#some of these were me looking into the idea of taking a more visually apparent approach to the whole. Weapons In Wings thing

[p0rk-guts]

"Pork you literally posted Charlie a few days ago why are you so Hazbin obsessed rn-" ssshhhhshhsshhs.h........ anyway

VAGGIE REDESIGN! And I changed her name also bc I'm jus like everyone else fr. Meet Verbena :)

BREAKDOWN BELOW!👇🏾+ Exorcist uniform redesign :3

Starting with her name this time. Back when she was still a sinner apparently she was Salvadorian and since she's (apparently?) not a former human at all I decided to take a small creative liberty with her decent and made her Venezualan instead. SOUTH AMERICUH❗❗✊🏾 I'm pretty sure Verbena flowers are native to South America so that's where the name comes from.

Onto the design! I don't have much to say abt her design honestly. It's not egregious, but it doesn't really speak to me either. It looks like simple formal wear or uniform with some strange meaningless accessories attached. And those weird itty bitty shoes that look like they're part of her thigh highs... I'm starting to think all the characters's shoes were a last minute afterthought. All and all it tells us nothing about her character. The hair wings are cool tho so I did steal those

Also the whole deal with her eye is strange to me. Why Is the floating X there??? It's a real physical part of the world, other people can see it. Do pink X's always float over angel wounds? If her arm got chopped off would an X float over it? Was it like. A fucking curse visual placed by Lute as a constant reminder of her disloyalty? Why did Carmilla point out it was an obvious marker for her being an angel???? My brain can't fathom why it's canonically attached to her wound. If she was a sinner I'd kinda understand but. Yeah idk. Weird

Also her missing eye does not look like an empty socket it looks like a purple circle was sticker pasted on to her face. It's very flat. How did we go from this

to this

(IT'S EVEN OVERLAPPING ONTO HER NOSE IN THIS SCREENSHOT WHAT IS THAT THING.)

Anyway. I made her hair resemble Polyphemus moth wings because 1. They have eye looking spots and angels are all eyes and 2. Well. Polyphemus has 1 eye. So . 💀

Her overall coloring however is inspired by a Promethea moth. I could say it's because Prometheus defied the gods and Verbena did a similar thing but the real reason is I made a spelling error while initially looking for a Polyphemus moth reference 💀 but hey they both have eye spots! And Iike their coloring for her way better

I also redesigned the exorcist uniform for her redesign bc I wanted her outfit to have reminiscent elements from it.

I gave way less time to the uniform designs, but I still had some main details I wanted to adress. I don't like how they have no armor save for their helmets. Their arm and leg pieces are made of some flexible material that tears easily. It's not giving soldier it's giving soldier costume from party city. The devil like horns are also confusing to see on an angel and the paradoxical design is never addressed. They can be evil and look imposing, but the horns just seem kinda nonsensically on the nose to show how evil they are. At least to me.

In my designs I gave them actual metal armor on their bodies so you can easily tell they're soldiers and it makes sense for them to battle in armor anyway. I also gave them more light "angelic" colors with gold details bc I wanna use gold as a symbol of angelic nature in my rewrite. I wanted their masks to show completely static expressions with wide grins to show how unnerving they are and to allude to the idea that everyone is happy in heaven, and they're all happy to do what they do.

Verbena's belt and shoulder pads draw visual similarities to the pauldrons and mid section pieces in my new exorcist uniforms to draw a connection between her and her past. The Blazer draping behind her back is also supposed to mimic the visual of folded wings. I also tried to do this with all the gold details in her design. The big hoops and belt we're 80's inspired because I decided to follow how in one of her old designs she died in the 60's (even had the big hoops and everything). In my rewrite exorcists are all former humans but I'll get into that later. Also she's got an eye patch now! Just. A normal one.

Charlie is still taller than Verbena just like in the original and idk how tall Vaggie Is exactly but Verbena is like 5'5 while Charlie is 5'11. Verbena's also got more muscle on her bc unless their muscle mass is hidden magically or they don't gain muscle for stupid dumb idiot lore reasons all the exorcists look way too slim to be military grade soldiers but what do I know

I combined a lot of pointy shapes with boxy shapes bc— more similarly to her pilot self— she can be volatile and fierce but also grounded and impassive. I added the slits to her skirt so she can be a sexy formal lady who can still comfortably throw a few kicks, and the heels— well. Idk I feel like she could slay in heels! She definitely doesn't wear em all the time but yeah. Chunky heels. I like them they're cute. Also she's got her little name tag on bc she takes Charlie's job for her SERIOUSLY! she's uh. Idk what is she. A bellhop? General security/protection? Either way she's locked in.

I imagine she had white irises like Adam and Lute along with brighter more saturated and heavenly colors in her hair (color picked from the Polyphemus moth) that turned darker and more harsh after the fall (color picked from the Promethea moth). Really visualizing her emo phase /j

Also I think the little eyes in her hair can emote with her. In the final design the line kinda makes an eyelid and it'd match her eyelid's movements. Sillay

Alright that's a wrap on my Vaggie redesign! No bonus sketches this time bc they're within the texts! Who knows what I'll do next. Who I will deface. I sure don't. I think I might rename Charlie so there's that. Anywhozies hope you like her <3

[leonslutkennedeeznuts]

Afternoon Delight | Leon x Fem!Reader

Leon wanted to say something smooth, a pickup line to really seal in the deal but instead he said “I think I’m too old for you actually. I’m sorry about all this.”

You didn’t seem fazed, almost amused by him even. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable at all, Leon,” you admitted. You leaned down, your breasts almost exposed to him now in your teeny tiny bikini top.

“Actually,” you continued, taking in the sight of him, his blond locks, that gorgeous half smirk on his face, “I really like older men.” (AO3)

Leon was resting in the hammock, eyes closed behind his shades, drink in hand as he idly swayed. His first vacation in almost two years and Leon couldn’t believe his luck. The room not only had its own private pool but a hot tub as well with views of the ocean. If only he had someone to share it all with, he thought to himself almost bitterly. No, he refused to let his mind go there. He was 100% officially done with all the games and the chase. This was his first vacation as a single man. Leon was going to make the most of it.

When the idea of having amazing sex on vacation first crossed his mind, he shook it off. He was a relationship guy, he reasoned to himself, despite all the very attractive scantily clad women eyeing him at his every turn. It was only his first night. If the opportunity presented itself, Leon wouldn’t say no but the odds of a woman making the first move was slim to none, he reasoned.

That’s when you came along. He was walking past the swim up pool bar when it happened. Like a lion watching its prey, Leon couldn’t take his eyes off of your wet taunt body splashing around as you waited for whatever fruity drink the bartender offered to create just for you. Hey, he couldn’t blame you- endless drinks was the main reason he gave in when Hunnigan offered him this getaway.

Your bikini should’ve been illegal. It was downright sinful. Leon had vaguely heard of a g-string bikini but had never seen one in action. Nothing was covered back there it seemed. If someone had told him that your bikini bottoms were made with colored floss, he’d have believed it. You were gorgeous, full of laughter and soon to be full of the rainbow colored liquor you were sipping on.

Almost frozen in place, Leon felt like a coward. He’d done this song and dance before, for years actually, so he knew how to approach a woman (one very specific woman). The only problem was that he’d only been with one woman. Picking up a stranger at a bar, at a resort and fucking like rabbits- he wasn’t that type of guy but damn you made him want to be.

He was kind of hungry actually, but now Leon had a newfound hunger for something else- you. He felt like a pervert. You couldn’t be more than 23 years old. Young, beautiful, at the prime of your life with no idea he was going to be stroking himself later to this visual. Leon could be a gentleman and ask you to accompany him to dinner. Sure, the food was free too but it was the thought that counted.

The resort had an upscale steakhouse- he could wine and dine you the way he was raised to treat a woman but his cock was starting to get hard the more you jumped around in the pool, your breasts almost threatening to spill out in front of everyone. Leon had to get out of there before he came in his pants.

Yeah, it had been a while since he’d gotten some and apparently he was too much of a coward to just approach you. What if you thought he was a dirty old man?

Leon sipped his watered down whiskey on the rocks and started to walk away before he caught a glimpse of you getting out of the water. You locked eyes with him and the world stood still. From the look on your face you didn’t seem disgusted at his obvious gawking. He even saw you lick your lips and wink at him before grabbing a beach towel and lightly dabbing at your skin, making no real effort to dry off.

“Hey,” he heard your voice call out. Leon looked around to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “Yeah, you over there!” You sauntered over to him seated at his lounge chair. Your smile made it very clear that you were on to him.

His cheeks couldn’t get more red. “Look, I was just staring off into space. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She’s probably going to call security and complain about the gross old man lusting after her, he thought. “I’m Leon, by the way.”

You reached out to shake his hand as you introduced yourself to him. “I’m Y/N. What are you up to later, Leon? I’m here all week.”

All week. He had the chance to see you and possibly be with you and inside you all week.

Leon wanted to say something smooth, a pickup line to really seal in the deal but instead he said “I think I’m too old for you actually. I’m sorry about all this.”

You didn’t seem fazed, almost amused by him even. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable at all, Leon,” you admitted. You leaned down, your breasts almost exposed to him now in your teeny tiny bikini top.

“Actually,” you continued, taking in the sight of him, his blond locks, that gorgeous half smirk on his face, “I really like older men.”

—-----------

After your bold statement, Leon had awkwardly laughed before blurting out “I’d feel less awkward if you’d let me take you to dinner,” fully intending to be a gentleman and make a reservation at the steakhouse. You had agreed and made plans to meetup at his hotel suite. Leon was sitting on the edge of his bed wrapped in a towel not believing his luck. Day 1 of vacation and he was almost guaranteed to get laid.

He’d never been with a younger woman before, never really dated anyone in the true, honest sense.

“Just make it through dinner,” he whispered to himself. “What if she thinks I’m some sugar daddy type,” he thought to himself out loud. He totally would be for you.

The knocking on the door brought Leon out of his thoughts. You were here. You were going to go to dinner together, talk, potentially get along great and let nature take its course so he could feel like less of a cradle robber.

“Y/N, you’re here early,” he remarked, gesturing to the towel wrapped around his waist. “I haven’t gotten dressed yet, is something the matter?”

At first he’d been confused as to why you’d shown up in just the robe included in your room, convinced that you’d changed your mind and was here to tell him off. It was only after you removed your robe that he realized what was happening.

If he thought your bikini was sinful, this dress was the actual sin. It was a sexy red mesh that left nothing to the imagination. And he had imagined you naked and crying his name in the shower just a few minutes before.

“I was thinking we’d skip right to dessert.”

He had you naked and on your back within seconds.

—- “Oh, fuck Leon, fuck me,” you moaned as you put both hands on the back of his head, refusing to let him come up for air as he devoured your pussy.

Leon felt like a virgin all over again. He was amazed at how your body moved, the way you moaned and called out his name without abandon, grinding your pussy into his eager mouth, hands going from gripping the sheets to gripping his hair.

It was almost like his first time- his first one night stand or summer fling. He didn’t know what the future held but right now in this moment, you grinding into his mouth, he swore he could die happy.

You were bossy, demanding and bratty. Your mouth was filthy. He loved it. He couldn’t wait to see you unravel as you came on his tongue. Leon made that his mission, his eyes fixated on your face (what he could see of it from this angle), to make you cum hard screaming and thrashing in his bed.

“Uh huh, eat my fucking pussy, yes just like tha-” Your back arched and instead of licking at your clit, Leon started sucking it as your cum covered his mouth, his chin and jaw. “I’m cumming, Leon,” you brokenly screamed.

He felt you pulling at his hair then trying to push him away but he grabbed your thighs and kept them apart as they quivered near his ears. “Mhmm, that’s right, eat my cum, daddy.

Leon almost came right then and there. He’d never been called ‘Daddy’ before, never thought he’d be into it but he felt powerful hearing it roll off your tongue in your blissed out haze. He couldn’t wait to feel you hot, wet and pulsating around his cock calling him ‘Daddy’ as he made you squirt.

“Daddy, hmm,” he teasingly inquired, finally coming up for air. His cock was achingly hard. Thank God he’d jacked off earlier or he’d have cum the second you started stroking him.

The moment he had the back of your knees on his shoulders, sliding into you inch by inch, memorizing the look on your face as your eyes rolled back into your head- he’d never see anything else in his wet dreams for as long as he lived.

“Harder,” you ordered him, already feeling fucked out and close to cumming. “Fuck me harder, Daddy.”

Your neon pink painted nails dug into Leon’s ass, trying to force him even deeper. You couldn’t get enough of his thick cock stretching you so deliciously. You made a mental note to attempt deep throating him later.

Leon kept pounding into you like his life depended on it. He wanted, no, he needed to make you cum on his dick. To prove to himself mostly that as he was getting up in age that he still had it, that he could move on, still have amazing sex and be attractive to other women after all the bullshit he'd dealt with before.

Okay so maybe he was getting insecure about being in his late 30s, 36 to be exact, but the way you were milking his dick with your tight pussy more than eased his doubts.

“Yes, yes, Leon, make me cum please.”

Your voice brought him back to the reality that he had a very willing, horny and attractive young woman about to squirt in his bed, begging him to fuck her.

“Cum for me, baby, be a good girl for Daddy,” he grunted out before your squeals turned into heavy breathing and panting as your nails scratched up and down his back, his ass and shoulders. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re gorgeous.”

