#borderline-stag

[minecraftbookshelf]

The Fae & Who Can Lie and How Well

Katherine: Faerie. Cannot lie. At all. Is physically incapable of it. Goes the wordplay route with mixed success. This has led to some misunderstandings (whether these misunderstandings are ultimately comic or tragic remains to be seen) over What Exactly is Happening in Rivendell because she knows most of it but is also sworn to secrecy and her resulting phrasing from trying not to lie without betraying her allies confidence has been…misleading at times.

Scott: Elf. Can technically lie but it is physically uncomfortable borderline painful. Is also just generally very bad at it due to lack of socialization. Usually doesn’t bother, just deflects and distracts. (Often also badly)

Xornoth: Elf. Again, can technically lie. Physically painful, does lie some because Circumstances. And also has a malevolent stag god riding shotgun in their head which skews the pain perception much like a chronic illness. Is better at it than Scott, mostly by virtue of consistently rolling high in intimidation.

Shrub Berry: Gnome. Can also technically lie but just doesn’t understand the need to. It is unclear whether this is due to her species or her personality. They are bad at it as a result, even when they do try. If they lie it’s a lie of omittance or, like Scott, a deflection.

#empires smp #empires s1 #xornoth #shrub berry the gnome #Shubble #rain rambles #smajor1995 #marriage of state au #katherineelizabeth #mos: worldbuilding #mos: katherine #mos: scott #mos: xornoth #mos: shrub

[theicarusconstellation]

my favorite marauders headcanons!! (some of these i don’t consider my “favorites” as they have a more negative connotation, i.e. regulus having an eating disorder, but they’re on this list because they’re the ones i most strongly identify with.)

regulus hcs

gay

jewish

transmasc

ballerina

figure skater

pianist, violinist, and cellist

classically trained in opera

contratenor

autistic

has selective mutism

ocd

potions master

was afraid to swim, but the sea fascinated him (he admired from afar)

french, spoke french as his first language

had a lisp as a child

thought it was better to die than to speak

classical music enthusiast

evermore by taylor swift (it's just him. i don't make the rules.)

sirius hcs

gender-fluid

helped regulus transition

got a tattoo of the phases of the moon down their spine

borderline personality disorder

pianist

classically trained in opera but sounds better singing rock

tenor

hockey player

incredible at eyeliner (his only competition is marlene)

rockstar sirius

had dog-like traits even as a human after becoming an animagus

her patronus is moony

wears matching rings with reggie

always has painted nails (black)

has his and regulus' constellations tattooed

reputation by taylor swift

remus hcs

folklore by taylor swift

jewish

has a book club with lily and regulus

very prominent scars

wears brown converse

his first friend was lily

had sirius do ziggy stardust makeup on him

his jumpers were all knitted by hope (his mum)

welsh

loves earl grey tea

literally a tree

lily hcs

lesbian

jewish

red (tv) by taylor swift

tall

this one is kind of canon but top of her class in charms and potions

welsh

killer at doing hair

her full name is lilian

tutors the younger years

horrible at herbology

steals remus' jumpers

james hcs

bipolar

desi

pansexual

adhd

lover by taylor swift

dresses up like rudolph every christmas

nothing can tame his hair

horrid singer

prongs is disproportionately large for a stag

was the one who came up with the animagi idea

knew marlene and peter as a kid

mama's boy

snores

rests his elbow on regulus' head just to piss him off

peter hcs

trans

pagan

ocd

queer

killer at herbology

would have been a homestuck fan

fearless (tv) by taylor swift

horrible cook

always made sure the first-years knew where to go

didn't stand for any slytherin slander and supported friendship between the houses

goes to sleep at the head of his bed and wakes up at the foot of it (this is so oddly specific)

#marauders headcanon #marauders hc #regulus black #james potter #peter pettigrew #remus lupin #sirius black #lily evans #jegulus #starchaser

[theambivalentagender]

My Comics Process

I've seen other people post an overview of their comic making process, so I figured I'd put up my own for Valley Echoes. Fair warning, a lot of this is probably good examples of what you really shouldn't do. There's bits to it I need to tweak. But overall this is just what works for me.

Step 1: Borderline Maladaptive Daydreaming

I have a general outline of upcoming comics and plot points, mostly in my head, partially written down in a Notepad file named "ejfiejfeij." Sometimes I'll see something like an incorrect quote or headcanon that inspires a part of a comic, and when that happens I'll try to take note of the original creator of said inspiration to credit later.

Several of my comics have been literally inspired by weird things that have happened while playing modded Stardew - one good example being this bit.

Step 2: Sketch Concept

I don't always do this stage in full for every comic - sometimes I just know exactly how things are going to go. But a lot of the time I like doing it because it's a quick way to note down specific visual ideas I have for upcoming comics so I can save time once I get to them.

Funny enough I don't really write scripts for my comics. Again, probably something I should do, but I find writing out scripts actually makes it harder for me to get ideas out fluidly. A script feels like I have to lock down a lot of details right away - that isn't necessarily the truth, it's just how it feels for me, and can result in me not being able to just get the ideas out of my head.

I purposefully keep this stage very, very simplified and loose, mostly for the above reasons. The idea is to keep as much detail-oriented thought away from this stage of the process as possible. You'll see I use certain quick markers to differentiate characters - Shane's sideways hair triangle, Emily's curl, Clint's beard, and Zeke's zig-zaggy hair.

I may write down specific dialogue lines that I know for sure I want in the final comic, but mostly it's just general dialogue ideas or reminders to myself what the "bit" is supposed to be if it's not immediately obvious. I'll add small direction lines if they're important, and quick speech bubbles as a reminder that a character is talking offscreen.

Apologies for my abysmal handwriting. It's readable to me, and in this stage that's really all that matters.

Step 3: Detailed Sketch

This is the part where I finally sit down and take a couple of hours to do the initial comic sketch. Sometimes the final version of this won't entirely match up with the concept. Rarely, I've added or removed panels up until the final image. In most cases, though, this is where the overall comic gets locked in.

I use CSP's 3d models and assets for most of my scenes. I have saved models for each of the characters' proportions, which I find is super great for keeping relative heights consistent. Most of the time when I need props or other set pieces in a scene I'll just use various primatives, however there was absolutely no way in hell I was going to be able to pull that off for the camera, so that's its own asset.

I don't carry my notes over from concept to this stage, I mostly just refer back to the concept layer when I need to add those bits. I've been trying to get more in the habit of sketching out word bubble blocks at this stage to get an idea of how much space I need to leave in each panel. I didn't do this for this comic, which did lead to issues with the one panel where Zeke is trying to walk naturally, but oh well.

Step 4: "Inking"

I like to call this stage "inking" but it's really doing the final clean up layer. This is where I start messing with vectors.

There's actually a lot of steps to this that I can't quite show in this final layer version. Here, I start with just drawing over the lines in the detailed sketch layer with my "inking" pen. I try to keep my lines clear and tend to draw over crossing lines so I can erase the overflow later for a cleaner look. Throughout this stage I'm doing a lot of line adjustments, simplifying where I can, just to make the next part easier.

After I've done all that, I'll go back and adjust line thicknesses. I could probably do a whole post on that alone, but in general I lean toward thicker lines, thickening the lines of clothing, hair, eyebrows, and eyes in particular, as well as thinning wrinkle and other small detail lines.

Step 4: Base Color

I have a pallet of base black-grey-white colors for Valley Echoes, each of which I use consistently for different details. For example, nearly all characters get the same "skin" color (exceptions being Maru, Jas, and Demetrius, who each have their own). Zeke and Shane's hair and common outfit colors are also saved, as well as a few for other recurring characters.

Other than that, I try to "color" according to what needs to stick out in a scene and just trying to make sure grayscale tones aren't too similar next to each other and muddied. If two characters are going to be standing next to each other frequently I try to give them noticeably different shades in their clothing.

The process for this is slightly different for in-color comics. I also have pallets saved for those comics.

Step 5: Details

This is where I'll go back in and add other details that can't simply be added with fill and other tools. In this case, I added Shane's stubble, the blushing in several panels, and Clint turning blue with effect lines.

This is also where I'll add a background. Again, I try to keep the backgrounds so that they don't muddy the foreground elements.

Step 5: Dialogue

This is the bit where I'm likely going to do some revamping in the future. CSP's base dialogue tools are...not great. I'm considering finding another program for doing this bit.

I've also been trying to learn more about methods for dialogue bubble placement in general. This is the bit that can be the most frustrating for me, but overall it works.

How to write the dialogue itself would probably take up multiple posts in of itself. It's a bit instinctual to me because I have much more experience with writing in general. There's also a lot you can say about how splitting dialogue into different bubbles changes how those lines are interpreted, etc.

In this case, a chunk of this comic is taken directly from the original SDV scene, slightly altered for timing purposes. When it comes to canon scenes, it variates on how strictly I follow the dialogue.

After this step, it's just splitting each of these into separate images for each panel and uploading to Tumblr. And I guess that's my very messy, still in development process.

#valley echoes asides #comic #comic process

[c0nsumemy5oul]

WIP Wednesday Thursday

I've been working on something ever since I saw this post by @emlovessid and after a lot of planning and hard work I finally have a little snippet to share! I'm still in the first draft phase, so a lot of this might change but I really like what I've got going.

So, jegulus microfic (?) 766 words, rated T.

He knows that it’s impolite to answer the phone, especially when you’re in a radio interview, but it’s Regulus. He can’t not answer.  “Would you mind if I answer that?” Dave, his nosy interviewer, didn’t even have the time to nod before James picked up the call regardless. 

