#byrdstrolls

[sasster]

🗣 ALIZEA+ cylion

Remember a couple of days ago when you were like reblog the meme, I’m gonna send them. And I was like lol no >:)

I GUESS you win.

[doc if you need it]

Send me a (🗣️) + two muses on my blog, and I’ll make them have a conversation whether they know each other or not!

--

Ailzea does not always remember his dreams, in fact if anyone were to ask him in the waking world he would likely insist that he doesn’t have any at all. But this dream is different, as though the dream itself or an entity within is aware that it is a dream, and so the lucidity leaked out to him in turn.

Nothing particularly interesting is happening in the dream, he sits in front of the brightly colored mural that lines a portion of his property staring at his hands. It is strange that his hands are empty, surely his subconscious would build something to put into them.

He does not like that his hands are empty, but he does not move to change that. A part of him is not sure that he could move even if he wanted to.

The world is foggy around him, the fog partially obscures the non-descript mural that he has seen one hundred times, and time and space fold around each other and run together like a thick oobleck. If thought goes into dreams, the architect of this one did not put in that much effort.

Suddenly the priest is not alone anymore, joined by a winged troll that seems to materialize out of the fog. A yellow blood, also dressed in priestly garb, one of his eyes glows a brilliant blue.

The pair stare at each other in silence for an eternity.

When it becomes clear that the yellow blood is not going to break that silence, Ailzea elects to speak.

“Do I have business with you?”

“You do not.”

“Is this a social visit, then?”

The stranger says nothing as he moves closer to the seated priest, he seems largely uninterested in the interaction that he himself initiated, letting his gaze linger on his own nails.

Ailzea finds himself drawn to the left eye, shining so vividly among a background that feels like a poorly constructed memory. He thinks that he must be the aforementioned lazy architect.

“I will take that as a yes,” he says as he shifts over to make room for the stranger to sit. “What is your name then, my child?”

He sits and the tip of one of his wings brushes against Ailzea’s hand. The tickle causes his fingers to twitch.

“My name is Cylion,” he finally answers as he crosses his legs. “Cylion Lefera.”

Both men speak in soft tones, but his words crash into Ailzea like a truck. Though his face would never betray him, anxiety takes root in his stomach.

Lefera is a name that he has not heard in quite some time. A part of him hoped he might never hear it again.

“Lefera.” He echoes.

“I want to know what you did to my father.”

Ailzea’s fingers twitch again.

“Your father.”

“I am certain that you are familiar with him.” There is frustration building in his tone as he comes face to face with the fact that he may just not have the right amount of patience for this interaction.

Ailzea nods slowly.

“So, what did you do to him?”

“Nothing worse than what he has done.”

“This is a non-answer.”

“I have killed and returned your father twice.”

Cylion’s wings twitch, he is already agitated. Ailzea thinks he looks even more like his ancestor when he wears his anger.

He says nothing.

“You’ve killed hundreds of trolls!” He raises his voice, but not by much, while exasperation flexes both sets of his wings. “That didn’t turn them into monsters that lose the functions of their body parts, that lose themselves in fits of rage!”

The fog that surrounds them begins to tinge an insidious purple color, the young priest seemingly manifesting the very same rage.

“My child, this is the first I am hearing of his deterioration. Though I am sorry that this is the case, I have nothing to do with it. I did nothing to your father,” Ailzea starts to explain as the world around them becomes consumed by the fog. He can barely see the troll a few feet in front of him. “But he was always a slave to his aggression.”

“This is not helpful.”

“I know.”

Cylion pinches the bridge of his nose and growls in frustration.

“I am sorry I could not be more helpful.”

Abruptly, Cylion stands and scoffs, much of him is now obscured by the fog.

“Perhaps we can talk about this in the waking world.”

“Not a chance.” He spits back with venom.

Ailzea nods his understanding.

“I will not be remembering this dream, will I?”

“Of course not.”

They make direct eye contact and Cylion is fully engulfed, only the blue light from his eye lingers behind.

Ailzea wakes with a start, but settles back into the bed, the weight of his children wrapped around him rooting him to it. A thick fog clings to his brain as he tries and fails to remember something important.

[12thperigeeball]

And last but not least, the winners of our Ball Writing Contest!

"Well The Weather Outside is Frightful"

"Is This the Part Where we Switch Partners?"

