#Oms has scars on his back

[heylorrain]

It gave me so much cringe re reading their main fic I needed to draw them so I could shake it off a bit cause 🧨✋🥸

[starlight-archer]

A moment of rest after a hard day of adventuring

[tojisun]

it takes a rampage (to be a dad)

!! fluff & angst; simon’s pov; simon’s insecurities; vague descriptions of violence; repeating allusions to past child abuse; parenthood; f!reader // wc: 3.5k // dividers by @/plutism!

a spinoff of the apple that rolled over to the tree

simon’s not a good man, but he concedes that there are just certain circumstances where you have to be the good man. where you have to bleed and burn through, and sacrifice a shit ton because that’s what being good is.

case in point: the child, who couldn’t be any more than two, bundled in his arms as the squad tries to come down from the adrenaline after a dangerously high-tension exfil.

“where,” johnny pauses, breathing deeply, quick fingers unlatching any tight strapping that’s making it difficult to gulp in air. “where ye dumpin’ the brat?”

it’s callously said, but they all know johnny’s meant it in a place of worry—which is founded, by all accounts, because the base is a terrible place to care for a two year old toddler. no one’s even equipped to deal with the boy, not with the mission still on its last legs; granted, the winding dregs would only require their captain, maybe garrick for backup, to finish but nothing is ever certain.

but—

the boy shifts on his lap, big brown eyes staring up at simon with unfathomable trust. like the sight of his mask, and weapons, and even having seen him in action—poised guns and clean shots on the head; unfazed eyes scanning the explosion of brain matter spilling he’s caused—was not petrifying.

simon knows what they say about ghost—the living boogeyman; the harbinger of death and destruction. and yet here the little boy is, looking up at him like simon isn’t anything other than man; like simon is something so human.

simon thinks about his place back home that’s dancing close to the outskirts of the city; he thinks about its picket fence and its brick walls and its big backyard.

he thinks about its love, forged from the softest hands that simon’s ever held; from the hands of the only one that simon’s ever loved.

“i’m bringin’ ‘im ‘ome.”

.

laswell was kind enough to pull some strings so that the boy has whatever legal documents he needed so simon can bring him back safely—passport, citizenship papers… adoption documents.

jacob emory riley. (yakov in russian. yasha.) he’s simon’s ward now. his son.

(laswell had congratulated him with crinkled eyes and the softest of smiles; it might just be the first simon’s ever seen her look so at peace.

somehow, it was that brief talk with laswell that made everything feel tangibly raw; simon realized that things got too real too fast, and that he found himself almost wanting to reverse everything he’d done so far because what if he wouldn’t be a good guardian to the child? what if simon’s too broken for the child? what if—

his thoughts stuttered, quaking until they reach a tentative halt because the boy closed his little fist around the entirety of simon’s finger. he was so small, like that, and still so blindingly trusting even with all the littering scars on his little arms and little legs. he held onto simon so fiercely, he didn’t even notice the turmoil in simon’s heart. or how simon had almost given him away in an act of his cowardice because simon is a coward. especially with this.

but jacob—

but yasha held him, chose him, and the storm raging in his head died down, petering into a quiet chill until simon could bite out a weak but not any less genuine, “thank you,” to laswell.

laswell stared at him, all-knowing as always, before bidding him and yasha a sweet goodbye.)

the boy responds better with the diminutive, all giggly and grabby hands as he toddles over simon. the rest of the squad had eased into their roles, battle-worn bodies turning into the softest cushions with yasha in their arms. he is a shy little thing, hiding behind simon’s leg whenever price would come visit, or refusing to be put down from simon’s arms or even make eye contact with mactavish when it’s his turn to babysit.

garrick was a different story altogether. yasha had looked at him once, studying with such inquisitive curiosity, before deeming his sergeant the safest after simon. he’d grumbled and cooed and begged for uppies—garrick had been all too pleased to give it to him.

which is why saying goodbye now is difficult.

yasha would not stop crying, pale face all blotchy and snotty as he wails, chubby arms thrashing, trying to reach for kyle, but the sergeant and their captain are already suited for the mission, ready to leave the moment simon and johnny and little yasha do.

“ky! ky!” he cries out, unable to fully say kyle’s name but trying so desperately because his grief is so much bigger than himself.

simon bounces him on his hip, trying to calm the little tyke down, but shrill wails pierce their ears, unstoppable, and he wonders if it was too cruel to have made him say goodbye to kyle and price. simon heard from the medic that it was healthy for children to cry, but yasha sobs like he is grieving, and simon can’t fault him—this is his first, and hopefully his last for a long while, experience of abandonment. sure, they’ve all told him that kyle would just be gone for a while, but yasha is a child, unable to reconcile such reality where his uncle isn’t flying home with him.

(they didn’t mention the fragility of their lives in their line of work; how, every time they suit up, there are chances that they’ll never return. yasha is too young for such reality.

‘sides, kyle promised to come back. so he has to.)

kyle is teary-eyed, so is mactavish, and simon presses his sorry’s and his reassurances on yasha’s inky black hair, while kyle makes a vow once more.

“don’t worry, son,” their captain croons, his face creased in the softest it has ever been. “i promise i’ll bring your uncle back in one piece.”

yasha sniffles, watery brown eyes not looking away. then, “o’ay.” he lifts an arm up, waving it cautiously. “buh-bye?”

“yeah, bubsy,” their captain replies because no one can, not kyle who is crying nor simon who can’t lift his face up from where he’s breathing in his son’s baby smell. “bye bye.”

“buh-bye,” yasha repeats, still quiet but more sure. “ky? buh-bye?”

kyle chuckles wetly. he steps forward and pinches yasha’s cheek. “bye bye, little man. see you in two weeks, okay?”

yasha hums, having grown exhausted from his emotional outburst. the base shrink said that’s normal for children; that it’s good when they’re emotional, it’s healthy, so simon bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from fussing.

instead, as a distraction, he nods at his captain and his sergeant, and he and mactavish turn to leave.

“daddy?” the little tyke asks.

“yeah?” simon replies, turning his full attention to yasha.

“buh-bye?”

“oh, son no,” simon murmurs. “daddy’s always goin’ t’be with you.”

yasha nods, and flops back down on simon’s chest, satisfied.

.

the flight was tedious, sprinkle the listless child with that, and it was just about draining. he couldn’t thank johnny enough for being with him throughout because being an uncle to tommy’s kids didn’t teach simon much about this—cranky and emotional two year-old’s, and their complicated tastebuds that almost made it impossible to feed them aeroplane food, and their odd sleeping patterns.

but as simon shoots yasha a glance, watching the boy sleep peacefully finally, he thinks to himself how it’s all so worth it.

.

johnny doesn’t follow them to prestwich, crashing instead somewhere in stratford before making his way back to dundee. yasha hadn’t cried as hard for johnny as he did when he said goodbye to kyle, but he’d been teary-eyed even when he refused to be given to his sergeant’s waiting arms. still, simon’s boy had been solemn and gave mactavish a weak wave.

simon tells yasha that johnny would come back in two weeks’ time too, with the captain and garrick, before trailing off when he realized he doesn’t know how to tell yasha exactly why johnny was giving them space.

shit, he hadn’t even thought about how yasha would react when—

the house appears past barren trees, and simon’s lungs constrict in one full swoop. god, he’s missed this place, very much so.

pinpricks fill the back of his eyes, and he desperately blinks them away as he tries swallowing past the lump in his throat, but not even the familiar warmth of yasha could ground simon back. rather, the reminder that simon’s not returning on his own this time makes everything feel a lot more intense, like ragged tendrils curling at the base of his neck, grasping him until reality and faraway dreams blend into something miasmic.

simon’s never once deluded himself with thoughts of having his own family. he once thought he’d go grey on his own, something he was perfectly fine with because nothing is ever sacred—the catholics had a word for it, johnny said, how one’s mere existence was the original sin, and simon is neither a pagan nor a believer, but when you grow up with shadows that are ever so perpetually haunting, you learn that not even the sign of the cross can truly ward off the demons.

but then, his beloved appeared before him—just as… fearful; as self-punishing as he had been, and he knows it was twisted but he had been pulled. he had been lulled into the weight of your gravitational force, dragging his heart until it was homesick for anything less.

(two words have never sounded sweeter to him before.

i do.

since then, he’s never hunger for more.)

(until yasha.)

the cab stops, the driver dutifully ignoring how simon must look, all brooding and emotional as he holds his child close, like if he blinks, someone would take him away. he tips generously, and declines any offer of helping with the unloading of bags in the trunk. simon didn’t even bring much, just a travel bag and a rucksack stuffed with as many travel essentials for yasha.

the boy is asleep again, exhaustion dragging him back to his dreams. he looks so peaceful like this, and younger too, and simon knows that isn’t a good thing because yasha’s so small for a two year old. simon’s only comfort is that he’s bringing him somewhere safe; a place filled with boundless love.

he walks to the front door, debating on whether he should just take the spare key underneath the nondescript potted plant to get in or just bite the bullet and introduce yasha to you like this, through the entrance.

the choice is taken from him when you swing the door open, surprise and disbelief lining your face.

“i saw you—” you say at the same time that he rasps out, “love—”

he beckons you to go first. you did so with a tremor in your voice.

“i saw you from the cameras,” you pause, roving your wide eyes over him, before stopping at the bundle he’s carrying. “haley helped me set them up—said you can, uh, get notification of movements outside and, and…”

he watches as you realize that you’re about to ramble, so you take a deep breath, finding the centre of your gravity, before, “baby? who…”

simon adjusts his hold on yasha, before a careful hand sweeps away the blanket so you can see the boy better.

“this,” he says, quiet and fragile. “this is our son, jacob emory riley.” he licks at his chapped lips, the word ‘our��� settling so warmly in the pit of his stomach. “our yasha.”

“oh,” you whimper instantly, tears already springing from your eyes. a choked sound gets stuck on the back of your throat before you’re rushing forward, careful to not jostle the tyke awake, until you’re pressing yourself against simon’s side, watching raptly.

“simon he’s—” you hiccup, rubbing your face on his shoulder. “darling, he’s perfect.”

simon ducks down to brush his lips on the crown of your head, humming deep because yeah, he is. but so are you—and he wouldn’t have done this, anyway, without you. because yasha deserved the best and simon doesn’t know anyone who could step up other than you.

you, who is so bright and joyful; who has crafted fortitude from the ragged shards of your pain.

you, who is the strongest person that simon’s ever met; how you could look at the storm and find a reason to dance.

you, who is so beautiful and lovely, and so utterly full of love that it spills into everyone you meet and everything you do.

yasha deserves you.

and, love, you deserve a family just like this too.

.

yasha wakes up and simon makes the mistake of not being there for him. he didn’t even know he accidentally slept in the living room, long body sprawled on the couch gracelessly. he jolts awake after the loud ring of cries, the fear he felt at hearing yasha’s familiar sobbing slams so fiercely into simon’s heart.

he topples to the ground, knees thudding against the hardwood floors, before he bolts up, frantic as he tears through the house, trying to find his boy, desperate to comfort him and to apologize and to make things right because he never wants yasha to feel so alone in his new home—

simon pauses, feet stopping just in front of the bedroom where you and simon had put yasha in since the guest room has yet to be baby proofed and prepared, when he hears your familiar croon.

