jackals-ships

[jackals-ships]

pov you're Solas and you're discovering you are NOT immune to The Herald's Sad Eyes

taglist + fun concept under the cut;

@dearhartselfships @one-winged-dreams @hoppinkiss @multyshipping @derelictdumbass @seahydra @sunstar-of-the-north

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Sometimes you can see an OC one (1) time and intuit without further evidence that the most popular post on the artist's blog is definitely a drawing of this character with the viewpoint positioned roughly at belt-buckle level looking up at their smirking face.

[jackals-ships]

Sometimes you can see an OC one (1) time and intuit without further evidence that the most popular post on the artist's blog is definitely a drawing of this character with the viewpoint positioned roughly at belt-buckle level looking up at their smirking face.

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My favourite form of humour on this site is the panneau of a banal, non-sexual, everyday circumstance acted out by traditional caricatures borrowed from popular BDSM roleplay

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also to note deimos would chase the toys, ulyses is above such things (he is not he is a liar and a fiend)

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dog has clambered up the mast of saturns ship and is up there with a fishing pole and a stuffed animal as sacrifice, they're seeing how long it takes for her to manage to rip it out of their hands,

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a hilarious note; dog is Also not immune to the wiggle toys

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dog has clambered up the mast of saturns ship and is up there with a fishing pole and a stuffed animal as sacrifice, they're seeing how long it takes for her to manage to rip it out of their hands,

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bc im playing w the swarm again: WHO is getting enthralled by the laser pointer/wiggle toy? who's pretending they're above it and breaks? who's actually above it and is :/ watching everyone else

Icarus IS immune to chase responses.

Pantra has NO qualms about chasing things, but would probably prefer wiggle toys.

Saturn will eagerly chase things, but she can't SEE the Lazer pointer.

Kankar is also immune.

Korrie will lose her SHIT chasing things and it's becoming a bonding activity.

Bachus acts like he's not bothered, but if you catch him off gaurd? He'll trip over himself chasing toys.

Jaekel and Jauqle won't chase Lazer pointers, bc both of their jobs have desensitized them, but WILL chase wiggle toys.

Scylla Does Not Get To Play With The Touys Or Mindfang

Torova is immune but wwvill still indulge

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vague inspo to write now in-between playing catch up on laundry and i saw a post that im not gonna rb or clown on BUT it said most ppl won't be using the phrase “the cascading despair of human futility renders my pursuit of happiness moot.” which like yes true

but also this is shit dog is saying at 2am bc there is no little snacky on the ship Saturn they are DYING Saturn

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it is important, now more than ever, to make friends you can roleplay extremely specific blorbo scenarios with. you have to be crying at 3am over angst scenarios generated by your elaborate among us based au. its good for the economy.

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dogdual pale au that comes about just from dog hearing. anything. and going girl i need to show you what that actually feels like and also kill your moirail get you like. away. from her,

[jackals-ships]

characters raised to be tools

Weapons. Trained, tested, forged in steel and fire. Failure is an inevitability that ends in death. Pain should not be felt--it should be recognized, familiar, and inconsequential

Martyrs. In the form of servants and princes, of leaders and underdogs. If blood is necessary, the martyr will lift their hands and offer it all

Shields. Like tempering a sword, but only to bear and not to lash out. Wounds are medals--not symbols of pride, but symbols of worth. A pretty shield is useless; scars mean a job well done

Experiments. Raised on the cold comfort of a lab table. Restraints are only necessary when they're not in their right mind. Is it honorable, to be twisted beyond recognition? Or is it just a necessary evil?

Monsters. Cruelty, caution, and regarding one as a creature beyond reasonable thought is tempering in its own right. But if you keep a leash at the right length, perhaps the massecre won't reach you. One can hope.

Idols. Pretty face, pretty name, pretty hands around their shoulders and throat. There to seduce, manipulate, force any feeling to come to the surface and twist it to their favor. Any genuinity stays locked behind the guilded cage that surrounds their pretty little heart

Trophies. Status and wealth and the traditions that keep someone at their heels, on their knees, to display and serve and decorate one's ballroom.

Sacrifices. Drenched in honorable clothes, prepared and adored and cleansed. The gift of hope at the cost of one's life. Is it taken with no fight? How can you escape the ropes you were born in?

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anyways with your help we can all kill scylla-

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lrb the entire time just had me

[jackals-ships]

Saw You, Gave You, Love You, Love You

Tw Abusive relationship, Tw Drug use

You find yourself staggering back to your hive, your head buzzing like a waspnest. The shock to your system from news of Pantra’s survival is rivaled only by the tremors settling inside your limbs.

You have to get home now.

Scylla’s laid out on your reclinement slab when you arrive, her head lifting slowly as you stumble in through the front door. 

“You let this out again,” She hums, waving something in her claws. One of your syringes, you figure- as much as you can think right now.

She regards you for a moment longer, or you think she does. When you continue standing there, panting like some devil-chased fool, shaking in a terror you don’t fully understand, she rises finally. 

It’s as elegant as everything else she does, her body, long torsoed and rippling with a solid heft, uncurling from its position and sliding upright, her tail uncoiling to swish lazily behind her as she begins to saunter towards you, chuckling softly.

“What’s wrong, Guppy?” She coos, tilting her head, her body lowered so she doesn’t dwarf you as much as she should, “Somefin happen with the-” she fiddles with the strap of your mask, before breaking off as the mother-of-pearl ornament you call a face slides off, exposing the ruined flesh beneath it, still sticky with dried blood.

“What happened” it’s not a question, not really. It’s one half of a statement, and the other half sits in your mouth. It does not leave your lips yet, as you swallow thickly, looking up at her. Her claws trace your jaw, gentle as they can be. 