You had brought out the animal in him, satiated his sexual appetite like never before. Now he was back to kissing you all over, your soft lips, your neck and your amazing breasts that he definitely wanted to do a titty fuck with.

“God, I don’t think I can walk after that,” you quipped after he’d cleaned you both up after his cum had started to ooze out of your swollen pussy, a view Leon clearly enjoyed. “I feel like I’m about to pass out,” you said before yawning, snuggling into his embrace.

He was hot, older (a huge plus for you), had a nice cock and made you cum harder than you ever had as evidenced by the wet spot you left behind. You felt beyond lucky.

Leon gave you another kiss, this time slipping his tongue into your mouth letting you taste yourself.

“Mmm, me too,” he admitted. Leon found himself idly stroking your arms as you cuddled into him. It had been too long since he’d had a moment like this and he wanted to savor it. “We can take a shower together afterwards and still make it to dinner later, if you want to, Y/N.”

You gave him a quick peck and pulled the comforter up, the A/C kicking on at just the right time.

“I’d love that, Leon.”

This was going to be a very good vacation, the both of you thought before drifting off to sleep.

[inkblot22]

Truss

Woohoo Malleus woohoo! I'm making the trigger list a bit bigger because I keep thinking about how people will totally skip reading it if it's too small and then blame the writer for their own mistake. That shit is clown behavior but I don't want to be held responsible for someone else's case of stupid, so sorry to those of you who think this looks clunky. Line divider found here: @/cafekitsune. This is also a fic that is wildly self-indulgent, in that I mean that while writing I visualized my own physical form and quirks.

That being said, this fic is written with afab (assigned female at birth) readers in mind. No pronouns other than you are used for the reader, but the reader does possess a womb. Reader's chest is not described in the least, just the lower bits, and even then it's not at length. Malleus also refers to the reader as "beauty," but masculine people can be beautiful too so idk but here's a warning anyways.

This fic is DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. TW for noncon, fae interaction rules used for said noncon, slight bullying if you squint, one (1) mention of blood (I'm beginning to think I have a problem.) Stay safe while reading. Possible OOC Malleus, I haven't read any of book 7 and if you spoil it I'll block you temporarily.

This is absolutely not your fault, and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. It’s awful. Crewel was for sure his namesake, because this whole thing was a steaming pile of-

Alright, from the top, just to organize your thoughts: you are the only non-magic student in a school of mages. The teachers are mages. Your best friend/roommate/monster friend is a mage. The plants here can do magic, but you? No. Thanks homeworld. Love the gift of nothing.

Thus, the faculty have seemingly created a game of “how to piss off and challenge the magicless student,” in which they give you various tasks to just make you lose sleep. Vargas had you running laps until your legs felt like jelly, doing pushups until your shoulders started sounding like glowsticks. Trein had you learning completely off the wall trivia, such as what type of fabric the Queen of Heart’s favorite bathrobe was made of and why it made her more powerful. That’s nothing, it’s easy because you apparently have so much free time in their eyes. But Crewel? Fuck that man. 

When you got the assignment, it sounded fun and exciting. He gave you seeds for a fast-growing rose thing. Honestly you weren’t paying attention to the name of it, but you retained what you needed to know. The plant only grew in moonlight, so you needed to cover it before you went inside at night. It needed a minimum of two hours of moonlight to grow per night. If the basket was overturned and it was exposed to the sun, then the plants would die. Moderate watering, no fertilizer, the usual.

Once the plants bloomed, you were supposed to take the flowers and make some kind of glamour potion, so here you are, failing at doing so. You only had four flowers, and you’re down to the last one. You wasted three tries and you still have no idea what the hell you’re doing wrong and it’s due next alchemy class and you’re breaking curfew on top of all of it. You glare into your cauldron with your latest failed attempt and hunker down to shoulder against the side so you can dump it out and try again. 

“Oh, it’s you.”

The voice makes you jump out of your skin. You turn around and you almost want to cry tears of joy, because if anyone can help you, it’s him.

“When I saw a little head duck down, I thought that something strange was happening. A crime, perhaps.” Malleus smiles, and it’s not a kind smile, but you’ll take anything remotely positive at this point, “What are you doing on the floor, child of man?”

“Oh, I have to empty the cauldron.” You puff out, still trying to throw your weight to push the cauldron. You did it twice earlier, so this must be the effects of mental and physical fatigue.

“Oh, that’s right. Allow me.” Rather than waving a hand or anything, Malleus strolls on over and uncrosses his arms, taking one hand and pressing his fingertips against the lip of the cauldron. The whole damn thing tips, the failed mixture pouring out into the nearby drain. With the same ease, he tilts it back and turns to you.

When he looks at you, it’s… weird. You know he’s lizard-like, as dragons evidently are, but even Sebek’s eyes aren’t this jarring. They aren’t soulless or cold or unfeeling, but it feels like he is looking through you. His emotions don’t reflect in his eyes properly. That’s what it feels like. They reflect, but it’s wrong. Fractured. His lips quirk into a smile and you blink.

“Uh… wait, what are you doing out here, Tsunotaro?” You ask, turning to gather more materials, following the transcript of your recording from class.

His smile grows, “Just on a walk. Will you tell me what you’re trying to make?”

“Uh, yeah. This glamour potion? I don’t know. Remember how I was growing those flowers?”

“Of course. And what happened to the rest?”

“I… uh… I messed up the other potions. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong here.”

“No?”

“No. Do… do you think you could maybe… help me?”

“Of course.” Malleus plucks the flower up, twirling it thoughtfully, “Why don’t you gather the other ingredients?”

That was simple enough. Petals from your tediously grown blooms, some kind of floral oil with tiny white flowers inked on the label, a ball of clay no bigger than a pea, something that really resembled a severed finger, something that was hopefully just someone’s baby tooth, a handful of crystals in a rainbow of colors, and water. Lots of water. Malleus watches as you put all your ingredients on the nearby table and hums thoughtfully before dimming the lights and turning back to you.

“And where did you hear that you needed these things?” He asks. It’s not something that he says with any indication that you’re right or wrong. The tone is bland but the words say enough. 

He has essentially told you before that he believes you inept, a babe in the woods when it comes to this sort of thing, but it doesn’t stop you from looking as hurt as you feel, “The headmage visited class and gave me some pointers?”

“You personally or the entire class? I don’t personally recall concocting anything like this when I was in your grade.” He says.

You suppose you’re grateful that he’s so blunt, but his flat tone makes the sting of your failure that much sharper. You thought he’d be nicer, since you two are sort of friends, and Lilia has told you that Malleus is fond of you, but it also makes just as much sense for him to refrain from easing up in his flatness because he supposedly thinks so much of you. He thinks you’re an idiot, but he’s not willing to treat you as such.

“The whole class. And no one else in my grade is doing this.” You mutter, staring at your assortment of items on the table.

He approaches the table and plucks up the beaker of water, twisting it in his hand, “Did you distill this?”

“What?”

“Tap water often has various minerals in it. If you haven’t been using distilled water, you’ve been adding an extra ingredient. Typically, most potions are much more forgiving and you can use tap water with little issue, but this particular potion is known to be disagreeable.” He murmurs, crossing the room with your beaker of water and setting it up to distill with a practiced ease. “That’s why it’s typically saved for fourth year students’ aptitude testing.”

The revelation hit you like a ton of bricks. You’d like to protest but it unfortunately makes sense. Malleus looks over at you, somewhat blandly, then turns around to face you, looking half concerned.

You answer his question before he can ask, “I didn’t… know that. I guess it’s my fault for being from a different world…”

His lips twitch into a smile, and for a moment you can see amusement in his eyes, fractured with the underlying coldness, “Oh, it isn’t. It may be your fault for failing to ask questions, but having someone who is unused to this type of work take on an advanced project is cruel.”

“You think so?” You ask, voice lilting with hope.

“Of course I do. Why you’re expected to make a potion of this caliber is beyond me.” Malleus states blankly.

“Uh, yeah. I- I don’t know either. But thank you for helping me!”

His expression flinches. It lasts for less than a second before it smooths into an odd grin. You’re not quite sure what that means, but you’re too happy to stop and think about it. The water finishes distilling and you carefully begin crafting, using the tips Malleus occasionally mumbles towards you. Don’t put that ingredient in yet, stir clockwise, you need to grind that up with the oil, don’t rush you have time, et cetera, et cetera, and then you have a gorgeous violet mixture, glimmering with a pearlescent golden sheen.

Your jaw drops. Somehow the few ingredients you threw together is enough to fill several bottles. Malleus is making a smug face as you rush to the shelves of empty bottles and choose several fluted bottles, quickly using a ladle to deposit the final, successful potion into the bottles. You’re so giddy with your success that you hardly notice as Malleus walks towards the door and locks it. But only hardly.

“What was that for?” You ask, not actually caring. You’re too happy to be worried.

“Oh, we’ll need privacy.” He responds.

That part confuses you enough into caring. You turn around from where you’ve safely wrapped the bottles and slipped them into your bag and shoot Malleus a frown, “Privacy? For what?”

Malleus doesn’t say anything. He walks over to the table and you feel your body stand up, void of your control, and stagger over to stand in front of him. If you were concerned before, you’re frightened now. Malleus looks down at you with his strange gaze and folds his arms.

“Wh-what’s happening?! Why can’t I move?”

“You really don’t know?” He asks. Something about his tone sounds mocking, but you’re certain he doesn’t mean it to be. It’s his version of sarcasm, he’s spoken to you like this before.

Your body hops up on the table, taking a seat, and Malleus turns to stand before you, looking down at you with a soft smile. You shift your hips- what the fuck is going on- and Malleus very gently hooks his hands in the pants of your dorm uniform.

Your dorm uniform is legit whatever the hell you want it to be, so it would change on the daily. Today it was a pair of jeans and a hooded jacket. He kneels to remove your shoes and stands back up, leaning close as he tilts your chin up. His breath fans over your lips.

“You didn’t tell me that you were so lovely beneath your clothes.” His hand on your chin shifted to your cheek, and his other hand laid flat on the table. “And… your smell is much stronger. Are you aroused?”

“You can’t just ask me that! I don’t know what you did but you’ve got to let me go.”

“I didn’t do anything. This is your doing.” He retorts, pecking your lips very chastely. 

“What are you talking about?” When he didn’t respond, instead pressing the tips of his hand that was on the table against your exposed sex, your heart jumps but your body doesn’t move. You can’t, “Don’t do that!”

“Lilia informed me that making someone climax is similar to binding someone to you.” He mumbles, kissing you again as his fingers slowly slip inside. “It makes them fall in love with you. Isn’t that the most binding contract of all?”

You don’t know why he isn’t listening, but even less than that, you don’t know why he thought you could handle two fingers, much larger than your own, penetrating you. You squeal, but your body is incapable of tensing. Malleus pulls back, looking at you in a soft confusion.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“With me? What’s wrong with you? That’s too many- it’s uncomfortable!”

He blinks at you and withdraws a finger, which feels much better. You sigh. If you’re going to be forced to do this, you may as well not get hurt in the process. You close your eyes and Malleus hums.

“Is this better? You’ll have to forgive me. I haven’t had a dalliance with a human before.”

“I- I don’t think I’ll be able to… to forgive you for this.”

“No?” You can hear his smirk and the squelching noise as he pumps his finger gets louder. He slips the second finger in again and the burn isn’t so bad as last time, “Well, maybe you can decide that for certain after the wedding.”

“The wedd-” You have to bite your tongue to keep from moaning. Your body leans back, laying on the table, and your gentle assailant curls his fingers, leaning forward to mouth at your neck, “There’s not gonna be a motherfucking wedding. You’re-”

You can hear his horn scraping against the table, “Hmm. I didn’t think you were so entitled. You’re squeezing around my fingers. Are you close?”

“No!” You’re a liar. A ragged gasp leaves your throat and you feel the drop in the pit of your stomach, the burst of euphoria traveling up your spine as his thumb presses against your clit.

Malleus laughs, then leans up off of you. The sound of clothing hitting the ground is the first and only warning you get, but you can’t move, so it might as well have been silent. You feel something on your stomach, coming up about a half inch below your belly button. It’s… almost cool to the touch. You would think it would be warmer, but it’s not. Your eyes round as you stare at the ceiling, and Malleus’s face leans into view, his eyes boring into yours as though he’s reading your thoughts.

“You’re very warm. I’ve always thought this. You must be boiling inside.”

“I- what?”

He doesn’t respond, leaning back up. You feel the velvety head of his cock press against your entrance and as much as you want to jolt away, you can’t move your body. You can’t even look down to see what he’s doing. Your lashes flutter as the stretch sets in, the pressure worse than his two fingers. It burns, especially along the bottom, where his weight lays heavy thanks to gravity. You’re capable of wincing and letting out a whine, but nothing else.

“H-hey, that- that hurts.” You babble.

“Does it? You are squeezing me like a vice. I’ll stay still for a moment so you can relax some. Let me know when it stops hurting.” It’s very peculiar. Although he speaks with an animated tone, his voice is often detached. You would think he’d have more emotion since he’s inside of you.

You blink rapidly and decide that now is as good a time as any to ask, “What the hell is happening?”

“Must you tease me so?” He responds, his voice tense.

“What? I’m not teasing you. I can’t move!”

“Of course you can’t. You only just bound yourself to my will.”