“shh, darlin’. you’re alright, i promise.”

simon angles himself so that he can see through the ajar door. you’re kneeling on the floor, head a few feet away from where yasha’s is pillowed. the boy is staring at you with wide eyes, wet and red, but he’s no longer wailing, and simon wonders if it’s because yasha’s internalizing his fear, but then he sees the tyke make grabby hands at you—pudgy fists closing, then opening again. he seems like a baby like this, more than a toddler, and simon watches as you coo, inching closer, giving yasha room to roll away if he wants, but the boy turns to his side, facing you properly, and it’s all the confirmation you need to take him in your arms.

you rise up from the floor, yasha perched on your hip. the boy is still watching you, curious, and you murmur something too faint for simon to hear, before wiping at his wet cheeks and his runny nose.

“hi, love,” you murmur, voice a tad quiet. simon sees the hesitance in your gait, like you don’t know what else to say. it takes a heartbeat, before you’re uttering your name, voice curling around the vowels the way simon never gets tired of hearing.

“i’ve heard good things about you, you know?” you say, brushing the pad of your finger along the bridge of yasha’s nose. simon’s ears pick up huffing sounds, then your giggles, and yasha’s hum.

“oh, i sure did,” you add, smiling, bouncing the toddler in your arms. “simon said you’re the best boy ever!”

simon did, he guesses, say that but with more words—he told you how he found yasha, and how yasha had been so brave after such a stressful change in his life; how yasha had been so excited to learn and to trust, and how he’d brighten up everyone’s day back at the base; how yasha had first called him daddy, and the others unca’, his brave little boy so eager for a family that he made one even when all he’s surrounded with was a ragtag of broken men.

yasha is truly such a beautiful boy, so darling and loving.

“si-‘on?” yasha says, attempting simon’s name.

“yeah,” you reply, just as choked up as simon is. “simon… your daddy.”

yasha hums, fist curling up your shirt.

“daddy,” he repeats, nodding. then, like he remembers that simon isn’t there, yasha begins to look distraught again, whining, looking up to you like you hold the answer when he asks, “daddy where?”

simon takes that chance to walk in. you two whirl to look at him, both with pained faces easing up into the loveliest of smiles just at his mere presence. it makes simon feel… raw; that somehow, all he needs to be is himself, and it’s enough to brighten up the room.

his lips twitch up in his own smile too.

“hey there, kid,” he greets, slotting himself to your side so he can pull you close and be in yasha’s line of sight.

you turn, moving to pass yasha to him, but the boy’s hand is still tight on your shirt and he still looks at ease with you, and simon nuzzles his face on the top of your head in comfort when he sees the way your lips wobble at yasha’s easy display of trust.

“daddy!” yasha cheers. “you here!”

simon ruffles the soft tufts of yasha’s hair. “of course. did you nap good?”

yasha nods, distracted by the bright colours on the bed. the yellow pillows and the baby blue blanket.

the dog stuff toy.

yasha gasps, utterly delighted, and he wriggles out, begging to be put down, and you and simon watch as he runs to the side of the bed, plucking the toy out with a giggle.

“towy!” he says, showing it to you and simon.

simon files the name for next time, focusing on yasha as he runs to hug simon’s leg, then yours, before running back to the bed, chatting animatedly to the toy.

simon pulls you close, slotting your back to his front to bury his face on the crook of your neck, because this, right here, is change. but also, he’s home.

“i missed you,” he murmurs, because it is the only thing he can verbalize. he wants to say more—he wants to say how he’s never once stopped thinking about you, how he’s always kept a picture he has of you in his helmet, tucked under the crown pad, how he’d always toy with his ring when he has the chance because simon is made of many things, and one of them is your love.

but this is all that forms from his lips, inadequate, but then simon hears the twinkle of your laughter, and, “i missed you too, love.” and knows, there needn’t be any more words. not when you two have more time than he’s ever had the privilege to spend.

.

the first time yasha calls you his mom—“mommy!”—was just days before the squad was set to meet the riley’s in their residence.

it was a mundane day; you and yasha are in the living room, playing with his army of anatoly’s—towy—when yasha squeals, finally able to dig out his favourite anatoly from underneath the couch after futile attempts. you’ve asked him if you can help him with it, but he’d been so adamant, tutting the way simon does and it’s honestly so adorable that you let him have at it.

so you laughed at the sound of his happy trills, watching as he turns, running to you, saying, “mommy, towy look!”

he falls to your lap, humphing loudly and smooshing the turtle stuffie on your face, and all you can do is gather him close, trying not to cry in front of him but—

he’s called you mommy.

your little brave boy called you—

“mommy, sad?” yasha asks, readily giving you another treasure, saying the word so naturally like you were never anything else to him.

“no, sweet pea,” you reply, choked up with the weight of your joy. “mommy’s the happiest she’s been.”

you kiss his chubby cheek, breathing in his scent, before letting him squirm out of your hold so he can play with another anatoly, leaving you the turtle one. you hold it close, trying to ground yourself, but the happiness bloats and you feel floaty.

god, it is almost unimaginable.

(you tell it to simon later at night, and simon coos as he wipes the tears away from your cheeks.

“i’m so, so happy si,” you breathe out.

simon bumps his forehead to yours. “i am too, baby.”)

.

simon is not pouting, thank you very much. if anyone says otherwise, he’d like to go on record and say that they’re all a bunch of liars. yes, that includes his beautiful wife too because, again, simon is not pouting.

sure yasha has refused to detach himself from uncle kyle, but that doesn’t mean simon’s jealous, he swears.

“yer a lying scumbag,” johnny hisses at him because he’s been trying to get simon to admit that he’s jealous, which simon isn’t. “i’m on you, LT. i’m on you.”

“whatever ‘tavish,” simon grumbles, hands twitching at another hearty giggle that rings from where kyle is playing with yasha. “last i checked, the boy still runs away from you so, you know, start with that.”

“oh you motherfu—”

“boys,” price barked out, and simon and johnny cringe at the chastising voice of their captain. “language.”

johnny says something that no one picks up because he’s chewing on his words. simon sniffs, looking away only to meet your eyes. unabashed glee is bright on your face, and simon knows he would be hearing you teasing about this later on tonight.

simon scrunches his nose. you reply with a playful rolling of your eyes.

yeah, it’s a good day. and simon still isn’t pouting.

notes: it turned out to have heavier (?) parts than expected. also to clarify, yasha’s been picked up from a mission (the specifics were removed since things got a wee graphic). i’ve included a concept photo of simon and yasha, which was fun to use while reimagining! i hope u guys liked this <3 peace out and sm love mwah!!

[ieatkeyboard]

OM brother piercing headcannons but you can see me getting hornier-

Also I'm so sorry about the order- I did them in what order they came to my head

MAMMON: - Lobes (Cannonicaly) - Tongue - Industrial - septum - Nipples -Has a couple tattoos on his arms and a back piece

BEEL: - Lobes and seconds - Belly button - Have more tattoos than piercings - Also has a back piece, he has at least one sleeve, one on his hip, and both knees are tattooed

LUCIFER: - Doesn't have any face tattoos because he's professional but he'd get a tongue piercing - Has his lobes, seconds and a conch piercings - Has a prince albert- I'M SORRY OKAY - Has a tattoo covering or going into the scars on his back - Has a sleeve for suuure

SATAN: - Has snake bites. I will not be taking criticism at this time. - Has an industrial and his lobes - His a septum to piss off Lucifer cause I already know Lucifer said he couldn't do it - Has tattoos but they're either poetry and really beautiful or borderline terrifying. He has like tattooed scraped up knees for the vibes - He also has a Prince Albert but dirty talks with it for suuuure

ASMOOO: - You know where this is going - He has his nipples, belly button and dick pierced. King <3 - Tongue for sure and maybe a vertical labret - He has a sucubus/incubus tattoo over his..ya know - He also has a tramp stamp, I can feel it - He has a couple tattoos on his arms, on le on his rib and a bunch on his legs (He likes to show them off when he wears skirts)

BELPHIE: - Tongue piercing, eyebrow, lobes and maybe on his seconds - Has a dick piercing and teases you when you suck him off - Has a tramp stamp cause Asmo said it didn't hurt and he'd "sleep right through it". He did sleep through it but it hurt like a bitch - He has patchwork tattoos for sure. Just some random little things. He absolutely did a couple himself

LEVIATHAN - Hehehehe - He WANTS a dick piercing but doesn't have one cause he's to scared to ask someone to do it :,] - Has his belly button, lobes, bridge and septum pierced. - Things angel bites are pretty but doesn't know if he'd pull it off - Has a couple tattoos on his arms and legs and probably a fish or something on the nape of his neck (Lucifer doesn't know about that one)

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

om gosh just- alister getting into some trouble with some mean people but then, out of no where- a odd looking & powerful Zoroark (Hisuian) comes out to protect them! and they're badass! they got one eye damaged, their body is littered in scars and maybe a arm is missing? they been through some tough stuff but they see Allister as one of their children. and surely, allister has them on their team now? also, what would the other gym leaders think of his new pal?

"How does a kid like him get a gym leader position?"

"It should've been me, I have way better ghost types!"

"And he's always wearing that creepy mask. What's he hiding from us?"

Allister could feel his heart hammering in his chest every minute he was out in public. All he wanted to do was take a quiet walk through the Slumbering Weald and not draw too much attention to himself.

He really didn't want to be seen by anyone right now.

It's already been a bad enough day for him; the last thing he needed were cameras and phones being shoved into his face--he's gotten enough of that during today's interview.

He was asked how he felt about Victor/Gloria defeating him in the championship tournament, and he didn't have a solid answer. He only found himself getting upset over the whole thing again.

Even though Leon always told him to take his defeats in stride..it was still hard.

So he cut the interview short and ran away, making it clear he wanted to be alone without the company of bodyguards.

Why would he need them when he had Pokémon like Gengar? They're the only ones who really understood him. They never gave him weird looks for talking to the dead.

Yet he suddenly began to second-guess his decision, considering he now had no shelter from the comments of passerbys.

They doubted him all because he was the youngest of the gym leaders and wasn't as confident as the rest of them..and it wasn't right. They didn't know him like the others did.

He worked so hard to get to where he is now....not to be heckled and ridiculed for just being a kid.

Luckily, the Slumbering Weald was rather quiet at this hour-

"Use Thief!"

A flash of black and orange suddenly dashed in front of Allister, causing him to help as he stumbled forwards and collapsed to his knees, scraping them hard into the stone. The shock of the surprise attack led to his mask falling off and clattering to the ground.

Before he could reach for it, a Thievul snatched it up in its jaws, darting back to someone who was whistling for it.

He looked up, a hand over his face as he stared at the duo who attacked him: a teenaged trainer boring a smug grin, and their dark type by their side, holding his mask hostage.

And they weren't alone, as another trainer showed up with their Obstagoon, who took the mask from Thievul and wore it on its own face as mockery, laughing.

"You better give that back!" He cried out, horrified and angry. "Y-You two don't know..who you're messing with.."

"I think we already know." The Thievul's trainer sneered cruelly. "You're just a weak little kid. Did you know that you're the most unpopular gym leader in this week's poll?" They waved around their rotomphone

"..I-I don't care about popularity.."