“Hey, hun.” James grinned, hearing his boyfriend’s voice. He lowered the volume so only he could hear it.  “James, hi!” A beat of silence. “Your voice sounds different, are you alright?”  “Oh, don’t worry about me, I’m fine.” Dave’s eyes were growing wide in his curiosity. James’ eyes twitched in annoyance.  “Okay, well, I just wanted to make sure you can make it to my gala next weekend? You’ll finally get to meet my friends!” Regulus’s voice sounded a little on edge, like he thought James couldn’t make time for it in his busy schedule. Which is outrageous because that’s exactly what he drilled his assistant about when they made said schedule.  “Of course.” James quickly shut down his doubts. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”  “Okay,” Regulus made a sound and James instantly knew he was biting back a smile. “Are you busy? He asked after several beats of silence.  “I am a little occupied, yes.” James shot a glare at Dave from under his mask. “But I’ll call you when I’m home.”  “Alright. I’m gonna go have dinner with my brother now.” Reg told him.  “Have fun.” James smiled widely.  “Love you!”  “Love you too.” James replied, watching the screen as Regulus hung up. He turned back to Dave, uncrossed and recrossed his legs. “Uh, sorry, what was the question?”  “Who was that?” Dave borderline demanded, his eyes alight with curiosity and the prospect of a scoop.  Have some subtlety, at least. James smiled tightly, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” His years in media training will not go to waste.  “Yes, I would.” Dave smiled toothily, like this was some game to him. “I would like it very much.”  Well, James won’t play. “It was my mother.”  He can see the hesitancy on Dave’s face. But the man had to know he can’t call out a celebrity on a lie.  He can’t be an amateur.  “Mr. Prongs…”  Or he can.  James wished Remus was with him so could deck Dave in the face.  “Don’t you know, Dave? I’m a total mama’s boy.”  Dave laughed nervously, a retort on his lips, about to cross the fucking boundary.  “Let’s move on with the interview, shall we?” James said pleasantly, but his voice was laced with poison. “What was the next question?”  Dave cleared his throat and rearranged his notes, finally taking the hint. “Right, um. Fans are speculating about the new album you’ve been teasing, anything you can tell us about it?”  Finally, a question they had agreed upon.  James rattled off a practiced answer hinting some more to what the album is about and the style of the songs. (Mostly love songs. That’s Regulus to blame.)  Towards the end, the same question that James has had to answer in every single interview he ever had as Prongs came up.  “Why the mask?” James had a few answers ready. Imprinted in his mind forever due to the frequency of the query. He got tired of it all.  “Why not?” He replied. “You can’t fault a man for wanting to keep his public and private life separate. And I like my stag mask.”  “I understand the stage name,” Dave smiled again. James wanted to punch him oh-so badly. “But your face, Mr. Prongs.”  “Exactly. My face.” James nodded. “If I were to show it, I would lose every spec of privacy I had left. This way I can go outside and blend right in when I want to.”  “Well, you’d have some privacy left. Your mother’s calls, for example.” Dave joked. He chuckled innocently. James didn’t laugh. He was too focused on not ripping the man to shreds.  He stood up. “Oh, would you look at that! We ran out of time.” They still had five minutes to go. But James can’t bear sitting in the same room as his interviewer anymore. He’ll get shit for answering the phone anyway, might as well really piss off his publicist.  “Maybe we’ll continue in another interview.” They are not doing another interview.  Dave looked at him with hopeful mischievous eyes. James is never stepping foot in this building again.  “It was a pleasure to host you Mr. Prongs.” Dave said. “Good luck on your upcoming album.”  “Thank you.” James nearly spat the words as he stormed out.  He hated radio.

It's not coming out any time soon, if ever. But I do hope you like it. Would love to hear your thoughts!

#jegulus masked singer au #james potter is a masked singer #aka prongs #regulus black is a successful painter #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #jegulus microfic #jegulus fic #jegulus fanfic #jegulus fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #hp marauders #my work #my writing #my fanfiction

[scuderlia]

haircut!anon back to yap! (not directly abt haircuts this time but i like the pseudonym.) topic on the board today is-- animal symbolism! reading the most recent snippet my eyes caught on the visual of charles crawling like a dog, which is really in sharp contrast to his typical fanon personification through dominantly herbivores/prey animals (mouse and deer/stag come to mind). (i feel kind of insane typing this out.) feel free to take this idea anywhere you please but like - herbivore-carnivore transition, or was he blood hungry from the start? do you have other strong animal-relational symbolism u associate with girlestappen? is this just a weird fucking question? lol

in reference to this snippet

eee! haircut!anon, i think you may actually live in my brain.

this is all delicious and i have lots to say about it, so bear with me!

i am not immune to the typical charles characterization of prey animal (see: the very elaborate web weave i made about him and deer theory...) but i think that when it's contrasted against his hunger, it really gets interesting.

(section a: CL field-notes)

the biggest thing with charles and what makes his character so compelling is the juxtaposition. he's passionate (and borderline obsessive) about his own performance, and also someone who is quite reserved and considerate of himself and others.

to contextualize this through racing: there is a clear distinguishment between charles on-track and charles off-track—a morbid desire to succeed that is housed within someone who is incredibly caring and attentive, especially towards those he cares about. the fact that charles has kept pretty much all of his friends from childhood (many of whom he karted with, or competed against) speaks volumes to this.

one of my absolute favorite charles characterization/personality quotes comes from his former Team Principal at Prema:

"The first thing that comes to mind when we talk about him is once again his determination, and his almost sickly desire to improve. Whether it was after the first test with us or after the end of the season, he always asked us where he could improve and how he had to do it. It is at the extreme of perfection." — René Rosin (Prema Racing, 2017) via 'Charles as seen by his former team managers' (Charles Leclerc Fans)

i think that above all else, charles' determination is funneled through the consideration of how he can push himself to be perfect. and ultimately, that is the driving force behind his pursuit of desire.

charles is self-described as being non-sentimental, and not particularly religious either. i think a large part of that comes down to how he never falls back on the idea of 'divine fate' or things being out of his hands. yes, there are little rituals he keeps up through racing... memories of his childhood, family, etc. that he carries, but none of them are ever pinned as a reason for either success or failure. ultimately, what happens on track and in competition are direct results of charles, his decisions, and efforts.

the best way i crystalize this for the sake of the narrative is that, to be very one-dimensional about it, charles views his car as a sort of 'phantom limb.' while it is this greater object that is separate from Charles the Person, any mishaps or incidents can ultimately be tied directly back to his direction and control.

charles has this morbid need to reach the pinnacle of what he believes himself to be capable of, and anything that falls short of that is viewed (by him) as a failure. this is primarily evident to me through how, even in the anger of moments where he's crashed or DNF'd, the blame is always directed inwards. he curses himself out, blames his own lack of performance, and even in media interviews afterwards tends to only reference the things that he should have done differently to gauge better results.

to tie this back to ideas of him being ruthless vs. meek, it's not necessarily that charles becomes a different person when he races, but instead that his hunger for perfection comes to the forefront, eclipsing everything else.

(section b: translation to girl!charles)

for girl!charles, i took this greater concept of having hunger eclipse nerves and reservations, and stuffed it into a little guilt-shaped pouch. in order to initially cope with killing and eating people, charles separates her person from her desire, or more-so allows it to be swallowed when necessary.

it is a very transformative thing, being around max. without giving away the entire plot, charles does devolve a bit, or more so gives into her hunger and desire instead of restricting herself. it's mentioned briefly in the snippet i posted, but charles' arc of being a cannibal follows in succession to max's—essentially, max was one first, and charles becomes more ruthless and willing to devour as their relationship progresses.

as killing and eating, especially with max, draw closer and closer to becoming a sacred act, she starts to chase this image of perfection within her own craft. it's something that she wants to be good at, and to do so, she sensationalizes some aspects of it (or maybe romanticizes is a better descriptor... i'm not sure)

the comparison in the drabble was mostly to allude to the animalistic nature of what they're doing, and how charles still makes efforts to try and separate herself from her actions when she eats. Charles the Cannibal and Charles the Girl are two different identities that she carries with her. over time, she starts to realize that the degrees of separation between the two were not as great as she thought, and thus begins her divulsion.

(section c: hunger as an animal)

i'm pretty sure that anything/everything i write will always include animal symbolism, so yes, there's definitely some present within girlestappen. their loyalty and devotion to one another is incredibly dog-like, and evident within the greater narrative of cannibalism and the act of devouring together. lesbians go crazy when a gentle creature bites to protect them.

aside from that, there's also allusions within the individual kills to animals/ideas of predator-and-prey that i haven't yet posted about, and likely won't until i finish the whole fic and publish it (we're 17k in... making moves...)

the one that i will point out now is charles likening the wire that max holds in this snippet to a snake. at this point, charles is still grappling with her attraction to max, and the comparison is intended to a) act as foreshadowing for how the guy she's with is about to die, and b) how his death, and max's actions, are ultimately going to push her to act on that temptation (think serpent in the Garden of Eden)

also... on the herbivore-carnivore topic... i've actually written charles as a vegetarian early on in the story (a decision she initially makes as a means to curb her desire and hunger)... so you nailed it.

this may be incoherent but tldr; charles contains multitudes.

#psychoanalysis on the blog #asks #fic asks #girlestappen #haircut!anon

[skippyv20]