“I what?” You shout.

“What, did you think I enslaved you? I could have, when we first met. You’re too free, giving people your name, thanking them, taking gifts freely… it drives me mad.” You feel a flash of heat, something warm rolling against your skin, like standing too close to a gas stove, “And now I find that you didn’t even know? I didn’t think you were such a fool.”

“That’s just called being polite!” You protest. “Oh my god-”

“I suppose I can’t blame you, really. Relax, lest I harm you.” He murmurs, rolling his hips further as though he can slide in deeper. 

You squeak, “N-no, that’s-”

“Too much, yes. Tell me, in your world, do faefolk exist?”

“I- I mean, if they do, most people don’t believe in them.” The oddity of the situation felt like a blanket. Having a semi-conversation while your friend- not after this- used you as a dick holster. It was almost comforting. “I don’t- I don’t understand.”

His voice was deeper than normal, an underlying rasp to his voice, as though it was coming from somewhere deep in his throat, “I will explain. I’ll tell you anything you’d like to know. But after I explain, I will begin to move.”

“H-hey, no-”

His voice sounded choked, half strangled as he stifled a groan, “I apologize for not being clear earlier. Among the fae, verbal contracts are common and binding. You do not give someone your name. You wonder why I never directly gave you mine? It is a way to bind someone to your will. You do not accept gifts. Invitations are fine, but a gift is a sign that you owe someone something. My help- a boon- is a gift. Typically it is repaid with another kind turn. And, most importantly, you do not thank someone without the sufficient power to break their hold.” 

You felt him draw back, that wave of heat rolling over you again, and then he slammed forward. The slick noise and dull smack were muffled by your squeal, his cockhead punching your cervix like it stole from him.

“Foolish little thing. I suppose it makes you cute.” He sneers, and your body sits up, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

The angle makes his motion a bit less painful. He’s no longer bumping against your cervix, thank the Seven, but the stretch remains. Your eyes flinch shut and Malleus tilts your chin up to kiss you again.

“St-stop- stop!” You whimper, “You’re hurting me!”

“If you would relax, beauty, that would not be a problem.” His chuckle is dark, the squelching from your coupling making a wicked duet that makes you feel dizzy, “And you said it to me so easily as well. Thank me again.”

“Wh-” One of his hands slipped under your hips, holding your bottom just under the split in your cheeks, and nipped your neck as a flat thumping echoed from where your bodies met, your legs bouncing with the motion. His member had gone back to bullying your cervix, and you wailed in the hopes that he would stop, “Thank you!”

“Heh… it escapes your lips so freely. Tell me, beauty-” He cut himself off with a grunt, panting against the column of your throat. “Tell me, what is it that you’d like? I would give you the world on a platter, should you want it.”

“I- ow! Y-you’re hurting me!”

There was a possibility that he was getting off on the pain he was causing you, just as much as there was a possibility of him not understanding that he was hurting you. With every motion of his hips against yours, despite the wicked pain, you felt that ever evil tug in your gut, like a stone growing heavier and heavier. 

You tried again, because if this had to happen, if you were under his control now, you may as well not get injured. You would not be pissing blood if you could help it, “It’s too deep!”

He listened. It was odd, but he listened, his voice warming as he slid back a bit and continued ramming into you, but no longer beating the hell out of your internal organs.

“I didn’t realize. Is that better?” His voice sounded warmer, echoey against your shoulder. His teeth grazed over your skin again when you didn’t respond. He choked out your name and you sort of came back to yourself.

“U-uh- I guess?”

“Wonderful.” He mumbled, his free hand reaching between your bodies and slicked with your sweat, to tweak your clit.

It should be embarrassing, how quickly you reached your height. Whoever he had been with in the past couldn’t have been so sensitive, since you felt his body jerk against you, an uncontrolled undercurrent to his motions. You let out a quiet, squealing moan and barely even felt the break when Malleus bit you to muffle his own groan. You didn’t feel him climaxing inside of you. You felt the control return to your body and flopped backward onto the table, your hoodie damp with sweat. Malleus took a step back, then carefully redressed you, then himself. You looked up at him and saw nothing but adoration in his eyes, not the fractured appearance of such. It was like he was actually looking at you.

When he spoke to you, leaning forward to cup your cheek, his voice was warm, warmer than ever, “Now, let’s start planning for the wedding, my beauty.”

[mirai-e-jump]

TV Life, 7/19/2024 Issue (No.14) ft. Bakuage Sentai Boonboomger Cast Members (translation below)

Publication: July 3, 2024

Iuchi Haruhi x Hayama Yuki x Suzuki Miu Saito Ryu x Soma Satoru x Miyazawa Yu

Iuchi: Sakito grew up in space, so there's something awkward about the way he keeps his distance from people.

Miyazawa: He basically acts by himself. That's why he doesn't spend much time together with everyone. He'll often go and help them out when they're in a tight spot though.

Iuchi: Still, it's amazing how Yu-kun's able to express his awkwardness so accurately. I'm sure this is how I'd be if I were in space my whole life and didn't know anything about Earth.

Suzuki: He's different. Mira's good at closing the distance between people, and yet even I felt overwhelmed, or rather overpowered by his intimidating presence.

Iuchi: That's why I've become much more motivated to do some muscle training. I'm sure there'll be alot of scenes of me standing next to Sakito from now on, so when that happens, I'm afraid I'm going to "lose" because of my appearance (laughs).

Hayama: He's a good stimulant, don't you think? For me, I'm glad to see Violet, a character closer to the color blue join us, as there's already so many bright, reddish colors in Boonboomger (laughs).

Saito: Black's the only one that's neither (laughs). Still, Sakito's cool just from a visual standpoint, isn't he? I've thought that way ever since I first saw the makeup artist doing his hair.

Miyazawa: Ryu and Miu-chan ran over to me and said, "What's Violet like?" (laughs).

Suzuki: We were like, "Oh~!"

Saito: That's right. We were like, "So cool!"

Miyazawa: Both of them said, "So cool!," but as I looked at them, all I could think of was, "They're so cute~" (laughs).

Saito: His purple extensions are nice too. Haruhi said, "Isn't that unfair?!" (laughs).

Iuchi: I wanna wear some too (laughs).

Soma: His character and appearance are both striking. In that sense, although their personalities are completely different, he and Genba may be similar in some ways. Also, for me personally, it was a weight off my shoulders when Zawa-kun (Miyazawa) became the oldest character (laughs).

Miyazawa: In my mind, Satoru's character is the oldest.

Soma: No, absolutely not, that's not possible (laughs).

Iuchi: Still, you two might be abit alike. They've consciously taken away the feeling of being our seniors and made it easy for us to talk with them. That's why they're more like having kind big brothers around.

Miyazawa: You guys just mess around with me though (laughs).

Suzuki: Zawa-kun's being teased the most now, isn't he? It used to be Satorun (Soma).

Soma: That's why I'm doing the teasing now.

Hayama: That's fun too, right?

Soma: It's fun. Zawa-kun takes care of "cleaning up" for us (laughs).

Miyazawa: I mean, all five of them are silly, aren't they? I was put into the group chat, but even there, they were just posting silly comments……multiple times. The next day I was like, "Someone say something in response!" (laughs).

Suzuki: Everyone's just doing whatever they want (laughs).

Hayama: Still, the atmosphere on set has become tense due to Zawa-kun. Everyone's trying not to lose to him.

Saito: I'm looking forward to the story from now on. How will Sakito interact with the other five? There's still alot we don't know about him as a character.

Miyazawa: I think it'll become more apparent in the future that he "has another side to him."

Iuchi: With the addition of Sakito, the relationships among the other five will probably change, and in a good way, we have no idea what the future holds, so I hope you'll continue to watch over us! _

Q: What's something you'd like to have the "Cleaner" resolve?

Iuchi: I'd like him to "clean up" the oil that accumulates in my stomach. I like yakiniku and ramen, and often go out to eat with everyone after filming. However, I'm weak with oil, and always get an upset stomach when I eat too much of it (laughs).

Hayama: Do you clean drains? I'm a cleanly person, so I clean my place atleast once a week. However, I tend to skip the areas that use water, only doing them about once a month…I'd like you to clean them on my behalf (laughs).

Suzuki: Mira's always showing her legs, so I'm working hard on muscle training every day. However, there are times where I just can't be bothered. I'd like you to take care of this "troublesome spirit of working out"!

Saito: I always fall asleep as soon as I get home. This is why I always put off cleaning…Some days it's clean, but on average it's pretty dirty, so I'd like you to clean my entire room (laughs).

Soma: Because of my thin chest, I want to build muscle. I like to move my body, but I'm the same as Miu-chan, and there are days where I'm not motivated to work out, so I'd like to have those feelings taken care of.

Miyazawa: I wish there was something I could do for all the things the five of them said (laughs). Speaking of, I was recently taken out to play futsal by Satoru. I've been wanting to go out and play it for a long time, so I was finally able to "clean up" that desire!

[satorisoup]

★THE AFTER PARTY

⋆ 7 - REST

when kuroo had said “keep it up”, you’re almost sure this probably wasn’t what he had meant.

it’s been almost a week since the recording of the first song in the album, and ever since you went home on a praise high that day, you’ve worked non stop with hardly any sleep. you’ve been cooped up in your home, slouched at your desk buried in crumpled paper and pen ink. the result of your effort being 3 songs in the matter of 6 days, including revisions on each one of the drafts. it had seriously taken a major toll on you, exhaustion showing in areas of your face, and your body was about ready to give out given the lack of rest it had. however, you were scheduled to be in the studio today, and you were definitely not about to let some lack of shut eye stop you from your work.

upon entering the studio, all four band members reside inside, working on their own tasks at hand. when they hear the jiggle of the doorknob and see you come through, you’re greeted with the sounds of “hello’s” and the boisterous “hi y/n!” from bokuto.

“hey everyone, here’s the drafts.” you simply state, stack of papers dropped onto the small table near kenma as you move to take a seat before you could topple over.

kuroo doesn’t fail to throw questioning glances at you. the bags under your eyes are apparent, dark and slightly puffy. your face is written with fatigue and your movements are more sluggish, and the ink of colored marker that stains your hands isn’t helping your case. your debility is visually obvious when he gazes at you as you allow yourself to sink slowly into the big chair.

“there’s 3 songs… all revised. please read over them and tell me what you think. if you need me to fix anything, i’ll take it home.”

a course of thank you’s are heard from everyone besides the lead singer, who reads over the pages quietly, brow quirked into a furrow when he hears the last of your previous sentence.

“i marked your lines with your initial, akaashi-“ you cut yourself off with a sudden yawn, “is there anything you want to change?”

akaashi looks from the paper to you with a shake of his head, “no, i think it’s quite good… but, are you alright?” he asks.

“oh… yes im fine. i just want to make sure you don’t need me to revise something before i go home and get started on the rest.” you simply answer, as yet another short yawn escapes your mouth that you cover with your hand.

“you’re not taking anything home.” kuroo says abruptly.

your head darts to kuroo before he continues to speak, almost woken up by his curt words, although there was clear concern evident on his features.

“you wrote all of these in less than a week?” he asks.

you slowly nod in answer, “yes, is it too little…? i could start-“ you try to finish, but you’re rather quickly interrupted.

“you’re not starting on anything today either. it’s obvious you’re exhausted. when is the last time you slept?”

you suddenly feel silenced, kuroo moving to stand as he speaks his last sentence.

“please, go home. you need to rest.”

your eyes slightly widen as you look to him in complete surprise, wanting to deny him, but the stern and determined look on his face tells you that it’s probably not the best idea to argue, especially since you worked for them. you can’t help but feel bad though, this was your fault for overdoing it, and it couldn’t possibly make a good look for you to be going home on one of your first days of true work.

“are you sure?” you ask him, voice hesitant and tone one of embarrassment.

“yes. go home and sleep.” he answers, holding the door for you when you gather your bag, saying a quick goodbye to everyone else in the room.

when you’d made it out of the door, you didn’t walk far as kuroo still leaves it a crack open, bending down to your height to speak directly toward you.

“don’t worry about it, alright? we’ll see you soon.” he almost whispers, voice soft but mature when it passes through your ears.

you can feel a slight quickening of the beat of your heart at the close proximity he was comfortably displaying, but it dissipates almost a second after it had started. you nod your head in a thank you, a small wave towards him when you shuffle down the hallway towards the elevator.

you’ve realized so far that kuroo, along with the others, were less intimidating than they had seemed. it still had only been the third time meeting with them, however you could say that they all seemed like nice men. kuroo was kind enough to not only realize how completely out of it you were, but he also had the curtesy to send you home, even if it was quite the abrupt approach.

you really had to thank him for this, because there was nothing more that you craved than the cold but comforting feeling of your body sinking into your soft sheets and fluffy pillows.

finally arriving home with the toss of your keys hitting the kitchen counter, you already began to change and get situated in your bed. your conscious almost takes over as you lay down, and it starts to sink deeper into a sound slumber, but your phone dings before it gets the chance to completely envelop you.

he asked for my number?

your mind hums in curiosity when you look to the message again, wondering what he could want to meet with you about.

well, who were you to deny a free coffee?

<- PREV ⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆ NEXT ->

★ FUN FACTS

⋆ kuroo felt bad for how blunt he was even though he was trying to seem professional.

⋆ kenma understands how you were feeling, due to him not getting much sleep on the regular.