"Pssh. That's a bloody lie if I've ever heard one." Obstagoon's trainer huffed. "Ya really showed your fans how selfish you actually are. Ya wouldn't stick around for autographs and just ran off...how do ya think Leon and the rest of 'em will feel when they hear about that?"

"Stop it..please." Allister begged, his hand grasping Gengar's dusk ball in preparation.

"I doubt they'd want someone like you representin' the-"

"VUL!!"

Out of nowhere, a blast of dark purplish energy careened into Theivul, causing it to slam into the nearest tree and flop to the ground like a ragdoll. Its trainer looked bewildered, confused as to where that shot came from.

Then a blur of white appeared and snatched the mask straight out of Obstagoon's hands, much to its shock as it looked all around...unable to see who it was.

But soon they all heard a spine-chilling howl, spinning their heads to find out that the source was you.

A white Zoroark standing in the fog.

Yet while you certainly looked like one, your hair was drastically different compared to the usual tied-back look of normal Zoroarks. Instead, it appeared as long shaggy wisps with red streaks waving all over the place and covering one of your eyes.

Not only that, but your whole body looked as though it's been through the toughest of battles: scars littered your torso, some patches of fur were entirely missing, and--to Allister's shock and sadness--you only had one arm. The other was nothing more than a stump.

Even so, you weren't backing down as you stalked towards him, the bullies, and their Pokémon, teeth gnashed in anticipation.

Thievul and Obstagoon both took up protective stances, ready to attack on their trainers' commands.

Except..

No commands were uttered for a few long moments, and they looked back to see the sheer horror plastered on each of the humans' faces.

"I-It's...a...a....IT'S A ZOMBIE!!!" Thievul's trainer shrieked, forcing their fox partner back into its ball. "So the rumors are true..y-you really CAN summon the dead!!"

"...huh..?" Allister blinked in immense confusion.

He didn't summon you..

"W-We were just kiddin'. You're great!! You're worthy of wearin' that ghost badge!!" The other stammered, recalling Obstagoon. "We won't bother ya..e-ever again...just...."

They took one look at you, and as you growled lowly, the two trainers screamed and ran away.

"WAAAAAAHHH!!!!"

"DON'T EAT OUR BRAINS!!!"

After their voices faded and Allister watched them disappear for good, he looked back up at you in wonder. No longer was he covering his face, so you could see his eyes practically sparkling.

"They were wrong." He whispered. "You're no zombie. You're...the Hisuian Zoroark I've read about."

Of course you were. He's heard about this variant from what he believed were just myths of the Hisui region that existed long before Sinnoh. From what he knew about them, and judging by your current appearance...the agony you suffered in life was also reflected in your death.

Had he not been a ghost trainer with such a unique connection to the type, he would've thought you were a zombie, too.

As your gaze pierced through his soul, he remained on the ground, feeling as though he got hit by a frozen status effect. He didn't dare to move, knowing that a Hisuian Zoroark's anger was not to be trifled with.

Perhaps you saw him as just another human to take your rage out on.

For you likely held the same grudge as all the others of your kind...

One that was bitter, eternal, and cold as the frost that took your life after you've spent all your energy and hatred in battle; your scars and lost arm were simply the products of you flinging yourself into vicious fights with humans and Pokémon alike--no self-preservation instincts to be found.

Allister had no clue what you were thinking, but as you suddenly crouched down in front of him, he flinched back, arms shielding his face in fear of what you might do.

"Zo...."

"..wh-what..?" Uncovering his face, he was stunned to see something familiar in your grasp being handed over to him:

His own mask.

Of course. He forgot you swiped it from that mean Obstagoon earlier.

Yet he didn't take it back right away, instead looking up at you and seeing nothing but warmth in your eyes. He noticed the one covered by your hair was blind, given the milky look and the deep scar that went through it.

Despite seeing how you've suffered countless hardships, likely endured an agonizing death, and came back out of pure spite and hatred for humans...

You reached deep into your cold, dead heart and rediscovered strength and kindness--both of which you used to protect this young ghost trainer when he needed it most.

You knew he wasn't like those who exiled you.

No.

He was a friend.

He reminded you of all your children back at home: the Zoruas who followed you in life, death, and the after..fearful of what they've become, but feeling safe when you were around.

You couldn't reach them anymore, yet you wanted to protect someone. Anyone.

And you found Allister.

A small sniffle and whimper snapped you out of your thoughts, noticing the tears rolling down the young boy's face. You frowned a little, looking down at the mask.

Was this not his?

"D-Don't worry, I'm....so happy, Z-Zoroark..thank you.." He whispered shakily, smiling as he took it back, putting it on to hide the rest of his tears. "I..d-don't know how you got here, but you saved me. You put those bullies in their place. Nobody takes me seriously as a ghost type gym leader..much less a trainer..but you do, don't you?"

"Ark-ark.." Nodding, your gaze went to the dusk ball clipped to his belt, and you tapped on it with a rugged claw.

At first, he flinched at the sudden motion, before realizing you just wanted to see the pokeball. "Oh, this? I-It's a dusk ball..a version of a pokeball that helps me catch Pokémon at night. Or in caves.." He showed it to you, allowing you to sniff it curiously-

Only to accidentally boop your nose against the button, causing it to open and capture you.

At first Allister panicked, dropping the dusk ball to the ground as he watched it shake several times, scared out of his mind.

A million thoughts were running through his head right now:

Was it going to break?

Were you going to be angry?

Did you want to be captured?

What if-

*click*

'Huh...?' Bewildered, he looked down to see that the accidental catch was successful. And he picked up the dusk ball, opening it and letting you back out, expecting you to be enraged.

Yet..you seemed content.

You looked surprised, sure, but you soon smiled upon seeing him and nodded your head.

Indeed, you wished to become his partner Pokémon.

"O-Okay..I guess you're coming with me from now on." Allister quietly laughed, brimming with joy on the inside. "But first you should meet Gengar. I think..you two will get along well."

"Zor...ark, ark!"

[kdogreads]

Hiii I loved "Dove" it was.so beautiful, could you do another one like this but with just fluff? Maybe like om the day Bobby or Jax died or something 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 I love your style of writing, like you can really picture everything!!

This whole scene played out in my head. Thank you so much for your kind words 🥹🥹 I’ve been in a writing slump and this pulled me out. Big fan of you!! 🫶🌞💓

I think I’m gonna stop doing specific tags bc I never know where my brain is going to take me lol but this one has hurt/comfort, death, little religious talk, overall nothing too graphic but be gentle to yourself💕

Filip “Chibs” Telford x f!reader (but no descriptions given! I just generally write for f!readers 🫶)

You didn’t bother putting away your shoes, or even your husband’s worn leather cut. They lay on the table by the door where you discarded them a few minutes ago. You’d just arrived home from the wake and burial of Jax Teller.

The two of you didn’t speak for the first few minutes of being home. Filip slipped into your bedroom to change out of his funeral clothes and you put a pot of coffee on, knowing your husband needed you. He needed to let all of the hurt out that he’d been holding in. “The boys need me to be whole, Love. If I falter, they crack,” He insisted this morning. It broke your heart, but you knew he was right.

Filip rounded the corner into your small kitchen just as you brought two mugs to the table. He sat, took a sip of coffee, and looked at his hands. You knew he would talk when he was ready, so you sat in a patient silence.

“I… I can’t keep burying my brothers… sons,” He mutters, eyes still cast down away from your own, “I don’t… It’s like my own boy is gone, Dove.”

You reached out to take his hand, the silent gesture causing Filip to draw his eyes up to yours. They were red-rimmed and wet, tears streaming unashamedly down his scarred cheeks.

The pain on his face pulls you out of your chair and towards Filip. You wrap your arms around his trembling shoulders and press him to your chest. He buries his face into your skin and lets out a sob that stabs you right in your gut.

“I know, baby,” You run your fingers through his graying hair, tears of your own rolling hot down your neck, “He’s with God now, with Tara and Opie, Bobby… Thomas.”

His body wracked with sobs into your chest, the pain from so much loss finally catching up to him. As President of the MC, Filip has to be calm, rational in the face of danger and tragedy. He buried it all deep down in his soul, covered into duct tape and barbed wire to keep it locked away. He rarely gets to let it out, so you just held him there for a while, grateful to be his escape, his comfort.

Though you’d never been particularly religious, you know Filip’s Catholic roots run deep, so you begin a quiet prayer you know will bring him peace, “Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name…”

He joined you in the ancient prayer, whispering silent pleas afterwards that didn’t quite catch. Filip kept his arms wrapped snuggly around your waist as his breath began to even out. After a moment he lifted his head to kiss your lips softly.

“I love you so, my Dove,” He pulled you into his lap and you nuzzle your face comfortably against his neck, “I prayed you never leave me.”

The honesty in his voice dropping a pit into your stomach.

“I’m right here, baby,” You whisper into this ear, tears of your own streaming down your cheeks, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He cupped his calloused hands around your face and just held you for a moment, like he was memorizing all the things he loved about your face. Just in case.

You kiss him softly again after a few beats, then settle comfortably into his hold — strong arms wrapped around your waist keeping you close.

You’re not sure how long goes by — long enough for your coffee to get cold — but Filip finally takes a deep breath and pats your lower back. A soft “c‘mon, love,” fills your ears and you lift your body off of his.

The coffee pot and cups will be there in the morning, you think to yourself, right you just want to be there for your man, so that’s what you do.

———————

Short and sweet 🥰 more Chibs delulus here: masterlist

[solomams]

12. Haunting

Prompt list by @obeymetournaments !!

Mammon and my mc Paula holding each other after waking up from nightmares. That day haunts each of them.

Drabble under the cut. Spoilers for OG OM lesson 16. Mentions of death.

Can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe.

"Mammon," She tries to call out, but nothing comes out. Her vision is blurry and dark.

She can make out a cow print pattern. Fangs. Hear laughter, gleeful and loud.

Her weak attempts to claw at her attacker's arm do nothing. Her movements are getting sluggish.

Not like this, not like this.

I don't want to die. I'm afraid.

Mammon.

That's her last conscious thought before her vision gives out. In the next moment, she feels herself being cradled against someone's chest.

She feels warmth against her face and neck. Moving is impossible. Every inch of her body hurts.

She can hear someone begging, pleading, bargaining. Who..?

"Paula, Paula, please. C'mon, hold on for me, ya? Do that for Mammon. I'll fix this, I promise-"

"Mmnf..?"

"Shh, shh, I'm here, I'm here, I got ya. J-Just hold on, okay?"

Blinking is practically impossible, yet she manages. She can make out white hair, tan skin, and her favorite shade of blue. Paula smiles. Tries, at least.

Mammon hiccups, unable to hold back the sob as he brushes her hair away from her face. It's matted and clumped now. His smile back is strained.

It's hard to keep her eyes open, let alone keep them focused. The room feels like it's spinning. Is it spinning? She can't tell anymore.

Her ribs protest with every breath she takes. There's a subtle wheezing sound. Is that her?

She wonders why Mammon looks so worried now. His mouth is moving but she can't hear a thing. She can't keep her eyes open anymore.

Sorry. She tries to say. She doesn't get to find out if she was successful, because in an instant, she's scrambling to sit up in her bed.

Bed. Room. Tree. Lanterns. Blanket.

