#and so when i draw its usually working on comms

[mokadevs]

"i want to see more of that side of you"

[zoppzoop]

GAAHAHHHHH

[2chijouu]

Thinking about post MW3 how ghost is coping with soap’s death by picking up the things he used to do,

Maybe he picks up drawing, buys himself a journal identical to soaps. It starts off shitty but he still does it anyways because soap would love each of his doodles- shitty or not,

Next he picks up coffee, everyone knows ghost hates coffee- despises it, the grimace on his face every time he takes a sip says it all but no one says a word about it,

One day, price finds him in his office sitting by his window, he’s asleep, price goes to wake him up but upon a closer look he sees that theres a worn out book in his lap, its soap’s favorite book.

They’re on a mission when things suddenly take a turn for the worst, theres an unidentified bomb and no one to defuse it, it was a simple recon mission, he’d been sent alone as usual, at first he finds the mission a little sketchy but stays at his post- however when he starts seeing cars rolling in, he reports back to price and goes in for a closer look even after price tells him not to.

After observing the cars from a distance, seeing them roll out immediately after delivering whatever packages they had to the seemingly empty warehouse, he waits a couple of minutes before moving in and checking around the perimeter , after deeming it clear he’s on comms with price telling him the situation, he can hear the hesitation in prices’ voice after giving him the go to check the supply that had been dropped off,

Shuffling through the boxes, he finds nothing but some wood work paraphernalia. Ghost lets out a deep exhale and raises his hand to his shoulder for his comm when his eye spots a box that he missed, when he opens the box and discovers its an active bomb with the timer running, he immediately informs price and springs into action,

Meanwhile price is informing laswell about the current situation and requesting an immediate exfil to which she denies and tells him he needs to disarm the bomb. He bristles with contempt at that and ends their call without any further delay,

Their intel had been lacking from the beginning, and he was not about to lose another member of his team- of his family, he is contacting nikolai when gaz comes into his office to inform him ghost is requesting him on the comms,

While price had been on his way to being discharged because of his impulsiveness and willingness to break multiple rules to get his man out of that situation, said man had simply told him that the bomb had been defused and that when can exfil arrive,

Astonished by the implication of that statement, he asked ghost how did he disarm it all by himself even though he didn’t have any demolition training, to which he was met with silence and then a quiet,

“with Johnny’s help..”

Price stood there with a stunned look on his face but quickly recovered and informed ghost that exfil is on its way.

When ghost lands back on base and exits the heli to see price and gaz waiting up for him, he walks up to them and says nothing, no one does for a bit until price lets out a deep sigh and puts his hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze,

“Good job out there, son.”

Gaz gives him a small smile and they all walk back towards their respective barracks and offices.

Ghost, freshened up after a shower, goes to the rec room to get something warm to drink and sees gaz there by the kitchen counter making himself a cuppa, ghost joins him and they’re both making their drinks in silence when gaz breaks it,

“We miss him too, you know?”

Ghost freezes but quickly recovers and gives him an answering hum before moving to the small kitchen table and sits on the chair, gaz joins him with a plate of biscuits and they both sit in silence.

Then ghost speaks,

“Bastard always liked to run his mouth whenever he was defusing a bomb, i picked it up after he..”

He couldn’t continue without his voice shaking but gaz knew so he didn’t say anything further.

They’re all trying to fill in the hole that has been left by him in some way or another.

You can’t fill a bottomless hole.

[starry-bi-sky]

Part SEVEN of "Clone Danny"

Red Robin, Danny recognizes, steps away from him as he sits up. "My name is Phantom," he signs, blinking the exhaustion out of his eyes. (From Red Robin's perspective, it looks like he has no eyes. There lacks his signature green glow.) "I'm not a gang member, just an out-of-town vigilante."

Red Robin frowns at him, an uncertain grip on the bō in his other hand. "Phantom?" He repeats, no lacking amount of suspicion in his voice. "How can I believe that?"

Right. Yeah, okay, that's fair. Danny shrugs at him, and slumps against the wall. "Google search?" He gestures, he's been out in the daytime before and he's seen the news articles about him.

Red's eyes narrow at him and Danny simply draws his knees up and faceplants into them, half-listening to Red's murmurs into his comm while also trying to get some extra-shut eye.

("Oracle, can you pull up anything on a vigilante named Phantom? The guy here is claiming to be one." Tim says.

"On it."

"Is this Phantom wearing a white mask?" Bruce asks, his voice gruff like an aftershock. "There's a vigilante who shares the same name, but he resides in Illinois."

"Is this guy from that Amity city you visited ages ago?" Says Tim, before shaking his head. "Don't answer that. Yes, he's wearing some freaky mask. I said it reminded me of Hood's helmet for a reason."

"I've got something," Oracle interrupts, "Bats' right. as usual. The Phantom of Amity Park, not much stuff of this guy but he's only been out for over a year. Apparently, his rogues' gallery consists of ghosts."

"Oh great.")

"Look tell the Batman that I'm sorry for trespassing on his turf," He signs irritably when Red Robin eventually starts talking to (re: interrogating) him again. "It's not like I want to be here."

"How did you get in Gotham anyways?" Red Robin questions, batman was on his way to help deal with the situation but Tim doubted he wouldn't get caught up on the way with dealing with petty crime. "Your turf is nearly a thousand miles away from here."

"Two words." Danny deadpans, "Teleport ghost." (Red Robin winces sympathetically.) "I'm keeping this bastard in the thermos for a month for this alone."

(Danny was ignoring the slow-choking anxiety growing in his lungs over how he was gonna get home. He never takes his phone when he goes out, the risk of breaking it was too high. He had no way of contacting anyone to get him home.)

(He swallows the growing lump in his throat, and buries the feeling in the back of his mind.)

"Thermos?"

Danny unclips his Fenton Phantom Thermos off from his belt loop and shows it to Red Robin. "My ghost-catching device," He says with one hand, tilting it carefully for Red to inspect. "I wish I could say I made it, but its a FentonWorks invention."

(He wasn't sure if it was a smart idea to say who it belonged to, but saying it wasn't his probably loosened up any tracks on him, right?)

"Do you work with these Fentons, then?" Red asks, and something dark and shadowy flickers from the corner of Danny's eye. He glances over, and sees nothing, and his hackles raise.

(Either that was Batman, or a ghost, or Danny's mind playing tricks on him. He couldn't feel his ghost sense building in his throat, so he decided it was either the latter of the former.)

Danny snorts, quiet and gruff. "No." He clips his thermos to his belt again, stifling a smile on his face. "The Fentons hate me actually, I prevent them from catching ghosts themselves. Their son gives me their tech."

He had a cover story, so he might as well stick with it, right?

Batman shows up at that moment, appearing atop the little roof where the door is, and giving Danny a heart attack when he speaks in his low, rumbly voice like thunder rolling in, "Why would they hate you for that?"

Danny shoots up to his feet with a startled yell in his throat, clutching his chest as he whirls around and looks up. He nearly runs into Red Robin, and signs a few choice swears at the Bat.

"wow you're scarier in person, asshole."

"you didn't answer my question."

"Of course I didn't, you scared me." and Danny takes a trembling step back when the Batman jumps down and lands on the roof in front of him. He's faced ghosts before, but somehow the living is always scarier.

"But, um, the reason is a bit.. complicated, I guess." He says, fingers beginning to shake as his adrenaline wears off. God is he tired. He wants to go home. "The Fentons are the local ghost hunters and local crazies. I don't know if I can call them mad scientists because they're harmless to the living."

"But they're extremely anti-ghost. I've heard from their son multiple times the very unethical things they would do to ghosts if they got their hands on one."

Danny 'talks' a little more before calling it quits, even telling Batman that he can't tell him more without putting his identity at risk.

Plus, its getting harder and harder to hide his bone-deep exhaustion and his growing fear of being stranded in the most dangerous city in America with no way home.

"I would love to tell you more, believe me I'm dying to." Danny signs, shaky sarcasm dripping from his fingers. His hands are visibly trembling and he's withholding a slowly growing panic attack. "But I would like nothing more than to figure out a way to get home."

"Do you have no one to contact?"

"Sort of. But only one of them could probably come get me and get me back to Amity by sunrise. And I have no phone."

That one person being Ellie.

=====

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8

Taglist: @the-navistar-carol @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @gin2212 @youracearocroatneighbour @luckybyrdrobyn @deeplyconfusedbear @epilepticnerd @beautifulmomenttodrawblank @sara0055 @blusunkhild @letmesayfuxk (?) @latheevening226 @tkiesai @rosedasy @meira-3919

[magicalbats]

Sanctuary

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 10,874

Warnings: sacrilegious content, monster fucking, tentacle/tongue fucking, brief throat fucking, reader is a nun so take that as you will

A/N: this is my very first commission ever and I had a blast working on it so I asked if I could share it with everyone! I went through and removed the identifiers for their OC but otherwise its exactly the same. I'm going to make a comms page later on for anyone interested so keep an eye out for that, and please enjoy! ❤️

⭐

Snow flurries around your face and buffets the skin to leave your cheeks feeling raw as you peer out over the assembled crowd. There’s a restlessness that hangs over the multitude of heavily bundled bodies lined up in the town square but order had largely been maintained all morning. It was mostly a variety of women in differing sizes, shapes and ages, which tended to help in that regard, while the occasional man was either old, sick or otherwise unfit for the labor needed to support themselves. These people relied heavily, sometimes exclusively, on the church’s community efforts to keep themselves afloat. You could even make out a few small children among the masses where you were standing; antsy from waiting and fussy with hunger, and who were starting to get on their accompanying parents' last nerves by the looks of it. 

