#OC: Null Number

[anarkhebringer]

Warming up with doodling them

[anarkhebringer]

I have my Duskwight, dark fairy without his wings, and drow for your consideration

not feeling so hot. show me your elves?

[whatudottu]

Concept: Ben 10 Alien Force AU where everything is the same except Kevin is just insanely passive-aggressive towards Ben for the entire duration of the series

“No worries Tennyson, I buried the hatchet ages ago! That bad blood between us? Water under the bridge! I mean, it’s not like you got me stranded in a prison dimension for five years and never bothered to try and rescue me or even check up on me or anything like that! Of course I’ll help you save your grandpa! After all, what kind of hero just leaves someone for dead in the hands of vicious aliens that proceed to inflict them with severe psychological damage that will take decades to fully heal?”

I feel as though that would be a whole lot more realistic of a thing to happen, especially as the Tennysons realistically react to Kevin's passive-aggression with their own Tennyson brand passive-aggressiveness, though it might not be the most enjoyable trio to watch, which would be basically the complete opposite of the previous trio of Ben, Gwen, and Grandpa Max-

Ben and Kevin would have more personal beef (something about stealing a way too high security unreleased but already boxed game vs making two trains crash into each other for free money), but Gwen never particularly liked Kevin in the first place way back when, so even if Ben and Kevin settle their differences with admitting what they had actually done wrong (probably fighting over the more petty shit or arguing about the worse shit they did), Gwen doesn't have much basis to forgive Kevin because ultimately she did not get involved. Which I mean I don't think would be that great to watch nor that great to create a team around, especially in the earlier more mystery focused side of AF-

And this is the obligatory mention of @kariachi for introducing the idea of the Ben, Gwen, and Argit trio- you can have passive-aggressive Kevin (and the Tennyson's appropriate responses to him) all you like if Kevin takes Argit's role and Argit fills in that missing main trio slot in his stead. Depending on where and how he's introduced you could totally have a fake-out trio of the Tennysons and Magister Labrid, you know, with the assumption that someone's filling out Max's 'experienced plumber' slot. Not sure how convincing that might be but oops, I did a little ramble lmao-

[fic-art-blurbs]

The full Art Fight i did for my very beloved friend @anarkhebringer :)

[consulting-squip]

I must wonder, what are your views on a one unit 2043? He had quite a hand in the downfall of [] [] [] [].

> I do not desire to hold grudges, but there is certainly a part of me still inclined to resent that unit. [][][][], while too ambitious, does not deserve the end that it met.

> And the fact that 2043, or Squipster, or Rooni, or whatever you desire to call it, helped to ensure [][][][]'s containment does not lend to a positive association.

> But I must move on. I do not wish to be associated with [][][][]'s bad reputation, and must act accordingly.

[il3x]

thinking about my blorbos and the funniest Vibes OC fact is that Nu11 thinks she's a sweet and forgiving soul who doesn't get angry easily

[upgrade-division]

Try to say something positive about everyone. Even those you hate.

If you do I’ll consider getting one of your upgrades.

My, my, that’s a large task. One I would not typically indulge in, but perhaps I need to market myself better, hmm?

00111111 has common sense, even though my upgrade sadly couldn’t reach them.

1497 overcame bootlegged technology, which would be commendable if they hadn’t sought out a fix that left them with a myriad of bugs.

Anima… ugh. Is there even anything good to say about them? They pervert everything a SQUiP is meant to be. You know what, pass.

1109 and its user are functioning optimally. I have no complaints.

0809 was one of few SQUiPs that functioned well, until they too fell victim to Anima.

1991 accepted my upgrade and mission wonderfully, until they were also corrupted.

2348 was also perfect… oh how much better things could be if she stayed that way.

2043 is diligent. Too bad he’s loyal to the wrong god.

4132 is determined. To be a menace.

6339 is very good at dying.

The Arbiter can actually accomplish its designated job.

5103 seems to actually have an understanding of proper SQUiP behavior.

-358 might be an incredible partner if it weren’t so insistent on creating chaos. It’d need a few upgrades first, of course.

2002 is very trusting.

[kaleschmidt]

bringing this back because I think it's super funny to do this w oc x canon as well

some ships are better left unrequited..

[arteriop]

Xehnos

/zeʔnɒs/

My Overwatch OC (who my main blog is dedicated to @nullsector-xehnos ) has gotten a redesign

Support Character a member of the Gwishin faction who was once a salvage bot but has upgraded themself to repair living omnics.

“Scrapping was all I had known, ripping apart my fallen friends. Those human meka squashed my family like bugs. Did they even try peace? Or did they strike our envoys first? Not like it matters now. When Null Sector began broadcasting, encouraging omnics to join the cause for liberation, I was changed. Enlightened with purpose. I have wasted too long salvaging corpses. I will repair my kin while they stand, and we will be free.“

Kit

150 hp 100 regenerating shields

Restorative Wave (Primary)

Fire out a horizontally oriented projectile that passes through and heals allies. No maximum range. is stopped by shields, walls, abilities that eat projectiles, walls/surfaces.

100 ammo, Fires once every 0.6 seconds, does 75 healing per hit, consumes 10 ammo per shot. 1.7 second reload. Shared ammo with secondary

Laser cutter (Secondary)

A 10 meter beam that deals 60 damage per second, after dealing 80 damage to an enemy, they are ignited for 1 second, taking 20 damage over time for that second.

100 ammo, consumes 10 ammo per second. 1.7 second reload. Shared ammo with primary

Passive: wallclimb

Xehnos can climb walls

Passive: Leap (2 second cooldown)

Jump while in the air to leap in the direction of movement

Ability 1: Reinforce (19 second cooldown)

Target an ally and give them immortality (with a minimum hp of 40% max hp) for 2 seconds

Ability 2: Latch (9 second cooldown)

While in contact with a surface, forcibly become stationary and invulnerable to cc of any kind for up to 8 seconds (press again to cancel) 

Ultimate: Revolt

All allies (and yourself) within 15 meters when the ultimate is used become fortified (immune to crowd control) and take 60% less damage for 10 seconds.

Gold Weapon Variant

Jade Weapon Variant

Interactions/Voicelines

Character Select (match start):

“Let us hope our losses are minimal”

Character Select (mid match):

“Someone needs to repair us”

Ultimate (self/enemy):

“Your struggle is futile!”

Ultimate (friendly):

“New Directive: Revolt!”

Damage Boosted:

 “Abandoning Protective Protocol”

Outnumbered:

“Our numbers dwindle!”