Telegraph article

Prince Harry was never going to miss the Coronation​

The more time he spends with irritating Californians, the more he will know that Britain is genuinely homeTIM STANLEY17 April 2023 • 6:00amIf I were Meghan, I wouldn’t go to the Coronation, either. Aside from being stuck talking to people you suspect don’t like you, there’s the nightmare of being upstaged. No matter how much money one spends on a hat, the King’s is always going to be fancier.So, I get why she’s staying in California, land of the freebie. The question is, why is Harry coming to the Coronation? He has accused his family of briefing against him; his brother of physical assault. And then there’s the memoir, Spare, which he might not have written but he’s certainly read, because he recorded the audiobook, so he knows that it portrays the monarchy as borderline abusive.It is, the book seems to imply, a Ruritanian zoo – the royals kept as pets, deprived of autonomy and put on display. If William is the heir, Harry was born to be the “backup, distraction, diversion and, if necessary, a spare part. Kidney, perhaps. Blood transfusion. Speck of bone marrow.” There’s a lot of bloodletting in these pages (hunting stags, killing Taliban), yet the Windsors suppress their emotions, even in front of those they love. No wonder the spare was set to explode. No wonder he ran off to America, where, he says, he was relieved to be among people who say how they truly feel.Well, a lot of us have made that journey, Harry, and a lot of us have come crawling back.At first, Californian honesty is refreshing. The barriers come down, you feel understood. But then their openness becomes oversharing, and you begin to realise they haven’t really got that much to say, they just enjoy talking. By the millionth time someone tells you their chakras are out of line or “we can learn a lot from the dolphins”, you want to scream. Harry must be missing Britain’s brooding silences, our civilising damp. You can tell that from Spare’s description of Frogmore Gardens in April: “The trees were bare, but the air was soft. The sky was grey, but the tulips were popping. The light was pale, but the indigo lake, threading through the gardens, glowed.”I sense a tension between the ghostwriter, who thinks the monarchy is mad, and Harry, whose memories he has to interpret are bittersweet enough to suggest that, deep down, he bloody loves it. Hence, he can’t let go. Ever.Harry has traduced his family, but wants to be among them. He has suggested the monarchy is ridiculous, yet uses his title and so do his little children.As my communist friend Ash Sarkar once observed, the Sussexes have never asked for equality in the sense of being regular citizens; what they want is to be equal among aristocrats, to have their royal status recognised and honoured. Far from being republican Jacobins, they are closer in spirit to Jacobites, asserting a disputed claim from a foreign fleshpot. Except that they weren’t forced into exile, like the magnificent James II; they flounced off and burnt the bridges behind them. No one compelled them to speak to Oprah or spill their guts on Netflix. The Windsors have long said they would take them back, as the invitation to the Coronation proves. I’m afraid responsibility for this rupture lies squarely with the Sussexes, who probably imagined they could withdraw from royal duties yet enjoy the trappings of royalty.Isn’t that typical? So many of us want it both ways. We undervalue our institutions – from Church to education to the family – starve them of money or effort, yet still expect them to be there when we want them. The crown is just the most glittering example of a culture taken for granted. We have mocked the monarchy and made its members’ lives hell, yet for one weekend in May we will luxuriate in its traditions – including the people who, for the rest of the year, claim to find it repugnant.Were republicans sincere in their philosophy, they would volunteer to work on the bank holiday Monday, just as the Puritans carried on through Christmas. But I bet they’ll take the whole weekend off, wallow in the livery and street parties, and Take That playing Windsor Castle. They’ll agree that “nobody does this as well as the British” – and then the next day, Britain will resume its project to ensure we can never do it again, by labelling our customs “elitist” and our history “racist”. Even the monarchy is supporting a study into its relationship with the slave trade. One thing that does not put Harry at odds with the establishment is his wokeness.As he takes his seat in the 38th row, between Humza Yousaf and Valerie Singleton, Harry will find himself back where he belongs – for Britain made him and Britain looks a lot like him, too. We’ve always had a Robinson Crusoe complex, a desire to strike out and see the world, only to return to a country that will be as we remember it.And it is one of the jobs of the monarchy to be constant. After the changes Britain has been through, the fact that this institution goes on being itself is refreshing, almost a novelty. But it doesn’t happen by accident. If every royal behaved like Harry, and walked away when it got too tough, or too boring, there’d be no monarchy left – no home for Harry to come back to.So, I hope he says “thank you” to Charles and William for keeping things ticking along while he was absent. For doing their duty

Thank you.   Very interesting🐼

[stagred]

　ANONYMOUS CALLED IN! : I've left you something before on borderline shameful exotica that made my tail twitch in a language I learned many years ago, but now I just want to have more of a casual polite little written letter here since I heard you had a question given to you regarding your father. I find fathers irrelevant myself as if you do remember my last little note to you about not having a lap to sit on. That wasn't supposed to come off as it may have! I swear!

　My mother and the coven always said fathers were just something needed to create...I suppose in ways that is certainly true! But you always need mothers to create men anywho, as feminine aspects overpowered the masculine, she would say. Stronger grips and graces to rule them all even under the iron grasp of a man in power.

　It's almost like bears in a sense. But I do so believe we all have soul attachments to the critters of the forest, even if some of them can be torn apart with big teeth and claws.

　Oh....I do digress. My deerest apologies, Monsieur Alastor.

　But they do say there's something special about those who love their mamas. So here you are with a more delicate notion of the question as I do enjoy your thoughts.

　What was your mother like?

　She certainly did an astounding job at raising you. So polite, so charming so much more than the typical one down in the pits. If I could, I'd bake her an apple pie for creating such a lovely stag. Bless her heart.

　- une petite créature des bois

　" Ah, welcome back, piti mwen an! And what a lovely prompt you've brought me today! My dear manman -- Charlotte, though she preferred Lottie -- was young, talented, with a bright hope for her future! Unfortunately for her, she was born in 1884, hardly a kind year to those of us with a darker hue to our skin. Despite this, when my mother was seventeen, she left the little shack she shared with my grandmother in Shreveport and traveled to New Orleans to become a performer! She could sing, act, dance, tease, joke, why she was the whole package and then some! "

　He pauses.

　" But she met a man named Quentin, a rich and charming young white man with a smile she claimed could melt the harshest snow and freeze the desert. He offered her a job as a housemaid at an inn he owned, to tide her over until her big break. And slowly, Lottie and Quentin fell in love. But Quentin was only nice to her when people were looking. Elsewhere, he was cruel and violent, and he took whatever he wanted when he wanted it.

　" When my mother was nineteen, she came back to Shreveport. Her stomach was heavy, her pockets were light, and her name was Bouchard. She gave birth to me on the floor of that little shack in the woods with no one but my grann to help her, and she thanked God that I was born looking more like my father than her.

　" She kept house for the rest of my life. It was enough to keep food on the table and clothes on my back, but she was insistent that no one be able to treat me the way she was treated. I attended a white school, I was baptized in a white church, and when people asked, I was taught to tell them that Miss Lottie was my nanny, and my parents had passed away.

　" She raised me to be polite, cordial, kind, to smile through every trial and tribulation! A smile makes people feel safe when they're afraid, empowered when they're weak, and comforted when they're lonely! So I wore my smile through every bitter moment of my adolescence. When I became a radio personality, however, I was FINALLY able to give my mother what she deserved! I had the shack turned into a memorial site for my grann, and I bought a gorgeous two - story townhouse for my mother and I to share. But she... declined to move in with me. She was afraid her presence might put my job in jeopardy. So instead, she rented a small apartment in the city, and I sent her a modest sum every month to help keep her head up. "

　Another pause.

　" She died in 1919 of fever. I held her hand until she breathed her last, and I buried her with my grann in the same place I was born. She never learned what I was doing. I'm quite content with that. "

#📻 alastor; answered.

[closetoedshoes]

true detective s1 is so deeply funny to me because. okay listen. nbc hannibal season one premieres in 2013 to glowing reviews on its visual texture and particular brand of hilarious pretentiousness, true detective season one premieres a year later with a twitchy borderline psychic new detective finding ritual stag murder in a field but it is SOOOO serious. and the shows aren’t similar in meaningful ways aside from being in the heightened procedural ballpark (nbc hannibal dark horsing said network by remaining loosely attached to that format despite secretly being a “blood opera”) but GOD is it funny because in the grand tennis match for “quality” between the two shows you’d think hbo would win. hbo fancies it would win too. but they’re neck and neck the ENTIRE time. and true detective actually ends up getting eclipsed by the sheer genre play on hannibal. and it’s like nay…that gay little nbc show couldn’t. could it? but it could…

#matthew mcconaughey v hugh dancy for critics choice best actor was my super bowl. i think will graham would rip rust cohle to shreds #which is the most interesting part about BOTH their characters

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Celebration and Traditions

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy Summary: They didn't have anything like this when they were kids, so they've decided to make it a tradition as adults. After all, now that they're married, they have complete control over their own household. The holidays are for them and them alone. Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical child abuse Word Count: 3,592 Ship(s): Five Hargreeves/Viktor Hargreeves

Archive link!

A/N: We've made it all the way to the end! I'm honestly really surprised that I was able to make it all the way to the end. I wasn't sure that I was going to be able to do that because I was worried I was going to get sick of TUA. Even though most of my other mutuals that love it have moved on, I'm still mostly here lol. I was also tempted to write all twelve installments at the beginning of the year but decided that it would be a better idea to write them a month prior to their upload to show my progress. I think it turned out really well! Thank you all for following me on this journey and enjoying each installment. Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

The morning crept slowly into the afternoon, and Viktor knew that he had to get on with his tasks if he wanted to have time for joy. He had spent the early hours burrowed under his heavy winter quilts to try and stave off the storm that was threatening to cleave his joints in two. It wasn’t rare for him to have high pain days after concerts when they were in the winter months, but that didn’t make them suck any less.

Slowly, he removed the duvet and then forced himself to his feet. He didn’t know that getting up into his forties was going to result in him being in so much pain compared to when he had been heavily medicated and in his thirties, but life was coming to laugh at just how wrong he had been. One hand moved to cup the hip that was hurting him as he dragged the blankets and sheets back to where they belonged. Boomer, the rescue bloodhound that they had picked up from the pound only two years ago, was going to make a nest out of their bed if he didn’t put it back to some semblance of rights. He didn’t have the energy to tuck the sheets back in where they belonged, though.

He was glad that he had showered the night before instead of putting it off until the morning as he stagged over to his chest of drawers so he could put some clothes on. He settled for a comfortable, soft pair of cotton pants and then the blue sweater with little snowflakes on it that Klaus had given him the year before. It was soothing enough on his borderline overstimulated skin that he knew he was going to be able to actually wear it without an undershirt, which would prevent him from getting too hot.

He walked past the office, expecting Five to be where he always was. It had bothered him when they had first gotten married, the amount of time that Five spent working, but he had learned to understand it. In the same way that his brain was always cycling through songs and music and tasks, his husband’s was doing with math. He had to have a release for that so that the numbers didn’t eat each other in his mind. Today, though, Five wasn’t there.

Viktor paused for only a moment so that he could listen to the sounds of their house. The heater had kicked on again because the windows of their home leaked, but over that was the sound of crisp, clear piano cords. A smile crept over his face as he realized what that meant and he immediately headed towards his living room.

Neither of them had grown up watching much television so even with the technological advancements of the new universe, their living room was set up with a myriad of other things that they could do. They had the huge bookshelves containing all of the novels that they had wanted to but had never gotten the chance to read. They did have a TV in their entertainment center, as well as a couple of gaming consoles, despite their disuse of them both. The thing that Viktor loved the most was the vintage piano that he had personally helped refurbish. 

Five was currently perched on the bench for it, his eyes boring holes into the page in front of him. They would flicker down to his hands and he would move them over slightly as he continued to play. He had only recently started to learn so that he could make accompany Viktor’s violin, but he was excelling greatly.