⋆ TAGLIST

if your name is in bold, i can not tag you.

@bontensbabygirl @aichiomei @toomanygoldfish @withlovekiki @strwbrryeyes @lifesucksweswallow @snail-squasher @le000xxgrd @1lovestrawberrymilk

[mmmmalo]

forgive me if i'm conflating several different things here, but the idea that a cue ball - and by extension doc scratch - represents a cancerous trauma left by sexual assault was one of your earlier analyses wasn't it? the idea seems so ubiquitous to me now but i felt like a lot of people could benefit from revisiting it in the wake of that latest beyond canon update

Mm… like you said, you have my earlier analyses a little mixed up. And honestly my current take on the subject focuses more on how the problem of rape is leveraged towards transphobic ends in political discourse? So... perhaps not what you're looking for.

My old approach was to regard not the cue ball but the Green Sun as an emblem of trauma: for example, Rose talks with Jaspers atop a monolith of the Green Sun, when Jaspers's apparent drowning caused Rose's fear of water. Talking to Jaspers seemed to involve confronting that trauma, and the significance of that interaction transferred upon the Green Sun as a symbol. So later when Jade combines her dreamcorpse with Bec, Jadesprite's tearful inability to turn away from its searing light seemed to imply that fusing with Bec somehow awoke a traumatic memory that Jade was no longer able to suppress.

Various scenes led me to believe this was a memory of sexual assault: the dream sequence where Bec Noir creeps upon WV (who is in Jade's bed) and instigates some distressing fusion of their bodies, as the fire of the Green Sun Burns. The dream where Jade attacks Clubs Deuce (resulting in a DEAD GRANDPA SMACKDOWN in the waking world), only for CD to return later and attack Jade with an explosion of white foam (through which he implicitly continues to embody Grandpa). The point where Jade goes grimbark after spotting Jake's groin (as though it were a distressing trigger) and where Jade is, after again calling attention to the banana hammock, crushed beneath Jake's white hope explosion (which echos CD's shaving cream). I could go on.

But the above is all bait: Jade goes grimbark because the very notion of a man in panties is posed as the violent intrusion of the masculine upon the feminine, posed as rape. The hints of assault function as homophobic scaremongering, feminism of the trans-exclusive strain. Jade is afraid of lightning, which is posed as a masculine pneumatic intrusion into the inert feminine vessel -- which is to say, bringing Frankenstein/Jadesprite to life with a zap comes to represent rape, and the overwhelming urge is to REMOVE THE LIGHTNING, GET IT OUT GET IT OUT (the scene has visual reference to Aradiabot ripping her heart out following Equius's violation), hence Jadesprite's urge to die. Jade earlier displayed distaste for the pneuma via her always-ill-fated reader interactive sections: playing flute, selecting fruit, fighting (and in her own mind conversing with) Grandpa. Though ostensibly early, abstract indications of Jade's sensitivity to violation, these events also just display homophobia: blowing into wind instruments is a cocksucking joke inherited from Problem Sleuth, "fruit" means gay, Jade calls Grandpa a "bag of wind" because his cornball shit is gay (derogatory). It matters that Dirk is a Gay Guy who overwrote Jeanne Betancourt's voice for Pony Pals and now overwrites robot Rose's will on occasion because the story is satirizing a worldview wherein a "boy" adopting feminine characteristics is committing metaphysical rape.

The same goes for Doc Scratch: retroactively, he has the Handmaid locked up in a room because Caliborn got gender envy from the How To Draw Manga girl. Damara speaks in stilted staccato sentences for the same reason, it gives the impression that she is possessed by Lord English, that some insidious masculine force is speaking through her. Which again: transphobia. Or rather dysphoria, in this case, which was a major point of discussion in Openbound -- anxieties about internal and external reproach for expressing yourself abound, the imminent Rufioh/Horuss breakup represents bodily dysmorphia... I've talked about that elsewhere. The main point is illustrated by 583 of Problem Sleuth, where Nervous Broad (essentially a trans woman) looks into the mirror and sees a horrendous beast. This is why the Handmaid cannot escape Lord English: he is how she sees herself. The big bad of Homestuck, the embodiment of all that is foul of patriarchy, is an embodiment of transfeminine self-loathing, or more generally the picture of trans women that transmisogynists like to paint.

Vriska has a conversation with June about how she doesn't actually want to indulge her violent tendencies, how she thinks a life of peace could actually be the way to go. As she says all these, we are treated to a shot of Vriska's red boots crossed in such a way that a huge red X is imposed over her groin: this conversation is about dysphoria! Vriska implicitly declares violence and aggression to be phallic -- an association strengthen by the sexed roles of moirallegiance, in which women must sooth violent men. Elsewhere in the story, Vriska's seemingly inescapable violent tendencies are embodied by Doc Scratch -- therefore he is, in essence, Vriska's phallus, which she resents even as she is compelled to obey its directives.

There's actually a bit with Jake where the cue ball (or rather, a tower orb that resembles a cue ball) is used to represent a dick: "The space in your inventory is mainly hogged up by one incredibly huge thing. You guess you should get rid of it. But you can’t shake the feeling you might need it someday, and you don’t want to risk ditching it and be caught with your pants down later." As Spidergirl shoots her webbing on the floor nearby, Jake briefly considers losing the dick. That Doc Scratch's head is a nuclear bomb makes this motif coincide nicely with Jake's association with the irradiated dick of Doctor Manhattan (and Hulk), which as you've pointed out before was used in Watchmen to illustrate homophobic scaremongering.

Or hey, let's try to establish a new connection between Doc Scratch and Bec: perhaps epilogue!Jade's dog dick, was already present from the moment Jadesprite was born. Perhaps the anger Jade feels toward this newly formed phallic woman (who she calls a pansy) is informed by the contempt she expressed for fursuits, and how the people within them are dumb to think that makes them real animals -- a transphobic barb followed in short order by more slander for Grandpa, a hunter who skins animals and places the pelts by armor and portraits of women. Perhaps all this drama is condensed on page 6630, where Jake's big gay Hope bubble crushes Jade's green fireball, forming a portrait of Doc Scratch.

Perhaps we should pronounce "Doc Scratch" with an English accent, so that it becomes "Dog's Crotch".

[fanfoolishness]

Evaluations (The Bad Batch)

A selection of evaluations of the health of CT-9904, as performed by Nala Se. Nala Se POV, Crosshair whump/medical whump, angst at a remove. ~3200 words.

---

Nala Se walks through the long white corridors to the clones’ medical bay.  Troopers march past in tight formation, each one perfectly uniform, created precisely to match their original specifications.  Behind them small cadets trail their older mirrors in imitation, small brown faces all alike, dark hair in the same short military style.  She has only to glance at them all to see her own flawless work marching beside her.

She allows herself a small, secret smile.  There have been some clones with flaws, of course.  Adjustments to obedience, size, intelligence. ability.  She is most curious to see how the clones of the 99 designation fare as they age.

Her work, she suspects, is not unlike that of the artist or musician.  Like them there is an idea she carries in her mind, the delicate dance of DNA and genetic modification, a vision she has planned and put into motion through the work of her own hands and her own vision.  Now there is only the waiting to see the finished product that remains.  She knows what she expects of her enhanced clones one day.  Yet she also anticipates there may be surprises to occur in their development, unexpected interplays of inspiration or epigenetic accidents leading to something greater than the sum of their parts.  It is a pleasant source of anticipation in her day to day, to see the finished music that her work might make.

She reaches the medical bay and the doors slide open for her.  She is mildly taken aback at the scene of disarray that appears.  A clone cadet, bio-equivalent to a seven-year-old human, sits hunched over himself on the floor, surrounded by scattered medical equipment that appears to have been thrown or kicked around the room.  AZI-3 hovers a safe distance away from the clone, and seems relieved to see her.

“Doctor Se,” he says, pitching his voice modulators to a quiet scale.  “You have asked me to inform you of any medical visits regarding clones of the ninety-nine designation.  This is CT-9904, and he is here with a minor injury, but he is proving… difficult.”

Nala Se nods.  CT-9904 would be identifiable from across any room nearly instantly; with his modifications, it is obvious. The clone’s proportions are unusual, thinner and taller than would be expected at this stage of development, and streaks of gray pepper his dark hair despite his young biological age.  She had expected that variation.  On many species her work has shown an inextricable link between hair color and visual development, and humans are no different.  

“CT-9904,” she murmurs.  “Please explain yourself.”

The clone unfolds himself and gets awkwardly to his feet, bowing his head briefly to her before looking down at his boots.  The injuries are apparent, a blue-black bruise swelling his right eye shut, scrapes up and down his rather thin, angular face.  He sniffs, rubbing the back of his hand against his nose.  It comes back bloody.

“There was a fight,” the boy says slowly.  His voice is odd, slightly raspy, with an accent to his Basic that deviates from the norm.  That variation had not been anticipated.  One of her intriguing surprises.

She waits, giving him an expectant look.  He takes a deep breath.  

“The other clones didn’t like that I’m different.”  His fists clench at his sides.  “I beat all of their scores in marksmanship.  It’s so easy.  They got mad… they started it. I tried to finish it, but there were more of them than me.”  He crosses his arms over his chest, scowling, then wincing.  

“Fights are not uncommon at this stage of training,” Nala Se murmurs. “The tendency is typically outgrown.”  Though there is the matter that with his enhanced visual acuity, CT-9904 has been training in marksmanship with clones four cycles older.  Perhaps seeing a clone so much earlier in his development excel has triggered the aggressive response from the standard units.  She turns to AZI-3.  “What is the prognosis?”

“There is a hairline fracture of the right zygomatic arch, but with the rapid growth rate and the improved healing capabilities, this is not expected to have any negative long-term effects.  Which I have tried explaining to him!”

“I don’t believe you!” the boy bursts out.  Nala Se tilts her head to one side, studying him.  

“Why?”

The boy looks furtive, anxious, fidgeting where he stands.  His hands twist together.  At last he stammers, “I can’t see!”  He tries to open the swollen right eye and fails, hissing with the effort.  

“I have informed him that this is temporary,” says AZI-3.  He addresses the clone directly.  “The swelling needs time to come down, and then you will see normally again.  All of the scans indicate that your eye itself was not damaged, only the tissue surrounding it.  You should be back to normal within ten rotations.”

“Are you sure?  But that’s -- it’s all I -- I have to --”  His face is flushed.  “It’s what I’m for!”

“Your vision will return in time, CT-9904.  Your enhancements remain intact.  The droid tells the truth,” says Nala Se.  “There are other skills you may continue training in during this time.  I will see to it that you are assigned extra training in stealth and hand-to-hand combat as you heal.”

The clone gives her a worried look, then nods, letting out a long breath.

“Please help AZI-3 clean up this mess.  After that, you should return to your quarters.  Your fellow cadets should be returning from their own training soon.”

The clone laughs slightly, a small smile shifting on his face.  “Wrecker’s going to be mad he missed the fight.  He could have taken them all out.  I know it.”

“Hmm.”  She sighs.  This is not the first time these particular clones have been at the center of discord among the standard cadets, and she has a strong suspicion it will not be the last.  Yet another unique trait in a batch full of them.  She wonders which one of them will be in here next.

---

CT-9904 is led into the medical bay by red-painted clone troopers, stripped of his armor and walking with his head down.  Nala Se is waiting.  She has been curious to assess the effects of the inhibitor chip on her modified clones; the chips themselves had not been modified or calibrated for the minds of this particular batch, and she had long wondered if she would ever see the effects on them were the chips to be activated.  Here then is her opportunity to learn, though her curiosity feels subdued from what she had anticipated.  Perhaps it is merely that she feels disquieted by the presence of Admiral Tarkin in the chamber beyond.  

My work does not need your supervision, Admiral, she thinks, then turns to the clone at hand.

CT-9904 has only rarely needed medical assistance after completing his training; as his squad’s long-range sniper, he has typically avoided the types of injuries accrued by the others.  It has been multiple cycles since she has last seen him up close, and he sits obediently on the examination table under armed guard, his eyes shadowed, his face grim.

“How do you feel, CT-9904?” she asks.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he bites out, looking away.  “There’s nothing wrong with me.  Perhaps you should look at Hunter.  He’s been acting irrationally.”

“He will be examined in time,” she assures him.  “There are some questions I am going to ask you.”

He shrugs, sighing.  “All right.”

“Have you had any episodes of seizures?”

He sits up straight, looking at her suspiciously, a wary surprise in his eyes.  “No.”

“Have you experienced any episodes of fainting?”

“No.”

“Have you experienced any disorientation?”

“No.”

“Have you experienced any headaches?”

A short, sharp intake of breath.  His eyes focus beyond her, fixating in the direction of the Admiral, and a guilty look crosses his face.  “...yes.”  

“Thank you, CT-9904.  The examination will begin.”

One of her new medical droids hovers forward, extending a long hypodermic.  The clone’s eyes widen.  “Is that necessary?”

“Yes, it is.”  The droid injects him in the shoulder.  He grimaces, but then his expression slides into something dreamy, a placid, half-lidded stare.  He slumps where he sits and the droid eases him onto his back, preparing him for imaging.  Nala Se recuses herself to the outer chamber.

She has read CT-9904’s report of Kaller, contradicting the reports from his squadmates.  They have informed her of his attempts to convince his squad to follow orders.  It is a fascinating finding.  CT-9904’s chip may be working -- she will run the necessary tests to confirm, but the headaches are the earliest stage of an incomplete chip activation -- yet loyalty to his squad appears to be superseding its commands.  