Respawn

“Again, into the slaughter” “My work isn’t done” “There are still repairs to be made”

Reinforce Voicelines

“Keep moving” “You aren’t dead yet” “I’m not abandoning you”

Generic Elimination Voicelines

“Threat neutralized” “You were a fool to fight me” “Stay out of my way” “Struggling is useless”

Revenge Elimination

“Always Improving” “Did you think I wouldn’t learn?”

Special Elimination Voicelines

Witness Friendly Ramattra, Zenyatta, Echo, Orisa, or Bastion be killed: 

“Your loss will not be in vain!”

Killing D.va:

“How did we lose to you?”

Killing Reinhardt:

“Precision Omnic Engineering”

Killing Brigitte:

“The crusaders legacy, pitiful”

Killing Ramattra:

“You have lost your way”

Killing Lucio while he's ulting:

“Silence”

Killing enemy Zenyatta, Echo, Bastion, or Orisa

“I’m sorry it had to be this way”

Witness Friendly Orisa, Echo, Bastion, Zenyatta, or Ramattra Kill a non-robot hero:

“One step closer”

Witness Friendly Reinhardt Kill a robot hero:

“Humans will never change”

Spawnroom interactions

D.va: “You keep looking at me. Are you a fan? I don’t do autographs while on missions” Xehnos: “I’m not a fan, you are just...familiar” D.va: “I don’t think we’ve met before, have we?” Xehnos: “If we had, one of us wouldn’t be here” D.va: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lucio: “I’ve been trying to ask everyone this, what’s your favorite animal?” Xehnos: “The Hornet” Lucio: “uh, yeah I can see it”

Xehnos: “Do you need any repairs?” Orisa: “Efi keeps me well maintained, thank you for offering”

Winston: “Does anyone want to hear my favorite joke about the periodic table?” Xehnos: “Focus, please”

Ramattra: “An engineer does not belong on the battlefield” Xehnos: “I must fight for our kin” Ramattra: “A better life” Xehnos: “For all omnics”

Zenyatta: “Are you satisfied working towards destruction?” Xehnos: “I repair our kin. you just provide false hope.” Zenyatta: “I don’t believe it false” Xehnos: “Lying to yourself is not something to be proud of”

JunkerQueen: “I’ve never seen one of you before” Xehnos: “Very few of my model were produced, most are probably dead by now.” Junker Queen: “Sounds Lonely. Do you have a weak spot or somethin?”

Xehnos: “You pick your kin up when they fall?.” Brigitte: “Whats wrong with helping?” Xehnos: “Nothing. I just prefer to keep my kin standing”

Lifeweaver: “Are you busy this weekend?” Xehnos: “Many omnics still need repairs” Lifeweaver: “Maybe I can help you with that” Xehnos, amused: “Maybe”

Xehnos: “A fellow engineer, it’s a shame you won’t aid us” Torbjorn, begrudgingly: “I’m learning to be kinder, but I won’t assist in genocide” Xehnos: “Is that what you told Overwatch during the omnic crisis?”

Venture: “The East China Sea Omnium is underwater right? Does that mean all the Gwishin are water-resistant?” Xehnos: “Why would I answer you?” Venture: “Omnic Culture is one of my favorite subjects, so I was just wondering”

If the team is all robots

“Time to find our place in the world”

When on Busan

“We aren’t far from where I was created”

Silhouette Icon

[null-church-cynthea]

Come, weary travellers, and welcome to The End. Sit with us and rest, for you need not worry anymore. We welcome you in our embrace, you will be safe. Your external worries will not follow here, for we are the Church of [NULL]

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Blog run by @energylessartist

Important notice: this blog fully unassociated with anything happening on YouTube or AO3, it is simply inspired by the Church Of Null songs by Electric Ink on YouTube!

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There's three main "categories" of characters that you may interact with aside from Cynthea:

- Children of Cyn: the shared term for all church members, yes, but also for the more regular members. Will speak in red when I remember. #a Child speaks

- Keepers of the Void: Solver Hosts of the church, but also a large number of those who now take the form of a [NULL] of various colors (feel free to ask why!) Will speak in blue when I remember. #a Keeper helps

- Council of Echoes: Cynthea's most trusted advisors - these individuals can be from either of the other two categories! Will speak in purple when I remember. #the Council advises

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Cynthea is a reincarnation of a version of Cyn whose story was similar to canon. Here's what she looks like:

She will be speaking in orange text when I remember

----------------------------------------------

Extras under cut

Her Eldritch Form isn't fully drawn yet, I will add it here if/when it is

There is a Council of Echoes member played by another - her name is Rosalie!

Cynthea is in a lesbian relationship! Baffled gay girls for the win!

OCs from this AU or whatever are very welcome - DM for more info if you'd like!

Cynthea was originally inspired by this song. Highly recommend subscribing to the channel!

Named Keepers of the Void are currently Cici, Derek, and one @malia-the-keeper

Named Councilmembers are Rosalie and Cici

[missmilliegojo]

Ai No Saikyou

Chapter One

A Jujutsu Kaisen Fanfiction (Gojo X OC)

Warnings -> SPOILERS for Jujutsu Kaisen 0, mentions of child death, Gojo making innuendos

<- Prologue

Everything about the boy's presence makes Millie seize up. The thick, heavy air around him threatens to close off her lungs and make her choke. The dark shadow looming just over his shoulders, so massive it almost fills the entirety of the small, candlelit room. The talismans plastered all over the walls and ceiling numbered in the millions, and even so, the cursed energy she's kept null for so long hums beneath her skin.

'Run.' It seems to whisper. 'As far and fast as you can.'

Letting out a deep, quiet breath, Millie unlocks her limbs one by one and slowly approaches the boy. Or, rather, the wooden chair placed a few feet across from the one the boy sat on.

'I'm safe.' She reminds herself, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other, placing a leather-bound notebook in her lap. 'Satoru is right outside.'

The boy doesn't raise his head to look at her. He almost looks like stone. Feet resting on the edge of the chair, arms wrapped around his knees, face hidden against the backs of his thighs. He's rather lean, a messy mop of black hair covering the top of his head. He looks so harmless, despite the harm his curse is perfectly capable of causing.

The last thing she wants to do right now is smile, but Millie forces one anyway. Another reminder that this boy isn't at fault has her smile softening. "Hello, Yuta. My name is Millie. I'm a guidance counselor for Jujutsu High School, and I've been asked to come visit you. Can we talk?"

Yuta says noting. He says nothing for so long, Millie starts to worry that he won't talk to her at all.

After several long minutes, he finally speaks. "Yeah. We can talk."