@rebatrolls | @byrdstrolls

[fantrollology]

quick weirdo before bed @byrdstrolls i like heem

[memurfevur-archive]

just some rays being rays

Rayqua is on the left. Absess is on the right and belongs to @byrdstrolls :)

[ase-trollplays]

"Which do you think is the SUPERIOR aquatic inverabrate- the sea urchin or the sea star?"

Urchins're those li'l spiky shits, right? I ain't seen one in person, but I seen 'em in pictures.

One a them prolly packs more a a punch than a sea star. Ya accidentally step on a sea star, an' all ya do is flatten it out. Ya step on a urchin an' yer whole fuckin' foot's screamin' an' yer prolly poisoned'r somethin'.

[knavestrolls]

The serotonin is stored in the Hikaru. Hikaru belongs to @byrdstrolls

[zillyeh]

who's Mr Aarika...? Is that your boss?

"He is indeed... I'm a half time hive keeper, half time personal shopper for his matesprit... Ugh is that a 'p' somewhere in there? That metal finger of his is hardly made for writing..."

>The snail writing this would like to note that Miles does not write with that hand.

"I think it says olives and... something else. I'll figure it out."

[nihils-trolls]

zephyr whats the coolest shit you can do with a rifle and or knife

"Hm. coolest?"

"I mean. there's not much 'cool shit.' you can do with a rifle. at least. nothing i want to tell you about."

"For knives though. i can do that five-finger fillet thing pretty fast. on myself. Haven't exactly had. volunteers to do that sort of thing with."

[trollcafe]

It'll All Decay.

Google Docs Link || Song Link

It took you two days to say goodbye to everyone for good after the trial. You were very specific about it. The last time you left for the Fleet without a goodbye, your matesprit died. So, you made sure you hunted down each person. 

Marsie was the easiest, for obvious reasons. Carbyn wasn’t too hard to hunt down, you got him when he was visiting Nesseo. Two birds, one stone. Daseos and Hanagi were the same. You gave Das a letter, and asked she give it to her reading teacher. 

Your siblings made their displeasure very clear. None of them liked your decision. Even Bertie seemed hesitant to speak to you. As you hugged Faxaen, you promised them it’d just be a couple weeks. You needed your things. And had to steal a cat. That got a smile out of them. Calysa was quiet, but there was more under her lime eyes that you didn’t dare dive into.

Mondes was the most difficult to track down. It seemed like he was avoiding you. His gaze was cold again. You felt like you were betraying some unspoken promise. All you could do was tell him the last time you forgot to say goodbye, someone died, and you’d had enough death for one sweep. You hesitated, resisting the urge to hug him. You stared at each other, silently, in some odd unspoken duel. You left first. 

Your moirail dropped you off at the shuttle. It wasn’t a lengthy or glamorous goodbye. He didn’t ask you to stay, or questioned why you wanted to go back. Tori was a good moirail like that. Or maybe you were a bad moirail for wanting him to not express his concerns. 

Time began to move in fast forward after you hugged him goodbye. 

You blinked, and suddenly, you were back in space. You didn’t even remember the shuttle back to Commander Almiss’ ship. You were just there. Breathing in the stale recycled air through the filter on your mask. Each step took an eternity. Everything felt hazy and unreal. You had to be asleep. Still on Alternia, sleeping on the floor of that AirBnb while Mondes made soup in the kitchen. You could almost smell the soup on the stove.

You were on the floor. But not the AirBnb. The floor of Paenit’s office, cradling Mavrik’s head in your arms. No soup, just blood. Violet blood stained the clothes you stole from your brother. That was all you could think of in that moment. How difficult those stains would be to get out. Bertie would never forgive you. Bertie would never forgive you, and another person you loved would die before you could help them. Selfish thoughts to have in the moment. 

Mavrik would have surgery to fix his jaw. You would confront Paenit about why he did it. But you didn’t have it in you to hate him for breaking Mavrik’s jaw. You just hold him as he cries,  go to sleep instead. 

And thus the cycle begins. You wake up. You counted the bandages in your cabinets, took stock of the medical supplies, reorganized the locked medicine box. You forced down food. You checked on Mav. You stared out a window in his recovery room. You went to sleep. 

Two days becomes two weeks. Two weeks of waking up, working in the med wing, checking on Mav, staring out a window, going to bed. 

Two weeks becomes a month. You stop eating. Mavrik is cleared to leave. He and his crew leave suddenly, and you forgot to say goodbye. 