Admiral Tarkin waits for her as the test commences.  As she has suspected, the chip is partially working, but CT-9904’s mutations have muted its effectiveness.  She transmits the order to amplify the chip’s effects as the Admiral looks on.  

The amplification process is one that she has never used before in practice, though it was developed for theoretical use in an event such as this one.  As she watches it becomes plain that the dose of sedative has been insufficient for such a procedure.  CT-9904 trembles, hands curling beside him, his chest rising and falling jerkily.  She assesses his vitals.  They are stable enough, but the elevated heart rate and erratic breathing are consistent with pain.  

She considers adding further sedation, but the process is nearly complete, and she refrains.

The arms of the machine retract.  She checks her datapad.  The clone’s vitals have returned to normal, and he is starting to stir. 

“Did it work?” Admiral Tarkin asks, voice clipped with impatience.  “If not, you may begin the decommissioning process.  But if it has worked, I would like the same procedure performed on the remaining squad.”

“Understood, Admiral.  I will assess him myself.”

By the time she enters, CT-9904 is clumsily sitting up, breathing hard.  He raises one hand to his right temple, shaking his head.  “What happened?” he asks.

“You have been found clear to return to duty.  With your squad.”

CT-9904 frowns, his face going cold.  “My squad disobeyed orders.”  He gets off the table, swaying slightly, and straightens up.  “Good soldiers follow orders.”

“And if your squad does not?”

“Then they need to be eliminated,” CT-9904 says evenly.  His eyes are blank, devoid of the suspicion and wariness that had been plain earlier.  She nods, feeling a slight pang.  She would have preferred to have had the time to study the interplay between the clone’s mind and the partially activated chip in case there were new insights to be gleaned.  Observing him for several weeks would have been most intriguing.  But she is certain now that in this regard, at least, CT-9904 is no longer unique.

---

“Status report,” Nala Se asks, gazing down at the unconscious clone in recovery.

The medical droid catalogs the clone’s injuries while removing the field bandages marred by strikethrough.  The list is long and troubling.  Ion burns to the chest, hands and face.  Concussion to the right temple.  Corneal abrasions.  Right shoulder dislocation, replaced in the field.  Inhalation injury.  It is disheartening to see such a unique specimen in such shape.  The corneal abrasions are the most concerning, given the nature of his enhancements, but the droid’s readings confirm that they are thankfully superficial and should heal without issue.

“How did this occur?”

“Exposure to an ion engine, Doctor,” says a human woman with a clipped, stern voice, her helmet carried under her arm.  “We were shocked he survived.  None of the other clones with him made it.”  Nala Se gives her a cool look.  One of Admiral Tarkin’s conscripts, her training nonstandardized, her breeding unknown.  She does not understand the Admiral’s obsession with ‘updating’ the army of the Republic, no, Empire, and it is an affront to have one of those inferior soldiers here in her own medical bay.  

The soldier is still standing at attention.  “Will the Commander be all right?” she asks, and there is something calculating in her eyes. Nala Se frowns.  Clones would never show such hints of naked ambition.

“Yes.  There is extensive treatment to be done, but he will likely be fully rehabilitated within a matter of weeks.”  They have repaired far more grievous injuries to their clones over the years.  Kaminoan work was strong, and it was reparable when desired.  “CT-9904 is valuable to the Empire, and he will recover.”

The soldier frowns.  “Even with the seizures?”

Nala Se gives her her full attention.  “He has had seizures?”

“Two, on the journey back from Bracca,” she says.  “I thought the medic told you.  Is that from the head injury?”

“There will be no further questions,” Nala Se says.  “You may leave.”

The woman shoves her helmet back on, nodding, and finally leaves.  Nala Se immediately locks the laboratory door behind her.

There is a faint groan from the bed.  CT-9904 raises his left hand weakly before it drops back against his chest.  He coughs, the sound amplified in the oxygen mask looped over his face.  

She casts her eyes over the blistered flesh above his right ear, then directs the medical droids to set up the imaging device to assess the chip.  CT-9904’s breathing rattles in the confines of the imaging chamber.  It is disconcerting.    

The machine whirs, its testing cycle complete, and it retracts to leave CT-9904 back in the open.  She frowns at the results on her datapad.  

“The inhibitor chip is damaged,” she tells the medical droid at the clone’s side.  “Swelling in the brain has interfered with its functioning.  The seizures are the result of an improper connection.”

CT-9904 fumbles at the oxygen mask on his face, making a garbled noise.  He manages to pull off the mask, and rasps, “Take it out, then.”

Nala Se stiffens.  

She has made a mistake.  

She has never spoken of the chips in the presence of a clone beyond Omega.  Now in her curiosity, with CT-9904 so wounded as to appear unconscious, she has erred.  She turns to him, wondering how she should proceed.  Despite what she had said about CT-9904’s value to the Empire, she is certain there would be no repercussions if he were to not survive his injuries.

“What do you mean?”

“I know…” He swallows, coughing, flecks of blood-tinged fluid dotting his lips.  “I know about the chip.  They told me.”

“Who?”

“Clone Force 99,” he manages.  “Said it’s… controlling me.  But I don’t --”  He presses the oxygen mask against his face again, taking in several deep breaths before removing it again.  He squints up at her through blepharospasm, eyelids struggling to open despite the pain of the abrasions.  “I don’t need a chip to be loyal.  To --”  His chest heaves.  “To be a good soldier.”

CT-9904 suddenly stares off into space, his good eye transfixing on the ceiling.  His jaw slackens, and she recognizes the prodromal signs of an impending seizure.  Nala Se gives a swift look to the medical droid.  “He will need an anticonvulsive.  Immediately.”  The droid complies, heading off the seizure before it can truly begin.  

Nala Se hesitates.  There are three paths remaining to her now.  Euthanasia of the enhanced clone to prevent possible awareness of the chip from being spread to other clones; treating the injuries but leaving the clone in his current state, potentially compromised by seizures and prone to worsening degradation of the chip; or --

She makes her choice, recalling the clone’s words.  CT-9904 and his cohort have always represented a new era in experimentation for her.  Perhaps by removing his chip now, she may continue to be surprised.

---

The walls of Tantiss press in around her, a windowless narrow world of her cell and the hallway beyond.  Tipoca City lies beneath the waves of her homeworld, her lab, her work, her calling buried in the sea; and now there is only the Empire and its brutal destruction.  

She has been a fool.  She had so buried herself in her work that she had blinded herself to the dangers of being indispensable.  She knows that she will never leave this planet alive.

The days are endless, the monotony almost worse than the clumsy efforts of the Empire to extract the information they needed by force.  Their interrogation droids had been programmed for human physiology, and while unpleasant, their methods had failed to force her to share her scientific knowledge.  They have since given up on that, and now Hemlock attempts to use the clone Omega as a bargaining chip, despite having no idea of her whereabouts.  

Nala Se cares little for his efforts.  She cares little for anything at all, now.

The one slight bit of interest in her day is her daily walk.  They bring her to the lab once daily under heavy guard and supervision, perhaps hoping she will be enticed by the technology to resume her old work.  She has no interest in the lab, refusing to examine its machines and capabilities, but she watches closely the clones walking by under their own guard, amusing herself with guessing which batches they had arisen from.  She has no way to confirm her guesses, but to her trained eye, subtle changes in the degree of aging -- the appearance of fine wrinkles starting at the edges of the eyes and corners of the mouth, a slight shift in glossiness of the hair, faint alterations to the gait -- provide significant clues.  It puts her in mind of happier times, when she could truly focus on science and take pride in the results of her labors.  

One day -- or perhaps night, there is no way to tell -- she awaits the lift with her captors and a group of clones stops beside them, waiting for the same lift.  She turns to study them and is taken aback.  One clone stands above the others, several inches taller despite the slump in his shoulders.

Her mind swirls with questions.  Had the removal of CT-9904’s chip -- omitted from his final medical report after his injuries on Bracca -- come to light?  Was he sent here for betrayal of the Empire?  Or had he merely been injured and deemed unfit to return to duty, so was sent here for study to remain useful?  

He does not meet her gaze.  She is not sure he has even noticed she stands beside him.  His face is skull-like, his skin sallow from lack of sunlight, deep shadows etched beneath his eyes.  A flicker of movement catches her eye and she notes a fine tremor, nearly imperceptible, along the edge of his hand.  He shakes his hand almost subconsciously, a small, subtle jerk she is not sure that even he has detected.  There are no obvious injuries, but there is an emptiness that is apparent, a lack of something vital.

She does not know what has brought him here, but she knows that he is a soldier no longer.

The lift arrives and the guards herd them within.  Force is not required; the prisoners know their place.  They stare down at the floor, heads bowed.  

Nala Se gazes away from the ruined clone beside her.  The music she had once carried in her head, the clever dance of DNA and ingenuity, the spark of creativity, of creation, falls silent.  She does not speak to him, nor he to her.  

There is simply nothing to say.

[fluffer5]

Humans are mini-universal beings

I think this is my 4th entry to Humans Are Space Orcs. And gets sorta terrifying with this recent realization plus the small clip I saw on TikTok.

I've previously stated that writers are creators of worlds, right? Meanwhile, visual artists take de-structured ideas from the writers to create drawings, buildings, sceneries, or moments to give us an image of the world that the writers are giving life.

Now, color me surprise when I got to see this random video on TikTok which depicted how we ourselves are small walking universe. Check the following pictures and compare them, yes?

Placenta after birth = the tree of life depicted in mythology (and seeing as giving birth literally means growing a fetus (later on into an infant) inside of you, it doesn't seem so far off now. Turn that placenta around and you're faced with the cotyledons. These things look like bunched up leaves on top of trees.

Human lungs and alveoli = if you skip the gory look of the actual organ and just see it in a picture, you'd find that it seems like bunched up flower buds.

Human arteries, veins, and capillaries = now, Earth has its river network and streams, yes? Places with high salt content and none at all? That's the same way with our arteries if you replace the salt analogy with non-oxygenated blood and oxygenated blood flowing in and out of the heart to cycle back... like how evaporated water turns to rain lol...

Human eyes = they look like some galaxy formations. One eye holds different flecks or palette of color, almost like how colorful galaxies could get.

Human mitosis = a human's cell creation is a galaxies' version of collapse. They usually go backwards to our own version to crash into each other. Ours are more of a cell division. But if we think of it's creation where electrons supposedly combine with each other to create another galaxy, then perhaps the idea isn't that farfetched.

And have you seen mountain structures that look like giants? What do we have as explanation for those?

Imagine the conversation after an alien reads through our anatomy books. One of them looks at you, face either drained of blood, deadpan, or panicking (again... at this point the United Intergalactic Council is on speed dial).

Alien: You're telling me that you are miniscule galaxies... like YOU are a microscopic galaxy that's being kept in form and human shaped by bones and fragile skin?

Human: I won't say that it's fragile. Some of us develop calluses on some of our skin which means they can thicken (forgetting to mention they only happen on specific areas).

Alien: You thicken your skin?!

Human: *snickers* Some have even thick faces (this alien doesn't know our numerous metaphors).

Alien: You can develop armor on your head?!!

Human: I think we got lost track with the anatomy book... what did you mean when you said we were walking galaxies?

Alien: You are! You have depicted everything in this book!

Human: That's just my book for beginners though...

Alien: You have more evidence that you host life inside of you and are capable of producing more?!

Human: ...yes? (thinking of babies, intestinal parasites, bacteria, and lice)

Alien: OH GREAT MOTHER OF STARS!!!! WHAT IS WITH YOU TERRANS AND BEING SO FRUSTRATINGLY DIFFERENT?!? What are you going to show me next?! That you eat Chlcusgyt for food?!

Human: *whispers to self* Those are like... our version of octopus and squids, right? We're not allowed to eat those? They're so tasty though?

Alien: *hears the whisper due to their biologically natural hearing to get away from predators* Oh, stars you are NOT joking with that!

The terrified alien calls the UIC to tell them how Terrans apparently eat one of Space's greatest hunters for dinner. That day, we earned another reason why other intergalactic sentient species should not mess with the Deathworld of Terran.

[thewebcomicsreview]

Oh hey, Hamsteak 2. Looks like Vriska's...back in Alternia? In a dreambubble?

they sent the thief here in search of power; the power to escape the containment i so painstakingly set up for them

Al confirmed as the Candy narrator. Also confirmed that the black hole is "containment" for the dreambubbles and non-canon worlds, and that all the ghosts falling in wasn't an accident of fighting Lord English.

the black hole could only ever shelter them for so long, and in their haste to shrug off my protection they have opened the door to something far, far hungrier.

This panel is a callback to Karkat about to open the door to the New Universe. Where there were interrupted by Jack Noir. Vriska is interrupted by-

Yoo! It's Davepeta! Who feel into the black hole and has been conspicuously absent ever since. They're the only Ultimate who is not connected to Dirk, and in some ways the only "true" Ultimate. Interesting that Al considers them such a threat, when Davepeta has never been anything but benevolent.

Looks like it's all the sprites, in fact. Why...are there two Nannasprites? Oh god, I'm being pushed to the endless limits of my ability to remember Homestuck Lore. Is one of them pre-retcon? I do not remember.