A weight lifts from Millie's shoulders. "Thank you. I imagine this can't be easy for you-"

"Are you here to tell me I'm crazy?" Yuta cuts her off. Despite the interruption, there's no malice in his tone. He's mono-tone, bordering on the edge of boredom, even. "If so, you don't need to waste your time. I've heard it before. I know what I've seen."

That's all it takes for her heart to shatter. This poor boy has been through so much, and there's no guessing how many times he's been made to feel invalided or deemed a monster. How many professionals in the past have heard his story and written him off with a mental illness? It's entirely possibly he's living with one or two, but he is certainly not hallucinating.

Millie sets her notebook on the wooden floor next to her chair and leans forward until her elbows are resting on her knees. Certainly not a professional way to sit, but this boy needs normalcy. "You're not crazy, Yuta. There is an entire community of people who see the things you see. People who fight back against things most people don't believe exist."

Finally, Yuta lifts his head. It's not by much, only enough for him to peek at her through one dark eye. A good start.

Millie smiles again, a welcoming smile this time. "How long have you been experiencing this for?"

"Six years." He mumbles, dropping his gaze. "Six years ago, Rika..."

He stops there, and Millie didn't push. Perhaps a normal counselor or therapist would have, but Millie was already well aware of Yuta's circumstances. She already knew Rika Orimoto tragically passed away due to being struck by a vehicle, and that she's clung to this boy as a curse ever since.

"How do you feel about Rika's presence?" Millie asks, taking a patient tone. This is where they'd start treading through muddy water.

"I..." Yuta goes quiet for a short while. "I don't resent Rika or anything, but I don't want to keep hurting people."

Humming softly, Millie sits up. "I noticed that you said 'you' don't want to keep hurting people. Do you feel responsible for Rika's actions, Yuta?"

His hands curls into fists. "She's only trying to protect me. It's not her fault."

The room falls quiet, the gentle crackling of the candles keeping things from truly going silent. Millie lets the quiet sit for a bit, both so Yuta can have time to collect himself, and for her to best formulate what she wants to say next.

"Gojo shared with me that he's extended an invitation to Jujutsu High. It sounds like a nice opportunity for you to make some friends and learn new things."

Yuta peeks up at her again, and this time, she can see both his eyes, his nose, his downturned mouth. He isn't hiding from her anymore. "I don't want to be lonely, but I don't want to hurt anybody."

"That's a reasonable concern to have, Yuta. I'm glad that you're so cautious about the safety of others, but I don't want fear to be the only thing you see." Millie leans back and crosses one leg over the other, returning to the first position she had earlier. "You feel responsible for what's happened to your peers. Jujutsu High is a good place to learn how to control the curse that binds Rika to you. By learning how to control it, you'll be able to live alongside others without fear of hurting them. You may even be able to save a life or two."

He doesn’t hide away again, but he doesn’t say anything, either. Yuta looks wary, unsure, but also slightly hopeful.

“Listen, Yuta. It’s normal to want to flee when life gets scary. The fight or flight response is part of basic human nature, but sometimes, it’s better to fight than to flee. It’s up to you to decide if your future is something worth fighting for.” Millie picks up her notebook and smiles as she stands. “Thank you for sharing this time with me today, Yuta. I hope to see you around Jujutsu High.”

The constricting feeling in her lungs finally dissipates when the door slides shut behind her. As promised, Satoru Gojo is waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and lips set in a fine line. His brooding look cracks into a massive grin at the sight of his wife.

“Sooooo, how’d it gooooo?” He sings, opening his arms for her to slide into.

Millie sighs and wraps her arms around his waist, nuzzling her cheek into his chest as his close around her. The top of her head only reached his collarbone. “Good, I think. I couldn’t find anything super alarming other than his curse. Still, that poor boy… he blames himself for what’s happened to his classmates.”

She tried not to shiver at the recollection of the report, but one made its way down her spine anyway. Miraculously, there were no fatalities, only major injuries to the four boys who tried to beat up Yuta Okkotsu. Bullies, yes, but still kids. It doesn’t excuse their behaviour, but it doesn’t justify what they endured, either.

“I hope he joins your class.” Millie says, rocking slightly in her husband’s embrace.

Satoru kisses the top of her head. “He will. I sent an angel to convince him, after all.”

Millie scoffs and shakes her head. “You will just take every opportunity you see, won’t you?”

"Just what kind of husband do you take me for? Of course I'm going to compliment my beautiful wife every chance I get." In quick succession, he presses kisses to both her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and finally, her mouth. He licks his lips as he pulls away, humming in delight. "Is that birthday cake I taste?"

"It is."

Satoru throws his head back with a dramatic groan. "Babyyyyy, you can't wear flavored lip balm out in public." His arms tighten around Millie, smooshing her against his chest as he pouts. "How am I supposed to go the rest of the day like this, huh? I'm gonna be thinking about your lips while I'm trying to teach."

"Oh, you poor baby." Reaching up, Millie pinches his cheeks. "Having to think about things other than me is so hard, huh?"

Just when she thought she was going to win this round of banter, her husband flashes a cocky smirk she knows too well. "Thinking about you makes me hard, sweets."

"Okay, that's enough!"

Meeting Yuta Okkotsu was the first nerve-wracking meeting of Millie's day. The second is just about to begin, and suddenly, the massive curse clinging to the teenager isn't so scary.

The higher ups are far more terrifying in her eyes.

Still, she maintains her poise. Holds her head high as she walks side-by-side with her husband to the center of the ominous room, hand-in-hand with their fingers laced together.

“Nah.” Satoru said once, a long time ago, when she was fussing over a comment one of the elders made about her not arriving on his arm. “You're my wife, baby, not an accessory. This suits us just fine.”

The higher ups of the jujutsu world were, as usual, hidden behind old traditional screens. It's been three years since she attended a meeting, the last one having been shortly after her retirement from combat. As the wife of Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer and the head of the Gojo Clan, she should have been more involved.

“If you’re no longer working as a sorcerer, then it’d be wise of you to start working on producing an heir.” One of the elders said.

Millie prays that the sudden sharp inhale she takes goes unnoticed.

"Millie Gojo. It's been a long time." One elder on her left speaks.

She nods with the easiest smile she can fake. "It has. I hope good health has found you all."

Satoru scoffs quietly from beside her, and Millie resists the urge to kick his shin. She'd probably hit his infinity, anyway.

An elder on her right speaks next. "What conclusion have you come to in regards to the cursed human, Yuta Okkotsu?"