Cloak whipping in the frigid wind, you shift behind the table where two other Sisters were diligently working to ladle out the porridge and pass out thick slices of bread quickly enough to keep the line moving at a reasonable pace. You were technically supposed to be on break after standing in the same spot for hours, your dominant wrist giving a muted throb from overuse when you take up the spare baler spoon and dip it into the massive pot, but you were having a hard time walking away. You usually did, though. Some might accuse you of taking your responsibilities a little too seriously at times but you liked to think of it more as simply being pertinacious. It was better to toe the line of overzealous than to be apathetic or indifferent to the plights of others, after all, and you couldn’t think of anyone more in plight than hungry children. 

Speculatively, Sister Darya eyes the bowl you fill and set aside before starting to spoon out another serving into a second dish. She sends you a sidelong glance even while her hands continue to work through the monotonous motions. Dip, pour, pass across the table. Dip, pour, pass across the table. She doesn’t have to look to ensure every moving piece ends up exactly where it needs to be, and the line keeps moving without interruption even as she sets her prickly sights on you. 

“Back so soon, Sister? Perhaps we should have you chained to the nearest bench to ensure you take your breaks when you’re supposed to.” 

“That won’t be necessary.” You respond with a cool indifference, unperturbed by the pointed stare she gives you when you reach to fill a third bowl. “I’ll go take my rest once I give these to the children. Surely you won’t find any complaint in that?” 

Sister Darya draws a careful breath and lets it out with a sigh. When she speaks next, it’s very soft so that only you might hear her quiet response. “They are supposed to wait in line just like everyone else. Those are the rules. Do not give me that look, Sister. You know as well as I do what lows the starving and the sick will sink to.”

“Then I will take care to ensure nothing of the sort comes of it.” Stamping down the flare of annoyance that sparks in your chest, you stiffly drop the baler back to the table. The older woman narrows her sharp beady eyes at you in warning yet you pay it little mind. 

Quickly shoving a spoon into each of the four bowls you’ve prepared, you juggle the dishes into your hands and step out from behind the table. You can barely catch the sound of her grumbling something to the other nun stationed with her as you walk away but aren’t quite able to make out what’s being said. No matter though. She’d never been particularly fond of you and the feeling was decidedly mutual. Nothing that happened here today was going to change that. 

The first child you manage to track down in the crowd is on the verge of tears, fitfully tugging at his mothers skirts while he asks her how much longer it will be. She has her hands full with a mewling infant, swaddled and bundled in so many layers that it takes the use of both hands to properly hold onto the bulky mass, and she could not offer him much comfort aside from gentle reassurances that it would be soon. One look at the tired, heavy bags under her eyes vindicates your decision. These people needed help, and you wouldn’t sit idly by if there was something that could be done for them. 

Sweeping closer to the pair, you keep your voice gentle even as you project it enough to be heard over the general din. “Do not cry, little man. You must be strong for your mother and your new sibling, isn’t that right? Look at what I have for you.” 

Red faced from the snow and the wind, he turns to glance up at you from under the brim of his wide, fur lined cap. The green of his irises seems to swim with valiantly held back tears but they clear almost immediately when he sees the bowl you carefully offer out to him. They appear to you like crystalline lakes turned dazzling with the azure sheen of algae, and you give him your best smile when he eagerly reaches out to accept the porridge in his tiny gloved hands. 

Her expression morphing from one of surprise to immense gratitude, the mother ducks her head in quick thanks. “May the Cryo Archon bless you, Sister. Your kindness means much to me and my children.” 

“Speak not another word of it. You’re almost to the front of the line now, so you’ll be able to fill your stomach soon. Please take care.” 

With a brief nod of acknowledgment, you move on. There’s another child a few paces down, this one a young girl curled up in the arms of her father as if in search of warmth as much as comfort, and you tell them much the same. That they were almost to the front of the queue and he gives his words of thanks as his daughter shyly accepts the bowl you hand to her. Left with still two more to pass out, you work your way further back in the line while assuring the waiting adults that there was enough for everyone to be fed and to just be patient. 

Empty handed after finding a pair of brothers solemnly standing in line together, you start to retrace your path towards the table again. You’d spotted a few more kids and you wanted to make the burden of waiting a bit more bearable for them as much as for their parents, but a small scuffle up near the front pulls your gaze and demands your attention first. Your strides turn purposeful now as you make a beeline for the commotion. What you come upon gives you pause, though. 

The green eyed boy from before was picking himself up off the ground and trying very hard not to let the hiccuping sobs that shake his shoulders get the better of him. His bowl of porridge was spilled in the barren dirt and frozen mud. A gnarled looking man in a tattered coat was bending to retrieve the fallen dish, mumbling something unkind under his breath while the mother juggles the baby in her arms and frets over her fallen son. At first you think it an accident, the kind of misstep that could happen all too easily when there were so many people crammed together in a single place. But then, to your surprise, the surly man straightens up with the bowl, dips his fingers into what bit of porridge meal was still sticking to the interior and pops them into his mouth. 

You see an instant flash of red behind your eyes. 

“What is the meaning of this?” You demand, closing the distance at a rapid pace now. “Horrid scoundrel, do you truly intend to repay the Holy Mothers kindness and generosity by stealing from a child? Does that seem right to you?” 

The sallow faced man glances up at your approach, takes one look at the black veil covering your hair and scoffs before turning from you. It was clear he thought little of you and your opinions on the matter, and he disinterestedly begins to walk away with his spoils still in hand. Temper flaring just a pinch more, you lengthen the stride of your steps. You brush right past the mother and her children. Reach out with grasping fingers and snag the back of the man’s ratty coat. He aggressively spins around to snap at you, but you were ready with some choice words of your own. 

“How dare you! To think that anyone in our great motherland would behave like an uncivilized animal!” You practically spit up at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself for carrying on in this manner when there is plenty to go around for everyone. What have you got to say, huh?” 

“I don’t have nothing to say to you, crazy bitch. Let go! Before I get mad!” 

A chorus of horrified gasps erupts around you, but you only tighten your hold on him even when his coat is so grimy and unkempt it makes your skin itch. You’re distantly aware of the crowd shuffling behind you, no doubt considering the possible ramifications of stepping in or not, but there was a hesitation when so many of them were women with little to no able bodied men to help. It was only natural, and you didn’t blame them for it. You blamed this no good lout for causing such an unpleasant scene in the first place and you weren’t about to let him get off that easily for being such an inconvenient nuisance to everyone. 

“I will not let you go. You owe that boy and his mother an apology, sir. Come, I will even stand with you to lessen the embarrassment you have to face.” 

Becoming more aggressive by the second, he violently tries to yank out of your grip. You hold fast though, and only stumble a step before pulling back on his coat with everything you’ve got. He seemed annoyed more than anything else though, and he rounds on you again to loom over your much slighter frame in an obvious display of intimidation as he bellows, “I’m warning you, let me go! Now!” 

“And I am warning you, come apologize to them or you will not like how this is going to end.” 

His face growing red in anger, he tries once again to forcefully shrug you off. But when that doesn’t work he brings his hand up in a quick arc, clenching it into a tight fist. You barely have enough time to process it’s even happening and then it — harmlessly sails right over your head. 

Eyes widening to the approximate size of dinner plates, you watch in mute disbelief as he’s roughly dragged back a handful of steps by an arm wrapped around his neck. The destitute man flails and kicks, grunting when he drops the bowl so he can reach up to claw at the limb cutting off his air supply. It’s useless though. Whoever was holding onto him had a grip as good as iron, evidently, and you catch a burst of coppery-brown hair behind him as he slowly starts to drain of energy and sag. One moment he’s wildly thrashing to get loose and the next he’s … going limp with a wet little gurgle. 

You catch your first glimpse of the young man — your heroic savior, as it were — when he bends to deposit the vagrant onto the cold ground without much concern for where or how he might land. His burden hitting the dirt with a bodily thump, he lifts his attention to you. You’re instantly struck by the intense blue of his eyes, and your breath catches in shock. 

Was he really human? 

“Are you alright, miss? Sorry I didn’t make it here sooner.” Straightening again, he wipes his gloved hands together as if ridding them of dirt after a messy job. Then he steps over the prone man on long, somewhat gangly legs so he can come closer. “When someone said there was a disturbance going on at the church’s food drive I came as fast as I could. I hope you’re not hurt?” 

Rousing from your initial disquiet, you take in the whole of him rather than just the strange eyes staring at you in question. You recognize the military uniform immediately, and bob a quick curtsy as was customary when dealing with someone of his station. “Worry not, good sir. I am unharmed and I have you to thank for that. I’d say you were just in time, in fact.” 

The young soldier gives you an abrupt, dazzling smile that is so filled to the brim with boyish charm it almost gives you pause. He was handsome, yes, but he also looked like a troublemaker of the highest order. Certainly not someone you would need or want to find yourself mixed up with no matter how good looking he was or how pleasantly symmetrical his features were. 

“It was my pleasure, of course, Sister …?” 

You lift your chin and tell him your name.