One month turns into two. With Mav gone, you spend more time staring out the window in your block. You wake up, attempt and ultimately fail to organize your medical supplies. You stare out a window in some random spot of the ship until Paenit finds you, and tries to get you to eat. 

Three months. You tell your commander that he should find another medic. He just agreed, and you looked back out the window of his office. That’s the last time you speak to him. The medical wing you worked so hard on is now in disarray. You’re barely ever there. You spend a lot of time sleeping in Paenit’s office. And staring out the window. 

Five months. You’ve stopped talking entirely. Words took too much energy. You only eat when you’re told to. You haven’t left your block in weeks. All you do is stare out the window. Watching the stars go by. 

You think about her constantly. You watch the extraterrestrial clouds swirl around stars and space debris, and you think about her. How scared she must’ve been. How much pain she must’ve been in. You should’ve been out there. You could’ve stolen another ship, you should’ve called Mav to find her. If only you had gotten to her. Hanagi was a doctor, but maybe you could’ve done more. You would’ve given anything for one more minute with her. One more minute, and maybe you could’ve changed the way this played out. 

Was death kind to her? Did she find peace in the stars? Did she finally meet Daisee, if the afterlife was real? Could she hear your thoughts? Did she know she was loved? If by no one else, by you? Where does the soul rest if lost in the expanse of space? Was it wrong to miss someone who caused so much hurt? Did you tell her you loved her enough? You didn’t mourn the death of that uncaring, cruel version of her. You mourned for the little kid who held your hand as she took her first steps, who learned how to braid with your hair, who taught you how to climb high into the trees.  All anyone on Alternia could talk about was how horrible she was. The entire courtroom was filed with contempt for her. You sat in front of Alternia, and it took every ounce of self control not to scream into the cameras that she was still your sister. Everyone wanted her to be the villain. But even villains deserve to be mourned sometimes. 

Your lusus told you once that grief was just love with nowhere to go. Grief made people do horrible things. Didn’t you do horrible things when Festur died? You didn’t have a killer to hunt down, so you made yourself out to be the murderer. You tried to kill the person you used to be, made yourself a new face. There was more blood on your hands than Twitch could ever have fathomed being a possibility. Her academy’s simulations could never conjure up the things you’ve done in the name of grief and self destruction. Like now, for instance. 

You didn’t want your stuff. You didn’t want a medal, you didn’t want the cat you told Faxaen you’d steal. You didn’t come back for Mavrik, or Paenit, or your med wing. There was no way you could explain it, nobody would understand. You went back to space, because that’s where she died. And that was the only way you could be close to her again. Because you swear the stars were stained violet. 

You don’t know what day it is. You just miss her. And Daisee, and Festur, and Mezaka, and Necrol. And Marsie, and Mondes, and Toresce, and Hanagi, and even Paenit. You’re so sick of death that it consumes you to the point of mourning those still alive. 

You don’t know what time it is. But based on how sick you felt, Paenit was due to bring you another tray of tater tots. You barely touched the plate of hashbrowns he left. You hug your knees tighter to your chest, and rest your mask against the cool glass of the window. You were tired of this grief. You were tired of being tired. 

When Paenit brings a tray of food to your block this time, you don’t just stare at him silently. You hold out your arms. Take off your mask. And finally let someone hold you while you cry. 

[sasster]

HIII MARRIE how are things? how's the garden

"Things are.. Calming down. For now, at least.

Not much of a garden with snow on the ground, I'm afraid!"

[12thperigeeball]

And last but not least, the winners of our Ball Writing Contest!

@themisfitsedge @byrdstrolls

[fantrollology]

Memory for fledge?

Fledge laid on her stomach in the middle of the field outside her hive. Her lusus curled in the grass beside her, and Fledge’s little fingers scratched between the beasts twitching ears. In front of her, a composition notebook's spine was cracked open to the latest page in her story. Her feet jostled behind her. She chewed on a pen cap. She had to name the ship.

Captain Ovisca's research mission was once again interrupted; this time, by a band of space pirates. They were here to steal the captain's supplies, because they couldn't find a planet with any, and they decided to steal from the captain's ship because research vehicles seemed easier to steal from. Of course, they didn't know who they were messing with. They are rude and demanding. They are brute and uncaring. They want to take everything Captain Ovisca has, even her research, just to spite her. What ship could house such a merciless bunch?

She bit into the pencap.