Paula grasps at her own neck as she takes in lungfuls of air. She can feel herself trembling.

"Nightmare. Not real, not real," She wheezes to herself. Table. Vines. Window. Focus, focus, focus. Bedroom. Safe.

Safe?

She rolls onto the floor in a mess of pillows and blankets, and it takes everything in her to stand up and stagger towards the door.

Door. Metal. Cold. Focus. It wasn't real.

She doesn't know when she started crying, but she can feel the tears on her cheeks. Blurring her vision as she uses the wall as a guide.

Wood. Smooth. Left foot. Right foot. Keep going. How she survives the stairs, she won't question miracles.

Once at the top, a glance up has her almost tripping over her own feet. A figure at the opposite end of the hall, frozen in place.

"Paula?" A voice croaks. Timid and in disbelief.

Mammon? Mammon Mammon Mammon. Safety.

She takes a step or two towards him, but he covers the distance between them in no time. One second she's about to collapse, the next she's being squeezed to death. Figuratively this time. She stiffens up all the same.

"M-Mammon?" Paula says, seeking confirmation for what she already knows. Hearing it helps as much. Warm. Strong. Cologne. Safe.

Safe. She's safe. She's sure she is. Relax.

"Here, I'm here, treasure," Mammon says, pressing his ear against her chest. Thumpthumpthump. Too fast, but there.

It takes her a moment, but Paula wraps her own arms around Mammon, burying her fingers in his hair. Soft. Fluffy. Shampoo that smells suspiciously like hers. She's not shaking anymore.

"Can I? P-please," Mammon fiddles with the end of her shirt. He needs to feel. Needs to check. Needs to make sure.

Paula nods after a moment. It's not the first time he's asked. Not the first time they've found each other like this. Maybe the third.

It's only the nights Lucifer makes them sleep in separate rooms. Usually if there's a quiz soon. Yet, they always end up in each other's bed by the end. More so now than ever.

Raking her shirt up once he has confirmation, he feels. Feels the lack of wounds, lack of scars, the warmth beneath his fingers. Presses his thumb into her side, making her squirm. She grips his hair tighter.

It's like a ritual at this point.

Thump, thump, thump.

"Still here..."

"Yeah, I'm still here..."

He rubs circles against her skin. She loosens her grip on his hair. Her heartbeat continues on. It doesn't stop, not for a moment.

"Real?" She murmurs, pausing to wipe away the last of her tears. Even rubbing away Mammon's.

"Real," Mammon confirms. It's as much for her as it is for him.

They stay like that for a while. Holding each other. Reminders and reassurances.

"Bed?" Paula mumbles, bringing it up first for once.

"Yeah. Let's go," Mammon says, reluctantly untangling himself. It's only temporary. By morning, it'll be hard to tell who begins here and who ends there.

Mammon blinks when she grabs his hand. Like he's her lifeline. But by the look she gives him, he might be. He wonders how much she relived tonight.

He decides not to push it. Only squeeze her hand back, and leads her back to her room. This time, they'll be together.

No more memories turned nightmares to haunt them.

But hopefully, one day they won't need each other to get past it. Hopefully, one day, that awful day will be but distant memories.

[another-lost-mc]

Im curious, how strongly do the OC's feel about their hair? Are there any with deep attachments to their current style? Would any be willing/enjoy cutting short/growing out their hair at times? (Dye would be interesting to see who would go to what colors)

So, it's my personal heacanon that almost all of the OM characters have changed their hair over time. It seems natural, doesn't it? They're all thousands of years old at least and I'm sure their personal preferences about their hair/appearance has changed too. In the very least, I imagine that Lucifer and his siblings had slightly different styles as angels than they do in the present-time Devildom.

(I also think that the Demon King had long hair and Diavolo keeps his hair cut short on purpose to avoid comparisons about how similar they are.)

Anyway, most of the OCs have had different styles over time since most of them have been around for so long. Some of them aren't as flexible about experimenting with their hair or appearance though.

In terms of colour, I don't think any of the OCs regularly dye their hair, but temporary dye and magic makes the idea more fun/tolerable for those that might be resistant to permanent changes.

Azra & Meta

These two probably go through the most drastic hair/appearance changes because I've had to flesh out their history in a lot more detail. Their "canon" hair styles and preferences are also different from the ones described in the Meta Falls AU.

Azazel/Azra after the fall: Shoulder-length wavy hair in the Celestial Realm, cuts it short not long after the fall. Canon present-time Azra: Prefers short hair styles (aka unruly waves that are messy in a sexy kind of way). He doesn't like to fuss with his hair as much as he does his clothes. Meta Falls AU: The big difference here is that he doesn't cut his hair short after the fall and keeps it around shoulder-length, worn down sometimes but usually tied back. In the present time, he goes back and forth between cutting it short or growing it out longer. Hair dye thoughts: Experimenting with that might be fun. He wouldn't want to dye all of his hair a new colour, but streaks or highlights are appealing.

Past!Meta (before and after Azra falls): Slightly longer than shoulder length hair, usually tied back so it doesn't get in his face when he's working. Canon present-time Meta: Not-quite shoulder length hair, usually worn down. He thinks about cutting it shorter sometimes. Meta Falls AU: After he and Azazel fall, he grows his hair long (waist length) before cutting it to shoulder length again. In the present time, he wears his hair cut short. Hair dye thoughts: His natural hair colour is so pretty but I could see him experimenting with a deeper red/pink colour. He would look so good with mermaid hair colours too, especially if he grew his hair long again.

Zee

His hair style doesn't change very much. It's not long enough to bother him, but he uses his hair to hide some of his facial scarring so he might not want to cut it shorter than its present length. He might consider growing it out a bit longer, but he wouldn't want to cut it shorter than it currently is.

Hair dye thoughts: He would entertain the idea of partially-dyeing his hair with temporary dye or magic (for parties/events) but nothing permanent.

Karasu

He wore it longer in the past, but presently he enjoys the almost-shoulder length hair style that's a bit easier to manage. He would be hesitant to cut it shorter than that, but he might consider growing it out longer. (Note: this only applies to his canon self, his various AUs have different hair styles.)

Hair dye thoughts: As long as it's not permanent, he'd probably be willing to try anything once if you can convince him it would look good. Pops of golden blonde or deep red would appeal to him most.

Tenebris

He hasn't had short hair since he was a child and he would be very very resistant to cutting his hair. However, he's much more relaxed about experimenting with dye and ways to style his hair. (He loves having his hair brushed/played with.)

Belial

There was a time (around the time he first met Solomon) when he grew his hair out to his mid-back. Before he fell and in present times, he likes the shoulder-length style that he can wear down without much fuss. He would consider cutting his hair or growing it out again, but he's not interested in dyeing his hair at all except for special parties/events.

Bathin

Demon children aren't immune to the wonders of cutting their own hair, and he's had more than one mishap when he was bored and left alone with a pair of scissors. His hair currently mimics the style Mephisto wears. His previous incarnation had long hair (slightly past shoulder length) but it's too soon to say if the present-day Bathin will have the same preference.

Gabriel

He's always preferred having long hair and he would be extremely resistant to cutting it. He's not interesting in changing his hair colour either, even temporarily. Similar to Ten, he also loves having his hair brushed/styled/played with.

Uriel

He prefers short hair styles because he spends so much time training and in the forges and it's easier to take care of. However, he would consider growing it out a bit longer now that his responsibilities have shifted and having longer hair is less of a nuisance. He's not interested in colouring his hair.

Seraphiel

His hair style has fluctuated slightly over the years but he prefers above-shoulder length hair most of the time. He's not interested in changing his hair colour (it is quite lovely) but he would consider growing it out a bit longer so he could wear it tied back.

Habuhiah

She prefers chin-length hair because she spends so much time outdoors and hates the feeling of hot, sweaty hair on the back of her neck or shoulders. She wouldn't want to grow it out much longer unless she spent more time in colder areas like the Devildom (not likely to happen).

Hair dye thoughts: She would be curious about adding some temporary colour to her hair for fun, if you can convince her it would look nice. (She's more likely to do this if you'll do the same so you can match.)

[clownery-and-fuckery]

So.. modern au's

"Can we not do this right now?" Hunter practically hissed, giving Crosshair a pointed look across the table. "This isn't a good time."

Crosshair scoffed. "It's never a good time, is it?" His voice was loud, and it was getting the attention of the others at the long table they were sat at.

Cody looked over from the head of the table, apprehension clear in his smile as he raised an eyebrow. Hunter nodded stiffly, and Crosshair leaned forward.

"When are we going to talk about it, Hunter?" He asked, glaring. The eldest gave him a sharp look of disapproval. "Or are we going to ignore it, like we ignore every other problem you've caused?"

Crosshair's voice had risen. Tech glanced up from his phone, sharing a concerned glance with Echo across the table. "What's going on?" Omega asked from beside Wrecker. The larger brother shrugged, a small frown on his face.

"Cross." Hunter's glare softened into something more pleading. "Please not here."

"I'm sick of waiting!" Hunter grunted when the table jolted. Crosshair stood, glaring daggers at his older brother. The restaurant went quiet, eyes on the two brothers.

"Uh-oh.." Wrecker's voice was small, already moving to remove his younger sister from the table. Echo shot a look to Cody and Rex, who were moving to stand. Tech gripped his phone at his lap, glancing between Crosshair and Hunter.

"Every choice you've made since we were kids has been wrong." Crosshair snapped, pointing a finger toward Hunter. "And you can't even admit to it."

"I'm serious, Crosshair." The eldest stood now, too, leveling him with a glare. "Sit down. We'll talk about it later, not when we're in the middle of a restaurant, with the others and with Ome—"

"Omega!" Crosshair huffed a laugh, entirely fake sounding. "Of course, turn around and forget about us again for her, why don't you?"

Omega jumped, looking hurt as she turned to Wrecker. He was quick to assure her, taking her hand and standing, trying to subtly move out of the near silent restaurant. Hunter looked startled, blinking in surprise.

"I haven't forgotten you–" Hunter said. "Yes, you have!" Crosshair yelled, slamming his hands down on the table.

Tech flinched. Rex caught his arm, shooting a reassuring smile his way before turning back towards the other two. "Lads," Rex snapped. "Take this outside." He gave Hunter a pointed look, still holding Tech's arm.

Hunter sighed, nodding. Crosshair barely glanced his way, before he rounded back on Hunter. "Ever since you picked her up, you've given her everything you promised us."

The tension couldn't be thicker. Echo swallowed, glancing toward Tech. He pushed his glasses up higher, pressing them tight against his nose. "That's enough, Crosshair." Hunter snapped. "I understand you're angry at me—"

"Angry?" Crosshair asked, shaking his head. "I'm beyond angry, Hunter." The eldest sighed, hardly noticing the quiet of the surrounding tables anymore. "You're the only one who is." He said, giving Crosshair a look. "Why?"

Crosshair pointed across the table to his younger brother, who startled. "I'm angry for them. For the family you've chosen to forget."

Tech glanced around as eyes pinned him in place. Hunter froze. "I have not-" Hunter said. "–ignored them. I did everything I could—"

"Everything you could?!" Crosshair's voice rose, and Echo winced, moving to stand now, as well. "Is that what you think that was?!" Crosshair almost laughed.

