his shop's inventory and new uniforms (both the deepstone suits and the advertisement shirts & hats), also he needs to get the flyers designed, printed and delivered to him. This, unfortunately, takes time, and probably a lot more than just a few days. Despite hating the thought that Morro waited so long since escaping the cursed realm, I'll say that it's probably been a month

Season 5 & Season 6: There's a few things that I need to take into consideration as canon, once again, says nothing. The S5 finale takes place on new years so this is a good starting point. I only know new years as the last day of the year so that's where I'm going with this. S5 ends at the end of december. S6 needs to happen months later for a multitude of reasons: the people of Stiix being pissed at the ninja and rebuilding their city over water with Strangleweed (which S5 mentions not really anyone wanting to do), the ninja becoming famous for the destruction of the cursed realm, the ninja recording a tv show for kids and going on tv shows, being interviewed, getting fans & Nya training her elemental powers and Spinjitzu. So, if I view S5 at the end of the year then S6 feels like it takes place (or would take place if it hadn't been undone) in spring, so like march or april

Season 6 & Day Of The Departed: I remember that DOTD canonically is on like october 30th or 31st (I can't remember this for the life of me) so there's a good time period for the ninja to get their fame under control. Otherwise I don't have much to say

Day Of The Departed & Season 7: I believe canon said it's been a week since Cole became human again, so there you have it. That'd be early november

Season 7 & Season 8: Canon says it's been exactly a year since Wu disappeared in the time stream. There you go, a crystal clear answer to how much time passed since the previous season's finale. Thank you canon

Season 8 & Season 9: It is said that Garmadon ruled over Ninjago City for a week now, that means for 7 days Lloyd, Nya, Pixal, Dareth and Misako thought that Wu and the core four were dead (god, I always forget just how depressing this was for them)

Season 9 & Season 10: And we're back to nothing being said in canon, great. Well, there's the monastery that needs to be rebuild (as well as all of Ninjago City) and the murals being designed and needing to be painted, also there's some shorts on Lego's YouTube channel that still have the murals being painted, so they happen before S10. But all this takes time. But because I don't want Garmadon's warning about the Oni to appear so weak, I'd say a minimum of 6 months needed to pass. Most likely a lot more but, again, I want to keep his warning as something rather fresh and recent to Lloyd so he'd remember it when visiting his father in Kryptarium

Season 10 & Season 11: Canon (or rather Wu) says that it's been some months since their last big victory. In order for Cole going from super ripped in S2 to giving me almost an entire breakdown over being the exact opposite (no, genuinely. My first time seeing him without his super muscular body made me so, so frustrated and I don't even know how to put it into words but mAN–)… Uh, another 6 months? They all became incredibly lazy to the point where Wu eventually had enough, so half a year is the maximum time period I'd give them. Also, as we saw (and as they said) they haven't been in tune with each other as a team when fighting/fleeing. So, if you've spent years with people doing nothing but that I can't imagine you'd become so uncoordinated in a short period of time (but that's just me, a loner)

Aaand now we're entering the time period where it is difficult to make guesses–

Season 11 & Season 12: I would've assumed it's been a few days but because of S13's comment on it having been weeks since the ninja were at the monastery... I'd still like to say S12 happens just days after S11–

Season 12 & Season 13: I just mentioned the comment, sOO– Maybe Prime Empire took weeks in the actual world. I don't know. I can't make sense of this sentence. Like, ily Lloyd, but man. You're not making the time periods of this show easy. Especially because Wu and Pixal were both still at the monastery in S11 and S12 and I can't imagine the two not having taken care of it in that time when the others were gone. I just can't. So, somehow between the start of S11 and the start of S13 it has been weeks in which no one took care of the monastery. Even if they had been on an unmentioned vacation between S12 and S13, I feel like they would've taken care of the trash around the monastery. Though, something like this would explain the amount of leaves in the courtyard and Lloyd trying to urge Cole to stop relaxing on his free day to help with laundry and stuff (their gaming session is adorable btw, they need to interact more in canon pls)

Season 13 & Season 14 (The Island): I don't think anything is mentioned about S13, though they say that last month a bunch of criminals broke out of Kryptarium. So, unless that happened while the ninja were in Shintaro, it's been at least a month. Also, Misako, Wu and Clutch Powers went missing on an expedition they went on. When Cecil from the Explorers Club comes to visit them he mentions that when a member is 'presumed dead or lost at sea' they remove their belongings from the club. Soo, for them to be presumed lost at sea I'd say it would take like 1 week but "just to be safe" the club waits a total of 2 weeks after members set out on expeditions before deciding that it's been too long without hearing from them so they must be dead. But, seeing as Wu was also in Shintaro and he went on this expedition the ninja must've been back a few days before they went on this expedition, which I just assumed they started 2 weeks ago, so it's been maybe like 2.5 weeks to a month between these seasons

Season 14 (The Island) & Season 15 (Seabound): Canon doesn't say anything but I see S14 as setup for S15 so it would probably be like a few days between them

Season 15 (Seabound) & Season 16 (Crystalized): Canon says it's been a year since Nya's sacrifice. Another crystal clear (no pun intended) answer by the show

oKAY, GREAT. THAT'S ALL. If anyone wants to chime in for my rough time period estimations and calculate this whole thing, feel free because I'm not doing it! Like Cole says in Crystalized: "I'm not much of a math guy".

[wisp-of-chaos]

Meet the OC - Rerki

Oh boy here we go. The one and only. My probably oldest OC in the pit. My beloved sharkrat and problematic fave. There is so much to tell and unpack here ... you know the drill, OC lore under the cut for ease of scrolling!