He slowly repeats your name, as if savoring the feel of it on his tongue and the way the syllables curl inside his mouth. “Well, Sister, although I was all too happy to offer my assistance, you still played an admirable part too. Thanks to you I didn’t have to go chasing this guy down. I owe you my thanks as well.” 

“Save it.” You sigh, giving your head a brief shake. “I was only doing what’s right. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must tend to the boy he stole from and get him another bowl of food.”

Decisively turning on your heel, expecting that to be the end of it, you start to walk away. To your great surprise, though, he quickly falls into step beside you. 

“I’m Ajax, by the way.” 

“A lovely name.” You don’t miss a beat but, rather than discouraging him with your indifferent tone, it just makes his grin grow even wider.

“I can help you.” He says it so point blank and matter of fact that for a split second you’re not quite sure what he even wants to lend you a hand with. And that was to say nothing of the why. 

“Although I certainly appreciate the offer, I think you’ve helped plenty for one day.” Turning your head, you steal a quick glance back at the unconscious man still lying out on the ground. The boy with the green eyes was spitefully kicking dirt at him and, much like his mother, you willfully chose to ignore it. While it wasn’t exactly good or proper behavior, you figured he was entitled to a tiny bit of payback for what he’d endured. “Shouldn’t you be escorting that gentleman to the jailhouse right about now? Surely that is a much more pressing matter for you than feeding the sick and hungry.” 

“Don’t worry, he won’t be waking up anytime soon and I’m sure another officer will happen by any minute now to take care of it.” 

You send him a slow, curious look, but he doesn’t seem the slightest bit put out. “That’s an odd thing to say, isn’t it? As a young man in her majesty the Tsaritsa’s army I would have thought you’d jump at the chance for recognition of such a good deed.” 

He casually waves that off with a chuckle. “Ah, who really cares about recognition anyway? I’m much more interested in doing what I enjoy than making decisions based on what will earn me merit.”

Something told you that was only a very small fraction of the bigger picture. He was still young and clearly impulsive, so you didn’t doubt that he truly was far more inclined to do only what he found worthy of his efforts to pursue. It wasn’t your place to comment on that though, nor did you want to humor how that applied to you in the here and now by giving it any deeper thought than that. 

Ignoring Sister Darya’s incensed glare, you pause at the corner of the church’s food drive table and turn to face your dogged shadow. This man, this soldier named Ajax, obediently halts just within arms reach and looks at you with an expectant, almost puppy-like eagerness as if waiting for the next command to fall from your lips. You may have found it cute otherwise, but you weren’t about to encourage him in any way. It wasn’t in your nature to knowingly lead people on and unlike some of the other Sister’s in the order you didn’t derive any such pleasure from doing so. You’d have to be blunt then. 

“I thank you again for your assistance,” You pointedly intone. “But I cannot allow you to waste your time taking on the church’s work. Her majesty has greater expectations of you than handing out bowls of porridge. You have your responsibilities and I have mine. We would both do well to remember that.” 

He doesn’t look half as dejected by that as you’d hoped he would, his boyish grin only taking on a frustratingly sly edge now. “Aww, don’t tell me this is your way of sending me off into the cold again.” 

“I’m afraid so. I don’t have time to entertain anyone, you understand.” 

Those odd eyes of his dance before you as he gives you a quick, appraising glance up and down to take in your shuddering cloak and the fluttering veil atop your head. But it strikes you once again as being strange, how his irises don’t seem to reflect the light at all. Rather they almost seem to swallow it up like a void. You’d initially thought it a mere trick of the senses brought about by the heavy charcoal clouds hanging overhead but … even now, even standing near the cackling flame over which the pot of porridge was simmering, there still was no reflection to be found in his eyes. It was a little unsettling, if you were being honest. 

Just what was he? 

“You break my heart, Sister. Is it not also the responsibility of a soldier to see that the needs of the people he serves are met? Lending the church a hand would be nothing short of a great honor for me.” 

You set your mouth in a firm, unamused line. “I’m afraid I’m not fool enough to believe that when you just told me you’re not interested in doing things simply for merit. You’ve got an ulterior motive in volunteering your services and I’m not interested in such games.” 

A quick laugh huffs out of him as he lifts a hand to place it emphatically over his heart. “You wound me, Sister! What do you take me for, huh?” 

“Someone who’s time would be much better spent escorting that vagabond away from the food drive before he wakes up and starts causing more trouble for us, that’s what.” 

“Fair enough.” Shoulders shaking with laughter, he pauses to give you another glance over from the top of your head down to the toes of your smart leather boots. You’re acutely aware of the other Sister’s watching on in rapt fascination and morbid curiosity, as well as the townsfolk standing close enough to the front of the line to eavesdrop, but you firmly stand your ground. There would be time to feel embarrassed by this scene later, in the privacy of your own dorm. 

At length, Ajax finally gives his head a shake. “I didn’t know they made Sisters like you.” 

“They don’t. I’m all of my own making.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He finally falls back a step with a brief nod of acknowledgment. Allowing himself one final look at you, Ajax turns away with one last word of parting. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Sister. I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again soon.” 

Standing there in the cold and the chaffing wind, and the flurry of snow, you watch him walk away. You think you could go your whole life without having another run in with him and it would still be too soon. It wasn’t that he was just a bit strange even for a young, headstrong soldier. There was something genuinely peculiar about him. Even putting aside the way he’d kept looking at you, there was still a sense of undesirability about the whole situation. From a nuns perspective he presented a multitude of problems, the least of which being temptation that did not fall in line with your vows. 

Turning your head to look at the others when he bends to retrieve the culprit from the ground and save him from the agitated rumblings of the antsy crowd, you spare Sister Darya a withering scowl. “I don’t want to hear a word about it.”

The way her eyes flash at you in mute disapproval seems to say ‘I told you so’ but you adamantly ignore it in favor of reaching for another bowl to fill. At the rate you were going it was starting to look like you’d never get that break. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Everything seems so normal that at first you almost don’t even realize it’s a dream. 

Some distant part of you knows you’d been so tired from the food drive that you’d fallen asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow after taking a nice, long bath to rid yourself of the permanent Snezhnayan chill. But you were glad for the normalcy of it, content to meander your way through whatever your resting subconscious decided to conjure up. The first scene is a field of wildflowers that does not exist in the ice and snow of your motherland. It’s peaceful there and quiet. A welcome haven of tranquility which you dreamed of with some frequency. 

You’re more than a little disappointed when it suddenly changes to the town square. One moment you’d been picking dandelions to weave into a wreath for your hair, and the next you were standing in the middle of a cold barren wasteland. The streets were empty around you, the houses dark and silent. The flowers wilt in your hands. Dropping them, you turn in a circle to survey your surroundings. Nothing looked out of place aside from the total lack of people, or even any dogs or cats roaming the area. No birds, either. 

Without a particular destination in mind, you start to walk. A part of you hoped the scenery would change again and morph into a more pleasing visage around you, but that’s not what happens. It feels like you spend many minutes just walking up and down the empty streets like a lost ghost, each step its own eternity. Every breath its own death rattle. A niggling thought in the back of your mind whispers of danger, warns of something being not quite right, and yet you don’t retrace your path back to the starting point in the square. Like there was an invisible string tugging you along, you follow its suggestive pull straight through town to the church. 

Despite finding this rather strange, even for a dream, you open the door and go inside without pause. 

The sanctuary is just as desolate and deserted as everywhere else had been. You hadn’t seen so much as a suggestion of another living being, human or otherwise, and still the string tugs. Trance-like and spellbound, you follow the exigent summons through the grounds; past altars and holy relics, and pews and the baptistery, out into the courtyard. You cross over bare frozen ground to the monastery. Up the long flight of stairs and down the empty hall until you reach the door to your own room. 

This is the first thing that gives you any real amount of hesitation but the string just pulls harder. Like a puppet under the guidance of a masterful biloquist, your hand comes up to grab the knob. You watch yourself turn it and then swing the door open. Your skin prickles with static electricity when you cross the threshold but this, too, is empty. Having half expected to walk in and find your own sleeping form huddled on top of the narrow bed, you’re strangely disappointed to find the sheets neatly made and smoothed out. They looked like they would never be disturbed again, as if the room itself had been plucked out of reality and then frozen in time and space. 

You feel the string slip away then, as you’re standing just inside the doorway looking over your bed, and a rattling breath puffs out of you at its loss. It leaves you trembling with newfound life, as if whatever force served to guide you here had sedated your mind and body alike to encourage compliance. Now, though, you were suddenly acutely aware of just how disconcerting the trek here had actually been. How heavy and oppressive the static charged air really is. 

Hands clenching and unclenching at your sides to restore feeling in them, you cautiously step around the room. It was not a large space and you were able to complete a full circuit in only ten steps. The bed took up a vast majority of the capacity. Your writing desk took up most of the rest. Suspiciously, you even bend to peer under the metal frame that holds the mattress, but there’s nothing there. It was just as void of life as everywhere else. 

When you straighten up again something in the single small window in the room catches your attention. You squint at it a moment but your eyes can’t quite make out what it is, so you step closer. There’s a thin layer of condensation coating the glass and, thinking perhaps that was what was obstructing your view, you reach up to wipe it away. The very real sensation of cold, wet moisture under your fingers startles you more than you’d like to admit. Your foggy mind reels and stumbles over the visceral thought. 

And then your eyes adjust. 

A dull, muted burst of copper. Red horns. It wasn’t outside amongst the trees and the buildings, and the dark overcast sky. It was behind you. 