The Sunbeam! A perfect name for a villain's vessel, hot and fast and dangerous and quick to kill. And then, the crew would be Jades, since they could withstand sunlight. Fledge thought herself quite clever as she filled the next page and a half with the ink describing the pirates, and, of course, the ship. She pulled from books and wikipedia pages to describe its mechanics in detail.

The vessel shot out connectors to catch the outer hull of Ovisca's explorer without breaching its airlock. It then yanked the little ship towards its opening maw, which latched over the ships main door like a leech on skin. They used overrides to unlock the ships doors from the inside and pried it open, against the grip of the emergency failsafe. Ovisca stood around the corner, quietly, ready, as several of the jades jumped through the door and landed - Thunk - against the floor of the lock.

Ovisca waited around the corner for them to proceed.

She would restrain one quickly, a knife to their throat.

“Who are you? What do you want with this ship?” she would demand. She hoped the pirate captain would not notice how her hands shook.

The haughty pirate captain would laugh and throw her head back. “I am--”

Ugh.

“I am--”

Agh! Names were always so hard. Troll names were even harder than ships. She cocked her head to the side and propped it on her free hand. The other moved quickly back to feeding her the pencap. The soft red light of a transmission station tower beat in the distance over the hill. She closed her eyes and let the hum of it blend into the tracing of grass across her arms, the wind through her hair. She lost her train of thought.

That’s alright. She opened her eyes and bracketed the name. [Name]. That’s what the writing guides she found online suggested; if you couldn’t think of a word, a name, a number, or even a sentence, bracket it and come back to it later when you have the mind for it, so as not to interrupt your flow. She would find something eventually.

Captain Ovisca would pilot her explorer and toss the tethered vessel towards a black hole; they would be forced to evacuate. One of the crew would realize their flaws, and be inspired by how smart and determined Captain Ovisca was. That jade would come back later; Captain Ovisca would find her ditched by her crew on the comet that she would land on to repair her hull in the next chapter. They would bond over the repairs, and the jadeblood would have some knowledge to help Ovisca move forward with her research, moving her one step closer to discovering the secret at the center of this galaxy.

Of course, the captain didn't know this. For now she would continue to be alone, and continue her research. She would not return to the mother starship, not without answers. She would persist despite the damages to her ship, despite her new understanding of dangers beyond the natural, beyond what her books taught her. Because, even if she was alone, and space is dangerous, it was also inspiring and mystifying and wondrous and beautiful and [beautiful] and [beautiful].

[homicidalfantrolls]

Past Tense

[Docs link]

As you watch the shuttle doors close, and Dia wave at you from behind them, dread still dug into your chest. 

You didn’t like the thought of Dia lying to you, even if you both knew at this point he had. He wasn’t going to see his friend rollerskate or his moirail fight. He was doing something far more dangerous, far more risky, and far more stupid. 

Your thumb runs over the worn face of a small, circular toy in your pocket. You don’t move from your spot as the shuttle detaches and jettisons towards the direction of Alternia, carrying your medic with it. 

You don’t move even when he’s out of sight, even when the bell rings for dinner. You just open your palm to stare at the faded toy compass in your hand. 

You regret not giving it to Dia. Even if it didn’t work, part of you hoped it could still help him find his way home. 

—

Ever since you had made the decision to transfer one Jodiah Monark onto your ship, life had been…different. Not bad, just…different. In all your sweeps in the fleet, a coffee machine had never exploded on your ship. A member of your crew had not curb stomped your sunglasses in front of recruits, nor had gone out of his way to fix things you had no idea were broken. A medic had never asked you if you wanted pain medication before suturing a stab wound, never decided he was going to stay overday in your block out of concern you wouldn’t let the wound heal.

He’d certainly never climbed into bed with you. Never admitted to being in love with you.

And you’d certainly never admitted to loving him back.

Unfortunately for every fiber of faux moral high ground you possessed, every conviction or concern for your crew or position. You were up shit creek without a paddle. No. No, you were in shit ocean clinging to a piece of driftwood and every second that you spent with him your grip got looser. 

Maybe what you thought was an ocean of shit was just a lake of chocolate. 

Your nose crinkles at the thought. It was no secret why you decided to join the military instead of becoming a poet. Your skill with words was akin to Ship Cat’s knowledge of calculus. Enough to get by, but not enough to go anywhere with.

…Maybe Dia was right about you overworking. The stab wound in your hand hadn’t even completely healed yet, and here you were, typing away and imagining the chief mouser on your ship being a professor at a prestigious university. 