"First, you had us all drafted in the military," Crosshair held up his wrist, showing an ugly scar. "And you dragged us from one suicide mission to the next." Crosshair gestured to Echo, who glared slightly before turning his head away, facing the table.

Hunter jumped when Crosshair hit the table again. "Cross!" Cody snapped this time, catching a glass that toppled over. Crosshair ignored him. "Let's not forget Wrecker blowing up, and you turning around and letting him fight some more. Like that was a good idea." He rolled his eyes as he spoke.

Hunter tensed. "Oh, and let's just gloss over–" Crosshair was getting hysterical, blindsided by a deep, festering anger he couldn't shake as he glared at his older brother across from him.

"–let's just gloss over how you had us leave our younger brother in a lab with the woman who abused us for years, and how you pretend not to notice the damage!"

As soon as the words flew out of his mouth, reality slammed back into him like the table had slammed into his gut. Crosshair's mouth snapped shut, eyes widening as he finally seemed to remember where he was.

Hunter's eyes were wide, and looking furious as he stared at his brother. Crosshair's eyes scanned the stunned restaurant, his gaze settling on his brother's at the end of the table.

No one at the table knew about that. Crosshair was the only one, until now. Now that he had blabbered the secret for an entire restaurant to hear. Tech stared at him, almost horrified as the words sank into the group.

Echo stared, unsure whether to look at Crosshair or their younger brother. "Tech–" He started, prosthetic hand reaching across the table. Tech jerked back, chair clattering to the floor as he stood quickly.

Tech himself looked startled by his reaction. He seemed to freeze up, looking around with glazed eyes. His eyes met Hunter's, and he took a shuddering breath. There was a bear of silence, then Tech seemed to remember himself.

"Excuse me." He croaked hoarsely, turning and walking away, shoving the door open as he escaped out of the restaurant.

Cody stood to follow him, but Echo clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Wrecker's got him," He assured Cody. "Don't worry about it."

Cody smothered a sigh, nodding. Echo was right, his attention should be on the eldest brother, who looked about ready to swing at Crosshair.

Rex was already pulling out a taser.

[hauntedfalcon]

Yknow its funny to me that I think it was most people's instinct - including my own - that the ot3 would happen between Sean and Jean first before approaching Marion to bring him into the fold. But thinking on this episode, it's looking more like Jean and Marion would bring Sean into the fold and him being very confused about it. Confused in a way that he feels undeserving. Might even take it more like 'oh im here to supply more fun, not to have the fun' and perform as a service top or bottom depending on the circumstance. And they have to tell him that no this is a romantic endeavor you idiot we love you and want you here with us all the time, even when you are hurting, Mr. 'I'm taking care of everyone so dont nobody dare try to take care of me' Finnerty

I am scrubbing back through the VOD right now and absolutely reeling at how exceedingly bisexual it is that it takes one minute of game time after regaining consciousness in Jean's arms before Marion calls for Sean and they make a let's-hold-Marion sandwich

this episode rocked the axis of all three of them in my mind. like. the interactions Jean and Marion had in episode one had this almost schoolkid innocence to them, and I think a lot of the bottom table trio shippers, including me, wanted to play with the chemistry of Jean and Sean first and toss in the sweet romantic secret sauce of Marion after.

but?? Jean witnessed and then forgot (or willfully blocked out) her dad performing an exorcism on Marion as a child? and he clearly did NOT forget her and started a somewhat ambiguous but obviously romantic relationship with her in which she has already touched his scar??

the angles of care here? episode two started what, a handful of days after the first episode? Jean still has a funeral to plan, but taking care of Marion is clearly a welcome distraction and when she's not actively doing that, she's looking out her window for EONS surveillance and having flashbacks to her dad dying. (to talk about later: the decision to have Zehra play Jinnah's father in Marion's dream, holy shit)

the fact that she now has a skill on her character sheet that lets her detect the "ailment, stress, or loss a person has in their life"??? oh boy, oh god, detecting sure isn't the same thing as fixing, is it? :))))))))))))))

and Sean?? the isolation? "I don't have anything. I don't have anything." "the last thing I need is anyone to come fucking take care of me." Sean's posture in the Silverslip chapterhouse when Jean was holding Marion?? genuinely, to your point, the only way they're going to get that man into bed and subsequently into a relationship is by making him feel useful.

if they all live that long, of course :)

om nom nom nom nom. tonight we feast, and tomorrow I start drafting a "three times Jean and Marion invited Sean over, and one time he said yes" fic. because you know what can fix the way that episode ended?? healthy polyamory!

[fully-automatic-ass]

OM! HCs (P2)

(again, consisting only of these mfing musings)

Mammon has scars on his back from Lucifer's punishments

And a fear of heights from being strung up from the ceiling

Demonus is just moldy caprisun. I said what i said. (implying that demons can get high off human world sugar?)

Lucifer's favorite shape is a rectangle (idk it suits him)

Barbatos sleeps like a sickly Victorian child who won't make it through the winter (when he can sleep)

Belphegor was pretty jealous of Satan right after the fall because, y'know, youngest child and all that (i think this one is canon in one of belphie's devilgrams?? idk)

[atamascolily]

Lily liveblogs: Thunderbolt Fantasy 4x05

"Have fun storming the castle!"

picking up from where we left off last week with the road trip through the Wasteland of Spirits and Juan Can Yun and Dan Fei asking "Are we there yet?"

Shang: Don't make me turn this expedition around!

they want to stop and rest in a crevasse and Shang thinks this is a bad idea but they do it anyway

they are attacked by evil vines and NOPE it back out into the sandstorm, lololol

Wasteland of Spirits is Tatooine from Star Wars, confirmed

I don't know why Shang thought he could just let these kids go off by themselves, thank goodness he got smacked by plot or else they'd be toast.

meanwhile, in the demon realm, Chao Feng's sole surviving officer freaks out and runs off... straight into a han jiao's mouth and is devoured on camera with lots of blood and gore. OM NOM NOM.

Chao Feng also freaks the fuck out, but is saved by Mu Tian Ming. When Chao Feng asks why, she's like, "I dunno, seemed like a good idea at the time". beautiful cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure.

Instead of thanking her, Chao Feng yells at Tian Ming for taking Lang away and says it's all her fault; Tian Ming does not slap her across the face, but says that that might be true if Lang came here by chance, but she thinks he has a purpose. AND SHE'S RIGHT.

I hope Chao Feng has a redemption arc, but I fear for the worst for Lang and Tian Ming and everybody else as soon as she finds herself on more solid ground. (you just know Azibelpher will LOVE her scheming little mind)

The Order of the Divine Swarm arrives at Azibelpher's castle and Ba Wang Yu decides to storm the gates while Hua Wu Zong turns invisible and slips inside in the chaos. Lin, disguised as Piao Miao, opts to wait outside and watch.

this pays off when Xing Hai shows up with Lang and he immediately switches back to his normal form to surprise them.

Lin immediately picks up that Lang is part demon (the horn kinda gave it away, lol) and turns him temporarily invisible so he can sneak into the castle. He then turns his attention to charming exposition out of Xing Hai and plays her like a damn fiddle.

elsewhere, Ansaato is skittering around the Demon Court on his little insect legs (complete with sound effects) and is pissed that Azibelpher is early for their meeting (and apparently in the flesh???)

the other nobles show up, including Parasol Lady my beloved, but unfortunately, we don't get a good sense of their personalities in their brief back and forth. Other demons include: Covid Safety Protocols (wears a mask); Megamind (turban, big head); and Blue Enforcer of the Status Quo. I thought Megamind was going to be an evil advisor based on his character design, but he's just a guy, I guess??? At least there's nothing much to distinguish him here.

the demon king is a shadowy figure hidden behind a screen and HMMM THAT SEEMS FAMILIAR WHERE HAVE I SEEN THAT ONE BEFORE, but he's got a new VA, so he's probably not somebody we already know. Probably.

(can you tell I'm still scarred from last season's reveal, lol)

turns out that the statue macguffins are seals that allow you to summon demon gods if you get a quorum (4). There are 8 total, one for each demon noble and the king.

everybody is freaked out that Jia Li is dead and her seal is missing. Azi plays innocent, lol.

Lin finds all this out from Xing Hai, so he'll probably start collecting them now because thieves gonna thieve. Lang is also collecting them, but he's the only one at this point who doesn't know what they do, and this is probably all part of Azi's plan to awaken the demon gods and start the War of the Fading Dusk in earnest.

[look, if you put a sleeping demon god in the first episode, it had damn well better wake up by the last episode, I'm just saying].

also Lin has decided to torment Xing Hai by speculating he might be a demon, too because he's not affected by the demon realm the way a normal human should be.

he's trolling, obviously, but it's funny because he uses the same phrase Shang does: "no matter what anyone chooses to call me, it doesn't matter because I know who I am"

I've said this before and I'll say it again: Shang and Lin are opposites, complements, parallels, and foils, and also archetypal, and this extends to their backstories as well, which means it's unlikely that we'll see parents for either of them.

Xing Hai is objectively speaking a terrible person but I feel so bad for her because her shitty kind-of ex being a demon would solve a lot of problems for her because demons are supposed to be shitty to each other. So she's actually really into this, and while nothing Lin says is an outright lie, it certainly isn't the full truth.

{Xing Hai being in love with Lin is mostly subtext in the show itself, but it's in the light novel, and also there is a delightful series of social media posts where she fantasizes about what to do with him when he's theoretically under Seven Blasphemous Death's control and one of them is marrying him in a Western-style wedding with Azibelpher as the minister. And even then they're STILL not the most toxic het couple in the show by a wide margin!!!!}

meanwhile, Ba Wang Yu murders everybody and walks into the castle and Lin tells Xing Hai that Azibelpher isn't there because otherwise some would have stayed back to defend their master.

[this is why Azi was at the meeting early, lol]

Cut to Lang Wu Yao wandering around the empty castle, only for Spider to sneak up on him with chains, believing him to be Azibelpher.

.... you know what, he's not exactly wrong, Lang really does resemble his dad and the portraits are everywhere because Azibelpher lives in a gothic castle and has decorated accordingly

I really hope Wasp and Spider team up with Lang since they all hate Azibelpher, because the alternative is that Lang kills both of them next episode and I want to keep them around for as long as possible.

this episode is so fucking funny and I laughed so hard, twenty minutes just FLEW by, can't wait for next week

[looseleafteeaves]

Balance-Week 2 of Jedi June

This is part of the Desert Speaker Universe, which doesn't currently have a ton out. Remeber that most of my universes have multiple jedi who survive, and that Luke never has to rebuild the jedi alone. Just know that it is a minor scene in that world.

Ben Kenobi has been gone for almost 3 days when the figure begins to approach. The figure was wrapped in deep brown robes, and the hooded cloak shaded they're face.

Ome opened the door, and took a seat on the stoop, walking stick laid beside them.

The figure paused, shuffling around 30 steps away.

"I have heard of a... Ben Kenobi who lives here?" The voice is older than Ome would have expected, but still not as old as Marrat Kenobi.

Ome tilts their head, bird-like. "I live here."

The figure winces, before gently lowering the hood, the sunset of of Tatooine painting green skin with a golden tinge. "Then may I ask for shelter tonight so I may travel further into the Jundland Wastes to seek him out? I haven't any other options, traversing from Mos Eisley took the majority of these past two days."