Holding yourself achingly stiff, you slowly turn around. You’re not really sure how you maintain your cool when every inch of your skin was crawling with a violent eruption of goosebumps but you’re exceedingly glad for it as you set your sights on the monster in the doorway. It’s not just large, it’s huge. You think it must be over seven feet tall, perhaps even pushing eight, and it takes up the whole frame with its massive stature. It seems implausible for something of that size to move around as silent as any soft footed cat, but you’re positive you hadn’t heard a single sound. If this was just a figment of your imagination, you sorely hoped it would dissolve away into nothing very soon. 

What you think must be its eye just stares at you though, unblinking and unmoving. This tense stand-off lasts so long, in fact, that your frightened adrenaline eventually starts to wear off bit by bit, leaving you feeling somewhat disoriented in the aftermath. Was it even alive? Had your taxed mind and body really summoned the likeness of a horrible monster just to terrorize you in your dreams? And, perhaps most perplexing of all, why did it spark a distant note of familiarity in the dregs of your memory? Almost like you’d seen it or something like it recently, but that couldn’t be true. Certainly you never would have been able to forget such a creature as this … 

You just start to toy with the notion of slipping around it to get back out into the hall when it sedately lifts its arm. Frozen in place by a fresh surge of uncertainty and fear, you watch it push the door so that it swings shut with an almost casual motion. The click of the latch catching sounds like the heavy swing of an executioner's blade. 

“You came.” 

Its deep, raspy voice seems to reverberate in the very air itself and, finally unable to keep your nerves in check any longer, you take a stumbling step back to press into the wall. Your heart threatens to jackhammer straight out of your chest as you frantically try to process the situation. Not only was it very much alive and capable of interacting with the environment, it could also talk. You’re not sure why that disturbs you as much as it does but there’s no denying how your stomach painfully cramps with sinking dread now. Every fiber of your being thrums with the desire to run and flee, to hide from this monster, and yet you knew you were trapped in here with it. Even if you’d wanted to make an attempt at the now closed door the room was much too small. You’d never get around it. 

All you can do is quake when it takes a deliberately slow step forward before stopping again. Just looking at you. Gauging your reaction, perhaps? You didn’t really care about any of that. 

“What are you?” It’s little more than a frightened whisper. 

“Think of me as a god come to collect on what is rightfully mine.” 

Your spine snaps straight even as a disconcerted shudder races through you. “You are no god, foul beast. You’re a demon.” 

The thing laughs, low and hoarse. “Close, but not quite. You may call me Foul Legacy. Or, if you would prefer, ‘master’ will suffice just as well for your role.” 

“I will call you no such thing!” You hiss in indignant affront. 

“You will.” It assures you, taking another controlled step closer. “If I command it of you, your only choice will be to obey. If I tell you to get on your knees and worship me then that is what you will do. I told you, didn’t I? I’ve come to claim what’s mine.” 

You start to open your mouth to protest but your words fail you, and you slowly close it again. Frantically now, your wide eyed gaze scans the room looking for any sliver of hope for escape. You were cornered against the wall though. You’d never make it past this thing, and the window was much too small for you to crawl through even if it stopped long enough to let you get it open. The window …

Stealing a split second glance at the rectangle of glass just next to your head, you confirm your suspicions. The streaks left behind in the wake of your hand were still there. The cool condensation had felt undeniably real under your skin which meant, at least to some extent, this dream was a tangible one. Or maybe it would’ve been more accurate to call it a hallucination? It didn’t matter. 

If this was real enough to touch then that must have meant the monster was too. It was a slim chance but maybe you could fight your way past it and get away …

“Are you so unimpressed with this form that you allow your mind to wander?” The creature remarks, but it doesn’t sound surprised or even offended at this fact. More than anything, it almost sounds amused and that is what ultimately steels your resolve. It’s mistake would be underestimating you. 

“I was merely thinking how best to convey my lack of interest in you, oh great demon lord.” You volley back rather primly. “You don’t exactly look like a man, but you are shaped like one … I wonder if a good kick between the legs might get the message across.” 

The fiery haired thing throws its head back and laughs. You almost lose your nerve, but you valiantly cling to that tiny spark of courage you still had left. Cautiously, you start to edge your way down the wall. 

“Splendid! I would expect nothing less from my future bride! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.” 

Stilling, you widen your eyes at it. “Your what?” 

You realize your mistake a moment too late. When you should have kept moving towards the desk for the most direct path to the door you’d instead allowed it to give you pause. Even though it lasts for but a single heartbeat that’s more than enough time for the monster to act. 

It’s on you in the blink of an eye. Grabbing under your arms, it hauls you straight up off your feet like you weighed nothing at all. The sudden rush of movement, the unexpected press of huge, clawed hands curling around your ribcage shocks a sharp gasp out of you. But before you have a chance to do anything else, it shoves you back into the wall with a bodily thud that makes the old rafters tremble. The impact doesn’t hurt, not really — not as much as it could have, given how strong the creature evidently is — and you just gape down at its horrid face in stunned disbelief. 

You'd barely even seen it move … 

“Oh, that look of surprise is quite charming on you.” It rasps, snickering low under its breath. “I knew I could rip that frigid mask away with enough time. I wonder how else you’re going to warm up for me …” 

“W - what are you —“ 

The words trail off into nothing when the lower half of its jaw hinges open, and a long, snake-like tongue slips out to waggle tauntingly in the thin space separating you from it. Bile rises in your throat as you bring your hands up to claw desperately at its forearms but it doesn’t even seem to notice. That dreadful appendage just keeps unfurling out of its mouth, dripping threads of saliva here or there that land on the floor with soft little plops that make your stomach roil. Trying very hard not to panic, you futilely turn your head away from it. 

“Do not fear what I offer you, little nun. I have every intention of making sure you enjoy this just as much as I do.” 

It licks you then, that slimy tongue swiping up the side of your face from chin to temple. The wet, quickly cooling stripe it leaves behind makes you choke in disgust. You think it’s reminiscent of a dog, almost, that was much too eager to show its affection to stop long enough and consider how the recipient might feel about it. In the same breath you have the niggling thought that this was not the first time you’ve been reminded of dogs today. Before you have a chance to connect the pieces, the monster speaks again. 

“You really will make the most lovely bride, you know. I’m eager to see you with my mark.”

“I rebuke it!” You snap, struggling anew against its hold. “I rebuke you, foul creature! My faith will protect me and - -“ 

“Hah! I’d like to see that, Sister.” 

You go stock still when it says your name, and your heart skips across your ribs like a rock skimming over the surface of a lake. It felt just as heavy too, in that moment. 

But the monster doesn’t give you a chance to recover and that heinous tongue flicks across your cheek to rudely slip inside your mouth. You shriek around the abrupt intrusion, eyes wide and unseeing, as the length of it just keeps coming. It squirms and wriggles its way towards the back of your throat almost too quickly for you to react. Running on instinct now, you viciously snap your teeth down but all the creature does is let out a shuddering groan of pleasure, as if it liked the pain. Your jaw loosens in surprise as much as confusion, and it takes quick advantage of that to shove its tongue straight down your gullet. 

You gag on it, heaving with a violent wrench as your throat is penetrated. Tears spring up in your eyes but you can’t even scream with it blocking your airway like this. Helpless to do anything else, you just hang there and try not to pass out while it reaches deeper and deeper into you, through your esophagus almost straight down to your guts. It pauses there, giving you a moment to fully process the sensation of your whole body writhing on its tongue, before gradually starting to withdraw back the way it had come. It’s a sick, claustrophobia inducing sensation that only seems to double down when you dry heave and choke around it but, at last, it slips free of your constricting throat, and you suck in a wretched mouthful of air. 

Ignoring the way you cough and spit up bubbling sheets of drool, the horned beast takes a moment to swirl its tongue around the interior of your mouth; feeling along the roof, over your tongue, tracing the outline of each individual tooth straight back to your molars. You shudder and heave, struggling to even comprehend exactly how violated you felt in the aftermath of that disgusting experience. You’d been right to call it a demon … 

“You taste good.” It says when it finally starts to retract its tongue a moment later, setting its sights on lapping up the drool that coats your chin instead. “Good enough to eat, in fact. I wonder how much you’ll squeal when I feast between your legs.” 

“Unhand me this instant,” You wheeze as more of your strength and will to fight slowly comes back to you with the oxygen you pull in. “You are vile and repulsive … I want nothing to do with it!” 

“Oh, now that sounds familiar.” 

Noising a tiny sound of confusion, you clutch its thick forearms in a death grip while it moves to set you down on your feet. You don’t trust it, not by a long shot, and your greatest fears are soon realized when its fingers curl into the fabric of your smock. The sound of straining thread reaches your ears long before it actually rips and you cry out when the first ragged strip is torn from you with a deafening tear. Piece by piece, it shreds your clothes to tatters no matter how wildly you try to twist away or cling to the quickly dwindling panels of black cotton. All too soon you find yourself naked save your stockings and the bloomers pulled over them, and your brassiere which it promptly shreds too. 

Evidently saving your bottoms for last, it reaches for your veil next. 

“No!” You shriek, hating the terror you can hear in your own voice as you make a useless, frantic attempt to shove the monster away. 