She would make a shit teacher.

Hand rising to pinch the bridge of your nose, you sigh. A brief glance at the clock tells you its just about time to head out. Dia had only given you reluctant permission to return to work if you swore you wouldn’t do any overtime, lest he take away your work privileges entirely. The only one on this ship with any sort of command over you. You knew him well enough at this point to be confident it wasn't an empty threat.

You had just hovered your mouse over “clock out” when your monitor flashed with an alert. A warning about a stolen fleet vessel being reported in your sector and to not engage in any way shape or form. A fleet vessel piloted by a Doctor Hanagi Cheong and…Twitch Monark.

Your eyes widen behind your aviators, shocked that Twitch of all people stole a fleet ship. Twitch had always loved rules to the point of what your younger self considered obsession. Even so, how could someone as high in the ranks as her steal a ship? Surely she didn’t even really need to ask, even if she was more administrative to your recollection. Beyond that…why would she? Why would Twitch Monark steal a fleet ship with a fucking doctor.

It had to be a mistake. You actually chuckle at the thought of this being anything but a hoax. No, Twitch wouldn’t steal from the fleet. You’d sooner believe someone had hacked into the fleet communications arrat as a prank.

You lift up your cell, about to dial Dia. He would get a kick out of this. His younger sister, who you had always joked about having a stick so far up her ass you could see it in when she talked. You couldn’t wait to hear him laugh again.

Ring. 

While you had expected to hear the noise in your ear, it instead came from behind you. The red landline phone behind your desk. Your personal line. You found yourself frequently forgetting such a line existed; the main fleet branches so frequently forgot you existed, after all. The line’s only purpose was really to reach out to you for orders to divert course for something important, or, in exceedingly rare cases, prepare for a space dog fight. Considering that your ship was filled to the brim with trigger happy recruits and was intentionally kept far away from any hostile territories, you had never once received that call.

A soft frown creases your lips.

You answer. 

“Hello! Is this Officer Almiss?”

Your ears twitch curiously at the unfamiliar voice. The rank it addressed you with was wrong as well. Your frown deepens. “Yes? May I ask who’s calling?”

"Oh, great! I was hoping I got the right number,” the voice answers in a sort of forced glee, "This is Palola, you might remember me as Dia's twin. I hope now is not a bad time—I had some pressing matters to bring up.”

Palola? It was mostly via spending so much time with Dia lately that you’d been remembering more about the Monarks, though you’re not sure you ever spent so much time with Palola. He was softer than Dia, who even then was about as firm as cooked pasta. Most of his time had been spent with plants. You had only just opened your mouth to ask how he is when he continues onto business. You had remembered him at least being more sociable, so it was a bit of a surprise. 

"I assure you, you aren't in trouble, I am actually calling about Jodiah. I am...quite relieved you were the one he was transferred to, if I'm honest. I don't believe I could safely make this request with anyone else...This is going to sound odd, but I need you to not let Jodiah leave. Your ship, I mean. Don't accept any transfers or time off requests." He pauses. "...Please."

Your ears flatten against your head as he speaks, gears turning in your pan as you process it. “…Why?” you finally ask after a few moments, a part of you hating yourself for even humoring it. Dia had already made it abundantly clear how he felt about people making decisions for him.

Palola sighs into the receiver. 

"I was sorta hoping you wouldn't ask, if I am honest. But I hate lying more than I hate gossip. I'm sure you know Dia by now, he likes to keep his heart close...and I'm sure you got the notification about Twitch. Dia...doesn't know. About Twitch, I mean. And I'm worried what he'll do when he finds out."

Oh. You sigh as well, crossing your legs as you lean back in your chair. Your mouth feels dry.

“I’m sorry, but I’m sure you can understand why I couldn’t just..forbid him without knowing the reason,” you explain softly, hesitantly. “Why would you be worried…? I saw on the report that she stole the ship but I thought it must have been a mistake. It was that Dr. Cheong, wasn’t it? Twitch would never.”

There’s a long pause, followed by a sigh.

“There’s been...issues…with Twitch lately, to say the least. My concerns don’t stem from Twitch’s behavior as much as they do Dia’s.”

He pauses again, but only for a second, “If I tell you the whole truth, Officer Almiss…and JD finds out…you know he’ll go nuclear on both of us. If that’s a risk you’re willing to take, I can go more in depth. Though I implore you to just…trust me.”