You cling to a moment later, hiccuping sobs leaving your chest as you bury your face in her chest. Her hand tangles in your curls, and you grip the fabric of her bodysuit like a lifeline.

“Rackam hit me,” You whimper. It’s not the only thing on your mind, but it is something she’ll give a fuck about, and the faster you can get her riled up for you the faster she’ll cave and give you back your-

 “An then Lussen joined in.” Her breath hitches, like you knew it would.

She does not pity you, you know this now, but you are her’s. And she has never liked other trolls touching her things.

You play it up a bit more, whining softly and looking up at her, blinking tears out of your remaining eye. You need to sell the sheer patheticness of yourself, so Rackam and Lussen look even more pathetic for needing to jump you, and she gets even angrier.

She says nothing for a moment. But, only a moment, before she’s squeezing your arms with barely sheathed claws, audibly seething in rage.

“They did what?” She growls, and the force of the noise makes your teeth hurt, “Both of em?” You nod in faux shyness, letting your ragged fins droop like a kicked wiggler, “Why?”

“They wwvere talkin shit,” You hum, “An I got a lil mad, but I didn’t try to hurt em till Rackam decked me.” You rush that last bit out as she snaps her head towards you. A grin cracks across your face, as you bury it in her chest.

In her anger, your heaving laughs look like sobs. You curl your tail around her feet, chirping and whimpering. You hold your hands close to your chest now, a good reminder that you don’t even have real claws to protect yourself with, and they still hurt you. It takes everything in you not to grab for the needle she set on the table.

She rumbles a low, harsh bellow, chuffing and clacking her teeth, before she quiets, rubbing small circles in your back.

“My poor, poor Sh’ff, gettin picked on ‘cause her Ami isn’t there to protect her,” She sighs, pressing her muzzle into your hair, “I’ll deal with em for you later, alright? Now tell me what I missed.”

You perk up immediately, chirping as she releases you and moves back to the reclinement slab, patting her thigh invitingly.

You flop into her lap, and settle in for a second before you tell her as much as you can remember after Bachus walked in. Gotta do this fast, so she’ll leave for a bit.

You’ve just about gotten to the point about Ulfgar’s goldblood escapee when you realize her hand, which only a moment before was resting on your back, has slipped far lower than could be called unintentional.

Your eye flicks up to her face, and you faintly register the spike in her body heat, and the uptick of her blood pusher. A purr thunders in her chest, and she leans in to kiss the top of your head.

You find yourself whining, trying to squirm away from her grasping paws and false affection. And then she grabs your wrist. 

You press further into her, sighing shakily as she rolls your sleeve up. She pauses for a beat, murmuring at you to keep talking, before she adjusts her grip.

You know why she's doing this for you. You’re always so pliant after this, your limbs too heavy to push her away, your mouth too full of cotton to say anything coherent. 

You ramble the information to her, the details of the group, where they were last seen, how damned close they’ve strayed to your hunting grounds. She slides the needle into the juncture of your elbow, and you stutter out the one thing you hadn’t meant to tell her-

“Pantra’s wwvith them-” She pulls her thumb back from the plunger, staring down at you intently in a way that has you flushed and squirming. 

“Your weird foster-lusus-clutchmate thing? The fuckin catfish?” You tremble in her arms, nodding shakily.

“Why didn’t you start with that, guppy?” She snarls, pulling the syringe out of your arm, holding it just out of your increasingly desperate reach, “They have- stop fucking moving or I’ll break this fucking needle and let you start seizing again you stupid little bitch- they have a former Orcinist with them. They have one of your Orcinists. How the fuck do they have one of your Orcinists, Saturn?”  

You damn near sob when she clamps down on your horn and shakes you, growling in frustration.

“I don’t knowwv! I swwvear she wwvas dead- she wwvas dead!” you damn near howl from how much everything hurts right now,”I’ll handle it Ami I promise just please stop please you’re hurting me I’m sorry I’m so sorry I’ll handle it I’ll fuckin handle all of it just stop shaking me Ami please-” you don’t even know what you’re supposed to handle, or why you’re apologizing, but she stops shaking you suddenly.

Her jaws release slowly, and the drag of her fangs against your hornbeds hurts almost more than the shaking. She wraps her arms around you, and you only just then realize how clammy you’ve gone.

She starts purring as you start to sob, curling in on yourself, stroking your hair with the hand that had just been locked around your wrist, and crooning at you to calm down.

“Shhhh, hey,” You flinch, trying not to look up to where you can feel her breathing, “heeeey, pretty gills, stop crying. I know you’ll fix it, because you’re good for that, ain’tcha?” You gasp, dragging in a breath and nodding.

You still don’t know what you’re fixing, but she grabs your arm again, and this time she doesn’t pause.

Your head tips back, and you chitter, locking on to her, taking her in in this moment.

She’s fucking beautiful, damn near glowing above you. You can make out the grin wracked across her face, the squint to her eyes.

If you click harder, louder, you could see inside her. You’re tempted to. The idea sits in your pan for a bit as the steady drag and hum of the high hits you, and you tilt your head downwards and click sharply towards your gut.

You giggle for a second as the sonar reflection of your innards hits you. The curl of the cartilage plates that from the cage of your chest, the writhe of your intestines, the steadily accelerating thrum of your blood pusher.

The eggs currently distending your gene bladder, the ones you know Scylla thinks are hers. She’d cull you if she knew better.

That thought almost knocks you from your high, almost. You press back into her chest, grabbing her paw and resting it on your belly, keening and whining. She chuckles breathlessly, nuzzling you and tracing circles in the swell of your stomach.

You hope these grubs end up violet, end up another shot at actually keeping a clutch with her after-

A door creaks open upstairs, and you hear the sound of small claws clicking on the stairwell.