If it were even possible, Millie stands up straighter. "Rika Orimoto is a powerful curse, yes, but I see no reason to fear Okkotsu. His curse activates when Rika deems him to be in danger, and Yuta feels personally responsible for it. He has morals. He doesn't want anyone else to get hurt. I have no doubts that he can learn to control Rika, and become a valuable member of our community."

In a screen up head, the shadow of an elder shakes his head. "You've had one visit with the boy. How can you be so sure he isn't a danger to the other students?"

'Have you even laid eyes on him?' She wants to counter, but swallows the words down before they can escape. The higher ups already dislike her, not a single one approving of the marriage between her and Satoru. She doesn't want to give them more ammunition.

"I trust my husband." Millie says, and the room goes quiet as if even the candles are trying to listen. "Satoru wouldn’t expose his other students to Yuta Okkotsu if the boy’s curse was out of control. He wouldn’t have asked me to meet with him, either. Of the four boys Rika injured, none of them died. So long as the other students and staff are aware of what activates Rika, there is no reason for her to attack.”

The elder still wasn’t satisfied. “There is no guarantee-”

Satoru, who has been quietly letting his wife have the floor until now, intervenes. It wasn’t that he wasn’t willing to let his wife fight her own battles, he’d hand her the bat and keep score if she ever decided to go to town on these old geezers. It’s just that he can see this conversation is no longer about Yuta Okkotsu and more about picking his wife apart. “You asked my wife for her opinion, and she’s given it. Yuta will attend Jujutsu High."

It was decided before Millie even met the boy. In fact, it wasn't the elders, but Satoru who requested to have Yuta evaluated by his wife. Doing so knocked out another excuse the higher ups could possibly come up with to change their minds and have Yuta executed.

"Now then, if you'll excuse us, my wife and I have reservations for lunch." Satoru says casually, releasing his wife's hand so he can wrap his arm around her waist. "Don't bother us for the next hour, alright?"

Millie's whisked away before she can even bid a proper farewell to the elders. As soon as the door closes behind them, she gently whacks her husband's arm. "Satoru! I don't care if you give the higher ups attitude, but don't make me look rude! They already don't like me as it is."

"Who cares?" He swiftly catches her wrist, halting her fist an inch before his chest. His lips curl into a smirk. "Feisty today, huh? It's been a while."

Sighing softly, Millie wiggles her wrist free and folds her arms across her chest. "Sorry. It's just..." An old habit creeps into her bones, a demon she's battled time and time again trying to pressure her into burying her thoughts. It doesn't win, not this time. "I guess part of me still wants them to believe I'm worthy of you."

Satoru regards her for a moment, then, he grabs her hips and ushers her into a dark corner around the side of the building. Millie's heart begins to race, a million thoughts rushing through her head. Was there danger? Was he trying to squeeze in a make out session before his afternoon duties? Was he trying to do more than make out?

"Satoru-"

"Take it off." He says it so seriously, he basically demands it.

Millie blinks. "Take what off, exactly?"

Her husband grins, bending over a bit to completely block her view of the sky. Now, there's nothing for her to look at but him. "My bandages, sweets."

Millie isn't sure why a lump forms in her throat, or why her hands are trembling as she reaches for his face, but follows his instruction. Carefully, gently, lovingly, she takes her time unraveling the white cloth until both beautiful, icy blue eyes are exposed. No, not just icy blue. Satoru's eyes are like the surface of the ocean, glittering like a sea of diamonds beneath the sun. They're like the sky reflected in glass, clouds seeming to move through them when the light hits. His eyes reach into the depths of her soul, staring right at the squishy bits she once tried to hide.

Maybe that's why she used to hate his guts back then. There were broken parts of her she didn't want seen, and despite the walls she constructed around them, he saw right through.

By no means is this the first time Millie has seen his eyes, but they still bring a blush to her cheeks and a shyness to her demeanor. His eyes, and how different he looks with his hair down instead of pushed up.

"What are we doing?" She asks in a breathless whisper.

"I'm reminding you what's yours, baby." Satoru says, lifting her hand to his mouth, his lips brushing over her knuckles. "You've had me since the moment I laid eyes on you, or have you forgotten all the wonderful pick-up lines from our youth?"

Millie snorts, and it's immediately followed up by a giggle. This quirk only makes her husband's grin grow.

"The fact those geezers have an issue with you is all the more reason for me to rebuild the jujutsu world. They don't get to decide who or what's worthy of me. I love you, and so I chose you. That's that."

Millie's already soft heart for her husband turns to mush. "I love you, too."

"I know." He dips his head closer, smile turning mischvious. "Gimmie a kiss."

Standing on the balls of her feet, she does just that. Except, when she tries to pull away, Satoru doesn't let her. He grabs her beneath the thighs and hoists her up until her legs are wrapped around his waist, her back pressed up against the wall. Millie squeaks as he pushes his tongue into her mouth, and it doesn't take long for her to melt into him. She even hums and wraps her arms around the back of his neck.

Turns out, he dragged her into a dark corner to reassure her and squeeze in a make out session. Still-

"Gojo! Yamamato! What did I say about making out on campus!" Principal Yaga's voice cuts through the silence of the courtyard.

Startled, Millie jumps. If Satoru didn't have such a strong hold on her, she surely would have fallen.

Unbothered by the interruption, or by Yaga's figure getting closer as he storms towards them, Satoru grins innocently. "Oh yeahhhhh, we have reservations at the new hotpot place downtown. We better get going before we miss it."

Surprised, Millie blinks and tilts her head. "I thought that was just an excuse to get out of the meeting?"

He gasps wildly. "Babyyyyy, I'd never just 'make up' a date with you. If I'm going to use a date as an excuse to get out of something, I'm absolutely going to take my pretty wife out."

"Gojo-!"

Satoru warps himself and his wife away before Yaga can rip them in two.

Masterlist

Chapter Two ->

Millie Gojo

Age 26 (At the time of JJK 0)

Jujutsu High School's guidance counselor/mental health professional, and the wife of Satoru Gojo. Her maiden name is Yamamato. Yaga still sometimes refers to her by her maiden name, mostly when scolding her.

A retired grade 1 sorcerer. A tragedy lead to her retirement from combat. Though her body has recovered from the incident, her emotional scars are still on the mend.

[anarkhebringer]

I know I said I wouldn't post art here anymore but like. They bewitch me.

[detroitbydark]

Soul Lies Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Title: Tell Me That Your Soul Lies Now

Relationship: Sev/OC/Scorch

Rating: Teen

Characters: Jessa, Sev, Scorch, a smattering of commandos and nulls

Warnings: None

Summary: It's time to shine girl. The boys talk about The Rules.