Frown deepening, you place the phone down to lock the doors to your office and shut the blinds. A very rare but very understood sign you couldn’t be disturbed.

“Palola, while I know you care and I know you’re Dia’s brother, I…unfortunately cannot take your word for it in this situation. Dia already recently became very…irate when I second guessed his decision about what he does or doesn’t need to do. To be honest, even if he hadn’t, I’ve made a rule of it myself,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I care about Dia, like my whole crew. I can’t make an unfounded order but I also…don’t want to go behind his back, Palola,” you explain carefully, this whole situation already having your head spin.

Another soft sigh can be heard, one of unmistakable resignation.

“…Alright, I can respect that. I’m glad he has a boss that doesn’t mind just how prickly he can be,” he explains in a way that tells you he didn’t entirely agree.

“I’m worried, once JD finds out Twitch is in trouble, he’s going to try and leave so he can find her. Which wouldn’t be a huge issue, but….I’m sure you know how intense Jodiah can be. JD doesn’t know that she’s gone yet because you beat Annihilation to him. He was on his way but got sidetracked…and you came in just in time…and the last time Dad broke news like this over the phone…it broke him. It was like The JD I grew up with died when Festur did. He just…hasn’t been the same. He doesn’t talk to me anymore. Or anyone, for that matter. He’s reckless and fleeting, he’s…dangerous to himself.” Palola sounded like a man who just got done running a marathon, exhaustion leaking from every word. 

“…I-I’m sorry, Pa- Officer Almiss, I don’t mean to ramble…or put you in a bad situation. I...I don’t want Jodiah to follow her when he finds out. I don’t know what caused him to have a breakdown and steal that ship. I don’t know why you agreed to take him. But he loves Twitch…and she’s gone. I don’t…I can’t lose them both.”

The longer Palola speaks, the further into the ground your pusher sinks. A confirmation you had never hoped to hear.. Festur was dead. You had hoped maybe they’d broken up, fallen out of love…anything but…

You use the remote to dim the lights in your office to remove your sunglasses and set them on your desk. “Paenit is fine, Palola,” you tell him, voice soft as you take in everything. “I’m sorry about all of this. I can’t imagine what you two—all of the Monarks— are going through. But I just…” you sigh again.

“You want me to keep him here? For how long? He has a moirail on planet, I don’t…it’s not fair to restrict that. Shouldn’t his moirail be able to help anyways?”

Palola barely lets you finish. “Don’t.” He says quickly, with a newfound urgency, “Don’t trust him- he--…he has a moirail but don’t trust him. I-I know that sounds horrible but Jodiah- he’s—he’s a liar.”

He laughs softly, sadly, that unmistakable exhaustion still permeating every syllable. “That’s…that’s pretty sad, isn’t it? I’m sorry for dragging you into all of this…uh, I…I’m not sure how long. I can have our lusus try to catch you guys at a fuel dock..? I’ll…have to get back to you on that one…” he murmurs.

“There’s…only so much I can do from where I am. Don’t—don’t like…think you have to do anything different…if you think he might know, or he—he’s acting weird…can you let me know? You can call at any time.”

You frown, sighing as this whole situation just gets more and more convoluted. It’s as if a claw had just descended from the sky and plopped you into a maze. You didn’t know which way was out, what doors had cheese behind them and which ones would electrocute you. You didn’t know if Dia was always like this and you’d just been too angry or apathetic to see it when you were younger, but it was…difficult to hear.

“You don’t have to apologize. If…Annihilation wants to see Dia, talk to him…if you think that’ll help, I’m happy to do whatever I can to make it happen,” you assure him. You would try your damndest to be unavailable to meet him though. 

That was one door you were certain of what lay behind.

“I can try. He’s going to find out sooner or later. He’s already been pilfering my block, I imagine my files are next,” you laugh, though it’s too tired to contain much humor. Your files were at least infinitely more secure than your pants drawer. The fleet had no stake in the latter.

An almost bitter laugh floats through the speaker of the phone.  "I'm not sure what will help at this point...but I don't want to see him just...launch himself towards certain death to try and save someone who's...already lost."

A soft laugh escapes him. "I…he's been stealing from you? Oh, dear...when I said he was a thief, I meant along the lines of his last...outburst, yeah? I hadn't realized he made a habit of it. I've only ever known him to repeatedly borrow from those he likes. Maybe it's a good sign?" He pauses to sigh again. "You've got yourself quite the handful, Of-, er, Paenit. I wish you luck."