He was so wrapped up in his work that he didn’t even turn his head towards his husband like he normally would have. The time when Viktor thought that it was fun to startle his husband had long since passed, so he sat down on the bench and waited until he was noticed. Several minutes passed before Five turned towards the other man like he had assumed that Viktor was by his side the entire time and then asked, “What’s this note again?”

“You play it like this,” he replied instead of just telling the other. One of his arms wrapped around Five’s back to hold onto the arm that was further away and the other came to rest on the closer one. It meant that they were squished together, Viktor’s face pressed flush to Five’s shoulder but neither of them were going to say anything about it. They could only touch each other like this, could only derive love and care from their spouse. It was their tender, private moment and nothing was going to be able to break it.

Viktor carefully reoriented Five’s hands on the keys and then pressed down so that they next part of the song rang through their house. “Do you want to show me the entire song?” he asked. Instead of moving back so that he was sitting in his own spot, he settled his arms into his lap and kept his head resting on Five’s shoulder.

“Would you like to hear the rest of the song, beloved?” Five asked, a small smile creeping up on his handsome features. 

“You know that I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to. I’ve grown up at least a little bit since we were six,” he chuckled playfully. Viktor tilted his head up, running his hand through the salt-and-pepper locks that were now hanging down over Five’s forehead. 

“I would certainly hope so,” Five replied. He leaned down and brought their lips together in a chaste yet sweet kiss, one that made Viktor feel like there was molten chocolate in the center of his chest.

When they broke apart from each other, Five turned back to his piano and began to play. Viktor let his eyes fall shut and cuddled into his side enough that he could feel close but not so much that he was going to be hindering the play. He hummed along with the familiar parts of the song and didn’t say anything when the notes were missed or a bar was in the wrong place.

“That was nice,” Viktor commented when the last couple of notes finished playing through the back of the piano. “What made you choose it out of all of the songs in this book?”

“I know that it’s one of your favorites, I thought that it would be nice to wake you up with it,” he replied softly. Now that he was no longer playing, he moved so that he was straddling the branch and could face his husband properly. Viktor responded to that by tucked his legs up underneath himself, despite how much it made his already creaky knees ache in the process.

That same warmth that was caused from hearing the song leaked through his veins again. Carol of the Bells was a song that he had to play almost every year with his orchestra. Some would argue that should have made the song his least favorite, but the haunting cords and slow crescendo made it feel like his bones were vibrating at the perfect tempo to heal everything bad that had ever happened to him. It was his favorite because he got to play it so much, because he got to bask in that feeling. The fact that his husband had picked up on that, even after all their years of marriage and the assumption others would make, was almost as good as getting to play the song with a professional orchestra. 

“It was a very nice thing to wake up to,” he murmured. “I always play this song before I make Christmas cookies, like Mom used to.”

“I was thinking that we could make them together this year. I already did all of the chores that needed to get done today and I finished grading a week early. Is that okay?” Five asked.

Viktor was going to laugh before he saw that there was genuine worry in his husband’s eyes. There hadn’t been any kind of celebration for the holidays in their childhood home despite Grace decorating for all of them. The closest that they had gotten to a celebration was the pageants that the Umbrella Academy members got asked to go to during Christmas and New Years, as well as the day off that they were awarded on their birthday. Five had been lost in the apocalypse when he was an adult and hadn’t been able to celebrate anything or even properly conceive the passage of time, so there hadn’t been anything for him there. Viktor had only known the holidays as a time where everyone else started getting off work and he only had more because he was a concert violinist.

Now that they were adults and they owned their own home, away from their father, they were allowed to do whatever they wanted. Five got extra time off when he wasn’t working at the university and Viktor still worked a lot, but now it felt like a blessing and something to be excited about. They decorate their home in the way that they liked, with fake tinsel made in silver instead of the classic red and green. They got a fake tree that they put with a skirt that mostly hung off the collapsable table instead of hiding the legs. They decorated the fake tree with ornaments that they had made themselves, found in thrift stops, and received from their siblings. They also had their own little traditions that they liked to do, that had formed naturally over the years.

They did several things throughout the actual month of Decemberin preparation for Christmas, but this tradition was by far Viktor’s favorite. They baked cookies on Christmas Eve every year, even though they had never had a child living with them and thus never had to pretend that Santa was real. Usually Five was too busy to help with them, which Viktor was fine with since he liked cooking on his own. This year it seemed like his husband was making an effort to appreciate all of the things that made the holiday special for him.

He was also aware that Five was under the impression that the world was very rickety and he was terrified up upending the balance. The crease on Five’s nose and the worry in his brow spoke to his anxiety about whether or not what he had done was right. Viktor moved forward on the bench so that he was essentially sitting on his husband’s lap. He linked his fingers on the back of his husband’s neck and brought him in so that their foreheads were pressed together. “I would love it if you and I could bake cookies together this year. Thank you for being the best husband that I could ever ask for,” he whispered.

Five, with no hesitation, reached out so that his hands were grasping his husband’s hips. They were impossibly close together, not kissing or speaking to each other, just basking in the life that they each brought to the relationship and the fact that they got to experience the world together. “I love you, Viktor.”

“I love you more,” he replied mischeviously. He pressed a quick kiss to his husband’s nose and then got off of the bench so that he could go to the kitchen. He was walking slowly and keeping his weight off of his left leg because the winter storm blowing in was bothering him, but he was excited enough that he was ignoring the pain.

Back where he had been moments prior, Five just chuckled affectionately and then shouted after him, “Make yourself something to eat for lunch, first!”

Viktor let out a grumble but didn’t try to fight with his husband. It was around noon and his stomach was trying to eat through itself because of how hungry he was. He hadn’t woken up earlier due to the sensation because he had eaten something when he had gotten home from his show late the night before. He made his way to the fridge and then found one of what he and Five affectionately called ‘Adult Lunchables’. They were a good thing to stick into a bag with an ice block so that he could eat them during rehearsals without having to get something big out. Now that he was on break, he had to get them out of the fridge before they went bad.

By the time that he had finished his lunch, Five had packed up whatever he had been doing with the piano and was able to walk into the kitchen. They greeted each other with another sweet kiss and then got to work.

Viktor pulled the recipe from the stack that he had on top of the little Rolodex that he kept them in. He had gotten most of the recipes that they would need for that season out the week before so he wouldn't try and fail to find them like he had the year prior when he actually needed them. "You're going to get the ingredients out for me, right?" he asked with a cheeky smile.

"Whatever you need me to do, beloved," Five replied sweetly.

It was enough to make him melt back into being lovey instead of trying to tease. His husband always had that effect on him, which was part of the reason why Viktor had fallen so heavily in love with him even after all of the time that they had spent apart from each other.

He hopped up on the counter with some help from both of his hands. He wasn't as spry as he used to be, but the holidays made him feel like he could be young again. He held the card in his hand as he read out the ingredients that they required, slow enough that Five could find them in the maze of their cupboards. 

Soon, everything that they could need to make chocolate chip cookies were spread out on the counter. "Do you want to do the wet or the dry ingredients?" Viktor asked as he lowered himself off of the counter.

"I have to be able to follow a recipe and you never actually wrote down the spice amount on the card," Five teased in his way of explaining. He grabbed the butter, sugars, and vanilla from the counter so that he would walk over to the stand mixer.

Viktor rolled his eyes affectionately at the teasing from his lover. Their recipes had made a lot of changes over the years. It was only in the last three that he had actually consolidated them all from where they had been stuffed in cookbooks, under appliances, and with ingredients all over their kitchen. Even then they had all been printed pages of recipes found online or written on varied pieces of lined (or unlined in the case of the Easter Ham recipe) paper. Now all of their recipes were hand-written and the same size with the same style, ingredients on the side without lines and recipes on the side with them. Viktor wasn't perfect and had left out some of the steps that were ingrained in his mind, though.

In a manner that he hoped was inconspicuous, the violinist grabbed the eggs from their pile of ingredients and then slid them next to the stand mixer for Five. His husband didn't notice and asked, "How was your concert last night?"

"It was good! The one before Christmas Eve is always packed, so that was a little stressful. I'm almost glad that I had the crazy idea of signing up to help with cleanup because it meant that it was easier for me to get out of the parking lot," he explained. He set the little note card down on the counter in front of him, propped up on the pot of a spider plant that Five had gotten Viktor for his birthday the first year they had been together. 

"Did the soloist fuck up again?" Five asked. He turned around so that his chest was pressed against his husband's back. He was bending down far enough that his chin was on Viktor's shoulder while he noisily dug around for the measuring cup he needed.

“Surprising everyone, she actually managed to play through the entire piece without stumbling. I was every impressed,” Viktor chuckled. He had made first chair during the second audition for it after they had gotten to the new universe. He made sure to be kinder than Helen had been to him back in the day, but that didn’t stop him from being snarky and just a little bit mean concerning the woman who had the cello solo in one of their songs.

Five laughed and then kissed at his neck. Viktor squirmed away from the attention before he gasped and rushed to the other room. He returned with a Bluetooth speaker and his phone in his hands, much to Five’s obvious amusement. He spent the next several minutes getting the music set up so that the notes were gliding through the air as they got everything ready. He sang along to every song that he knew by heart and hummed to the one that he only knew the melody to. Five helped by singing the parts that he knew as well, but he was far less musically inclined than his husband.

They got the dry and wet ingredients prepared separately before they had to converge on the other side of the kitchen. Five held the mixer down with his hand and cupped at the sides were the powder was going to escape while Viktor dolled it out into the bowl with one of the measuring cups that they had used for the flour.

“Chocolate chips?” Five asked as he detached the bowl and placed it on the counter next to the stove. By that point, the dough was almost overflowing in the container and would have made it very hard for the mixer to actually evenly distribute their add-ins.

“I think that we should make a dozen with the orange ones,” Viktor said. He clambered on top of the dryer despite his husband’s protestations so that he could look for the aforementioned chips. 

“Orange?” Five asked. He was hovering behind his husband like he was terrified that at any second, their sturdy metal dryer was going to cave in and Viktor was going to tumble down to the ground. He had been able to teleport his entire life and then tall when he lost his powers, so didn’t relate to the other man’s struggles with being able to reach the upper parts of their cupboards.