It actually pauses even though you didn’t so much as budge it one little bit though, and it tips its head to the side inquisitively almost like … almost like a dog. There was that association again but where was it coming from? You couldn’t quite seem to remember, either due to your suffocating fear making the memory slip away or because your sleeping subconscious couldn’t quite remember enough to supply it on demand. Either way, you were sure it held the answer to your current predicament and you just couldn’t seem to grasp it. 

Why did this thing seem so damn familiar to you? 

“You do not want me to see your hair.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it takes everything you have not to outright scoff. 

“Of course I don’t, you fiend! It is improper for a — a man, even one such as you, to look at the uncovered head of a nun who has sworn herself to the faith. You should be ashamed of yourself!” 

It seems to consider that for a moment, humming softly as if in thought. “It is my understanding that, should one of the Sister’s ever take on a husband, then he alone is permitted to look upon her uncovered hair. Fine. Then I will allow you to keep your modesty until we consummate our union.” 

You prickle defensively at the way it almost spits the word, as if with contempt and spite. “I will not be wed to you! I swore an oath to the church!”

“And now you will swear an oath to me.” 

Hissing, it reaches out to grab at your bloomers even when you desperately try to slap its hand away. It tears them off just like everything else with neither forethought or effort, and you seethe at your own helplessness as you make one last ditch effort to wrench yourself free. But it’s too strong, too big. Just one of its hands seems to dwarf your hip when it possessively curls around your waist to hold you still. Your chest heaves with quick, panicked breaths as you tip your face down to watch it bring a claw close to your cunt, expecting it to rip off your pantyhose the same way it had all the rest. But all it does is caress over you with a thick knuckle and your face grows even hotter with indignation at the nudge. You couldn’t stand the thought of this thing touching you like this and yet you couldn’t seem to look away from it either. 

“I don’t want this,” You whisper, barely even hearing your own voice over the blood that pounds in your ears. 

“You will.” It assures you. Unexpectedly gentle, tentative almost, it curls its thick forefinger further back to prod at your crease and you fitfully shudder at the implication.

Was it really going to take you to wife? You’d never heard of anything more ridiculous; a nun and a one eyed demon, horns and all. It was completely useless to try and keep your cool any longer, and you outright whimper when it carefully pokes its claw up to pierce the thin layer of nylon. Hyper aware of how much it would hurt to get nicked by that sharp talon in such a sensitive spot, you force your body to stay as still as you can manage while it rips your stockings open at the crotch. Cool air wafts against your exposed cunt, making you tremble, and it breathes out a sigh of great pleasure as it teases the patch of curls there with those monstrous fingertips. 

“Am I the first one to ever see you like this?” 

“O - of course you are, foolish beast … I take my vows seriously. This isn’t — it’s not right, do you hear me? I was saving myself …” 

Issuing a low, rasping laugh, it reaches up to palm your other hip with a muted squeeze, holding your waist in both hands now. “You were saving yourself for me. This whole time you were always fated to become my bride and you did so well maintaining the sanctity of your body but that’s all over now. You’re free to embrace your most depraved thoughts and urges. Free to languish in the licentious and erotic desires you’ve been suppressing for so long. I offer you no judgment for your human needs. Only pleasure.” 

Squirming against its hold when your pussy flutters in unmistakable interest, you bring your hands up to weakly clutch its huge wrists again. You couldn’t believe this was happening. How could your body betray you over a creature like this? “No. I won’t fall for it. I refuse!” 

“We shall see.” 

Its tongue slips out again, curling through the air like a pink, wet serpent. Down to your chest where it takes a moment to flick over your nipple until it's coated in a fine sheen of spit and achingly stiff. You didn’t want it touching you like that but you also didn’t want to touch it, so you stop yourself from smacking at it. Just keep reminding yourself that this is only a dream — a very realistic, disturbingly tangible one, but a dream nonetheless. Whatever happened here held no weight in the real world. 

And maybe … just maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to indulge in the carnal just once? 

The prodding tip of its tongue gives your teat one last wet nudge before tracing a path down your front. Past your ribs and its huge thumbs bracketing your waist, over your bellybutton and straight down to brush against your curls. You shudder at the sensation, at the very suggestion of what was to come, but you don’t fight it now. Rather, you hesitantly shift your weight from one foot to the other and then cant your hips forward with a shy little push. The monster hums a rumbling sound of approval before dipping its tongue between your thighs. 

Eyes widening at the feel of it on your cunt, you just stand there like a frozen statue while it traces along the seam of your body. You’d never experienced anything like it before, and you were horrified at how eagerly your loins curl in anticipation. You almost let your courage waver, almost second guess your impulsive decision to humor this at all, but until you woke up you were effectively trapped and fighting it clearly wasn’t going to do any good. 

Oh, why couldn’t you just wake up from this nightmare already? 

“Relax.” It breathes out, unconcerned by the glistening threads of drool that drip from its mouth. “I will not hurt you, little nun.” 

You wanted to believe that very badly. Almost as much as you wanted to believe that indulging like this wouldn’t have any impact on your waking conscience. 

That slimy tongue starts to push up then, pressing into your lips, and you suck in a harsh breath. It teases around your entrance for a brief moment before it starts to wriggle its way in deeper. The penetration is not unlike that of your throat — all fleshy and smooth, and damp with spit — but it still stretches you enough to toe the line of discomfort. Swaying in its hold, you let out a dizzy groan. 

“Oh … that’s - -“ 

���Only the tip.” The thing laughs. 

You try to calm your breathing as it moves around inside you to work your body open, but it’s a losing battle. The stretch of until now untested muscle makes you wince while the slimy sensation of its tongue eagerly moving along your inner sleeve just leaves you wanting to throw up. You don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this, surely. Even without any experience of your own to go off of you’d expected sexual encounters to be more intimate and less … invasive. Less like you were being probed far beyond what any human hands should have been able to reach. 

But if it sees any of the uncertainty flashing across your face it doesn’t show it. The demon only worms its tongue deeper and deeper as your passage reluctantly opens until the distant sensation of it bumping the end of you knocks a harried whimper loose. It’s an uncomfortable pressure but it doesn’t hurt. You’re exceedingly glad for that as you awkwardly shuffle your feet further apart to brace against the overload to your senses. It was like burning from the inside out, and the epicenter of it was concentrated squarely in your cunt. You felt certain you were going to combust any moment now. 

“Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined. And so tight, too. I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock the same way.”

Your stomach clenches at the thought of how big a creature of this size must be. Fresh fear turns your veins to ice, and you weakly push against its hands. It doesn’t even seem to notice though, let alone take heed, and instead it just leisurely swirls that unnaturally long tongue around your guts. Back and forth, up and down. You’re dizzy with it and a little nauseous, but it also starts to feel good. Slowly but surely that initial discomfort fades to leave behind a thrumming vibration that makes you wheeze where you’re standing. And with it comes slick. So much slick that what you’d once thought only to be saliva quickly makes itself obvious as your cunt practically floods around the intrusion. It was impossible to comprehend the sheer extent of your arousal and yet it clearly didn’t matter. You’d toed the line a bit too close. Now there was no stopping it. 

“P - please … it’s too much!”

Giving your waist a careful squeeze, the demon alters the motion of its tongue from swirling to thrusting. Sedate at first, it withdraws to drag against your interior walls when they squeeze and cling to the appendage and then it pushes back in. Right up to the end of your passage where it can’t go any further and the intense pressure makes you go cross eyed. You can’t even fully process how stuffed your cunt actually is, your legs turning weak and jelly-filled as it slowly increases the pace. The force. You’re beyond ashamed at the sticky wet clicks it pulls from between your thighs, but all you can do is helplessly writhe in its hold. 

“Oh — oooh, wait … I - I can’t do this! I can’t!”

“It’s too late for that, Sister. You’re already doing it.” 

You mewl at its response and throw your head back to wheeze up at the ceiling. It wasn’t wrong. You’d already crossed the line, yes, but this … this strange, unfamiliar feeling low in your gut was far beyond anything you would have ever expected from this. It was like you had to relieve yourself but also different somehow. A complete unknown you had no idea how to make sense of, and you let out a choked off squeal when the thrumming tension rapidly starts to double and then triple. No amount of thrashing was getting you out of its hold so you squeeze your thighs together in a vain attempt to dissuade it from moving inside you like that but it’s no use. Even trying to curl your legs up doesn’t work. 

It just keeps fucking it’s tongue into your shuddering body without pause, and you start to feel truly dizzy as you dangle there between it’s massive hands. How could this be happening to you? And, more pressing, what was happening to you? 

“You’re getting close, I suspect.” It sounds quite proud of that, but you’re a little too preoccupied with the jittery, firecracker nerves making you tremble and shake to question it. The pressure was getting almost unbearable now. You weren’t sure how much more you could take. 

“Ahh — ahhghnn, ooohh please Holy Mother, please help me!” 

“Aww, don’t start making me jealous. I’m the only god you should be praying to right now.” 

Screwing your eyes shut, you turn your face from its horrible unblinking eye but it just laughs in response. Even if you’d wanted to snap at it for being so presumptuous as to think you would worship it in any capacity, you were finding your lungs constricting far too much to draw a proper breath. Your chest heaves with the blinding tension that races through your body and then — so suddenly you don’t get a chance to realize it’s even happening, it abruptly tips over. Spills out to wrack the whole of your body and devolve you into a shuddering mess of spasms. 