Ome plants their walking staff, turned slightly so the sunny yellow and deep blue kyber crystals dangling from the wrapping are visible. "What is your name, Wanderer? I will grant you one night's shelter."

As Ome rises to thier feet, they watch the firgure with steady eyes.

The figure's interlocking circular tattoos rippled as he tried to control his expression of mixed hope and dread. "Jimyali Aneti. Thank you, Dweller of This Place, for granting me shelter."

Ome turns and gestures Jimyali ahead of them. "You may hand your cloak on one of the knobs by the door, and please put your shoes on the rack. We are hoping to minimize the amount of sand that makes it into the house."

Jimyali pauses as he reaches to remove the cloak, watching carefully as he turns, revealing a lightsaber hilt. Ome smiles, and welcomes him in.

As Jimyali begin to settle into the living area, Ome carefully braces a tea set on their hip as they step back into the living, three teacups set out. With his eyes watching her, Ome begins to measure out several servings of a Mirialan gold tea blend.

"While the water heats, and this tea steeps, we can talk. Marrat should be back by then."

Jimyali, with trembling lips and fingers, nods. "Would you- would you like me to see if I can heal more of whatever injury is causing you to struggle?"

Ome looks at him, a soft smile growing. "Let me be a fair host before you try to repay me, however, in the morning I would not say no to you taking a look."

Jimyali gives a fragile grin, and Ome wanders towards the door, opening it just as thier Marrat stepped onto the stoop.

"Hello, Marrat. We have a guest who has wondered a long time to see you."

Ben Kenobi freezes in the midst of his motions to pull of his boots.

"Marrat, the guest has asked for shelter, and I have granted it. He will not cause you harm."

Ben breathes out and finishes removing his sandy boots. Ome wanders back into the living room, and begins to serve the tea.

Jimyali jerks as Ben Kenobi walks in.

"Master Kenobi! You- You are- I finally found-" He begins to silently cry. "I am not the last of us. My padawan will not bear the burden of reviving us."

Ben Kenobi's own eyes spill over with tears. "Master Healer Aneti... I was so sure I was one of the last. So many lights have been swallowed by the Dark. I was sure that there would be none left."

Jimyali reaches out and drags Ben towards him, embracing him with shaking arms and a joyful force. "I am so glad to have found you. Veadu- I must call for him. He is in Mos Eisley, hiding. He can-"

Ben Kenobi continues to weep, and Jimyali makes the call.

---

Master Healer Jimyali and Padawan Healer Veadu remain in the small dwelling place for almost 3 weeks. Healer Jimyali is able to heal and improve the function of Omi's leg, and even is able to reduce the scar tissue where their slave chip blew. Omi is quite happy that he was able to do that much.

Veadu and Omi have long conversations, sharing what thier padawanships have been like.

"Padawans, please come join us."

Siting in the lotus postion in the small underground room, are Jimyali and Ben.

"We are in a time of great darkness..." begins Ben- no, begins Obi-wan.

"But as always, we stand as bastions of light." Continues Jimyali.

"We must balance ourselves against this new age of horror and fear."

"Against the workings that destroyed our people."

"The rage and fear and helplessness that remains inside us is not wrong."

"But it is not useful either."

"So now, we invite you to partake in our celebration of light. We are few, we are hidden, and we are light."

"Open your hearts and let the Force take the infection from our souls, lancing our wounds, and allowing our community to heal."

"Together, we find our new balance."

"Together, we make our new balance."

"Let us meditate on the years ahead."

And if Ben and Omi both dream of a day in the future when the caves of Tatooine are filled with the ringing of the light side of the force, they keep silent.

And if Jimyali and Veadu dream of the days when they are able to openly heal and help people once more, they keep silent.

After all, that day is not today. And the future is always in motion. Nothing you see is guaranteed. But the hope those images inspire... That is something they had need of.

The Force Provides.

Balance will come.

[umbralsound-xiv]

Levity.

Folk've gotta eat, even those out on th'warpath. Won' be dippin' m'hands into it unless Bexy says, but i figure th'least i can do is make sure she's got somethin' t'eat when she gets back each sun.

As was becoming his wont, Mattisaux helps himself to the overgrown abode, exhaling at length to the safety of shelter and away from the watchful gaze of the Shroud. The dim shading squinted his eyes which soon darted side to side for anyone, or anything, of interest. "You are here, Bexy?"

Zhav Karahli flicks an ear at the sound of the door, head turning almost right the way around before the rest of her body follows. A woman whose exposed flesh was more scar than skin in places offers a toothy grin, a cookpot of stew simmering away behind her in the flour-laden chaos of the counter. Notably, Zhav's axe remains propped up not far from Mattisaux's boot. "Nah, she ain'. Not been back 'ome yet this sun, but she promises she will." Zhav tilts her head. "Mattisaux, aye?"

Around the time he finished asking his question did he spy a figure by the stove and her mouth thereafter. Rather than responding straightaway, he opted to raise a brow in mild contempt, looking over her scar-laden body, and walked the rest of the way inside to unload a bag he was carrying. "She has told you about me, I assume?" His tone grated with annoyance. "To think I am that much to warn others about."

Zhav Karahli: "Yeah? I mean, y'wouldn't've made it to th'front door if someone ain' know 'bout you. Tall an' broody lookin', Elezen fella, usually dressed dark, sword an' shield. She ain' -warn- me, she told me." She flashes another grin. "Zhav, Warmaiden've Clan Karahli. S'nice t'meetcha."

Again, Mattisaux squinted. "What?" His brow twitched in a pause while he stared at the foreign woman. "Your name is Zhav Warmaiden… Ah, right. That Karahli clan she nearly died for." His eyes scrolled up and down Zhav's frame with more purpose. "-You- are a warmaiden?"

What's that fuckin' look for? 'eard he were a grumpy bastard, but ain' know what t'expect besides. Seems like th'proper sort, 'ow i speak seemin' t'catch 'im off guard. Eh, he can learn.

Zhav Karahli: "Aye? What, you expectin' some big ol' burly Roegadyn're somethin'?" Zhav, despite her shorter stature, is a good deal more stocky than many other Miqo'te. "Aye. An' she did. Were 'er idea. We're grateful still." A tilt of her head perks the only brow visible. "Y'hungry?"

Mattisaux Baschet: "No, I am not hungry." After another sigh, he moved over to the lofty couch at the opposite of where Zhav stood to rest himself. "And with a mouth like yours, you may as well as be the worst Sea Wolf I have encountered."

Zhav Karahli: "Y'sure? Plenty t'go aroun'." Zhav reaches behind her to grab a bowl of something decidedly floury, mixing something with her hands. "Born in th'Shroud. Deep Shroud, ain' see folk much out've it, least 'til recent. S'kinda a… Gyr Abanian… Shroudy… Muddle. Can talk slower 'f it 'elps ya!" She laughs, seeming to find some amusement in the offer.

A quiet groan whined his throat, pushing a corner of his mouth in a slight frown. "Very kind of you to offer. When do you suspect she will return? Or are you here to lie in her place? If she is willing to die for you and your lot, then we both know how careless she is when it comes to protecting people, or in this case hunting them or something ridiculous."

Zhav Karahli: "Ain' know. S'usually after midnight. Been up since a couple bells since, huntin' t'cook somethin' proper f'when she came back. An' i ain' gonna lie." A small frown brings about the truth of her words. "Bexy ain' one t'lie t'folk, direct're otherwise. An' she ain' careless. Ain' say i'd do what she did, given th'reversed roles. But she's survived this lon', aye? She knows what she's doin'. Why y'got so little faith?"

Mattisaux Baschet: "Gods," he breathed not too quietly and tossed a lax hand as he spoke. "I do not intend to confide to some stranger though she -is- reckless and hardly gives a second thought to her wellbeing. She keeps such loutish company, I almost feel worse for her."

Zhav Karahli: "…Reckless an' careless're differen'. Careless means y'ain' give a shite. Reckless… Aye, yeah. She's plenty reckless. S'part've 'er charm, though, an' i reckon folk find it fetchin' -- M'self included, 'mongst other things." Zhav winks. Though, it's hard to tell, considering she only has one eye. "Loutish! Pff. Well, maybe if y'ain' sat there like someone'd pissed in y'porridge, it might be a bit nicer, aye?" She snorts a laugh, picking up a sliver of dough and setting the bowl behind her.

Face like that, y'think i'd insulted him an' 'is mother. Know he's Ishgardian, but y'think it'd kill 'em t'smile. Mist ain' quite as bad, an' Laurent's a delight. Wonder what crawled up his ass an' died?

Mattisaux Baschet: "Attractive, truly." Mattisaux made an effort to sound as flat as he could muster with an expression to match. "Reckless and careless are the same when it comes to her. She is uncaring of her wellbeing to the point where she would throw herself into a fire if it meant saving her shambled family and seeing how you are, I fear I may have learned where she got that side of her from, if you are so close. There is no charm to it, only frustration."

Zhav Karahli: "Then, how'd you become so close t'her, huh? Close 'nough t'know where 'er house is. An' carry 'er back." Zhav picks up a spoon, and slathers a glob of honey into the middle of the dough, folding it in on itself and setting it onto a baking sheet, repeating the process as she speaks. "…She jus' cares more 'bout folk than most. What's a few scars an' scrapes if it keeps everyone else safe?"

The extra detail Zhav casually mentioned rose a brow of his, breathing in deeply just to shallow it out. "Yes, what is a few more scars, a missing leg, a gouged eye, and so on? So what if she gets cleaves or someone caves her chest in so she dies slowly, painfully without anyone to see her last? Gods, all of you are mad. Especially the Miqo'te of this group." He lifted his hand to squeeze at the bridge of his nose, digging into his eyes.

Mattisaux Baschet: "She wormed her way into my life and now I am subject to cretins like you and choice others."

You burst out laughing at Mattisaux Baschet.

Zhav Karahli snorts another laugh. "Oh? An' what, that armor's jus' for show, yeah? Y'wear it for decoration, or you actually bother usin' it? Reckon you do, if y'any help t'Bexy. Ain' you got folk you'd lay down y'life for?"

Mattisaux Baschet: "I see she only told you the barest minimum about who I am. My mistake in thinking you were close in the first place; it seems like she would lay down her life for just about anyone that smiles and gives her the time of day." Huffing slightly, he continued on. "I was a soldier from Ishgard, if you have ever heard of such a thing living in these backwards lands speaking your unintelligible language. My entire life was devoted to sacrificing myself."

Zhav Karahli: "Aye, then y'know too well. Sacrificin' y'self fer those y'hold close. Ain' much differen' t'bein' a Warmaiden in some regards. I protect m'people. S'my duty, alon' with all th'rest've it that it carries. An' it ain' like she gave me a detailed rundown, aye? Not like she an' i've spoken much recent, with 'er bein'… Busy, an' all. Our accord goes some ways back. A deal first, on 'er part. We became friends later."

Mattisaux Baschet: "Your title of Warmaiden is for protecting? It makes you sound as bloodthirsty as you look, though as savage as I expect anyroad." As he settled into the sofa while his temper quietly simmered, he tried to dispel some of it by looking elsewhere in the shaded space. "I hardly care how exactly you two met though it comes as no surprise that she might chase another tribe that I can assume is not her own."