“Yeah, the ones that we put into those cookies that we made with the oats,” Viktor replied dismissively. He pulled them out and then handed them to the other man, his mouth once again stretching into a grin.

“Sweetheart, I think that word that you were looking for is caramel,” he laughed. He leaned down and kissed Viktor as he took the plastic baggy that they had placed the leftover candy into.

Viktor got all the way off of the dryer and then washed his hands off. Five was portioning out the dough very carefully and then pressing an even amount of chips into it so that they didn’t add the specific flavor to all of the  cookies. Once he had finished, Viktor dumped an entire bag of chocolate chips into the dough and began to mix them in with his hands. They had filled up two whole sheets with tiny cookies-to-be before they put them into the oven.

The next two sheets had been prepared and were resting on the dryer so that they didn’t start to melt as they got the dishes into the dishwasher to clean up some of the mess.

When the first batch came out, they were immediately removed to the drying racks on the table. Viktor made sure to put the squirt bottle down in between them to deter Princess, their ancient alley cat who liked to steal any human food she thought she could get away with.

Once the next set of cookies were in the oven and the pans were cooling so they could get the next round started, Viktor slowly wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist. One of the slow songs was playing over the speaker, which made him feel soft and warm with the spirit of a holiday he had never celebrated before getting married. “Thank you for doing this with me,” he whispered.

“I would do anything for you, Viktor, you know that,” Five said it like a promise. The words traveled directly to the heavy ring on Viktor’s finger, reminding him of the other vows that they had exchanged.

“I love you. I’m so happy that you chose me to be your husband,” he grinned.

“There would be no one better,” Five murmured. They shared another kiss just as Viktor noticed that the storm had turned the whole outside of their house white, which was going to heavily impact their ability to go visit Diego’s family the next day. Viktor didn’t mind, he didn’t even say anything. He was happy to be wrapped up in the arms of the man that his soul belonged to with the sound of his favorite music and the scent of cookies filling up the home that he had fought tooth and nail to make.

#fanfiction #fanfic #writing #ao3 #archive of our own #year of fiktor series #year of otp #celebration and traditions fic #fiktor #five x viktor #viktor x five #viktor hargreeves #five hargreeves #tua #the umbrella academy

[bltzgore]

Space Vandals Ch. 1

Tw: gore, strong language (I LOVE to swear), there is whump at the end (but this is the first chapter so I need to build some world first), wound description, race/speciesisim

Guardian drew the knives from her belt. One a Rorawkin blade, composed of their four strongest metals, it was borderline indestructible. These blades were forged in the fires of their sun and took a mastercraftsman to mold properly into a fine blade. The other was more common but equally as deadly in the right hands. It was an Arithian dagger, made of a specialized gemstone they had perfected growing in their labs. It resembled a dark glass, but if one held it to the light they’d see it was actually a very dark red. They were known to be the sharpest blades this side of four galaxies, and capable of slicing through metal up to three inches thick if one wielded it correctly.

Had it still been light out Guardian surely would have chosen her pistols to start this off, but the low light levels and her dark plating made it hard to see where she ended and the night began. The red markings gave her away, but she didn’t have any on her arms. They wouldn’t be able to tell where her weapons were. They didn’t know where to defend from, and she realized halfway through taking the fourth guard’s head off they were grossly inexperienced for thugs. They moved so stiffly, that when they missed landing their own strikes on her they’d be churning and stumbling like a fooled bull. Guardian was light on her feet, everything felt fluid. She brought one blade through the terminal vein in one guard’s neck, she launched another into the chest of a thug raising his gun, one of the only who seemed to even have them. The organization must have been in a bit of a rut, fortunately that wouldn’t be their problem for much longer.

They were all reduced to husks on the ground, dead or dying, as Guardian headed up the stairs and changed her modus operandi. When moving into territory she had never seen, potentially plunging right into battle, she decided to play it practical. She switched back to her guns. She pulled them from their clip on her lower back, where their muzzles interlocked for convenient storage. They glowed gently in the low light, not as dull as her markings but dull enough that she didn’t use it to see. But she didn’t need it to see in this form. 

Upon slipping inside it was strangely quiet. It wasn’t like she had expected the empirical army, but she was sure there were supposed to be upward of twenty, at least. There weren’t. There was not a thug to be found anywhere in her sector. Where were they? They didn’t have time for this. She pressed the sort of button that made up the outer portion of her audio sensors, “Manny, status?” He responded within seconds. “Occupied! Damnit, what!?”

Guardian kept her head on a swivel, “How many you guys find?” 

Shep answered this time, “Looks like everybody.”

So that was why she hadn’t gotten any action. “Where’s Scout?” Guardian asked.  

“With them!” The robot’s softer voice answered twice as quickly, “trying not to get shot.”   

“Get him past the blockade. There’s no time for fucking around.” Guardian complained.

“The hell you think I’m tryin’a do?” Manny snapped. 

“Eta two minutes.” Guardian rumbled, her inner components already beginning to shift. 

The mechanized shapeshifter’s limbs blurred around the edges. The almost microscopic building blocks of them releasing and finding new ties, picking just how to rearrange themselves. She thinned, like she was a wad of silly putty and someone was pulling her to see just how far she’d stretch, turning lanky and boney. Sprouting off her head were massive horns, some met themselves like a halo, others rose like wild stag’s or a strike of lightning. She reached out her limbs towards the ground and they grew, long, sharp, strong. A tail-like structure joined them, connecting all the way up the back to the base of the neck. Her head was bladed and full of things that had to be teeth. Once her second set of forelimbs touched down she started moving. 

“No, we got this.” Shep insisted. 

She chose not to answer over the coms, but they wouldn’t have understood it anyway. The native vernacular happened reflexively, “ᎷᏗᏒᏬᏂᏗᏋ.” Meaning: too late, it sounded like a series of clicks, almost whistles, and peeling snake shed.

“Guardian, you inbound?” Manny demanded confirmation. 

So this time she had to click the com and answer, slowing her gate in order to do so. She stumbled through the answer, only managing the S sound.

She burst through the last dividing door with a cry that would have peeled the skin off an Onnarow. As Guardian began ripping into whatever unfortunate thugs she could reach, a gun blast shattered the head of her very next target. Shep jogged over, reloading as he ran, tagging two more before he reached her side. “I said we had this.” He grumbled. 

She fumbled with her mandibles for a moment, trying to get them to use the right language, “ᏂᎧᏬᏇ ᏖᏂᏒᏗᏇ.” No that wasn’t it. She pulled the exterior of her jaw structure back and attempted to manipulate what existed there in place of a tongue. Her words were slightly sharp around the vowels, but she managed it. “I kno-ow. N-ee-d be fa-st.” She wrenched the head of another thug off its shoulders, showering her shiny gray “skin” in the poor fucker’s blood-like fluids. He had been Mukavian, so it wasn’t red, more like translucent orange. 

“Ma-ke p-ath f-or Scou-t.” Her mandibles made direction three times as difficult to get across, Manny understood it best but even he knew maybe four words in this form’s native dialect. Luckily her crew had learned to work around it.

“You got it, boss.” Shep rolled his shoulders, “I’ll take the ones on the right, and you take everyone else?”

She nodded visibly, she would have smirked if her form allowed. She ran forward, giving that horrendous screech again, it wasn’t just a battle cry. Some species were sensitive enough to sound that the wail alone nearly disabled them. Inconveniently, these guys were not a mix of such species. So raw violence it was. 

“Te-ll h-im!” She managed through the com, digging her claws into another thug. 

“Scout! You’ve got an in! Get your ass over here!” Shep barked over the channel. 

“Right, right! On it!” The almost insectoid scouting droid came bounding down from his vantage point where he had been furiously launching and calling back his throwing blades. They were kind of like shurikens, just modded a bit. They were X’s with ends all bent the same direction almost the size of dinner plates. The massive pinwheels of death returned the instant his gauntlets gave the specialized magnetic signal. 

Scout sprinted past Guardian, giving her a slight wave as he slid beneath a thug’s attempt to hit him with some sort of metal pipe. Using his hands, he sprang up to his feet and continued running all in one string of easy movements. 

He tore away from the brawl in what had possibly once been the mess hall. He knew exactly where he was going, turning on a dime, switching hallways, following the fun little maze map in his head. Scout reached a door that didn’t open automatically upon sensing him and he swung back against his momentum, into a slide. He slowed enough, the impact hardly registered. He straightened up, sensors scanning and locking onto a data module. They varied world to world, but not so much when they were all still using written language, just different keyboards or interfaces for different physical requirements. The inhabitants of this world favored two hands, luckily. Scout wasn’t great with the triple or quadruple keyboards, and he didn’t even know where to start with the extra-sensory ones.

A brief fit of tapping and the door slid open reluctantly. He jogged through, attention immediately drawn to the first pedestal. It was guarded by a blue wall of energy, not quite a plasma shield, definitely not a light shield, that shit got expensive quick. It was something probably equally as painful, but thirty-times easier to get through if you knew the trick. These shields were mostly made of very angry particles, but they could be pacified if you had the right material, a material Scout just so happened to have an entire glove made of. He stretched it over his hand, all the way up past the mid-arm joint, and reached in. The shield sparked, light leaping off the glove, he yelped and scrambled back. 

Trying to calm his voice, he tapped his com, “Manny?”

“Ugh, what is it, kid?” At least he didn’t sound too busy.

“The glove sparked, I-I’m not sure-”

“It’s working fine, grow a pair and shove your hand through it.”

“Got it.” Scout approached again, cautiously. Slowly he held his hand out, it slid in up to his palm before the light jumped off the shield at him again. He turned his head away and moved quicker. He felt twitchy, stinging, things crawling across his plating, but he didn’t back down this time. He turned back to it just in time to close his hand on the small metallic stick. He yanked back and as soon as his hand was free he started running. 

“I got it! I got it! Objective secure!” He remembered the terminology with the third iteration. 

“Good work Scout, get to the back exit. We’ll meet you where we started.” Manny answered. He took his hand off his com, turning his attention fully back to the fight, when an entire table came flying through the air above his head. It split the wall, and stayed suspended there, like a dart in its target. Upon closer inspection it had also halved what looked like this gang’s bruiser. He glanced back across the room towards where the projectile had come from. He gave Guardian a nod. “This is why I’ve never asked you on a date,” He snarked over the coms, getting a familiar chitter-click-whistle in response. 