You shriek and yelp as your pussy almost violently squeezes down on its tongue which just keeps moving insistently inside you. In and out, in and out like a continuous piston that even your tightly clenching guts couldn’t seem to keep at bay. That slippery appendage keeps spearing through you unimpeded, forcing your roiling muscles to keep contracting with each plunge, and you very nearly pass out from how intensely the sensation hits you. It was simultaneously like drowning deep in the bottomless ocean and soaring high overhead at the same time. You couldn’t even begin to make heads or tails of it. 

But it starts to fade much too fast. The sharp jolts of undeniable pleasure only last what seems to you like a few seconds and then those cresting waves are rapidly receding, like the tide pulling back from the shoreline. You still can’t quite draw a full breath and yet you soon go slack as the tension drains completely to leave you twitching in the aftermath. An odd sense of elation quickly rushes in to replace it though, and you’re ashamed at how you innately warm to the monster’s presence. You couldn’t believe how good that had felt … and bless the Cryo Archon, did that make you a terrible person? 

All of a sudden you weren’t so sure you cared about that anymore, and that terrified you perhaps more than anything else that had happened here in this room. 

“You look so good creaming all over my tongue.” It murmurs, drawing your muddled attention away from those fuzzy headed thoughts. “And the way you taste? Burn everything, I could help myself to this pretty cunt all day. I'm eagerly looking forward to consummating our marriage on the next new moon.” 

Stirring out of your post-climax stupor, you frown at it in genuine confusion. “You aren’t going to do it now?” You weren't disappointed. Surely not. Just surprised, and very confused. 

The demon sighs forlornly — rather dramatically, if you were being honest — and shakes its head. “I’m afraid not. I’d like to, of course, but the mating ritual has its own rules that I can’t supersede. Oh, don’t give me that grumpy look, Sister. I’m not leaving you empty handed tonight, rest assured.” 

You draw a quick breath to berate the damned thing but then it starts to pull its long tongue out of your body and you tense up, seething through your teeth instead. The sharp sensitivity still racing through your nerves made you feel raw and tender. Overwrought in the most literal sense, and it finally slips out with a wet little slurp that makes you whimper at the loss as much as at the sound. You hadn’t thought yourself capable of, well … any of that. Any of this. 

How were you possibly supposed to rationalize any of it in the light of day? 

You’re still trying to work that out when it carries you to the bed where it sets you down, pulls back the sheets and then tucks you in with a truly shocking amount of care. You definitely hadn’t expected that. Not that you’d expected much of anything that had happened over the course of this implausible dream, but you decide not to fight it as the monster takes a moment to brush your veil over the pillow the same as it may have done with your hair. It was all much too strange to think about right now. You could pick it apart and analyze it tomorrow, when you’d had some time to actually process these bizarre happenings. 

Or maybe never, if your subconscious was kind enough to let you forget any of this had ever happened in the first place. 

“Rest now.” It tells you softly in that low, raspy voice. “I will be back to claim what’s rightfully mine soon enough.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You remember everything, of course. 

And somehow that doesn’t surprise you in the least as you lay there in your bed, staring up at the ceiling while warm rays of morning sunlight bounce off the stark, unadorned walls. In retrospect you’re a bit disappointed to think that you could ever be so naive. To believe you’d forget something like that … it had certainly left an impression, at least. 

What does strike you as odd though is the warm, continuous cramp in your lower belly. You readily want to write it off as menses related but … that doesn’t seem right. It should have been too soon for that just yet in your menstrual cycle. 

Unable to stay your gnawing curiosity any longer, you finally rip the sheets off and look down at yourself. Your plain white nightgown is a bit rumpled but given the dream you’d had that didn’t seem so strange. That’s what you try to tell the niggling voice in the back of your mind anyway as you gather it up around your waist but what you find underneath stops you cold. 

Etched into the skin just over the center of your pelvis as though with ink was a four pronged, hexagonal sigil. It was faintly purple in the light, and as clear as day. But that didn’t make any sense. Or rather, you couldn’t make any sense of it at all. You’d been asleep the whole night, here in your room, and this most assuredly had not been there when you’d taken a bath the previous evening … 

You bolt upright with a strangled gasp. Turning your head to look at the window sends a debilitating chill racing through your body. Through the morning condensation beading on the glass you could see the evidence of a hand smudge, right where you’d touched it in your dream. 

“No.” You whisper at the glass pane and then, with more conviction, “No. That’s not possible!” 

It feels like your skin is trying to crawl right off your bones as you shoot out of bed and make a beeline for the tiny closet next to the desk. You rip the door open so forcefully it rattles and groans in protest but you can’t be bothered to worry about that right now. Not when you were staring at your habits, the one you’d worn yesterday, hanging in shreds from the hanger. You couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it, but the proof of it was staring you right in the face. Even your brassiere and bloomers were torn to pieces in the little basket you kept them in on the floor of the closet. The only thing untouched was your veil. Just like in your dream … except, it wasn’t actually a dream, was it? 

Too numb to even wail over this revelation, you slowly sink down to the floor and just stare at your ruined clothes for what feels like a lifetime. There had to be some way out of this mess. There had to be. 

Right? 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The archbishop gives you an exceedingly strange look when you inquire about exorcisms, and it only continues to grow more and more pronounced the more you push the matter while also skirting around the subject at the same time. Not that you could really blame him, of course. You’d had to wait until after the morning service to corner him next to the dais before he could slip out through the side door so you’d had plenty of time to stew over everything, which meant you were coming in perhaps a little hot on the topic. That didn’t matter though. You were determined to get this resolved regardless of the cost, and if that meant having to shake some sense into him before he’d take you seriously then that was exactly what you were going to do. 

Luckily it doesn’t come to that, and he eventually relents after you doggedly refused to give up your line of questioning. Giving his head a hopeless shake, he takes on the tone of someone leveling with a crazy person. “I understand your concerns, Sister, but exorcisms aren’t something that we implement unless absolutely necessary. It is very much a last resort, you see, and there is a rigorous process to even get approval for one. I’m afraid there’s not much else I can tell you.”

You remind yourself to take a deep breath and count to five before speaking next. It wouldn’t do to snap at the one person who might actually be able to help you get out of this mess. “With all due respect, Father, I don’t think that answer will suffice. Even if it’s not a full on exorcism, surely there must be smaller measures in place to help … discourage a demonic presence from returning?” Something a bit more effective than prayer and baptism evidently were. 

His eyes narrowing in clear suspicion, the archbishop speculatively regards you for a moment. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Sister?” 

Of course it would finally get to this point. You’d expected as much, yes, but that doesn’t make the dread wrenching at your gut any less unbearable. How were you supposed to explain any of what had happened last night when you didn’t even understand it yourself? All you knew was that your clothes were in tatters up in your dorm, the window still showed evidence of your hand wiping across it and your lower stomach … 

“Ah, Sister! There you are! Just the lady I was hoping to see.” 

You spin around so fast your eyes feel like they’re going to pop right out of your skull. That feeling only increases when you find Ajax standing there at the end of the pew in his neatly pressed uniform and his smile blinding under the light that comes in through the stained glass murals. Your knees buckle and almost completely give out under you when your belly twists as if someone had shoved a red hot iron into it. Subconsciously you lift a hand to cradle the spot where the tattoo was but you couldn’t quite seem to tear your shocked gaze away from him. 

That was it, wasn’t it? The association. 

You think that has to be right. Had never been more sure of anything else in your life, and yet that doesn’t seem half as pressing as the thrumming arousal that grips you so suddenly and so tightly it actually pulls a quiet whimper out of you. Your cunt floods with it, so much slick producing at the drop of a coin that it makes you feel nauseous and disoriented in the same breath. But how could that be? And why was he just standing there inside the church as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him to be doing? 

This was hallowed ground … wasn’t it? 

“W - what are you doing here?” 

Grinning, Ajax tips his head to one side. Inquisitive. Eager. Puppy-like. Bless the Holy Mother, you really were going to be sick. 

“Aww, come on. Didn’t I tell you already?” He laughs softly, but those blue, blue eyes reflect none of that same humor. They reflect nothing at all, in fact. “I'd hoped we’d get to meet again after our little run in yesterday, so I just figured I’d take matters into my own hands and speed it up. I brought you flowers.” 

You just catch the sound of the archbishop scoffing beside you in obvious disapproval and you would have wholeheartedly agreed with him under better circumstances. But better circumstances would not have found you panting with the effort of keeping your wits about you. It was like you were suffocating under the weighty pressure of the mark branded into your skin, and it almost seems to throb as you numbly look down at the humble bouquet he holds out. You could tell it was handpicked at just a glance. Some frost growing ferns and puffy cats tails, and … purple ivy. 

Affection. 

Fidelity. 

Wedded love. 

He couldn’t be serious, could he? 

The sly edge that creeps into his otherwise boyish smile seems to suggest that he was, in fact, quite serious. You stumble back a step in your reeling disbelief and the archbishop hurries to grab you by the elbow so he can steady you, but you hardly even notice the presence of his hands. Your eyes, your mind, your entire being was for Ajax and Ajax alone. 

“I did not ask for flowers.”

“That’s true but I still wanted you to have them. You caught my eye yesterday, Sister. I hope you won’t turn me down.” 

Confusion and uncertainty grip you in equal measure, but it is the low pulse of the mark on your stomach that truly robs you of the ability to speak. It’s hot and uncomfortable, and the way it makes your pussy sympathetically flutter in time with your heartbeat very nearly overrides all of your higher functioning thoughts. Was he really the monster that had accosted you in your sleep or … could it have been a separate entity? One he wasn’t even aware of, if he thought you could really reject him when just the sight of him standing there made you desperate to be filled again. To be feasted upon by that beast. 