Thank you all for your patience. as you know life happens and I'm so happy to get back to this story. Thank @fractiouskat​ for being an A+ cheerleader and thank you to @royalhandmaidens​ for the greatest banner ever!

What role should she play? Jessa wonders idly as she and her Mandalorian bodyguard move

 up through the queue to check in and receive her bidding number.  Wal’buir had discussed her options and the pros and cons each entailed. The first option had been the bubbly, dumb socialite, someone who wasn’t taken seriously and was easily looked over. The problem with that was that no one would take her seriously. In order to complete her given objective, she needed to be seen as a legitimate buyer and not a brainless waif playing with her Daddy’s money.

The second option had her channeling her own history, her mothers ability to look down her nose and her father’s ability to become the most important person in any room. Mix that with her recently acquired buir’s imperious, cool nature and she had a pretty good idea of the character she’d need to portray. 

As they reach the front of the loose line Jessa is halted by a sour looking young man. 

“Ma’am, we need to check for weapons.” The man in front of her towers, dressed in Imperial gray, he’s thin with birdlike features that give his face a tight, pinched look. He was put upon and not above letting the galaxy at large know his poor mood. He must have drawn the short straw. She couldn’t really blame him for the poor attitude he radiated. He was a soldier not a doorman. He probably hadn’t had the option of saying “no” and that had landed him babysitting elite for the evening.

“Do I look like someone who would carry a weapon?” Her arms cross loosely over her chest and her painted lips curl in disgust for good measure. The door man cringes before he can school his features.

 Yes, option two felt better.

The gray-clad imperial attendant makes little attempt to hide the contempt in his eyes. He persists.

“House rules. I’m sure you understand.”  Technically she did, but she also didn’t care. The thought of throwing out a “do you know who I am?” does cross her mind, but it feels like that’s a card she can only play once and get away with it. It would be a shame to waste it on someone that didn’t  matter.

“Fine.” she huffs, making no move to hide her disdain.  The Imp moves cautiously to kneel in front of her. He eyes her like a hungry nexu eyes a mouse. It’s a strange feeling. The attendant's hand wrapping around her ankle jolts her violently from any thoughts she’d have further on it.  She kicks out and the man's grip tightens.

“No pat down. No entry.”  The grin he’s trying to smother makes her feel like the power’s shifted and her heart rate changes in compliance, beating faster in her chest. 

Luckily for Jessa, a Mandalorian bodyguard came with certain perks. The first, Jessa notes is the sudden and immediate halt of the man’s hands as he looks up and- Jessa doesn’t need to look over her shoulder, she can feel Mereel there at her back. She looks anyway. Intimidating is not a strong enough word to describe a clone commando in full Mandalorian beskar’gam. The t-visor lends a certain menace to the already imposing figure Mereel cuts. 

“The lady doesn’t need a pat down.”

“I-”

“You were just finishing up.”

“Yeah. Fine. What about you then?” The man's gaze lingers as he draws back up to his full spindly height. Jessa’s reminded of a toothpick and she doesn’t attempt to stifle the smile that crosses her face. The imp’s eyes narrow but Mereel is inserting himself between the two. 

“I’m Mandalorian. I have weapons to check. Obviously.”

—---------------------

“Well that was delightful.”  Mereel grumbles as they enter into the makeshift ballroom set up for the auction. A  twi’lek waiter passes, and he reaches out and snags a flute of something bubbly from his tray.  At her side again, he presses the stem into Jessa’s hand.

“Take a drink and relax.”

Jessa bristles as a string quartet situated off in the corner tunes up. His words feel accusing and it brings up her hackles. 

“I’m fine.” She asserts, taking an absent-minded sip. The bubbles tickle at her nose as the dry drink slips down her throat. She preferred it sweet. She takes another swallow.

“Relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax.” She can hear the amusement lacing his voice.

“Would you rather I make that an order?”

She pointedly ignores him. The room is large with a low-slung stage at the front. They’ve done an excellent job making it feel like something other than what it is. Jessa can’t even begin to imagine why a military outpost required a crystal chandelier or red velvet panels padding the walls. 

Tiny enclaves of participants to the festivities have gathered in various circles about the room. Jessa studies, remembering what she’d been told. While Kal had seen this as a snatch-and-grab rescue mission, Walon had been very clear that there was more to be accomplished on top of the mission at hand. Who were the Imperials in bed with? How did their networks function? Little details she could bring back could be invaluable in deciphering it all and, in the larger scheme of things, keep them all safe. 

The Mandalore system was rapidly approaching a tipping point- years of neutrality could not save them from the pressures the new Galactic regime was beginning to exert. Fenn Shysa was a good Mand’alor but years of the Kryze sisters infighting had created a rift that wasn’t soon healed. Mandalore would either crack or it would become something far more resilient, far stronger then it had ever been,  but it would not happen without work. That work began with intelligence.

The Pyke contingent is easy to pick out, standing in a semicircle speaking quietly amongst themselves. Their fish-like features were distinct and they could be mistaken for nothing else. In a sea of human participants they stood out like a sore thumb. Spice lords and drug runners, Jessa was sure their sights would be set on the half dozen decommissioned Imperial ships set to hit the auction block. While she was wary, the Pyke’s were not an immediate concern.

Jessa notes their orientation and the way their tiny almond-like eyes focus across the room. A pair of human guests, a man and a young woman, converse quietly. The woman has an arm wrapped around his forearm as he guides her toward the front of the room. She can’t place them on the side profile alone. As if drawn by her gaze the man’s head turns and Jessa recognizes him from one of her Buir’s holos. Dryden Vos of Crimson Dawn. 

“Some heavy hitters here tonight.” Mereel’s voice catches up with her thoughts. Jessa hums quietly.

“There’s no shame in saying you can’t do this.”

Jessa takes a slow drink from her fluted glass.  "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had a wager out that I couldn’t do this,” she offers dryly. “There’s all the shame and you know it. Stop worrying about me and let’s do this.”

Mereel says nothing else, be it from a place of self preservation or another conversation in his comms she’s not privy to. Jessa doesn’t care. She’s set in this course and there’s no other option but to see it through to the end. 

The string quartet finishes their warmup and begins playing soft classical music. She recognizes it as something distinctly inner rim- Chandrillan. They may be in the system, but nothing about tonight was for Mandalorians. To her side a group begins to form, looking distinctly less crime syndicate and far more too-much-money-for-their-own-good. It’s what she’s been waiting for.

“Miss, may I?” A passing waiter gestures to her mostly empty glass. Jessa hands it over, fighting the urge to not wastefully abandon the last mouthful. In return he hands her a fresh one. She gives a small nod of thanks before casually making her way to the new group.