ERISOLSPRITE: wwe'vve been here for liike a miilliion fuckiin 2wweep2. DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < actually we just got here DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < this place didnt even exist until she popped in ERISOLSPRITE: gue22 ii'll fuck my2elf.

It didn't exist until a character arrived, at which point it retroactively existed the whole time, like how a planet works.

DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < does that not sound insane to you fefeta? FEFETASPRITE: 3833 < 383

What? How are Davepeta and Fefeta coexisting? That definitely doesn't make sense.

Well, logic be damned, it's apparently time for a Vriska training arc.

Gah! Talksprites! Also, Vriska enters "Hell" on page 666 of Homestuck 2, which is I think the first time this comic has aimed at any kind of Meaningful Number.

God, we are full on visual novel here. I didn't know Ren'Py could export to web, but I guess it shouldn't surprise me. I presume/hope the save option is default and won't be needed here, it's 1:30am.

Tavros is here and, much more oddly, alive. I suddenly understand jack shit.

I have no memory of Tavros ever forgiving Vriska for anything...or, for that matter, Vriska even being aware she did anything that needed to be forgiven. I presume she's just lying here, though.

This line combined with this pose is the essence of Vriska

So, Vriska's being forced to "grow as a person" and her big idea to finish her character arc is to atone for her sins by getting Tavros to take revenge on her. Vriska thinks that the secret to gaining power is getting Tavros to kill her.

I wonder where she got that idea.

But that time she refused to mind control Tavros into killing her, she wanted him to grow from it, too. Now we're past that.

I felt smart for remembering the K8LL ME bit but we're being really obvious about it now so I guess they just assumed everyone would and I'm not special :(

Oh shit. Erisol wasn't kidding.

Davepeta roleplaying being a cat who dies horribly is kind of the perfect synthesis of Dave and Nepeta. What is this music. It's very toot-y.

Oh hey a text log. How convenient. So we're trapped in a time loop, then, explicitly recreating Groundhog Day. I guess that explains the infinity hourglass on the Plot Point machine.

Vriska's having a bad couple of years.

Davepeta is "countless" cool dudes and kitty girls, which I think is the first explicit confirmation they're an Ultimate Self, though that was pretty strongly implied at least. The only Ultimate to do so without Dirk's involvement.

Stop letting me intuit things and then immediately making them clear! I don't care if it's good writing, it's making my liveblog bad!

It's so weird to compare this Davepeta to the one in Homestuck OG. There Davepeta was presented as this wise sage mentor figure who'd achieved enlightenment, and here they're much more of "Dave + Nepeta's combined silliness as one character". It's a subtle difference, but go back and read Davepeta giving this same kind of talk to Jade back in Homestuck 1. I guess that's the difficulty of a character with so little screentime in the original, they're either very limited or they feel slightly off.

Oh my fucking god, a to-be-continued select screen. Shit, that takes me back in an unexpected way.

Also, from the associated news update, "the big flash" is apparently several months away (10/25?), and I have to say they might want to be careful about overhyping it, if they have small flashes and now Ren'Py novels that are just preludes. If it's anything less than a Cascade after months and months of hype it could fall flat where a surprise [S] Enter would've popped the fanbase hard.

[minecraftbookshelf]

Marriage of State AU Character Designs: The Mad King of Mezalea

Joel actually has three major looks through the course of the AU; Prince of Mezalea, Trophy Husband, and King Joel, with the subcategories of "armor" for each.

They all have the same base design of "human", differing by (apparent) age and general sense of style.

Some Joel Skins to start us off and provide the base we're working off of, and also the Mezalean banner because color pallet

And also, because it is actually relevant, (bear with me here) some samples of Mezalean architecture.

The Matral Palace and the Villager area.

Based off of Joel's final skin, the vibe is kind of "Victorian military dress uniform" however there is something very, very important to take into consideration from a worldbuilding perspective.

The Mesa is a warm weather biome. Its a colorful desert. Which means high temperatures during the day and cold at night. So tight-fitting, thick fabrics in a Victorian style would be incredibly impractical.

So we turn to the second possible source for fashion inspiration: The architecture, which gives mostly Byzantine vibes.

So what would Byzantine clothing look like, especially for nobility?

First off, taking into account that the Byzantine Empire lasted for approximately a thousand years and, naturally, underwent some dramatic changes in clothing style during that time, we'll pick a specific vibe out of the options. I settled on a bit of a mix between Early Byzantine (think the Theodora Mosaic shown below) and Middle Byzantine (see the mosaic of Emperor Constantine IX below)

And here are just some screenshots from my pintrest board for Mezalea and Mezalean!Joel, because if I put all these on here separately I'll hit the image limit too soon.

(General disclaimer: yes, Pintrest has an art theft problem, yes Pintrest is much harder to effectively use now due to the pervasiveness of ads on everything, no I don't use it for like, formal things. It remains one of the best ways to collect visual references and figuring out The Vibes)

(Yes, we get to go full Material Gworl vibes for the Mezalean King, as is only right and proper.)

General characteristics I'm adopting here for Mezalean clothing:

Brocade (and bejeweled) kaftan/kaftan-esque outer layer. This is a formal wear thing, and is absolutely a "showing off the wealth" power move.

Lots of Big Chunky Colorful Jewelry

I don't know what it's actual name is, but that general style of having jeweled tassel-like things hanging from the front sides of the crown/headdress.

Light-weight and loose fitting under-layers.

And of course, bright colors.

Prince Joel: Before he became part of the main cast in an epic fantasy adventure spanning several hundreds of years and an entire continent (and the adjacent ocean) Joel was the youngest of three princes with two older brothers who were both married and had kids.

Which is to say, it did not look like he would ever be the king.

His role in the kingdom was very much that of an ambassador to and direct connection to their people. He spent a lot of time working on fishing boats and in the mines and quarries. While he did receive a standard royal education on things like diplomacy and combat, international interactions were not his focus at all, much more involved in the day to day operations of his own home. (And yes, that is a very vital aspect of the idea of "royalty" in general, supposedly, and that being a particular point of Joel's upbringing will make more sense when I get around to writing and posting the post about how royalty functions in the Empires. tldr; its related to the whole thing where Pixlriffs accidentally redefined "war")

Basically, Prince Joel = the first skin, the simple green one. He's wearing more lightweight, practical clothes that allow him to engage in physically demanding dirty work without costing a fortune every day. He still dresses up for formal events, but he doesn't even attend all of those and he is far from a daily sight in court.

Trophy Husband: For a couple hundred years, Joel didn't live in Mezalea. Instead, he was one half of the chronological first arranged marriage in the "au in which all the marriages are arranged" situation. And this one was the one that most resembles the set-up of a generic "period" bodice-ripper novel (though that is not how it played out ultimately, for the parties involved, despite the romance that does happen.)

Basically, this is his War Prize Era. In which Lizzie won a husband in combat and then didn't really know what to do with him.

During this time period, Joel mostly wore ocean styled clothing, though during formal occasions he would wear a notable amount of Mezalean accessories, that were part and parcel of the treaty with him. (I'm trying so hard not to derail this into just a breakdown of the events of the Joel & Lizzie arc of the au im trying so hard)

He did tend to mix Oceanic and Mezalean clothing, due in part to Oceanic clothing being primarily designed for underwater wear, while he lived above the surface, finding the balance of practicality and appearances demanded by the political nature of his existence at the time. (Also a personal comfort thing as Mezalean clothing tended to afford more skin coverage and also had shoes) Once he and Lizzie were more comfortable both in the world and with each other he had more opportunities for personalization and tended towards Mezalean styles in oceanic colors. He did develop a significant appreciation for the Oceanic idea of skin-tight under-layers for water travel.

King Joel: He did end up back in Mezalea as king, which is when we hit the style closest to the second skin, which mostly for this is really an indicator of color scheme. Formally, he is now wearing the full Kaftan and Jewelry look, day to day its more of "colorful, simple, and lightweight" because he still is very active in the day to day commerce of his empire. He does usually wear significantly more jewelry than he did as a prince, he grew a taste for it during his trophy husband era XD. The details of his day-to-day wear are also fancier. finer fabrics, more embroidery, brocade hems, etc.

Most of his earrings are gifts from Lizzie, some in Oceanic colors, some in Mezalean, but all with little chips of prismarine to remind him of her even when she can't be there.

Armor: Joel's armor preferences are simple netherite plate. He also does have a ceremonial trident, as a member of the Oceanic royal family. His is gold-plated.

-

art

Lizzie || Jimmy ||

AU Masterpost

[sqewed0722]

Will I ever get over this drama? I just started rewatching from the first episode on Viki, with comments enabled. But I think it’s good to rewatch coz the first time, I was still overwhelmed by all the information even as I was keeping up with reading the subtitles. I also didn’t have any comments from other viewers on the other platform, which could sometimes help in understanding the context of a scene or dialogue better (especially since I’m not Chinese). Now, I’m more relaxed and able to take in the subtler parts, especially in the dialogues. I have the luxury of not paying attention visually all the time.

One good example of my having failed to catch the nuances during my initial watch is the part when Shen Li in her phoenix form asked Xingzhi (as the mortal Xingyun) what he was going to do in the market. I don’t know any Mandarin and the other platform I first watched this in didn’t give any side notes on such languange nuances so I had no idea of the double meaning behind the words Xingyun used in his reply.

Apparently, the words he used to say that he sells ginseng sounds almost the same phonetically as the words used to mean he was going to sell himself (i.e. prostituting himself). Hence, Phoenix Shen Li’s shock and initial disgust towards him. It made that scene doubly hilarious to me upon second viewing.

I’m also more appreciative now of Shen Li and Xingzhi’s initial interactions in their phoenix and mortal forms, respectively. I’m better able to understand now why Shen Li fell hard for him and how she grew on Xingzhi till she became very dear to him. His beloved, in fact.

As a phoenix in the mortal world, Shen Li was perceived as a chicken, albeit a weird looking one, an ordinary creature with little to recommend it in those days except as food for the people. She was one of the weakest creatures and her life very expendable. What a stark contrast from her life in the Demon Realm, where she is styled Lord of the Azure Sky, wielder of the powerful Red Plume Spear. She is a great general of their army, a princess for all intents and purposes. Here in the mortal world, she’s forced to rely on a sickly and impoverished mortal man for sustenance and protection.

As for Xingzhi, the disparity of his mortal life from his old life is even greater. He is poor and sickly Xingyun, living alone in a house quite far from the center of population. He’s forced to live on meager fare, whatever selling ginseng can bring him. And most of his small earnings go to his medicines. His body is frail so that it seems as if he can die anytime.

Yet in his true form, he is the last of the Ancient Gods in the Sky Above Heaven. He’s the most powerful being in the universe, and the lives of all three realms are in his hands.

As for why Xingzhi chose to live as a mortal in such state, it’s probably because he felt it would give him a more varied and intense experience of humanity and its challenges.

So here were these two beings, reduced to such circumstances, finding themselves living together and depending on each other. They got to know one another without the burdens and trappings of their positions, and it allowed their relationship to grow into something more authentic. In a way, one can say that this brief period where everything started between them was what allowed them to love each other just as themselves, as simply Shen Li and Xingzhi. Not as Lord Of The Azure Sky and The Divine Lord of the Sky Above Heaven and the Three Realms.

This initial arc goes on for several episodes before Shen Li finally returns to the Demon Realm and they meet again, this time with Xingzhi in all his understated glory as Divine Lord Xingzhi, and she as the Lord Of The Azure Sky. I think it was the perfect foundation for the relationship that they developed later on. It was a love so strong that it literally shook all the Three Realms and eventually led to the destruction of the Sky Above Heaven, ending the age of the ancient gods.

Some of the fans complain that the development of some arcs took a chunk out of the series, that some arcs were dragging and they saw little sense in it. For me, those viewers are probably the types who got used to the instant gratification that’s usually seen in Western dramas or those who don’t have the patience to finish reading a book. They always want to skip to the good parts and then they keep pestering other viewers with questions on why this happened or why that is so.

Anyway, whatever else these foolish viewers may say, TLOS will remain one the best CDramas ever. Almost all its characters, especially the ones who portray key roles, were well rounded and developed. And the execution of the story was top-notch, from the first time Xingzhi’s eyes fell on this weird chicken, until the end, when he and Shen Li return to the mortal world to live their life together happily and peacefully in that house where their love first blossomed.

[russellsppttemplates]

Pamper Night (George Russell)

Little Russel has been tiring their mom out and they're not even born yet

Note: english is not my first language, here is some George content that I hope you like 🤍

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm not taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so but know that I'm not certain when I'll be able to tend to them!

Tw: pregnancy

"Text me when you get there okay?", you said after George gave you one last hug, "Of course darling, anything you need call Cara or myself, okay?", he said as he bid goodbye, his car leaving the house so he could join the team for race weekend.

Getting inside with Maya, the cocker spaniel you and George got after four years of dating, she followed you to the kitchen, the constant pregnancy hunger definitely a thing nowadays, "so, baby Russell, tell me, are we feeling some puddding or some savoury pastry?", you spoke outloud, Maya wiggling her tail at the prospect of you letting something fall on the floor before you settled on the pudding, grabbing one of the cocker spaniel's treats and giving it to her before washing your hands and grabbing a spoon, eating the sweet food before heading to the bedroom, needing to get ready for the evenig plans of sitting on your bed and watching a comedy show rerun while you waited to hear from your husband once he arrived safely at his hotel. You got the message 4 hours later, a picture of his face with a goodnight wish, leaving you with a bit smile on your face. Despite missing him dearly when you couldn't be at his races, he was doing his dream job and you couldn't be prouder of him.