Slowly, you reach your hand out to accept the bouquet and the invisible string tightens its noose around you almost imperceptibly. Your fate was already sealed. You knew this to be true on an intrinsic, fundamental level. 

Foul Legacy had been right to say you’d been saving yourself for it. 

For him. 

For this. 

You would give him your sanctuary, may the Holy Mother save your soul.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[mcromwell]

Genuine question, sorry if it's dumb -

How do you work when there's something on the line? I find I freeze, and it's just so much more difficult to properly organize myself to produce something I'm proud of. But you've been to conventions, and you sell your work, so I'm assuming you feel pressure at least *sometimes.* do you work with it? Around it?

Hey Tymbul, it's not a dumb question, it's actually a really good one. I can only answer it to the best of my own abilities, in regards to my own art and practice, so mileage may vary.

This feeling of something being is "on the line" was what burned me out hard in 2019/20. I'd been making and sharing art for decades and all the while my thoughts took the shape of, "it has to be GOOD, it has to SAY something, it needs to hit X and Y requirement to be worthy" etc. Wherever that habit of pressuring myself came from, it wasn't helpful. I would glare at the blank page and curse every sketch I made because it (and by extension, myself) wasn't ever good enough.

I knew something had to change, so I changed. I began trying to make art with no pressure. Instead of pushing myself I let my foot off the brake. I changed the way I talked to myself about art. "I'm going to make this as good as I can. And if I can't, there's always next painting." I began starting a piece with fast, easy, not-precious stuff--random paint smears, doodles, gesture sketches. The pressure was off when all I had to do was start with trash and play around. If it just wasn't working and I had to scrap it or start over, oh well, it was just trash. I still run into this pressure today, though. Growth ain't linear and all that. Old habits die hard. I have to snap myself out of it with a feral screeching JUST THROW PAINT ON IT RRRRRRRRGH and I can usually let up on the brakes enough to get it going. It's a journey.

I like to think of this in terms of dog training. If you punch your dog and yell at it, that dog is going to have fear and doubt and won't be a healthy dog capable of performing the tasks you ask of it. But if you use positive reinforcement, they develop confidence and become dependable and sturdy. If you sit down to make art and every time its a barrage of IT HAS TO BE GOOD! YOU HAVE TO BE PROUD OF IT! EVERY NEW PIECE HAS TO BE BETTER! IF IT ISN'T YOU'LL BE A FAILURE! WHY AREN'T YOU DRAWING YET then man, that dog is cowering in the corner, it is not going to sit or fetch or anything. What if instead you said, "Okay! Time to make something. Let's do warm-ups and thumbnails to prepare so I'm ready to jump in. I am open to surprising myself by making something I'm excited about, but I won't beat myself up if today isn't that day. I know by doing this I'm practicing and getting better, it is never a waste." You are much more likely to Do a Thing if that thing feels good to do. That's just being an animal, man. Positive feedback.

To be honest, though, I still haven't found a successful way to make commissions less like pulling teeth. My method of art-making is to fuck around and find out and that's not a conducive method for a comm, which usually has a ton more expectation and strict parameters and my nemesis: Should-Look-Like. I am good at some things, I am not good at comms. Progress is not linear. I am still learning. My efforts to let up on the brakes made it so the car was a lot harder to control... for better or worse.

Hope this helps. Mostly, my advice is to find out how making art can feel good to you and then make a ton of it. Make more art than you think you should. It gets easier. And don't punch your dog.

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Ghosts of Our Pasts: 8

DP x DC Crossover

Danny Fenton and Damian Wayne sibling AU

Masterpost Previous Next

Ao3

Part 8

"I wasn't sure what colors were still free,"

"Tt, It is ridiculous." Damian needed to stop saying things on impulse. Even if the oversized construction-orange hoodie jacket was a monstity, everything he said sounded cruel. Everything was cruel, he was aware he was not a pleasant person. It had never seemed like a problem before.

But his brother took it in stride, just like all his brothers did. Danny grinned, "Exactly!"

"It will draw attention," Father warned, but in the resigned way most often heard when discussing Grayson's early decisions as Robin.

Danny shrugged, "I can handle that, but I'm not like, super attached to it though, if its a problem."

"It is not a problem. You're wearing pants."

"Oh?"

"Robin insisted."

"Oooohhh," Danny said, only... he was looking at Damian.

"Not me! That was Gra— the first Robin!"

"Are you sure, I remember a time when you and pants did not—"

"I am wearing pants!"

Dany made a show of considering this point before conceding. "You are wearing pants."

Damian did not grumble as he pulled a spare domino and Comm from his belt. He took a step forward to hand them off no too-quick movements, nothing that might be perceived as a threat. And Danny simply took the items, if his movements were equally choreographed he did not show it.

"Test, test?" The voice came clear through the comms. They ran the rest of the comm checks, everything came up clear.

Danny expectantly bounced on his feet, he was wearing worn sneakers not boots.

"This isn't a patrol." Father reminded them, then he looked to Danny "We may need to stop and handle something on the way. Don't feel obligated to join in."

"I haven't lost that—"

"I'm not discrediting your skills. Or saying you can't get involved. I'm asking you to take additional caution until we get you proper equipment."

There was a moment where Danny's mouth worked, the usual whiplash of being interrupted by someone who had accurately guessed your argument and addressed it before you finished the sentence. Then he responded, "Yeah, okay, makes sense."

A nod and then they were off. The route had been planned specifically so they wouldn't have to grapple until Danny had a proper harness. Damian didn't know exactly what Danny had said the night before that led to them leaping across rooftops, but he couldn't find himself suprised that Danny kept up with ease.

It was an inverse of a game they'd once played. Danny would run ahead to show the way, slowing so a younger Damian could learn the footing on his own. Only now it was Damian showing the path, and Danny attempting to reach the same place quicker or more efficiently. He melded into the shadows suprisingly well for someone dressed to meet OSHA safety standards.

As much as he had worried, this was a good idea.

---

This was a terrible idea. Danny reflected. He had no idea what was normal for an average human. He hadn’t stuffed himself so firmly into his flesh in ages, and trying to do that while leaping up buildings! Could normal humans jump this high? Should he be able to lift his weightlike this? Was the domino hiding the fact that his eyes were probably a fog light?!

His feet were too sure on uneven surfaces, his shoes were gripping far better than they should and he knew for a fact the shadows were clinging to him! He tried to tell Gotham to knock it off, but he couldn't do that without unfolding a bit and he was definitely gonna to do something inhuman if he did that!

Bio-dad was right behind him! He should've downplayed his skills more, should've just suggested they drive! But noooo, he'd wanted to run around Gotham's rooftops like a bat! He still wanted to, he just didn't know how to human!

It was so much easier back home, had he flown that last bit? Or had he caught a little gravity anomaly? Is he standing on a vertical surface as if it were the ground? Cool! Let's find the step that will let us do it too! Vanished from existence? Probably a portal, best avoid that area! Gotham was, while a bit more liminal than most places, was not going to hide his weirdness!

Crap, had he been breathing enough?

---

Neither of his children were out of breath. Bruce realized when he got to the top of the building. He was proud of them. But as they sprinted off across the next set of rooftops, he reflected that he was not as young as he used to be.

---

Danny stopped without warning. His shoes made the barest scrape on the ledge that alerted Damian to stop too. He was looking down towards an alley barely visible from their vantage point. Then Damian heard what Danny must have: a man's voice, demanding a purse.

Danny inclined his head, Damian nodded. As one they lept down.

He was a little insulted that the man noticed him first, instead of Danny who could only be more obvious if he was wearing reflectors. But he did notice Danny, and the crook for some reason decided Robin was the lesser threat.

Damian did not freeze up. But suprise made his actions waver, and it only took a second for the man to point his gun at his new target.

Less than a second to fire. Everyone was moving. The woman was running. The man was turning the gun Damian. Damian aimed his sword to disarm, because he had managed to retrain his instincts away from an automatic killing blow.

The gun toppled away. And before Damian could fear what the crook changing targets after firing might mean, Danny had the weapon pointed at the man.

The crook with a blade aimed at his throat and a gun pointed at his chest paled and raised his empty hands in surrender.

"Now what do we do?" Danny stage whispered to his brother.

-

-

-

Danny, realizing he can't suck the mugger into a soup thermos, and that human vigilanteism has so much more logistics to worry about:

The orange jacket is absolutely a reference to Haiju's sequel Shadow of a Doubt. Both Phantom of Truth and its sequel were a major part of me deciding to get into this Phandom, as well as part of the reason I write nowadays. So please check it out if you aren't familiar.

It's also a family thing for Danny, if he can wear both his dad's colors and his bio-dads symbol, idea makes the core go brrrr

Next one will be short one, because I find it super easy to set up lines that I feel close out chapters really well. And I couldn't just put more words after that! But it's already written, and so's the chapter after that, so I'll probably post it soon

Tag list!