Though you had expected him to hang up, he instead just pauses and continues, "...You can also call me if you need help. I...I know he can be a handful...and I don't mean to micromanage...or make you think he isn't independent, messiahs know he likes his independence...I worry about him. Thank you for being understanding."

“I appreciate it, Palola and I’ll…do my best to protect your brother. At this point, I think we’d be lost without him,” you admit with a soft sigh.

You hang up and rub your temples. You open your computer, clicking through to Jodiah’s file. You hesitate for what feels like an hour before you finally mark any time off requests from Dia as needing approval before going through. It felt…wrong. But you had to trust Palola. For now.

—

“What the fuck is this?”

“A compass.”

“I see that, dipshit. It doesn’t even work.”

“Of course it doesn’t work, it’s a toy.”

“Are you that fucking stupid you think I’d want a toy compass that doesn’t even work?”

Jodiah Monark snickered, brandishing a grin missing a tooth or two. He’d always been a late bloomer, still growing teeth back even at this age. He wordlessly held up an empty snack bag which was snatched from his hand with an irritated scowl. 

“Cracker Jacks? This popcorn tastes like shit. And it comes with a toy? What are you, two?” Paenit scoffed, flicking the bag back at the limeblood who scrambled to catch it before it got caught in the wind and blew away. His dad had always told him never to litter. 

“I don’t buy it for the toys or the popcorn, I get it because it reminds me of you.”

The mismatched eyes of the blueblood widened ever so slightly, ears perking with interest. If one didn’t know him, they could guess the emotion on his face was flustered. 

“…What? How the fuck does popcorn remind you of me?” he scoffed, forcing disdain into every word. 

Dia rolled his blinding lime eyes, a playful smile on his face despite the annoyed gesture. Once more, he held up the snack bag to Paenit’s face. 

“It’s not the popcorn, idiot. It’s the peanuts.”

Paenit hissed as his vision turned red, hands lunging like a viper. While Dia was fast, jumping back in case of a hit, Paenit still came out with the empty bag. 

“You fucking little shit I am going to beat the fuck—“

“Almiss!”

The two children stopped dead at the deep, commanding voice. Both their gazes shifted to the shuttle a few dozen yards away. A tall, muscular woman stood in the doorway, a crate of medical supplies held under her arm. 

Her bandanna kept her hair in place, but the wind from the shuttle blades starting up threatened to blow it off. 

“C’mon, Pae. Gotta get back to base,” Daisee Monark told her young charge, voice softer but still holding that same level of authority it always had. 

Paenit growled under his breath. “Yes, Captain,” he called back over the roar of the engine. 

“You too, JD. Nile’s waiting. Gonna be sun up soon and he said he’s making korma,” she informed her brother, smiling softly. 

Dia perked up, a grin that had flashed on his face being shucked away at the impact of a cellophane bag hitting it, courtesy of Paenit. 

“Next time I see you Monark, you’re gonna fucking wish I died in a plane crash,” the recruit hissed, pocketing the compass pendant and marching to his commanding officer, jumping into the open door without the assistance of Daisee’s offered hand. 

Daisee chuckled, flashing a wink and a grin at her brother. Dia smiled. 

“See ya in the stars, JD.”

And then she was gone. 

[ase-trollplays]

Hi sonja! what've you been up too lately?

Oh, You Know, Just The Usual~ Spend!ng Every Moment ! Can W!th My Beloved Starl!ght, Attend!ng Plays And Operas, Shopp!ng, Et Cetera~

>> You also stabbed and slit the throat of a troll Engela said flirted with her at her job, but that's neither here nor there.

[lashysdomain]

"ignoring the fact that i haven't taken a photo of myself to post online in sweeps, and that after getting the thigh high boots off from the first outfit i couldn't be assed to put anything other than long socks on..."

"I think these are both lovely. The main items (dress, crop top, scarf) are all from the Rose Ombre collection from Rollyn Firlyn. Everything is really well constructed and doesn't irritate my skin at all, even against still healing wounds. I can't recommend this designer enough.

[astral-ardors]

okay how about best tops

This one is much easier actually..

Best to Worst:

Odarem

Kilani

Snow

Reshaper

Elisse

Satrne

Julius

Laelin

Paswon

Marlox

Excirz

Drazms

Parlus