_

One might think it hard to entertain yourself when your whole family is full of badass rebel fighters constantly going out on various missions doing undisclosed but probably shady stuff that they won’t give you a straight answer about in case the authorities come around. That might have been true if Deon didn’t have Wyatt. Deon wanted to join the rest of his family, of course! Who wouldn’t want to get in on sticking it to the Vet-ring? He knew Wyatt did too. They talked about it all the time, and had on more than one occasion tried to follow covertly. It never worked. They probably should have been more bummed about it than they were, what kept them from feeling the disappointment were their own little missions. 

“Clear!” Wyatt chirped over their walkie talkies. They had decided taking ops gear out on their missions wasn’t a good idea after the one time it didn’t come back from a cop’s evidence locker. They had gotten chewed out for that one.

Deon sunk his claws into the lock, they slowly shifted the mechanisms, metal clicked and the structure was forced to turn. He felt the door’s bar withdraw, and stood up, “Got it.” Deon shoved the door open. He looked down the block, waiting for Wyatt to make eye contact before motioning to follow him. The techno-organic jogged over, a slight bounce to his step. It wasn’t unusual, he never really held completely still, even when sitting, though he claimed he didn’t even know he was doing it. 

The shop’s lights were out, Wyatt reached for the switch when Deon stopped him, “Want to let everyone know we’re here?”

“Won’t it look sketchier if people see two figures wandering around this place in the dark?”

“Don’t get seen then.” Deon warned.

Wyatt shrugged, “Your party, my eyes are just fine either way.” He rooted through the bag strapped across his torso, pulling small spheres from it, just larger than marbles. He held them out to Deon, “Ready for some redecorating?”  

Deon’s scowl withered, and he snatched them, mouth breaking into a toothy, lightly malicious, grin, “Hell yeah.”

They split, each taking opposite walls. Wyatt fished a red, glassy, marble from the bag and raised his hand. Wyatt threw down the marble, as soon as it hit the floor he was engulfed in a cloud of what seemed like red smoke. He didn’t cough, he didn't need to breathe, he wasn’t all organic. However his organic side could, it gave him a serious boost in energy. What sucked about it was that in order to stop he had to lower his energy consumption enough to shift back to his reserves. Luckily he hadn’t needed any boosts on the way over here. No breathing necessary to keep up with Deon this time, so he only turned vibrant red on the outside. He waved the thicker part of the cloud from his visual sensor array and fished another marble from his bag, laughing and leaping into the next one.

On the other side of the room Deon was running the length of the wall, throwing paint marbles against it and the shelves of products that lined it. He was quick enough to keep just ahead of the bursts, they painted the edge of his jacket and his tail a mix of vibrant colors, pink, neon green, blue bright enough to make the sky jealous. Deon pulled up his ventilator to keep the paint fumes and smoke out of his lungs, the second eyelids slid up to keep the particles out of his eyes. He didn’t swim all that often these days but he had found other uses for them.    

Deon looked back at Wyatt, he gave the ceiling a quick glance then nodded up to it. The shop had at one point, like many buildings, been a warehouse of some kind, so the roof went higher than one would think necessary for a convenience store. Wyatt smirked, “Go for it.” He interlocked his fingers and crouched slightly. Deon got a running start, and stepped up into Wyatt’s hands. The techno stood and threw his hands up through the strain.

 Deon cleared five feet vertically, latching on to one of the lingering chains that connected up to the roof. He climbed until he could get a grip on the chain with his feet too, then he swung. Deon released the chain with his upper half. His nails caught the edge of the hanging light and for a second he was an uncomfortable bridge between the fixture and the chain, as he decided whether or not to trust the light with his full weight. He gave it a once over, the light was a pie tin looking thing strung from the ceiling by a thick black cord. There were no worrying sounds yet.

He unhooked the claws on his hind legs from the chain, swinging with the light, using the momentum, flipping his legs up over the light. Deon curled his tail around the cord then hooked a leg around, letting the cable rest in the crook of his knee. The fixture swung slightly, but held. Deon pulled a marker from his pocket, closing his teeth on the cap and tugging it off. Skillfully he started to scribe, in black out paint marker, a choice word dead center on light. 

Wyatt called up to him, “Whatchu writing up there D?” 

“You’ll see.” He muttered. “Finish up the walls, I’m gonna do the rest of the lights.” There were three others, it wouldn’t take long.

Wyatt grinned, “Yessir.” He pulled another item from the bag. They were almost gloves, in that they wrapped around his palms and had a single miniature sleeve that ran out to his thumb. At the center of the fabric was a dull ring of silver. Connected under his wrist were tubes that ran into the bag, he fussed with it for a moment before hearing it click. He turned back to the wall, blinking a few times, drawing the image in his mind. Once he was confident he raised his hands to the wall and shifted his thumb, the spray paint nozzle hissing a stream of black paint.

When Deon landed back on the floor he was very proud of himself. He looked up and the walls were criss-crossed in letters from two different languages. They were hybrid words that taggers sort of developed on their own. Each word was sort of a puzzle unless you spoke the two languages fluently to begin with. Wyatt knew these words, Deon knew some of them, part of why he left the walls up to Wyatt most of the time. 

As the techno-organic wandered over, brushed in most noticeably white and black, Deon asked, “What’s it say?”

“Motharay, neahamaka.” Wyatt read off. Then turned to the other wall, “Hutharay meeharakah.” 

“Which means?”

“Machines have souls, in really really short terms.”

“All that for two words?” 

“Well that, and ‘fuck you racist prick.’”  

Deon nodded approvingly, “Art.”

“What you put on the lights?”

Deon stepped over to the lightswitch, flipping it on. Projected onto the ground in somehow smooth text “Eat a Dick Douche Canoe.” All of the words had their own light, except for “eat” and “a” being forced to share.

“Perfect.” Wyatt grinned. 

Deon found himself distracted by his watch, shit! They were gonna be late! He bolted to life, turning the lights back off and heading for the door, “Come on!”

“What!? Why? Did you hear something?” Wyatt followed, momentarily holding his breath trying to hear it too.

Once they were both back outside Deon carefully locked the door before dragging it closed. “We’re gonna be late to dinner!” He hissed, pulling the door shut until it clicked. 

Wyatt’s eyes widened, oh… yeah. That. “Think we can make it across this dump in fifteen minutes?”

“Naw,” Deon muttered, “We can make it in ten.”

_

Shep was about to head inside to the table with the other three when two slightly grimy figures came sprinting out of the sketchiest alleyway they could have possibly managed. Deon pulled ahead by a small but noticeable amount, sliding to a stop in front of the cyborg. His words came out between pants, “We’re- here!” He managed. Wyatt stopped just behind him, nodding furiously, as he also caught his breath. 

“You two are something else. Come on,” He motioned, leading them into the restaurant, to the table.

Sitting on one side of the table were Shep and Scout. Scout was a robot, through and through, with long legs that had multiple joints and very powerful springs. He was built for running and jumping. Shep used to be a Marcharin, then he got torn up under “mysterious circumstances” (adult code for it was traumatic) and was turned into a cyborg to keep functioning. He was somewhat average in limb number and function, but his face had been… well Deon didn’t know, but he assumed it had been damaged pretty badly. There had to have been a reason it got replaced with a visor like screen. Several of the traditional Marcharin feather spines had been replaced with metal prosthetics, pretty close to their natural texture but Shep wouldn’t be shedding these seasonally.   

Wyatt was quick to steal the spot next to Shep, that left Deon with the unenviable spot right next to the two oldest on the team, specifically the one who would notice the paint on his tail. On Deon’s side were Guardian and Manny. Manny was a Rovaden, a tall one. Which meant he had ashen skin in most places where it wasn’t almost ink colored, like on his jaw that opened all the way to the edges of his face if he let it. They had only ever seen Manny open his mouth all the way once when yawning, it was fucking terrifying. He had no discernible nose and eyes that slowly changed shades of red like a mood ring. Aside from that he was pretty normal for a humanoid. Bipedal, two forelimbs and two hind limbs, more than two digits on his hands and all that. 

Then there was Guardian. She didn’t have one true form. There were a few she preferred, but any way that she chose to appear was one she had studied and stolen from a true member of the species. She currently chose a creature somewhere between shark and canine. It had rough shark skin, though that could have been a natural effect of what she was composed of, but had a very smooth canine looking head, with rather large ears. Past that things got a little strange. Down the front of the torso were three almost V shaped markings, Deon knew they were nothing so mundane. Her back was many-jointed, but not in the traditional spinal column way, it was more like a series of ball and socket joints. Her pupils were the only part of her eyes that looked alive, a glowing ring of red. This was one Deon saw her “put on” before going out to do some damage.

As soon as Deon sat down, Guardian was sniffing with that canine snout. “Why do you smell like paint?” Then looked a little closer at the long, blue and white, reptilian tail that Deon was trying to keep out of her field of view. “Never mind, answered my own question. It’s because you’re covered in it.” This was less of an observation and more of a demand for an immediate explanation. 

“We…” Wyatt answered for him, or tried. Ultimately just stretching it out, as he fished for any good excuse. 

Deon huffed, “We tagged the store that that racist bitch owns.” 

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.” Manny deadpanned.

“The one who called Scout a slur.” Deon clarified.

Scout sat up a little straighter, “Really?” but he didn’t ask with enough force to be heard over Guardian beginning her lecture-fest. 

“Were you seen?”

“No.” Deon sounded half defensive, half offended. 

“Not that you know of, you mean.” She warned. “I told you guys, I don’t want you doing this while we’re on Yuk-taka.”

Wyatt tried to take some of the heat off Deon, “It’s just like every other backwater planet we’ve been on this year. Why not?”

Shep interjected, “Yeah, don’t crush the creativity.”

“Because we’re in enemy territory.” Guardian almost growled. 

Manny rolled his eyes, “Mellowdrama aside, Guardian is right. We’re in the heart of Vet-ring controlled space, do you know what that means?”