.

You were watching the qualifying laps, the numbers on the TV screen seeming quite good for George, the odds pointing to a start within the first 5 grid places, and given the track and how the car had been performing, it was as incredible result. It wasn't long before Maya needed to go outside ao you got up and opened the door for her, watching her run around for a bit before getting back inside, following you like the little shadow she was. You were in the middle of a shower when you heard your phone ring, washing the rest of the soap suds from your body before getting out, wrapping your hair and body in towells as you made your way into the bedroom, seeing that George had tried to FaceTime you so, placing your phone on top of the chest of drawers, you were putting on your undies while it rang your husband, "Why am I looking at our ceiling, darling?", you heard his chucke through the phone speaker when you noticed the phone had slid down, instead of showing you it was showing him the white ceiling instead, "sorry, I was just having a shower and apparently our furniture is slippery", you giggled, finding a small face towell to create grip so that your phone would stay upright, "Congratulations on P3, my love, we're very proud of you!", you said as you grabbed your body cream, starting to rub it on damp skin like it instructed too while you heard your husband talk about his laps, "we were so sure we would have trouble with the turns but it turns out that the car is doing far better than we expected, which leaves us hopeful for tomorrow's race", he said, a smile etched on his lips when he noticed you bringing your hands to your bump. Your pregnancy was very much wanted between you and George, and he loved it even more when he started noticing the bump grow, an actual visual and touchable sign that you were growing his baby in your tummy, the sight never failed to make him smile and thank his lucky stars, "That's good, you guys deserve it with all the work you've put in", you said, noticing his attention was on your middle section, "Little one has been moving a lot today", you commented as you tapped above your belly button, "yeah? Are they excited for daddy possibly getting a podium tomorrow?", George asked on the other end of the line, "Oh, they know daddy is getting P1 tomorrow".

.

Texting your husband congratulations after his race win, knowing he still had media duties and meeting to attend, you made your way to the kitchen so you could grab some snacks while you watched the post race interviews on TV, getting a quick text from your husband saying he was boarding the plane and he would be home after dinner time thanks to the race location.

George parked the car on the garage, having noticed the dim lighting from the living room window when he entered the property, grabbing his bags and leaving them at the entrance where he was greeted by an enthusiastic Maya, "Hello Maya, how was your weekend? Did you have fun without me?", he said as he layed on her back, asking for some more belly scratches, George giving them to her before he thought it was odd that you had yet to join them. Your waddling wasn't that slow when he left and it suddenly didn't get slower over four days. Urging Maya to follow him into the living room, he was greeted with a picture worthy moment as you were lying on your side, one arm by your side on the sofa while the other cradled your Mercedes team t-shirt cladded bump, a sudden movement you made making it rise from your thigh and revealing you were wearing one of George's boxers. Taking a picture so he could have the memory forever, George approached you on the sofa, stroking your bump when he felt you start to wake up from your nap, "Hi, you could have gone to bed, you didn't need to wait for me", he said softly, allowing you to get used to the stimuli around you, "you're home", you squealed opening your arms so he could cuddle you on the sofa. Carefully scooting around you, George managed to lay your back on his chest, his hand continuing his previous ministrations on your bump and thighs as you told him about what you and Maya had been up to during the weekend, "and after you said you were boarding I swear I only got up for some food while I watched the interviews, but I was so tired I must have fallen asleep", you blushed, pregnancy really making your fall asleep anywhere and anytime of the day.

Holding his arms so he could help you get up, George laced his fingers in yours so you could both head upstairs to your shared bedroom, his voice soothing as he announced he was giving a pamper night routine, "Do you want to change out of those?", he asked gently, grabbing your pyjamas while he watched the same view he had seen on his phone few days before, "Come here, daddy missed his loves", he said as you layed down on the bed, George's hand easing the pain on your hips and back before rubbing oil on your bump, kissing every each of skin he could, "you're incredible, my love. I'll never be able to thank you for allowing me to experience this with you", he muttered, "Well, if you keep doing these pamper nights I think you're up to a good start!".

[adobe-outdesign]

what are your thoughts on through dwebble line? been one of my favorites since first getting into Pokémon!

I don't know how GameFreak managed to make a hermit crab so cute, but they did it. The body reads well but is super simple, and the all-black eyes have a neat shape to them; kind of being cylindrical with the black part of the eye taking up the top. It's just very pleasing to look at.

The main focus of the design, the rock "shell", is also well done; it's obvious as a visual focus and the orange and brown go very well together. It makes for a nice little twist on the usual hermit crab shell while still feeling like an organic and natural element for an animal to utilize. I especially like this detail about them forming a mutualistic relationship with Hippowdon:

The only thing I find questionable about this line is the Bug/Rock typing, as hermit crabs aren't insects at all. Part of me does wonder if these guys are even crabs though, as they seem to have tails and very un-hermit crab-like bodies without their shells:

And thankfully Crustle, while less cute, keeps all the good elements of Dwebble while expanding upon the rock-shell theme. The colors once again look great, expanding into a yellow-brown-brownish red palette that feels very natural with the earth tones they were going for. The body gains a little more detail but still doesn't feel overly busy, and the striations in the rock help break up the large object and draw the colors through it nicely. No complaints here.

The only other note I have about these guys is that they apparently started out as having pottery shells (note: artwork shown in Tweet is fanart and not reflective of any actual beta design):

While I think that going with the rock idea worked out really well, I can't help but want a regional variant that harkens back to the original pottery idea; maybe they live exclusively in ruins, and have bug/ground typing to reflect the clay pots they've moved into.

Regardless, this is a pretty perfect line. The colors are pleasant, the theme is obvious, the evolution feels meaningful and suitably different from the pre-evo, and there's some nice biological aspects tossed in there as well. I'm a big fan.

[sodium-chloride-blog]

Thought I’d share some of my thought process behind my blue team face hc’s since so many of you seemed to like it so much

I’m absolutely biased since Church is by far my favorite (if that wasn’t obvious enough already), so he probably had the most thought put into his design.

According to the ultimate fanbook, the Director got in a fight with another private when he was in basic training who apparently broke his nose, up until Allison beat up the other guy. It’s not as noticeable in the hc sketches but in most art of Church I try to keep a small bump in the nose because of that. I just thought it was a cool nod to how Church is based on the Director.

Honestly I just can’t help but agree with the combination of glasses, black spiky hair, and goatee as the most widely-agreed upon design for Church. Like yeah, that’s what that crusty screaming blue guy would look like 👍

Compared to Tucker and Caboose, he goes through the least amount of drastic changes, somewhat due to the fact that he isn’t in a human body for very long. I like to think Church in his original AI form resembled a younger Director, maybe in his 20′s or 30′s, and the body they picked for him later just needed to look similar enough that the Alpha AI wouldn’t question it. It’s not exact, finding a perfect match is probably impossible, but I like to think poor Private Jimmy just happened to look enough like a younger Director that he ended up the Alpha AI’s host.

Seeing as Epsilon is based on an AI who’s based on a person, it made sense to me that the details got muddled somewhere down the line like a game of telephone. Since he’s only a fragment, the details aren’t as precise as they were on Alpha Church, hence more straight edges (like a model with less polygons).

Tucker was by far the most fun to work on, honestly. The fandom seems a little more divided on how he should look, but that just gave me more ideas to work with.

I like the idea that all 3 of them started off with shorter, ‘military-approved’ length haircuts which grew out as rvb went on.

Can’t forget Florida’s comment about Tucker’s ‘metrosexual good looks’

After the BGC and Tucker went on to become an ambassador, I imagine he got more confident with his energy sword and himself as a soldier. He’s got a few scars, a little stubble, and he’s grown up a bit, but he’s still good ol’ Tucker. His hair kind of worked perfectly for me to illustrate how he grows and develops as a person, for better and for worse.

In The Recollection Trilogy, it’s grown out a bit, but Tucker still keeps his hair neat and up in a ponytail. He’s still figuring shit out, but he’s doing well for himself.

Then the Chorus Trilogy comes along and BAM, hit ‘em with the depression. Some more facial hair, another piercing, a few more scars, but mostly the eyebags and his hair growing out more. First Epsilon leaving with Carolina, then losing Wash, Tucker had to balance the sudden responsibility of becoming captain to the lieutenants on Chorus along with the stress of losing his friends. He was never the leader, Church was always around 'to take the blame when shit went wrong’, and then Wash took his place. A ton of responsibility is suddenly thrust onto Tucker (bow chika bow wow), and I wanted to illustrate visually that he’s NOT taking it well at ALL.

Not only did his hair get longer, but it’s more disheveled now, hanging lower and not as neat anymore as he struggles to keep everything together.

Finally though, I like to think he eventually felt worthy enough as a soldier, a leader, and as a warrior to shave the energy sword symbol into his hair. I’ve seen a ton of fantastic art where people gave him that, and I loved it, but to me it felt almost like a sign of honor, something that he didn’t feel he was ready for until later into the Chorus trilogy when he’d start getting his foothold and regaining his confidence. Eventually he felt he was ready as he truly became a warrior deserving of the symbol.

Caboose was probably the hardest to pin down. There’s a ton of variation in designs, and I don’t think a single design has really become the most agreed-upon. It took some time to think of a design that, at least to me, felt like it matched his voice and personality.

Just like Church and Tucker, I gave him a shorter haircut for his BGC era when he was still a rookie. I had to ensure he looked friendly enough, so after a little searching around for ideas I settled on curly hair. I imagine he’d probably be a brunette. Real warm vibe.

Shoutout to @picz for the idea to give him freckles, outstanding move.

Of course during the Recollection Trilogy his hair grows out like it does for Tucker since they’re... Not really in the army anymore...? They’re sorta... Doing their own thing, so I imagine no one’s sticking to army protocols for hair length anymore (Except Sarge, obviously. Might make some red team face hc’s sometime too....)

I get the impression Caboose doesn’t outwardly show signs of stress quite as badly as Tucker during the Chorus Trilogy. He’s sad Epsilon left, but he isn’t anywhere near overwhelmed or distressed enough to develop eyebags like Tucker.

His hair has grown out longer, so Tucker or Wash probably tied it up into a ponytail for him.

Of course, Caboose grows up too, so I put some facial hair on that boy, plus a few more band-aids and patches here and there. He’s probably got a few scars by now, but not as many as Tucker since Tucker seems more the type to get up close and personal in combat with his energy sword.

[fourseasonsfigs]

Painting Plum Blossoms

We're jumping from yesterday's Episode 36 Armory figures all the way back to Episode 1.

You'll recall this striking scene:

Here we have Zhou Zishu before he was A-Xu, painting his last fallen brother out of his generation's picture.

This scene is so visually stunning. We have the immaculate profile of the jianghu's most jaded civil servant, dressed in a gorgeously rich, weighty imperial uniform, painting what is quite literally one step away from the last nail for his coffin.

The almost tangible aura of heartsick despair in this scene as he drops his brush is so well done.

I missed this fig entirely. It wasn't even that my hand speed was too slow to snatch it up on release day - I had no idea this figure even existed. I saw it one day when browsing Xianyu and was like, what the what is going on here. The fig maker apparently released this and another one, Flying Aspara Wen, at the same time:

PRETTY cute, don't you think (she says, not bitterly at all)? I have not managed to track this one down yet, but I'm gonna, mark my words.

Right. Anyway, I did manage to find this Painting Plum Blossoms one on Xianyu, and I was really happy about it.

This little man is letting the weight of the world drag him down - his boots were a bit uneven and made him tilt quite a bit to the back.

The brush fit beautifully in his hand - I literally just slid it between his fingers. I didn't even have to glue it or anything, and it didn't move around at all as I moved the fig around to take pics. I was quite surprised.

You can see he's leaning quite a bit to the back. This is a nice angle to see some of the detailing on his Tianchuang uniform, which really is a gorgeous costume. It's actually my second favorite Zhou Zishu costume, after his pale lavender Four Seasons Manor one.

My goodness, what a backwards lean! It makes me laugh. Sorry Zhehan, your gorgeously regal perfect posture is not being well represented in resin here!

I love the detailing on the back of his leather guan here, as well as the strings of his hair tie. I know it looks in the picture like the hair tie is part of his head, but it's actually a totally separate piece. It can move a little back and forth.

I like that the fig maker did some pleating on the back of the outfit. It's a very nice touch. I also like how they did his painting arm, with the wider blue sleeves, the detailing on his bracer, and the modeling on the hand. Look at that delicate blushing on the fingers! Proportions can easily get skewed on the limbs for these figs, but this works beautifully.

Oops, this isn't quite the full side view, I over-rotated him a bit. Anyway, this is a great view of that delicately modeled hand.

Even the brush is well done. This is a good angle to see all the pleating on the front of his uniform and the detail on his belt. I'm really happy with this fig.

I love the detail on the bracers, it looks so good. The guan is rendered well too.

The shadows are a little too thick here, but you can barely see he has blue pants tucked into his black boots. This is a great angle to see all the pleating around the entire outfit.

You'll notice the brush is still being held in his hand! It slid back a bit, but it's still hanging in there.

Similarly, the brush slid out a bit to park against the paper, but it didn't fall right out when I turned him over. You can see a little more (blurry though) of the texture in his hair ties.