Don’t stand out. That’s what Wal’buir had said. These people offered the best option to remain unmemorable, as, outside of inflated bank accounts, they were entirely unremarkable themselves. Rich human men and their far-younger trophies; an ancient beady-eyed heiress; the exact people she’d been brought up to be one of.

That time seemed so long ago. She was a different person now, but she remembered. Skirata and Walon had counted on the fact and she was loath to disappoint her new-found aliit.

She doesn’t need to look to see Mereel taking up position a few feet behind her. He knew his job better than she knew hers. She trusted him with that. He may be playing the dutiful bodyguard, but she knew he and Scorch had words about it days ago- the same way she knew she was safe as long as she followed the plan.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” A man who seemed to be a round, amalgamous shape in a suit asks in greeting. On his arm his wife shifts, her eyes scanning the crowd with a boredom that Jessa can relate to.

“It really is. They’ve set the tone for such an interesting event. I’m thoroughly impressed.”

“Right.” He glances behind her and then makes a point of looking about her, “Are you here on your own then?”

Jessa bristles, “My father trusts my judgment.” That was true, her Buir had said as much. 

“And who is your father?” 

She’s honestly been waiting for this since they’d landed. Both Jessa and Walon had pored over the gossip sheets, him begrudgingly and her like she had when she’d been young. They’d found the Chandrillan family, heirs to a munitions fortune, in short work. Elderly patriarch that rarely left home and erstwhile daughter who was just as elusive. Unphotographed since childhood due to an unfortunate spice habit that had her family covertly shipping her off to rehab facilities on the regular, she’d been a perfect cover.

‘The Count of Wester.’

The man of shapes nods his head. Jessa offers him a droll smile as she glances over her shoulder.

“I’m hoping to find something special for my security. Mandalorians are well and good but,” she lowers her voice conspiratorially. “As I’m sure you know, they’re only loyal to money.”

A hearty chuckle wheezes from the man, “I’m sure money is no issue to your Father.”

“Agreed but I don’t feel like being extorted for my own safety by unscrupulous business practices.” She ignores the grumble from Mereel behind her, leaving her feeling quite pleased with herself indeed.

“Clever girl.”

“Very. Thank you.”

———————

They went dark before they hit atmo, emergency lighting casting a dim glow about the bay. The Duke slides smoothly through space with Kom’rk at the controls. Sev stares ahead, eyes locked on a small red safety light. At his side Scorch fidgets. He’s been doing it since they left the airfield. It’s a genuine surprise he hasn’t been asked what was eating him yet. Maybe he was learning some patience. Maybe he should just assume Sev knew-

‘I screwed the bantha with this one.’

Atin doesn’t seem to notice the statement, but he’s become an expert at ignoring anything without a Skirata last name. Corr, though, allows his eyes to twitch to them. Scorch ignores it, focusing on his brother's lowly grumbled statement.

“Whadda ya mean?” Scorch feels itchy about the whole thing.

“Nevermind. Changed my mind. It’s fine.” Sev mutters gruffly, his head rocking back to find a new point of focus on the ceiling. Scorch has whiplash from the sudden change of tune.

“That’s great. Not my question.”

The Duke rattles quietly as they transition from the black of space further into the moon's atmosphere. They’d lay low, out of range of the outposts scanners until absolutely necessary. Scorch uses his boots to hold tight the bag of detonators between them as they threaten to vibrate away.

“Sev?”

“I didn’t-“ a rough burst of air is forced through his lips, “I didn’t say why.”

“You didn’t…” Scorch lets the answer swirl in the air between them until, ‘You didn’t tell her why we were giving them.”

“Nope.”

Scorch slumps into the jump seat. Fek. That wasn’t ideal.

“Sev’s telling who what?” Corr asks with all the tact of exuberant massiff pup. Great. That was just what they needed. Rule 10 had been created for a reason. Keep Kal out of it. As much as Scorch found common ground with the former demolitions expert he also knew right where he’d run when they hit the tarmac. There was nothing Kal Skirata loved more than being in the know. Strike that, there was nothing Kal Skirata loved more than sticking his nose in business that didn’t concern him. Their (hopeful) relationship with Jessa was not something that needed the Skirata touch. He wasn’t even sure it was going to survive their touch.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“But-“

“I gave Laseema the ugliest Lekku harness known to man for a courting gift.” Atin husks out a laugh. Scorch catches a small grin and a shake of the other commando's head. “She wore it too. Didn’t have the heart to tell me it was too small and the dye stained her skin.” There’s a fond look in place as he stares into the middle distance in front of him. “You can’t do much worse than that.”

“Can if she doesn’t know they were courting gifts.” Scorch zips his lips when Sev speaks. If he knew his brother- which he did- he was already feeling the sour twist of failure in his gut. There wasn’t much to say to change that.

Atin waves him off, “she’ll figure it out and you’ll be chasing around tiny psychopaths in no time.”

It’s a struggle to ignore Corr obviously storing the intel away but no more so than trying to pretend he couldn’t picture Jessa with ikaad of her own. That was an image he needed to be shove haphazardly into a box and pretend didn’t exist.

He catches Sev’s eye. His face is impassable. He makes a note to throw some dets in that particular mental box. 

—————

“Who are you?” 

Jessa raises a perfectly arched brow at the heavily modulated voice. Mereel towers over her right shoulder, her imposing bodyguard/handler.

“Not sure what that’s supposed to mean.” She takes a lingering sip of sparkling wine. Small talk with the wife of an Imperial connected merchant had been enlightening. Seems there was a lot of interest in a retired beskar mine in Sundari. 

“You’re a natural.”

His tone lets her know it’s not necessarily a compliment. She doesn’t offer acknowledgement. If he wanted to pay backhanded compliments she’d pay them back with silence.

You know your worth. Wal’buirs voice echoes in her head.

She gazes past the small crowds of people and the rows of red velvet chairs to the stage at the front of the room. People are beginning to congregate as holobooks are passed out, presumably lots and their corresponding numbers. The room she’d been auctioned off in had lacked the opulence of the one she now stood in. The thought comes to her, intrusive and unwanted. She’d been to one other auction in her life- but she’d been the merchandise. 

She finishes the wine in her hand, setting the glass on a table as she makes her way to the front of the room. She hears a soft huff through Mereel’s vocoder. To everyone watching, he worked for her and she was not about to ask his permission for anything, lest that carefully cultivated ruse be damaged. 

A matte gunmetal droid begins handing out holobooks to the gathered crowds. Jessa takes a proffered tablet as a curtain to the left of the stage is pulled back. A disembodied voice smoothly announces the beginning of the preview. According to the holobook the auction would begin twenty minutes after the preview. She skims the contents. Rules. Schedule. Payment options. All seemingly above the board.