... where to start, though. The best course of action would probably be at the very beginning.

Rerki was never meant to be likable or appealing to anyone. My very first thought upon creating her back in the day (in GW1 no less!) was like “… she thinks she’s helpful. Not because she’s a good person but because her logic is somewhere along the lines of Dead people don’t have any problems. Therefore if I kill someone, I help them with solving their problems, which in turn makes me helpful”

And thus, Rerki (aka Kairi Yiuan aka Ritari aka Ruannskr) was born and has been stuck in the folds of my brain for over 10 years now. She has grown a lot; changed appearances and names and even races and transcended fandoms but deep down she always stayed the same.

She kind of developed herself, to be honest; grew a will of her own and stubbornly refused to budge or bow to anything else than her own will. Whenever I tried to do something with (or to) her she didn’t like, I heard that snarky little scoff in my head like *Excuse you? No.” and had to agree that, yes, Rerki was right, and I had to change something instead of her.

Another core idea for her has always been her affliction with white, that each and every design and incarnation of her would be void of any colors and absolutely pale. Which, I think, springs from my very own belief that necromancy (and being tied and connected with the afterlife) is a highly draining ordeal and that life will sooner or later be seeping out of you. Which includes your hair, skin and eye color. For myself, white will forever symbolize death and necromancy far more fittingly than black, and since Rerki started out as a necromancer, that settled that.

Another integral part of Rerki is her necromancy, and I blame this one solely on Guild Wars for introducing me to this class/idea in my youth and absolutely captivating and fascinating me with it. Up to this day, I am utterly enthralled by necromancy and will always pick it as my playing a class in any game if possible.

So much for some overall facts about her, now to get into more specific detail …

Rerki has arguably more bad character traits than good, which was a decision I made on purpose, because as I said before: She was never meant to be liked by people. (Yet here we are, apparently).

Rerki thinks of other people as a bothersome annoyance far below her own intellect, and in most cases she’s right. Given that she’s an asura, she’s a born smart ass and loves to rub it into everyone’s face whenever possible. She is also very fond of “I told you so” moments and will relish them with a self-satisfied smirk and a pointed look.

She loves to learn and study but doesn’t have the greatest patience (read: almost none) and wouldn’t go out of her way to explain something to you. If you don’t get it, that’s on you and it’s not her job to teach you anything so you better look closely and figure it out on your own or get lost. Don’t make the mistake to nag and annoy her about it. You will regret it. For the rest of your life.

Rerki will listen to your stupid ideas. Once. And if you’re too dumb to see the signs of her growing annoyance, she will let you feel her fists with zero hesitation and the only one to blame is yourself.

She is rather standoffish and often comes across as rude and uncaring; tossing around harsh words and sharp truths without sugarcoating anything. The world is a chaotic, unpredictable place and you better grow up fast and develop a sturdy backbone or face the consequences.

Rerki prefers to stay on her own and conduct her experiments and studies but will take the lead if the situation demands it to get things done. Properly and swiftly with whatever means necessary.

Her morals are dark gray at best and she often gets into troubles with the law, but personally doesn’t see the issue in herself. In her eyes, it’s the law that’s wrong.

Rerki seems cold at first glance, but that doesn’t mean she has no heart. She has her very own little moments of vulnerability and tenderness, even when expressed in her very own raw, unique way. The only people allowed to see those moments however are her family and closest friends aka her merry band of unfortunate souls and misfits she collected over the years and which has become some sort of second family to her.

Despite her dismissive attitude, Rerki is very observant and will notice the smallest change in behavior patterns and unusual bearings. She may not always comment on it but will remember it. And possibly use it to her advantage, if pushed into the right situation.

Rerki doesn’t have many friends, but once someone has gained her trust and acceptance; she will do whatever she can to keep them safe and sane – even if that means kicking her friend’s own asses if they need it.

On the other hand, she tends to neglect herself a bit; forgetting to eat and sleep in favor of continuing with her studies and experiments. She also has a habit of throwing herself in harm’s way just to prove a point and is more than just a little bit reckless. (Which was far worse in her youth but as she grew up, she’s become calmer and more levelheaded. She still loves to headbutt idiots to shut them up, though)

Her usual treatment of idiots (or most people in general) is the silent stare of “Are you serious?”, followed by detaching her prosthetic arm and slapping some sense into them. And if that doesn’t help … well, let’s just say she knows how to scare people off. (And how to make them disappear. Permanently, if necessary)

Rerki has a habit of collecting and keeping little trinkets from her hardest battles and most vicious enemies – often in the form of severed and conserved limbs or organs or weapons.

She also has a severe fear hatred for white rabbits. No, she will not elaborate and if you keep pressing the matter, she will end you. For your own sake, never mention it again.

The only living members of her family are her bigger sister Errube and her cousin Dillyn; who work alongside her and the pact as co-commanders. (In the GW2 alteration of her and her story)

One of her most treasured possessions is a human skull she found as a child when she accidentally fell into a hole and ended up in a cursed ascalonian crypt. She claims is speaks to her and guided her out and back to her uncle and sister but nobody ever heard the skull so much as whistle in the wind.

And that … is that. That’s my beloved gremlin girl. She also exists in the BG3/DnD universe as a pale tiefling going by the name Ritari and I may create her siblings there as well. Perhaps. If I have the time and energy to do so. But for now, that is all I can think of at the moment.

Thank you for passing by and reading! And if you have any questions, don’t be shy and let me know, I do so love to talk about her~

And, as a little treat, have some visuals of her:

Firstly as her GW2-self

and secondly a wonderful little artpiece of her tiefling incarnation done by the wonderful @unaarista