Zhav Karahli: "…Warmaiden. Protectin', aye, when it comes t'it. But ain' even half've, even most've what i do. Every kit born into th'Clan gets a weapon, an' most're trained by me. All weapons? Maintained by me. Armour too, forged by m'own hands if needs be. Huntin' an' cookin' sometimes too, but that's mostly fer fun. Y'teach 'em t'protect 'emselves. An' protect 'em in their stead when they can't." Each of the honey filled pastries are set on the tray, which is thrust with a short shove atop the flames of the fire, which Zhav immediately retreats from with a wary look. She opts to prop herself on the edge of the table, looking over Mattisaux with her single eye. "Ain' enjoy killin' much… Ain' all that bloodthirsty, if'm honest. But good t'know th'look's still there." Only half a grin is given to that, a pointed tooth on black-painted lips. "She owed us. We ain' never ask f'nothin'. But she 'elped us out've somethin' rough. We watch 'er home, her folk when we can, in return. S'the least we can do."

Mattisaux's face did not get any more joyful the closer she came to him, though with her only a few fulms awayand less in the dark, he found he could settle back into the cushion a bit easier. "What did you do for her to have her owe you? Or was it you and everyone else in your overly dependent tribe?"

Ain' know how much Bexy told folk. Ain' really a secret're nothin', just figure it ain' really come up in conversation, aye?

Zhav Karahli: "-Clan-. We ain' Seekers. An' you call me th'clueless one." Zhav rolled an eye, shaking her head. "Y'know she risked 'erself f'us. I wager if y'here, y'know plenty 'bout Bexy. Coeurl an' all. Some folk at th'Clan still call 'er it, but we're doin' our best t'wean it out. Good ways back, we Karahli brokered information, aye? Talkin' cycles ago. 'pproached by a woman Bexy'd scorned some time're other. Figured we'd want 'er dead, like most've th'folk in th'Shroud at th'time; ain' my decision, were m'Matriarch's back then. But anyways. We worked with 'er t'bring th'Coeurl down, right up until this woman started t'get real impatient 'bout shite. Did a few thin's she shouldn', an' eventually we decided t'pull our help, figurin' it were better if th'whole fuckin' thing sorted itself out without our involvement. Bexy were well into 'er killin' by then, an' we weren' lookin' t'make ourselves victims." Zhav finally comes to some sort of pause, and a rare consideration for her words. "We suffered fer it. Weren't too lon' before Bexy learned that we picked 'er side over Lividine's that she decided t'help. We could've killed 'er, if we wanted to, back then. But it ain' seem right, after learnin' th'circumstances."

Mattisaux Baschet: "For someone so unstudied, you are quite particular with words that mean the same thing." After saying his piece, he listened to her story patiently and even waited a few moments to wait if there was more. Then he gestured to Zhav. "This Lividine wanted Bexy dead so she commissioned a -tribe- to do her bidding just for you lot to turn on the woman? And Bexy -trusts- you?" Then a sigh slipped free. "She trusts -me-, I suppose this should not surprise me as much."

Zhav Karahli: "Lividine wanted Bexy dead, aye. Framed 'er, did a stint in a Gridanian Gaol f'it. Ain' expect you t'know how us Keepers an' Duskwight 'ad it back then, but yeah. When we ain' get results as fast as she wanted, y'know, because we didn' want t'get ourselves fuckin' killed, she made a show've hurtin' one've us t'give us some encouragement. Y'ain' hurt our folk. Not f'nothin', unless y'got a fuckin' deathwish. S'somethin' me an' Bexy can agree on, yeah? T'an extent, anyway. But since trackin' 'er down an' doin' 'er in were provin' t'be way more dangerous than thought, -an'- she weren' nothin' like th'Coeurl we knew, aye, yeah, we turned on Lividine. Were some cycles between that an' us talkin' now, an' a lot've trust t'be built. She ain' trust all that easy." Zhav's head tilts up a little. "What'd you do t'get hers?"

A soft hum of understanding lifted his head in a single, slow nod. That was until her last comment. "Mayhap those years back then her requirements for trust was more rigid, however in these days, they may as well be as loose as a whore in Ul'dah… if you have ever heard of that city anyroad. I was simply part of her company; I could not begin to tell you the reason why she continues to place her trust in someone like myself. She is mad these days, I swear."

Guy don' have a super high opinion've 'emself. Huh. Wonder what all that's 'bout. Used t'be part've th'company, but ain' anymore. ...Maybe i'll ask 'er, one sun.

Zhav Karahli: "I ain' fuckin' stupid, y'know? I know where Ul'dah is, an' Ishgard, an' you ain' th'only Ishgardian i met." Her brow lofts, unimpressed. "I reckon it's more'n that. I spent plenty've time at that company house, yeah? S'a good place t'teach repairwork an' th'like t'my apprentice. She's plenty nice t'folk. But none know where she lives, save a few. An' folk know t'keep there hands from 'er. An' 'ere you are, pickin' 'er up like a sack've popotoes. She's probably mad in places, aye. Gettin' 'er sister taken ain' done 'er no favors. I train Sayuri th'suns she ain' train wit' Bexy." Zhav nudges her head in the direction of the axe at the door. "…Ain' born sisters, 'course. But closer'n some born, f'sure."

Zhav Karahli: "Hopefully she'll stop bein' all…" Zhav gestures vaguely with a hand. "…This, when she's home."

Mattisaux Baschet: "And yet you and I know of this place, a scalekin, and a few others I have already seen. It is only a matter of time before this space is even more of a second company home." He rolled both his eyes at her, because he could. "I also hardly believe that my carrying her home means as much as you are making it out to be. She was injured and unreasonably exhausted, she -needed- the help. This entire situation all because her sister was baited into her captors." He shook his head slowly. "That girl will never stop with how she is. She will be relieved, perhaps beyond belief, but I suspect she will be on pins and needles with paranoia. Mayhap she will bite someone's head off to which I would not mind seeing if that head is not mine. I would like to see why Sayuri though. She is a soft little thing, sure, and they both share ice, but why else?"

Zhav Karahli: "Ain' that many folk know. An' i've sat in a tree countin' 'em." Zhav wanders back to the oven, and after wrapping her hands in a towel, drags the tray up and onto the counter to cool. "Y'probably right. I ain' imagine Bexy'll die away from a battlefield're somethin'. She ain' never spoke've old age, an' i reckon she knows. It'll take plenty t'kill 'er, but somethin' will, one sun… Jus' 'ope no time soon. Not before me, anyhow. Ain' know why Sayuri. Ain' as soft as you say. Vicious little bugger when she fights, an' that's jus' sparrin' wit' Zihre. Maybe s'jus' the whole… Companionship? I ain' know. There's somethin' there i ain' understand m'self, but it's clear she's important." Zhav finally settles on moving to the cabinet. "Drink?"

Mattisaux Baschet: "You people keep saying that, it is almost as if you truly wish for her to drop before your eyes…" The conversation soured his glower over Zhav. "You lot also mention how dangerous she is and that she could claw a man's face clean off. Here I thought I enjoy casually exaggerating things, instead I am surrounded by some drama troupe." However, to the sound of suspected liquor, he quieted the edge of his tone. "What does she have? Wine?"

Zhav Karahli: "I ain' wanna be there for th'fallout when she does. I ain' want 'er dead. But i ain' stupid. She won' slow down, won' stop. Always puttin' 'erself in harms way f'the folk she cares about, an' she cares about a lot've folk. Ain' much good wit' numbers, but it ain' take a genius t'figure out where that path goes, aye? M'walkin' it m'self, maybe a bit slower'n she does." Zhav looks over the shelf, eye squinting at the bottles in text far too intricate for her to read. "Ain' see no wine. Somethin' amber though. Sorry if it 'ffends y'delicate Ishgardian sensibilities." Zhav picks up two entire bottles of what appear to be various kinds of spirit, offering one to Mattisaux on her return. "Y'know she's strong. Y'just worried 'bout what happens when that strength fails, aye?" Her words were spoken with some kind of concern, brow quietly lofted.

The small comment about his tastes earned a flat line from his mouth, choosing to ignore it and move on. "She is not strong. She is helpless in more ways than one. The girl merely pretends to keep herself together, and even more so because her sister is on the line." Seeing a full bottle given to him without a second thought, he naturally accepted the offer and worked on popping it open. "And you hardly look like you are working on your grave slowly, if that was even what spit out of your mouth. Those scars rival mine; were you the only one battling in your tribe or some nonsense?"

Zhav Karahli: "She's plenty strong. If y'can't see it, y'more blind'n i am. How'd you think 'er helpless? Y'think she'd have gotten this far?" Zhav opts to kick back onto the small wooden stump, nudging the lantern aside to rest against the pillar. "I've been fightin' since i could walk! Warmaiden since fourteen, an' been in plenty've fights besides. Plenty've us fight. Got a whole Warband. I'm jus'… Th'oldest one there is."

Mattisaux Baschet: "Were you not listening? She can hardly help herself outside of a fight. Ripping at people's throats and snacking on their insides is not what makes a person strong. For appearance, perhaps, though not truly." Only after he took a healthy swig did he continue his line of thought. "She merely enjoys it; the rush of hurting and ending someone. Enjoying your hobby is not being strong, it is just having fun. The only difference now is she has the perfect excuse for it. As for you and your vicious appearance, and axe, you look like the aftermath of an army. Both a won and lost one. Are there others as beaten as you are?"

Each scar's a mark've pride. Th'dead don' scar. Means y've fought f'somethin', won somethin', protected somethin', even if y'ain' managed t'win.

Zhav Karahli: "Aye. I were listenin'." Zhav picks up the bottle, bites out the cork to drop in her hand, and takes a long swig. "Cryin' an' screamin' an' comin' apart at the seams ain' weakness. She's fuckin' scared, an' anyone who gave half a damn 'bout losin' someone'd be th'same in their own way. But she ain' stopped. She's dusted 'erself off in some fashion, an' she's keepin' goin', despite th'odds an' everythin' else stacked agains' her. Sometimes strength's stupid, an' sometimes it's smart, an' i ain' sure i got th'smarts or knowledge've th'situation t'know which it is. But she's plenty strong." Another chug of liquor. "…Eh, most aren' so roughed up as me. But i'm th'Warmaiden, aye? I lead th'charge. Ain' put none of m'Warband in a battle i ain' a part of, unless i ain' got a choice."

Mattisaux Baschet: "In their own way. Right…" Zhav's words hung in the air for a bit, ringing in his ears. In a few more gulps of the spirit, he huffed louder than needed. "You are a Keeper, was it? What battles do you lot find yourselves in? Territorial feuds? Relationship spats? Other petty disagreements that grow larger as time goes on?"

Zhav Karahli: "Aye. Keeper. Good t'know you're listenin'." She gives a pointed grin, nodding to his question. "Territory, at least way back. We were contestin' another Clan fer a river at one point. Lon' and bloody war, plenty've battles. Th'Warmaiden that came 'fore me died there, an' s'where i took th'mantle almos'… Jus' shy've thirty cycles ago. At one point, it were th'Garleans. We're in the East Shroud, Aye? Aye. You ain' stupid. You know what direction they came. Plenty've other shite besides."