Wyatt and Deon exchanged confused glances, making sure they held it long enough for Guardian to see it, before turning towards Shep or Scout for a hint that didn’t have time to appear. 

“It means they’re in close communication with this planet's law enforcement.” Guardian continued, “If they catch you and connect you to us they will demand answers, and they’ll get them, no matter what they have to do.”  

Deon felt like the air had been chilled in his lungs. He did his best to just keep breathing normally. 

Guardian must have seen the stutter anyway. She sighed, “Look, I don’t want to scare you with this, but I need you to take it seriously. Ok?”

Deon nodded, so did Wyatt. 

“Got it.” Wyatt confirmed. 

“No more stupid stunts on Yuk-taka.” Deon agreed, nodding for exaggerated effect. 

“Well, now that you know not to do it again…” Manny glanced at Guardian, and slowly started to smile, “What did you tag in the shop?”

Deon urged Wyatt to go first, thinking the nuance of some of the things he had tagged might soften Guardian’s reaction. He was right, because by the time he started talking about his part in it, the food had arrived and Guardian couldn’t hide her sharp-toothed grin, or her pride, any longer. She loved when they pulled shit like that. It was why she didn’t try to stop them outright, she just wanted them to be smart about it. Besides, it was good training for when they eventually got out in the field with the rest of the team.

 _

The walk back to the apartment was quieter than usual. No slurs or comments on their mixed species group. Deon chalked it up to Guardian’s form, creatures tended to clam up when anything with more than two large mouths was in the vicinity. She seemed to have all four opened and showing their teeth casually, though Deon could see right through that. It was difficult to notice in Guardian, because she changed shape and the signs changed with it, but she was tense. He couldn’t be positive of it’s exact source, from what Shep and the others had said the missions had been clean. Was she still wired about their stunt? That someone might have seen them, or something? Deon didn’t know enough about what was happening to deduce it. The only surefire way would be to ask, but he realized he wouldn’t know what to say even if she gave him an honest answer. 

Guardian wasn’t always stressed, but he had been noticing it more and more lately. When she was in mode 3 it manifested as occasional panting without exercise present and twitchy ears. He assumed it was getting worse because of their proximity to- Manny had made them promise to keep it to themselves that he had told them about this. They were sure they had covered his ass pretty well at dinner- the Vet-ring lieutenants; there were four on world in critical positions of power. If they found out the group was here they would drop everything to catch them.   

The Vet-ring were the ultimate race. They could live for eons and beyond, effectively immortal. They were immune to all but highly specialized weapons. Each and every one was trained to kill with precision and power. And on top of it most were wildly intelligent. There were plenty of races who could boast some of these attributes, but what gave them the ultimate edge was what they physically were. They were composed of tiny metal components, neither machine nor biological, each acting in accordance with millions of others, reproducing like cells, and working together like robots. These components were controlled by the creature’s central brain which according to all prior tests was made up of some kind of energy.

One might expect a creature made of millions of pieces of metal to just be a sentient pile of sand, or puddle of goo. There were races like that, but the Ring could control their components to the point that they could mimic any form that they studied, some even so well as to copy arcane and natural powers or skills seen in these species. A killer, intelligent, race of mechanical shapeshifters so powerful it had taken one of their own to make a difference. 

No one had ever gone up against the Vet-ring and won, no one. Resistance had been a losing battle until Guardian had joined the cause. Within three months they had two successful operations, rooting out Vet plants, and kicking them off world, saving the entire planet from global war. She had become legendary in the right circles, those being the three or four big name groups outright fighting the Vet-ring. She had started out working with them, but it had been too constraining. They collaborated sometimes, and she certainly would come running if they were in deep shit, but she and her little pack were sort of like rebellion mercenaries now. And they were good at it.

Guardian seemed to snap out of her thoughts as they passed a certain street, heading towards it. “Manny, take the others home. I’m gonna drop off the product.” 

He gave her an uncomfortable look, “You’re going alone?”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes, “I’ll be fine, I’m a big girl.” 

“I’m going with you.” He moved to her side.

Guardian wanted to say something sharp in response, but she quelled it. There was no point in talking him out of it, it would take too long.

“Shep, you can get ‘em home?” Manny confirmed. 

“Of course, have fun on your date.” He tossed the data stick to Manny, starting to walk backwards in the direction of the apartment. 

Deon wasn’t sure if it was compulsion at this point but he piped up, “Can I come too?”

Guardian answered just as reflexively, “No.”

“Come on, you’re just bringing the stick to the buyer right? You’re selling the important info to the good guys.”

“Nope.”

“What?”

“The only reason they’re getting this is because I trust them a bit more than I trust the guys who originally had it.” Guardian answered, she didn’t believe in good guys.

“And because they pay really well.” Manny put in. 

Deon looked like he wanted to say more but the words deserted him. He knew they’d talked about this before, the whole lesser of two evils argument. But that didn’t cause it to take the wind out of his sails any less. Manny and Guardian said a few things to Shep, but Deon didn’t catch them, then headed down their new path.

Wyatt set a hand on his shoulder, “Come on.”

Deon watched Manny and Guardian disappear down the side street and felt a familiar energy spark in the veins around his wrist. He looked back to Wyatt, “Give me five minutes?” 

_

Guardian gave it until they were out of sight before she turned on Manny, “So, why the fuck would you tell them about the Vet pressense on this rock before it was absolutely necessary?”

He winced, “Oh… you caught that?”

“What if they had tried to get more information on their own?”

Manny waved it away, “Deon wouldn’t know where to start, and Wyatt would have been smart enough to keep him from getting anywhere.”

This was, in fact, exactly how it had gone. Wyatt tended to be the more sensible of the pair, and had recognized just what a situation like this would mean if they fucked up. So he had shut the whole plan down very early in its development, difficult to do when Deon had set his mind on something, but not impossible. So instead they had spent that night playing Galaxy Master 5 with Shep.

Guardian stepped in front of him, turning to face him, “And what if he hadn’t?”

Manny felt shitty, it had been stupid, he had honestly thought they were old enough to recognize when things were dangerous enough to make them a liability. Maybe they were still too young. “But he did, they’re fine. You always say not to get hung up on what ifs.”

She shook her head, that part was true at least, “Fine.” 

They continued walking, and seemed to be unaware of the small reptilian humanoid who had tagged along. Deon kept to the rooftops, he was one hell of a climber, so it didn’t take much to keep up with them. Though that wasn’t the only thing he had to contend with while stalking his primary caregivers. 

Guardian favored forms with some version of electroreceptors. Meaning she could sense the electrical fields given off by the creatures who had such fields. This was a surprisingly large chunk of lifeforms. However, Deon was one of the exceptions to the rule.

Inherently his species gave off a form of electrical jolt when they encountered a predator, with time and practice it could be controlled and trained into a lot more. However, it didn’t just give him the chance to shock the hell out of his enemies, it also let him fuck with Guardian’s favorite sense. In short terms it meant Deon was one of the few who could manage to follow Guardian without her immediately realizing it. A fact he took advantage of maybe a little too often.    

Guardian reached the door and held it open for Manny. He walked in but when she didn’t follow he stopped in the door frame, giving her a questioning glance. Guardian turned her head to the roof of the building on their left and flattened a canine ear, “Well get down here. We’re not leaving you outside.” When he didn’t immediately appear, she put her paw-hand on her hip, “Don’t make me come up there.” That was a very real threat.

Deon emerged from the shadow of mechanisms that cluttered the roof, half climbing down half jumping. He braced for fury, but had one question first, “How did you know I was there? I hid my field!”

She shook her head, “I have other senses, dumbass.” But no lecture followed that, “Let’s get this over with. I want to get home before Scout finishes off the ice cream.”

The building turned out to be a bar. A neutral setting, it would discourage violence, but in the event that it was the only answer no one would be surprised. It wouldn’t be something that law enforcement would even blink twice at. All by design of course. Manny and Deon sat at one of the booths off to the side, where Guardian was sure Manny was letting him try shit he shouldn’t have. While she took a seat at the bar directly, where she’d told her contact he would find her. They were early, she didn’t expect her contact to be there for another hour. Getting there first just meant he wouldn’t have the chance to try anything stupid. She ordered something she knew wouldn’t have any effect on her biology and spun the data stick between her digits. 

He wandered in, maybe thirty minutes later, also early. A tall creature, of gray-blue skin and almost neon markings. His limbs were too long and his eyes… well he didn’t have any. He sat down next to her, “Nice night for the time of year.” He said.

“But I’d prefer a cooler climate.” She answered the pass phrase they had agreed upon. 

He nodded, “You got it?”

“I do.”

He slid her a card, which she picked up and inspected, then snagged something from her bag. A card reader of some kind. She slid the card into the slot and watched the screen light up an agreeable number. 

“What, you don’t trust me?” he asked, feigning hurt, through no discernable mouth. 

“Why of course not.” She answered with light cynicism. Then raised her claws off the data stick. 

He drew it into his hand, gazing at it, or whatever he did instead of gazing. “Good doing business with you. I hope this can be the start of a long and prosperous partnership.”

“We’ll see.”

“Good evening.” He stood.

“What are you going to do with it?” She asked, freezing him in his tracks. 

“It’s government grade blackmail material, what do you think I’m going to do with it?” He seemed to be suddenly nervous, suddenly defensive. Like he was expecting this to be the start of her going back on their deal.

She nodded once, “Good.” 

He relaxed, reciprocating the nod before disappearing out the door. 

Manny and Deon joined her at the bar, “Well that was less dramatic than I was expecting.” Manny said.

“Told you there’d be nothing to it.” She answered, handing him the card and leading them back out into the street. 

“So that’s it? That was the oh so dangerous thing I wasn’t allowed to come to?” Deon complained. He was glad things went well, but he had been hoping for at least a little bit of action.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Manny snarked. 

Guardian sighed, because of course Deon was complaining, but she couldn’t say she was surprised. “We see enough danger when we go out on ops. I am more than happy for things to just go smoothly this time.” 

Deon was going to answer when he noticed they were suddenly standing still. Guardian was looking at something, the intensity of a predator having heard their quarry. Manny was standing a foot behind her, glancing from her to where she was focused. Deon stopped next to Manny, about to ask what Guardian sensed when he heard it this time. A trash can went over somewhere in the darkness ahead of them. 