The modeling is quite nice on the guan here. I'll also just take a moment to say how grateful I am that the paintbrush was so easy and painless to slide into his hand. I know I always call back to my travails with Han Ye with Sword, but that fig is always in my mind when I see a small piece that needs assembly!

More of the lacing on the guan. So nice! You can see a little bit of the groove in his hair on the bottom right of his head there, where the hair tie piece rests in.

I'm always happy when I get a box card, especially when I have to buy a fig on the secondary market. It got a little bent in shipping but otherwise is in great shape.

Material: Resin and a whole lot of despair

Fig Count: (+1) 524

Scene Count: 38

Rating: Only 35.5 more episodes to go until happiness!

[link to the Master Post Index]

[colleybri]

‘The Only Connection that Matters’

My contribution to VelCinta September…

@dailyvelcinta

“Clem”. The complete unknown. Not only had Luthen managed to humiliate Vel by making her take on this mercenary (how terrifying, really, that his only commitment was to the money…), but he had also turned out to be really dislikeable. Asking pointed questions on the walk, expressing real disapproval about the job he was apparently being paid to do. And then, when he got to camp, he had shown her up as a weak leader about the Rono freighter and had then had the cheek to flirt with Cinta. He wasn’t remotely attractive to Vel but she could see that he would be if one were that way inclined, and she had thought that she had seen some … reaction from Cinta. More than just the little smile. A sense perhaps that there was… a connection there, of some kind. Something unspoken and instinctive. Alone in their hut, Vel nursed a cup of black caf and brooded on what exactly it might be, and whether she should bring it up with Cinta. Try to put her mind at rest, in some way.

Vel knew that Cinta would be unlikely to bring up the subject of Clem without a little prompting. It was her job, her role, to be under Vel’s command and to accept whatever decisions Vel made. It’s what being the leader of this mission was all about. Supposedly.

(“LOOK AT ME! You wanted to lead, this is what it takes..”…

“We can say it’s your idea if you like, I don’t care…”)

Below that surface, however, Vel had realised fairly quickly that Cinta had ways of making her feelings about her lover’s decisions clear without having to say a word. A slight sense of disapproval perhaps, or a slightly longer-than -would-normally-be-expected pause before answering. Sometimes just a quick look was enough. Cinta had a clear and steady gaze - it was one of the things Vel had first fallen for. Not only was it naturally beautiful, visually, it was also a way of seeing the woman within, in some sense; a window on the key characteristics of Cinta: her determination, her loyalty and her self-control. For while you might sometimes get a sense of the vulnerability beneath the steel, more often than not this vulnerability was itself in some way tightly controlled. In short, Cinta only ever revealed what she wanted you to see. At least, when it came to these long gazes. It was, ironically, in the sideways glances and the words left unspoken that you might find more of the haunted girl who had lost absolutely everything to the Empire one death-drenched day three years ago.

It wasn’t a question of not trusting her. Vel knew that there was absolutely no chance that Cinta would cheat on her. No. It was something quite different, but no less disturbing in its own way. This wasn’t, Vel sensed, anything really to do with her feelings towards Cinta, but much more about Cinta’s feelings towards her.

It came down to this blunt fact: Vel still wasn’t completely sure if Cinta trusted her. Sure, trust was there on the surface level: she had always gone along with Vel’s decisions at Drill, had even supported her choices quite fiercely when necessary (usually against Skeen). But on a deeper level… Vel wasn’t so sure. Or maybe it wasn’t so much about trust as about faith. Having faith in Vel. She couldn’t say with any degree of confidence that Cinta had faith in her.

Not quite sure, at this moment, what the exact difference between trust and faith might be, Vel concentrated on the appearance of drinking her caf as Cinta returned from feeding the Drays. Cinta gave one of her long gazes as she spoke and as was often the case in that situation Vel missed the meaning of the first sentence as she was too distracted by the simple, breathtaking clarity of her lover’s beautiful eyes.

“…We will have to let the rest go, obviously. But it might be nice to have some meat for this last night here?”

Vel could guess the first sentence easily enough now. “No, let them all live. They’ve done us well. We’ll open the corral before we leave.” She was going to add that they were trying to avoid unnecessary killing on this mission and might as well extend that to the animals they had genuinely learned to care for (in both senses), but she found the words fading before they could reach her mouth.

In short, she didn’t really like talking about death with Cinta.

It was, she decided - in a sudden epiphany - part of the problem. The realisation made her bold. Her fears and insecurities… she knew they were ridiculous, unfair and childish but she just couldn’t help them and couldn’t rest unless they were addressed. Staring into her cup, she said with feigned casualness: “What do you think of Clem?”

Cinta knew her too well. Knew the question would not be answered with a “He’s got brass, you can feel it” (so typically Taramyn, that!) type of response. No. She knew immediately when Vel meant. What she wanted.

“Nothing, much.” Vel tremulously raised her gaze to find Cinta looking down at her with a slightly amused expression. “You do know that, Vel. You don’t need to protect me. Or whatever that was you were doing out there, telling him he could dress himself. He was only flirting. It was harmless.”

Vel found she couldn’t think of what to say and the silence seemed to prompt Cinta to go on. “So if this is about that, frankly it’s a little insulting that you think it could possibly threaten us in some way. I thought we were way beyond that.”

Vel felt the familiar almost-embarrassment. It wasn’t the full emotion. Wryly, she thought to herself that if it were she might learn not to do or say stupid things again. But she always did, and ultimately still felt justified in so doing. Every time.

She took a sip of caf, cold now (food and drink never stayed hot for long in this wretched climate) and brooded on how she might respond. She didn’t want to rush into this one. She had done that before, and things had escalated. Quite nastily. That had been back when Skeen was trying his luck. What was it with these men?! Did they think that the forced intimacy of being in a team like this in the middle of nowhere justified hitting on someone who they knew was off-limits because…. Well, because of any number of reasons. Boredom. Frustration. Arrogance. Sexism. Because Vel was pretty sure that if she were a male they wouldn’t be openly hitting on Cinta. In fact, forget ‘pretty sure’. She felt certain of this. She knew it.

It was just another way in which she was being made to doubt herself. As a leader and as a lover. As a person, even.

The words came to her then, and she knew Cinta would know they were the truth.

“I know. And I’m sorry. I can’t say I won’t do it again, because I know myself too well. I will. I will screw up and I will be a jealous idiot and I will embarrass myself in front of the team and in front of you. And I can’t say I can’t help it either, because I probably could if I … I don’t know. If I tried loving you just a little less… a little less intensely.”

Cinta sat down next to Vel on the dray wool blankets. As if knowing it was now undrinkable and just a kind of prop, she gently took the cup of caf and set it aside, then took Vel’s now-empty right hand in both of her own, enclosing it. Warming it.

“Whatever am I to do with you?” Cinta’s voice was a low murmur. Similar on the surface to the volume and tone she used when being seductive, but this was something different. Vel realised, after a couple of seconds, what it was. Cinta sounded like a parent. Or a big sister. Or an older friend. Or… Or something that just implied a kind of ‘I know best and I’m wiser than you and feel a bit sorry for you because you don’t really understand yet’ kind of way, and Vel felt herself seething, suddenly, with frustration. This was, at heart, the main theme of all of their fights. Their disagreements. Cinta would always, eventually, pull this particular card. It was a winning one. They both knew it.

Because it was, ultimately, true. Cinta was a little younger than Vel. But she had lived so much more. She had lost so much more. She already had a lifetime of sorrows weighing down her soul.

And this, in turn, made Vel feel that there was some key way in which their connection would always be insecure. They were so fundamentally different in terms of the lives they had had. Vel’s life had been fraught with her own troubles, as was to be expected for a woman growing up gay in such a conservative society as Chandrila. But she had money. Privilege. Safety. She fought because she was driven to fight against injustice, but it was a philosophical cause for her, something powerful but in the abstract. For Cinta, however, there was a much more visceral need. Vel’s parents had expressed studied disappointment, on her last visit home, that she was still without a husband. But it had all been kind of … polite. In stark contrast, Cinta’s parents had been shot at point blank range and dumped in a ditch along with the rest of her family. A regiment of Troopers had arrived in her small village one day and the population had been summoned out of their homes to hear the commanding officer announce that someone there had been sheltering two rebels who had killed a local prefect. Then the shooting had started. Apparently, the Imperials couldn’t be bothered to investigate so they simply slaughtered everyone they could find and then blamed said rebels, hoping this would drive their prey out into the open. The irony was that Cinta’s family had indeed been sheltering the rebels. Who were out with Cinta in the forest, hunting, when the attack had happened.

This was the full extent of what Vel knew. Cinta had only told her the once. She would never forget it. And alongside the simple horror of it all came the cold knowledge that she had yet to share with Cinta anything that remotely approached this incomprehensible level of trauma and loss. It had made her feel something new and disturbing in a less obvious way. Vel had wondered, when they had gone past the stage of simple attraction and were starting to develop feelings that ran a lot deeper, whether this instinct might itself have something to do with the intensity of her love. It wasn’t pity, she knew that. Or at least, it wasn’t just pity.

It was a kind of awe. Admiration but also fear.

A fear of losing Cinta. And perhaps, on some level, a fear of Cinta herself.

Vel knew the truth that lay behind Cinta’s often repeated words: “The Struggle comes first, we take what’s left”. She had made Vel try to understand this, even after their very first night together. The truth was that Cinta was quite different to anyone Vel had ever met. And not just as a lover, or as a member of this team - she was simply unlike anybody else in Vel’s experience.

“I’m sorry,” Vel said now, almost automatically, for she ended up saying this a lot in these fights. But she recognised it as an inadequate response. Cinta sighed and Vel sensed that she might try to steer the conversation to less troubled waters, but this time Vel wanted to take back control. Get back to what she had earlier identified as the key issue.

She spoke slowly and steadily. “I know it’s not about Clem. It’s not about not trusting you. It’s wondering if I’m… enough for you. Can you see me as anything other than someone who needs to grow and mature and learn? - because I know I’m so far behind you. We’re so different. You’ve been through so much. I just wonder… if we have enough, sometimes. Enough of… a connection. Whether it’s strong enough to keep us together when this is over.”

Even as she said the words she knew something of the truth in them. There was no end in sight to this struggle. If the heist succeeded, what then? An escalation, surely. More oppression. More suffering. Open war, even.

More death.

Perhaps that was what the possible connection had been with Clem the mercenary. The simple fact that they had both known death before, first hand. Vel knew nothing of his background but what Luthen had told her: “He’s not afraid to kill”.

Neither was Cinta. She knew that. Perhaps death was the connection. The dealing out of it and the suffering because of it. Horrible. Nothing to envy, if that were really the case. Nothing to be jealous of.

But still. It was a connection that she could not share with Cinta.

To her surprise, Cinta raised Vel’s hand and kissed it, letting her lips rest against the skin, saying nothing but letting Vel feel the steady warm puffs of gentle, living air. Vel was about to speak but a quiet ‘shh’ stopped her, and for several more long seconds she was able to relax, just a little, feeling this warm concentration of her lover’s living essence on her hand: the warmth of skin and soft lips and moist breath.

Cinta spoke at last. “We have this connection, Vel. It’s what we can have. It’s enough. It has to be. It is, for me - it’s enough. I don’t need you to have suffered. I don’t need you to have known loss. I just need you to know… all love is precious because it’s finite. You don’t know how long you or I will live. Or anyone. That’s why it’s so important to love well, while we can. This might not last long, but this… is what we do have, for now. Let’s not waste it by mourning it already. We have this.” And she pressed her lips anew to Vel’s hand.

Vel felt the tears prick her eyes but there was a growing warmth within now too. Cinta gently guided Vel’s hand now, up to her own neck, allowing the fingers to rest against the steady pulse there. “And we have this. This is enough too.” Recognising it as the invitation it was, Vel met her lover’s gaze fully at last before leaning towards her. And as they kissed, tentatively at first, she felt their breaths connect too, and lips and tongues soon followed.

It wasn’t their usual language of seduction, but Vel bathed in Cinta’s words nonetheless, allowed them to lap over her, taking both the warmth and the harsh cold in them for it was all Cinta, and Cinta was the woman she loved and that was really all the connection she could ever want or hope for. At least, for now.

As Cinta undressed her, warm hands insistent now in connecting with breasts, neck, arms, thighs… “And we have this,” she would say with each new contact of skin on skin. “And we have this. And this. And we might not always have it. But we have it now. And now is what matters. Now is always what matters, when it comes to love. Don’t look for something more, in the past or the future. This is ‘what’s left’. And it’s enough. It’s beautiful. This is beautiful. You are beautiful. This is why we are fighting. For moments like these. While we can… let’s simply… love.”

Then the words ceased and the kisses started and with each carress of mouths and hands upon and within each other Vel started to understand, fully, something of the intensity of her love and why it could so often feel imbalanced.

She didn’t want to lose Cinta. She had not yet reconciled herself to that horrible possibility. Whereas Cinta… had accepted that she might lose Vel. Because she had already lost so much. And there, in summary, was their relationship. Vel was mourning for a loss she thought might be coming. Cinta was already in a later stage of grief and therefore in some way… accepting that loss would probably come her way again.

But that didn’t stop her love from being real, and intense.

It was enough.

For both of them, now under the blanket they shared, it was enough.