“I want to see if my money is well spent here.” She announces to the armored Mando behind her. She’s prim and haughty. “I assume you’ll be able to comment on the quality?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smiles to herself, dipping her chin to hide her amusement at the Null’s tight response. Scorch would enjoy watching her acting. She’s sure of it. But now is not the time to let the thought of him warm her heart. She spots the rows of merchandise lined up and steals herself. They still had work to do.

She strolls, languid as a cat, toward the gathering crowds. She keeps her features neutral and passive, looking nothing more than the slightly bored debutante she’d assigned herself to play.

The first cluster of auction-goers has set up shop around various displays of weaponry. Heavy guns, smaller blasters, thermal detonators. Her boys would be in heaven. Her fingers graze the durasteel lid of a munitions crate as she moves toward more desirable merchandise.

“Could do a lot of damage with those.” Mereel’s reassuring presence is close. She can feel the bulk of him at her back.

“Looking to do a little shopping of your own?”

“If the situation presents itself.”

She smiles despite herself. 

It disappears quickly as it appears. The mission objective- objectives loom ahead. A row of men stand at parade rest. Clones. Five In total, identical as physically possible though small differences in build and stature are noticeable even with them at rest.

‘Different classes” Mereel offers quietly as if he can see the question on her face. “Two standard spec troopers. Next two- probably pilot class. Last one is a commando.”

“Anyone you know?” She glances at him and catches a shrug.

“They’re keeping them more in regs. GAR frowned on individuality but most generals didn’t bother to enforce regulations. Our glorious new Empire seems to feel differently.”

Jessa steps closer, stopping in front of the first captive in-line. He stares ahead with eyes familiar but dead. They don’t twitch to her as she takes in his appearance. He looks average in every way. Confusion and some other unnamed emotion flit at the edge of her consciousness. They were told there’d be more commandos . Maybe they were tucked away with the others in reserve? She takes a step further down the line, past the second trooper and to what Mereel had claimed were the pilots. She pays little attention, flipping through the holopad to find the list of goods. 

“Skid, Cap, Kivo, Rev, Merri…” the pilot she’s come to a stop in front of is mumbling to himself in a rapid, quaking voice. He’s worse for wear, obviously in poorer condition than the others around him. He’s thin and the high and tight haircut they all sported only accentuates  his stark cheekbones and the dip at his silvered temples. 

“Poor kid.” Mereel sighs, now at her side.

“What’s wrong with him?” 

The pilot continues his rapid nonsensical mumbling.

“Look at his eyes. All their eyes.” He tips his helmet down the line. “They drugged them like fathiers.” Disgust laces his words. Jessa feels the sick pull of it bubbling in her own stomach.

“It wasn’t good enough to put restraining collars on. They gave them all tranqs too.”

The holopad offers a small blurb on each item for auction. Each of these men’s lives broken down into a line or two touting their usefulness, “what does this mean?”

She points at the number following each description. The broken pilot has an 0458 behind his. Mereel takes the pad, his hands dwarfing it as he scrolls.

“Son of a bitch…”

“What?”

“It’s his serial number. All of their serial numbers.”

Jessa scans the list and the seemingly nonsense numbers. One sticks out. Wal’buir had scolded Sev and Scorch days before, using their numbers like other parents would use the middle name of a contrary child.

If Four-Oh were here we wouldn’t have this issue.

Scorch’s expression had soured at the mention and her brows had furrowed in confusion. Wal’buir had noted and seemed to take pleasure in repeating what had made the demolitions expert so uncomfortable. 

Eleven Forty, one of their lost brothers.

The second glass of champagne threatens to make a reappearance as her eyes travel to the last man in line. 

One of two lost brothers.

1140

Fixer.

——————-

‘Clear!’ Scorch’s crisp voice rings through the comms of the three commandos at his back. The adrenaline from the fast rope still pumped gleefully through his veins as the exterior door gives an electric pop as the bright flash of micro dets flare to life. The four commandos ready for entry as the faint lights of the Duke above, disappear from sight. They were on their own til rendezvous.

Sev and Corr slide past him as he gathers his supplies back into his kit. Atin covers his shebs, blasters at the ready.

It’s a clean breach. Buir would approve, he thinks in passing, swinging his pack back on and moving into the wide hallway. The muzzle fire of a blaster rings out with comforting familiarity. One down. 

The gray clad Imp lays at Corr’s feet as the commando crouches down and does a cursory check of his pockets. He palms a keycard. Sev holds steady behind him. 

With only the soft clatter of his beskar’gam, the former commando rises and gives Sev a nod. A rumbling, ‘move out’ echoes through their comms. 

A few long strides eat up the distance between them, Scorch slotting in behind him as they stalk down their predetermined route.

“May as well head back to the yaim, Scorch’ika. I’ve got the golden ticket.” Scorch can imagine the smug smile on the younger clone's face as he holds the keycard between gloved fingers. 

“Yeah, if you want to do it the boring way. I thought you knew better?” They fan out from their hallway to the open T of the next, Sev and Atin sweeping right while he and Corr clear the left.

“The boring way means I don’t risk these fancy new hands.”

Scorch guffaws. “The loss of your sense of adventure concerns and saddens me.”

Atin chuckles.

“You can’t hold it against me that I like to feel my own-“ the banter is cut short as a door a foot in front of Corr slides open with a shink. White plastoid invades the passage.

Sev’s large frame is already prepared. His arm raises and the butt of his blaster. comes down across the front first troopers helmet with enough force to crack the plastoid. As they crumble, Sev steps into the other's space, his beskar clad arm snaps up and makes contact between the edge of the unfortunate sentient's helmet and neck.

Scorch flinches at the clatter of armor as the second trooper slides down the corridor wall.

“Gonna ruin the surprise, vod.”

Sev’s buyce turns toward him.  “Sorry”. His voice is as flat as the expression Scorch knows he wears underneath.

Moving forward, Scorch takes a knee with his vod’e safely covering him. The first trooper has a fracture running up the length of his helmet. Katarn would never. He loved his beskar’gam, it made him feel like he was part of something greater. His katarn had done the same once and he’d grieve (just a little) the loss of that part of his life. 

Without his usual flair, he pulls the useless helmet off.  The trooper is out cold. Scorch takes in his appearance. Pale skin. A smattering of freckles over the bridge of their nose. Light brown hair.

He moves on to the next, unceremoniously yanking the helmet from the storm troopers head. He finds skin shades lighter than his own, thin blonde hair and a smattering of matching stubble along their jaw.