All four of Guardian’s mouths bared their teeth, but the one on her face opened, “Who’s there? Identify yourself.”

The answer was a form tumbling out of the dark to the ground ahead of them. Guardian tensed, claws akin to filletitng knives extended from the end of each digit. Sure it looked like it was just another dime-a-dozen drunk, but bounty hunters were clever. She was counting down the moments, about to close the distance and carve it up when Manny held his hand in front of her. She lowered her claws and let her hostility die down a moment. 

He had managed to pull himself to his knees but was still reliant on his arms to keep his face away from the cement. He was young, maybe a few years older than Deon, and his left side and leg were absolutely drenched in blood. He was trembling, maybe it was exhaustion, could have been the blood loss, only he knew it was fear. He wouldn’t look up, keeping his head distinctly tilted down, only glancing up at the rapidly blurring forms to make sure they weren’t getting any closer. 

A moment passed in which no one moved, when he seemed to decide they weren’t going to go charging in and kill him he tried to stand. His leg couldn’t take it, and he hit the ground with a groan. His breathing was slowing down, the adrenaline that had brought him there seemed to be withdrawing. He made another attempt at standing and he couldn’t even get back to his knees.

Manny took a few steps towards him, “Easy, your leg’s real fucked up.” 

He would have slashed, growled, something at Manny to keep his distance, if he hadn’t lost his grip on consciousness first.

Manny gave it a second once his eyes shut, then knelt down next to him, checking for vital signs. “He’s alive,” he informed Guardian, who was joining him next to the humanoid. Deon followed, but stayed behind her. He noticed from there that her ears were flicking. Lining the edges of them, with no semblance of pattern, were glowing red dots. This form relied on its ears to collect two types of sensory information, auditory and electrosensory. Flicking her ears like that kept them from just telling her what was in front of her, it gave Guardian a 360-degree view. She was on high alert.

Manny looked down at the injuries. The one on his side was a slash, probably done by a blade of some kind. The damage to his leg wasn’t as clean, it almost looked like a bite mark, but there were no clear teeth patterns, it looked like it had been scooped out by an army of angry forks. 

  Manny cast a glance back to Guardian, noticing Deon trying not to look at the gash. He gave Deon a snide grin, “That exciting enough for ya?” There was some swear word in response, but he didn’t say it loud enough for Manny to hear. 

“We should get moving.” Guardian reminded.

Manny nodded, “Course. Am I carrying him or are you?”

She shifted an ear back, “We can’t take him with us.”

Manny stood, putting himself at eye level with her. He wouldn’t be taking no on this one. “Why not?”

“He’s clearly being chased by something, this is not the kind of shit we should be sticking our noses in. It’s hard enough to stay under the radar as is, we can’t be making more enemies.”

“So you’re saying we just leave him here.” He rumbled, “To bleed out in the alley?”

“I’m saying we leave him for someone who can afford to invite trouble into their lives, and who won’t bring trouble to his.”

Deon finally gave his two sense, “I mean, if anyone can handle trouble, it’s us. Isn’t it?”

Manny gave her a smirk.

Getting double teamed wasn’t fair. Guardian threw her head back and dropped her shoulders, making a big show of her sigh. It was a big show because Vet-Ring usually didn’t need to breathe, so they didn’t naturally sigh unless they pretended to do so. “Yes, I’ll carry him.”

Next ->

#whump #caretaker #whumpee #oc #bltz writes #scifi #space whump #chapter 1 #original content #space vandals

[olittlestaro]

Pick a card:General message 💫What do you need to know right now?

Pile 1 Pile 2 Pile 3

`~°•○●○•°~`~°•○●○•°~`~°•○●○•°~`~°•○●

Pile 1

Ok,so I see that you've been grieving after something for a long time now,and the Universe wants you to know that it's ok to take a break from time to time and have fun.(This might be specific for someone here) but if you are grieving after a person,their spirit wants you to know that they only wished the best for you and they want you to enjoy the time you have left here on Earth,not spend your days in constant suffering. Of course,you can deal with sadness the way you feel it's right.But,you've got some opportunities coming your way and sooner or later you'll have to come out of your shell.I also see that you might be a bit stubborn,so there is a need here for you to think outside the box for once or see the situation in a new light.Try to be a bit more optimistic, because someone out there will always be on your side,no matter how missunderstood you might feel.Also,try and reconnect with your friends,I feel like you might have distanced yourself from the people close to you because of the tragic event,and they are very worried about you.Remember:Don't be afraid to be happy!~

Additional messages: cinnamon,purple,mother,hippie,red hair,graveyard,garden,house,the sun,legacy,bee

Song:

Pile 2

Alright,so I see that there is this person in your life who is probably male and older(but doesn't have to be) who is quite greedy and tyrannical.I feel like they enjoy to put you down,and you need to distance yourself from them ASAP.I feel like you see the act of pleasing them as your duty,but that is not true.The only one you HAVE to please is yourself.You might be the type to work hard,even to the point of burnout.And this person likes to take credit for your work.Spirit is asking you to try and step into your power and put aside some money,in case you live with them.You will be much more happier once you are free of them.Also,you will receive the rewards for your hard work and they will get their karma sonner or later.Also,you might have another older male friend/relative who sees your struggle and wants to help you get out.You can trust them(spirit is telling me that you have trust issues).The Universe got your back,you are not alone!~

Additional messages: sibling,work,cabin,hunting,stag,uncle,shotgun, older daughter,Delia,embroidery

Song:

Pile 3

Ok,so I'm seeing that right now you might be in a conflict with somebody,and even though you know you are right,the people seem to support the other person.They might be one of your closest friends.Now,I don't know the situation but for some of you,this person might not actually want to be fighting with you,and this whole conflict is caused by miscommunication that you will need to sort out in order to save this friendship,which seems to go really deep.You two need to start seeing eye to eye,and realize that you don't have to agree on everything in order to be friends.For others,there is this person who actually believes you and got your back but for some reason they are hiding it.They might be a really influential person.In both cases,you need to gather some people who you can call close and go out with them,talk it out and rest for a bit,because this conflict seems to really tire you out and has a major effect on your mental health.Remember to take more care of yourself!~

Additional messages:Gemini,smart person,childhood,betrayal,golden,sports

Song:

That's it,I hope you enjoyed!~I know they are really specific but choose what fits best your situation.These are general readings and might not be for everyone.Also,if you felt triggered by anything I mentioned in the piles,I'm deeply sorry and know that it does get better!🤍

(Here are some cats I thought were cute)

#pick a card #tarot #tarot reading #divination #witchcraft #witch #pick a pile #Spotify

[sammy-writes-sometimes]

Word Count: 403

Reblogs > Likes

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"You're alive! You're alive!" Tango repeated as he tumbled over Bdubs, nearly headbutting his boyfriend as they fell.

"Tango?!" Bdubs yelped loudly. "You're- I'm alive? We're alive?"

The netherborne quickly nodded his head as he smiled.

"We're alive! We're safe! We-"

Lips interlocked with his own as the dryad dragged him into a deep kiss, hands on either side of his face as he was held tightly.

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed until Tango could hardly breathe and felt like his lips went numb and his skin turned blue.

When they pulled back, crimson eyes that crackled with flame looking into the darkness of a frightened stag, the two were simply left giggling. A nervous, but joyful sort of thing as Bdubs let go and simply leaned against Tango’s chest.

“I thought- I thought we were both dead. That all of us were gonna die and not come back. I thought you-” Bdubs laugh as he looks at Tango sounds almost hollow, pain leaking as he speaks. “I thought you were an idiot and- and I was gonna just-"

"Hey! Hey! I'm here. I'm right here. I don't know where 'here' is, but I'm here."

Bdubs made a confused sound as he sat up, looking around as his ears swiveled. Prey listening for any predator.

"'Here'? What?" He squinted, looking out into open fields of grass before spotting a village somewhere off in the distance. "I- we- how?"

The dryad stood up, helping Tango as he went, hands holding tight as if the other would disappear the moment they let go.

"This is- I only made it recently, but I know where we are. We're at- this is my solo world. At least the-"

"We're safe here, right?"

"Of course we are! I'm just confused how we got here after-" His voice drifts off, hitching as he tries not to think about how much it had hurt. "There's a village nearby, we can stay there and sleep or eat?"

"Sleep. Sleep sounds good."

Bdubs doesn't think he's ever seen Tango look more tired and just deprived of everything. Food, sleep, water, the netherborne looks borderline dead as he's guided towards the village and unceremoniously flops down onto the couch without letting go of his boyfriend's hand.

And, tired himself, the dryad doesn't argue as he makes himself comfortable on Tango's chest. Everything could wait for later, all they needed now was sleep.

#written on: dec 23 2022 #hc8 #hermitship #tango #bdubs #tangdubs #jan 18 2023 #our writing

[canoncalled]

I'm Will Graham from Hannibal looking for anyone from the same source, particularly Hannibal, Abigail, Jack, and Alana (seriously happy to talk to anyone else other than doubles though). I'm 18+ and prefer others to be because of the content in the source. I also use discord if people would prefer that.

#willgrahamkin #hannibalkin #borderline-stag

[findthebae]

I'm Will Graham from Hannibal, I'm looking for basically anyone from the source (really uncomfortable with doubles though). Particularly Hannibal, Abigail, and Jack. I don't get mems but if you do, I can tell what does / doesn't feel right just from my gut. I'd prefer you be 18+ just due to the nature of the show and its content, I also have a discord I'm way more active on.

!!!

#hannibal kin #canoncall #canon call #borderline-stag

[findinyourkin]

I'm Will Graham (Hannibal), looking for pretty much anyone from the source. Particularly Hannibal, Jack, Alana, and Abigail - but I'm really open to anyone. I don't get mems, but I can kind of tell if something feels right or not just by a gut feeling. I'm 18+ and prefer others who reach out to be the same just due to the nature of the show.

!!!!!!!!

#canon calls #will graham kin #hannibal kin #borderline-stag

[bpd-bee]

My spirit beetle 🪲

#borderline personality disorder #bpd life #bpd recovery #borderline life #bpd struggles #bpd stigma #bpd support #emotionally unstable personality disorder #eupd #eupd recovery #mental health #stag beetle #spiritanimal #emotional #guilt tripping