He helped himself to his drink, reflexively matching her each time she took a swig. "You fought the empire? Now you sound far too stubborn to die like someone else I know. Is that why half your face is bandaged? And are you normally this open to strangers? Putting aside the fact that you have stalked me on occasion, of course."

I ain' got no reason t'hide anythin' from anyone. 'm asked a question, why shouldn' i respond, if folk're curious?

Zhav Karahli takes another drink, a short wiggle of her ears in response. "Aye? What else were i gonna do, jus' let 'em stomp over us? Nah. Fuck that, an' fuck th'lot've 'em. We held our own, despite our numbers. An' i ain' that stubborn, 'm jus' good. I'll die when'm good an' ready, an' i sure as shite ain' ready yet." She takes another drink almost immediately afterwards. "An' no. We 'ad a civil war some bit ago. S'what Bexy 'elped us out of. Delicate situation. Lost m'eye, but not m'life, protectin' m'Matriarch." Her shoulders pluck into a roll. "Ain' got nothin' t'hide. An' i ain' stalked y'. Jus' noted y'passin' through, an' y'on th'list've folk not t'bother if y'headin' here."

Mattisaux groaned a hum, dangling his drink to and fro while he listened. "I must ask: are you a Coeurlclaw? You do not quite have the look about you and yet your mannerisms are much to be desired. Unless this is what all Shroud Miqo'te are like. All the tribe-ridden ones perhaps."

Zhav Karahli: "Hah! Like fuck i am! I got fuckin' -morals- f'one! What kind've flimsy fleabags that call 'emselves Keepers let 'emselves be run by some stuck-up bastard who calls 'imself King? Pff. Nah, like fuck. Ain' 'ave time f'fancy mannerisms, Ishgard-boy. Whaddaya want me t'do? Stick a dress on an' pull a courtsey?"

Mattisaux Baschet: "With those gnashes and engravings over your skin, the dress would do nothing for you, dear. After the courtsey, I would expect something foul to slip out of your mouth. At least knowing that you are indeed not one of them, I do not have to wonder if I might find you at the end of my blade in the future. I would rather not have a talk with that Bexy over something like that."

Zhav Karahli: "If they ain' keep t'their bit've th'Shroud, we might fin' ourselves on th'same end of th'weapon." She flashes a small grin, which she drowns with more liquor. "Ain' made fer a dress, s'why." A lop sided grin curls onto her lips. "…Bexy looks real good in a dress…" Zhav mumbles, casting her glance away to mutter to herself. "…Even better without it, i reckon…"

Through the wash of the liquor, her accent struggled to decipher itself through his ears. He squinted even harder at Zhav and downed a bit more of the bottle as if that might help. "Any girl can dress well, even in some dresses, I am certain…" He examined her briefly. "Perhaps. That aside, Bexy is the type to take her appearance seriously. Always with makeup, her hair in neat waves, clothes hardly ever disheveled. It was why it was so jarring to see her otherwise, so much in disarray that she needed to be carried home." He quickly knit his brow. "I see you wish to make it plain how little shame you have."

Eh. Maybe he ain' know th'side've her that i know so well. Met 'er as th'Coeurl, who were kinda both. Always dressed well. Reckon s'why 'er stories scared folk more'n those 'bout monsters. Cause she existed, an' she were real. She ain' look like a monster. ...Not usually, anyhow. Seen it once.

Zhav Karahli: "What's th'shame in it? She -knows-! It ain' a secret! Menphina forbid i got a -preference!-" Despite drinking, Zhav doesn't seem anywhere near tipsy; though around a third of a bottle is gone. She just is this way, unfortunately. "Oh -aye-… She always dresses well. Only ever saw 'er in combat leathers f'moons when we firs' met… An' then Mhira called a meetin', an' she showed up all casual-like, an' m'thoughts've never been th'same since." Zhav didn't seem even slightly ashamed for the admission she was all too willing to share. "Better'n 'er bein' over-vain, mind. I think 'er always bein' so proper takes th'edge off 'er more frightenin' qualities… An' makes 'em worse, when y'learn. I ain' care though."

Mattisaux Baschet: "By the gods…" He could not stop from shaking his head. "You fantasize about her in front of me, now I fear you might drop your shorts to satisfy your cravings. Were you any other woman, I would not dream of stopping you though I can only imagine how… you might be. I must remind you that her type lies with the feeble, fairytale-wishing kind of man. One who is soft without a taste for battle."

Zhav Karahli exclaims a laugh, which she fights in aid of more drink. "Aye, i know. Tall an' handsome an' all romantic-like, and she ain' into women. But a woman can -dream-." Her gaze levels almost threateningly on Mattisaux. "An' i -will-." It was a promise. "I reckon all th'dressin' up will go back t'normal when everythin's… Resolved. Ain' heard too much since. But she's still out lookin' every sun. Ain' seen 'er hurt though."

Mattisaux, for once, was at a loss for words. He sat in silence before he managed to pick himself up for the couch and fish through the bag he placed there. Unfortunately, it was next to Zhav. From it, he plucked a few more potions, vivid orange and violet ones for concentrated healing, and a paper package of a rolanberry pastry. "You -must- have a filter when you speak, woman. Even I have one despite my effects to shake it off. It is hardly attractive for a woman, most especially if you are looking to attract other -women-."

...Menphina's tits, he's highly strung. 'Course, i ain' serious 'bout even half've this, but it's fun t'wind 'em up, not that 'e takes all that much windin'.

Zhav Karahli: "Oh aye, an' you'd know, would you?" An inquisitory brow is lofted, as she snorts another laugh, flashing the same toothy grin. "I ain' had no difficulty, ain' i ain' needin' your advice. No amout've fancy talkin's gonna turn 'er t'me, an' i ain' wanna soun' like i've eaten a dictionary're somethin'." Sufficiently amused, Zhav sits a little more upright, putting the cork in the bottle. "Y'headin' out?"

Mattisaux Baschet: "You sound like you have been biting your tongue everytime you open your mouth, much less a dictionary. Yes, I am heading out. Tell her I will stop by again but much later as I could only suffer you for so long. Never have I ever met a woman with a loose mouth like yours. Quite disgusting, to say the least." After placing the few items on the stump, he made way for the door. "You have given me more insight on the company our frostbitten girl keeps though I do so pray you are the only exception to the rule she keeps."

Zhav Karahli: "Oh!" Zhav dramatically lays a hand on her chest. "Y'sensibilities! Even more delicate'n i thought." She laughs, glancing over the set down items, and shuffles herself from the stump. "I'll make sure she gets these, aye? An' i'll tell 'er y'dropped by!"

Mattisaux Baschet: "Gods… Next time I see you here, I might just turn back around. I would rather not interrupt you enjoying yourself in the middle of her floor. Pray, behave yourself."

Zhav Karahli: "What, an' ruin a perfectly good rug?" A brow lofts, grin at her lips, but it's at least… Mostly clear that she's joking. "Oh aye. M'best behaviour." She rolls her eye, flashing him an amused grin before returning back to the stove to tend the stew.

He served as some kind've amusement at least, so 'e's got that goin' f'em. I'll tell Bexy he dropped by! Maybe she'll tell me somethin' why he's so fuckin' sour...

[dorthrakidex]

Day 5: "That's gonna scar"

Once again, it was the Tuesday that was Sheppard's undoing. Although this time it wasn't because Rodney touched something he wasn't supposed to, it wasn't angry natives or people after John's genes. It was a simple thunder storm that was his undoing. Being that they were in Pegasus, If John learned nothing it was that things were never simple.

John and Ronon were sent to check out the planet. There was very little known in the database about MKT-008 other than it was uninhabited. Elizabeth had sent them on a simple 'check it out' milk run of a mission, that was why there was only John and Ronon. She was no idiot, she knew that those two were kind of seeing each other, at the very least they were testing the waters. So she figured that they could use the time alone with prying eyes.

When the thunder itself had started, John really hadn't thought very much of it. He had been om plenty of planets where there was thunder that never amounted to anything. This wasn't one of those times. He noticed Ronon was eyeing the sky suspiciously. “What is it big guy?”

Ronon spoke without removing his eyes from the sky. “I was on a planet like this once. There's a reason why there are no people and no animals. Listen closely Sheppard. What do you hear?”

John closed his eyes and listened, just to realize that his companion was right. There was absolutely no noise. Only the wind through the trees and the rumble of thunder that sounded as though it was getting closer. “I think we should try to find a cave. Wait out the storm.” John hated waited in caves, they were always damp and somehow always managed to remind him of all the times he has found himself in primitive jail cells. But they really didn't have a choice.

“I thought that saw one back that way.” Ronon hooked his thumb in the direction they had just came from. John huffed, they were going to have to go backwards. Just great. By the time they get to the cave the thunder is so loud they don't even bother trying to talk to each other. The bright bolts of lightening in the sky make Sheppard nervous, he was so busy watching the bolts that he didn't see the tree root that he tripped over. He yelled loud enough that Ronon heard it over the thunder.

Ronon had been leading the way, so when he turned around when Sheppard yelled, it was just in time to see Sheppard slide down the ravine and over the edge of the cliff. Ronon was quick to act, he ran toward Sheppard and was just in time to grab his hand. He pulled him up by the wrist, knowing that the rain would be making their hands slippery. He got Sheppard up, who was bleeding quite badly from a gash in his forehead. Ronon picked him up and carried him the rest of the way, he knew that John would be disorientated and that would slow them down.

Once in the cave, Ronon started a small fire, thankful for the opening of the cave and the over hang that protected them from the worst of the wind and rain. After the fire was started, he went through John's vest and found the small first aid kit. He cleaned up John's face. He ended having to use the surgical glue and butterfly bandage to ensure that the bleeding had stopped. After he gave John two of the Ibuprofen, he sat back and eyed him wearily.

“I don't know how you did it but I cleaned as best as I could. I still think it's gonna scar.”

John uttered a humourless laugh. “It can join all the others.” He leaned back against the cave wall, enjoying the heat from the fire. He knew that he couldn't fall asleep, they had no idea if he had a concussion. They both stared at the fire as they waited out the rain. And once again, John swore that the next mission that had to happen on a Tuesday was Lorne's.

[wardensburrow]

Swap just let's out a laugh, "yeah if you could say that." Rabbit wasn't wrong, he did it to save them from overlord, it was that or have ome of his friends got turned into what rabbit probably was now, actually he should probably ask about that. "My Dakota isn't a rabbit like you, is it? Were you born like this or? Sorry if that's rude"

He nods slowly, saying that his body temp has been stuck like this since the wisperer and these not counting the faint rotting on his hand, seeing how where it should be red form blush, was a painful blue and purple from the possibly hyperthermia that he shouldn't have.

"Yeah you guys. . Seem to really enjoy taking the punches from what I've seen." He stopped his hand on one of the scars that rabbit hand before carefully pulling away and leaning back on the porch, staring into the woods and trying to not shudder.

Okay

Now let's have swap and rabbit meet

Yippee!!!

Rabbits looking as anxious as usual, ears tucked behind him and fidgeting. It was always a 50/50 if meeting another au person was going to be good or not, and it was starting to make him a bit stressed about meeting people, which sucked!!! He loved the random good interactions he’s had but the bad or stressful ones were just easier to worry about in the long run.