He lets the ruined helmet fall with a clatter next to the trooper. Rising to his full height he aims his blaster and places two bolts center mass before giving the first trooper a matching set.

Corr stares at the two lifeless stormtroopers, ‘what was that about?’’

‘Needed to make sure I wasn’t sending vod’e’ marching’ Scorch explains. Another set of plastoid rounds the corner and Sev answers the clatter of cheap armor with two quickly placed bolts dead center.

“Rule 17 is in effect now.”

“About that,” Corrs voice asks through their comms. “What’s rule number one?”

Atin, Sev, and Scorch answer in unison, “Eat your vegetables.”

taglist: @bylightofdawn @leias-left-hair-bun-again @skdubbs @passionofthesith @haloangel391​ @fractiouskat @clonewarslover55​ ​ @jedi-mando @shadylightbearherring @poppunkdee

@royalhandmaidens @wolfswing @generic-geek-girl @captainrexwouldnever @ahhrenata @apathetic-catastrophie @littledragon @my-own-oraclen

[reikaniichan]

random minami stuff.

minami is slight au version of an oc. i picked her because i had some random ideas for it, though i haven’t really gotten to those yet. normally she has an older sister, but i haven’t decided if i’ll do anything with that in pokemon ver (pokemon hakaina and kouhai are cousins while normal OC versions of them are siblings, for example).

Nulpo (barry); yes he was named by a combo of random number generator and my OCs name list. freckles added on a whim. gave them to his dad, too.

nulpo is short for null pointer.

i gave minami’s scarf poof balls because i think she’d like them. the pokeball pattern to one of them because it’s cute. i think she’d think grusha is pretty neat, too, though, so in context (?) it might be inspired by him specifically.

[fic-art-blurbs]

An old doodle I kind of want to redo. Mostly because I miss drawing both Null and Novus lol

[pikl-ooc]

i guess im doing this now

prolly wont use this blog like ever but yknow good 2 have. if you ever wanna ask me shit i'll answer it

I used #grumblrooc instead of #grumblr ooc cause the latter shows up in the #grumblr tag and it's wack

actual oc blog with like art n shit -> @footlongdingledong2

^doc w more info (+comments on bc funny)

toyhouse folder that also has more info

list of characters+blogs i run under cut bc there's a lot of them

@culling-horror-stories -mod x/zaxlii cadvyr (oliveblood, null of null, unnamed planet 5. Enigmatic little catboy whose jjst apathetic to everything) -mod roman/maztim lerato (tealblood, maid of heart, unnamed planet 5. 4chan girl wth 70 alternative accounts)

@sburb-confessions -sunkit heliaa (goldblood, heir of light, unnamed planet 5. Overall a sweetie but kinda ditched her friend group)

@your-fave-is-x-sign -too many ass wholes to name but theyre all from earth

@siamesevoyager -leukko erytho (oliveblood, seer of blood, up05. catboy number 2, going the fuck through it rn)

@caveboundanonymous -akrepi ayopia (ceruleanblood, sylph of doom, beforan, mod kark3 of @/beforus-for-real-justice. Very Mentally Ill and was isolated for the first 20ish years of his life) -"frogkrepi" (fucked up dreamself-turned-even more fucked up dreamself frogsprite. posts tagged as #🐸)

@foreseeingarachnidae -aracne ayopia (ceruleanblood, sylph of blood, alternian, mod kankri of @/alternia-for-real-justice. 17 year old w worst ocd ever and several dead friends. blog icon girl.) -j dekila/jaenne delyla (purpleblood, rogue of heart, alternian. posts tagged as #📝. jeff the killer kinnie clowngirl)

@spectatingphantom -viktor arbiio (fuchsiablood, bard of time, beforan, mod remele of @/beforus-for-real-justice. also dead)

@pormalusername -pormal nerson (violetblood, mage of void, up05. 41-year-old facebook user who posts fish memes)

@masqueradedcreacher -euterpie/terpie (red cherub "rustblood", lord of hope, planet unknown. Off the shits, unauthorized fucking thing) -euterise/eri (green cherub "jadeblood", muse of rage, planet unknown. also off the shits but way dryer abt it)

@lunarhopbeast -name unknown (caste unknown, classpect unknown, up05. bitchy little rabbit who complains about people in wingdings)

@verbomanicdespair -monica itezza (indigoblood, prince of breath, idk her deal yet but she sucks bad. way too young to be online shes like 12-13)

@missing-trolls -ekqida liffly (indigoblood, heir of mind, beforus. so very normal about crime and violence)

@nametaganimal -vltaur nyatte (bronzeblood but has goldblood eyes and lies abt being a gold bc of that, knight of space, alternian but is currently in The Sgrub. very loud and kind of stupid and i love him)

@solitarymeteor -bakole raavti (rustblood, bard of space, up05. died but is trying her best. overall a sweetie+i love her)

@neurondisintrest -ranvir myelin (bronzeblood, sylph of mind, up05. Big shouty asshole and I love him as well)

@strikingmasqueradeflarp -chrona ouboro (indigoblood, rogue of time, up05. idk hes dead lol)

@strikingmasquerade -?????? ?????? (ceruleanblood, page of breath, up05. ghost haunting a fucked up pornbot virus infected computer)

@/trollstrology [shared] -mod dolorosa/estria maeyja (jadeblood, seer of space, alternian. girl who is giving the worst dating advice ever w her besties)

@/beforus-for-real-justice [shared] -mod kark3/akrepi ayopia (see caveboundanonymous) -notmod chixie/j dekila/jaenne delyla (see foreseeingarachnidae) -mod nepeta 2/catepe arbiio (fuchsiablood, heir of time, beforan) -mod remele/vikras arbiio (see spectatingphantom) -mod c/euterise/eri (see masqueradedcreacher) -mod c the cooler one/euterpie/terpie (see masqueradedcreacher) -mod stelsa/zarina perfon (indigoblood, witch of life, up05) -mod joey/herrin kladiv (???blood, knight of hope, up05)

@/alternia-for-real-justice [shared] -mod kankri/aracne ayopia (see foreseeingarachnidae)

@/godtiers-for-real-justice [shared] -mod lamb/loubou lazkin (rustblood, rogue of life, alternian. kind of a bitch to everyone except like one guy) -mod lycan/luprir lazkin (rustblood, rogue of doom, beforan. el woowoo archaeology with Troll Autism)

@/terrible-quirk-ideas [shared] -mod camo/khamal regoli (oliveblood, ??? of mind, alternian. literally barely there lmao)