@spectralstardustandphantomnights @avelnfear @idfk-man10 @blackroserelina @candeartist422 @mur-ururu @luer-mirin @insufferablecatenthusiast @skulld3mort-1fan @alonedustspeck @voidbornposts @meira-3919 @marshmello @aethernorwood @mimilikey @undead-essence @cloudminder @markus209 @everything163 @latheevening226 @roman4517 @moobloomrights @battybatbat @lumosfeather18581 @werv @ahyesanerd @pyramaniac @lexdamo @princessbelix @bun-fish @deeannthepan @edgyboi10000 @thatrandomsarahchick @busterkeel @aconitewolfsbane @spoopyspoony @bright-shade @spidey29phangirl @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @keimiwolf @u-a-wizard-jamie @gay-puff @bicerise @itshype @blackfoxsposts @icanneverdecide @lolottes @chubbypotato @jovialherringtacoghost @saltyladynightmare

[dapper-lil-arts]

Good and bad news: My monitor fucked up during my vacation, it's a hardware issue on the lower half. Extra annoying cause i've only had this monitor for two years; but either way, the bad news is it makes it insufferable to draw. Can't say i'll truly return to work with this monitor, i'll have to get a new one before i go back to work for sure.. The good news is i still have plenty of time to get a new one before my vacation ends! I already have some commissioners reserved for when i get back to work, so i'm pretty sure i got it handled. However, i did save almost all my money for this vacation, so it does suck to be having to bank on those funds. I've been having a lot of fun after all! ya'll wouldnt even believe lmao. maybe i'll post pics sometime. Either way. If you wanna help out, support me as usual, reserve a comm for when i reopen like i mentioned before, sign up for my patreon (its only 5$!) or even donate to my ko-fi if you'd like to assist me on solving the issue!

[neogandw]

I figured I should show some quick comm/intro presentation cards, now that the bluebird app is having issues.

I meant to upload this yesterday, but for some reason Tumblr didn't let me.

Please share and reblog around as that helps me far more than just a like. If you're so kind, please recommend me to people.

Sketch style is best suited for silly doodles, quick character studies, comic pages or even character design, which I've done plenty.

This style is quick and dirty, meant to be done rather fast, loose and experimental.

Basic style ranges from outlining to flat coloring and shading, basically a step above sketch in quality, best suited for quick renders or when you're making an asset that does at least need a bit of color.

All-Out means I do everything in my power to make the piece stand out, best suited for major graphical assets (such as stream layouts, live2D pieces, profile pictures and emoticons) or full on posters, thumbnails or character renders.

A brand new style I've been practicing a lot lately, the pixel art tier includes tilesets, single sprites, animations or even whole sprite sheets (as I've done multiple Make a Good MegaMan Level costumes, if you want a reference there).

Making a sprite sheet can be time consuming, but the more is done, the easier and faster it is to put together as it gives me chance to iterate on previous sprites to make new ones.

On the subject of time: all work is timed with software and screenshotted as evidence of work is provided, the final price is decided upon a rounding of how many hours it takes to make the piece multiplied by the tier cost.

Ex: 1 hour to make an All Out Emote, would be 20, 30 minutes would be 10, 1 hour and 30 minutes would be 25.

On the subject of flexible payments: not all of it has to be paid on a single go, if the price is too high, a payment plan can be discussed and adjusted to the needs of the client. Once its paid in full, the piece is provided, if its multiple pieces in one go, the pieces are provided as they are paid.

Other notes:

- The initial pitch sketch is not timed, its on me until the idea is decided upon, at which point the timer begins.

- Error and corrections are also not timed, I'll do the fix ups without adding to the timer.

- Evidence of work will be provided periodically.

- The usual restrictions apply: no political, overtly violent or erotic content will be drawn.

- I'm down for drawing whatever otherwise (stream assets, personal drawings, attempting specific art styles, etc.) but I reserve the right to refuse a work for whatever reason I deem fit (for instance: modifying someone else's work without permission).

- Number of characters, backgrounds or size does not affect pricing, only the time it takes to make them.

- I'll strive to be as transparent and ethical as possible with the process. So bear with me there.

[ickmick]

Novelvember week 1

prompt: used an incorrect quote, I put it at the end of the fic!!

duo or ship: tango/grian (with a hint of scar as their third)

The sound of rockets is fairly common at The Frozen Citadel, as Hermits swing by frequently to play Decked out 2. However, fireworks themselves are not so common. So when Tango hears them clearly from the belly of his creation, the blaze investigates.

OR

Tango finds Grian crash landed after trying to use fireworks mid flight. They get a laugh, and kisses are shared before cuddling inside.

ao3 link

pssst... this is just a close up! wanna see the full two (2) drawings? look here! <3

-

"Annnd… that should work better," Tango mumbled to himself, stepping back from the tweaked redstone. Decked Out may be complete, but there's plenty of upkeep to manage. That and he wanted to increase the difficulty in later levels just a smidge. They're meant to be harder, yet his players were having a breeze. 

He nods a bit, as if agreeing with his own thoughts. Soul flame tipped tail flicking, the blaze paces to both sides of the contraption, scanning it for imperfections. Just gotta be sure it works, and all that.

As he's turning away to put away his spare redstone, there's the distant sound of fireworks going off. But not the usual flight rockets of someone arriving to play. Instead, it sounds like full on regular fireworks. The semi familiar noise of loud pops of color following its release are obvious enough.

Furrowing his frosty brows, he tries to listen for it again. "Is somebody celebrating out there or something…? What the heck?" 

When the sound comes again, ending with an equally muffled scream, his eyes widen. Tango immediately takes out his rockets and takes flight, dodging contraptions and closely built walls from memory as he types out a message on his comm.

[Tango] is someone outside the citadel?

[ImpulseSV] not that I know of

[GoodTimeWithScar] nope!

Landing outside the massive icy structure, he puts his communicator away after a few more negatives from others. Scar expresses concern beyond a surface level, and so Tango quickly promises in a whisper to let him know what happened if he finds out. It's clear the man knows more than he says. 

This was definitely weird, but maybe it's a prank. Or a Hermit paused to do a bit and just happened to be here? The blaze looks around, making a hum of confusion as he searches. Why did they scream, though?

Walking to glance over the edge of the entrance, the dungeon master is surprised to find one of his partners sulking in a pile of snow. The avian had his arms crossed, wings splayed awkwardly underneath himself. 

"Uhhh, hey Gri, whatcha doin' there?" Tango smiles a bit, head tilted a bit as he plays off his concern.

The shorter man looks up at him, sighing. "What's it look like? I crashed." His tone was bitter, perhaps a bit annoyed as he threw his hands up. But then he weakly smiles back, a hand moving to straighten his glasses on his nose. The sight soothes Tango slightly, who relaxes upon the realization that Grian must be fine if he's playing up the drama. "I ran out of rockets, so I used the fireworks Scar gave me yesterday."

"Doesn't seem like it was very helpful, yeah?" Snorting, he leans his elbow on the ledge of the walkway, cheek rested in his palm as he watches his partner get up and shake snow from his wings and hair.

"No, no it wasn't." Grian confirms, trying not to snicker as he climbs up the slope to try and get up onto the half wall the other was behind At some point, he grumbles to himself and looks up into the others blue eyes, frustrated by the slippery surface. "Mind giving me a hand?"

Laughing loud enough to make the avain scowl somewhat fondly, he nods. "Oh sure, come here." Tango leans down over the wall, reaching a hand out to Grian.

It clearly hadn't been the expected offer, but he takes it anyways. And with the combined effort of Grian jumping and Tango leaning backwards with a good chunk of his body weight, they manage to land in a heap on the snow packed, stone pathway. The brunetts wings puff up, his glasses coming off and skidding nearly a foot away from them.

Tango is laughing, hand still in the others as his free arm wraps around his waist. Not bothering to keep up the act for more than just another pout, Grian giggles a bit as well.

After they've both caught their breath, Grian sits up on his stomach, looking down at the man. His brown eyes narrow a bit, before his brows raise as if impressed. "Wow…"

What's that look supposed to mean? Cold tinged cheeks turning a deeper blue, Tango offers a melty smile, flustered. Unlike Scar, he hasn't seen Grian without his glasses before. "Wuh… What?"

"Pfft," the avian beams trying not to laugh. He reaches a hand blindly to cup Tango's cheek. "You're so blurry."

Blinking up at Grian in surprise, his whole face flushes. This time it's from embarrassment. "O-Oh! Really?"

"Yeah, like you're just a blue blob." It's incredibly funny to the shorter man apparently, less so for Tango. But at least someone's amused, giggling and leaning closer and squinting.

Ice cold wind ruffles through their hair- or, for Tango, brushes over his ice frosted hair- and Grian ends up leaning close enough that he can nudge their noses together. They both laugh a bit, expressions softening. "There you are," the avian jokes, voice quieter. 

"Yep," Tango hums, squeezing his hand, "here I am." 

Despite not being particularly heavy- avian genes, or something- Grian shifts so that his free hand holds him up a bit. "I have to be ridiculously close to see you clearly," he hums, voice quiet.

"Sounds like a you problem," the blaze teases, pulling him back in gently. A small reminder that the other doesn't have to strain himself. "It's pretty convenient for me, though."

This time it's Grian's turn to blush, flustered by the raw affection in his partner's voice. "Really now? How could my invading your space to see you be convenient?" He keeps up the joking manner, shaking their joined hands lightly.

"Well, I get to see your cute face real close up," Tango says without hesitation, grinning at the little chirp the avian makes. "And it's easy to do this."

Moving his hand from Grian's waist, he instead cradles the back of his head and pushes it closer so he can lean his own head up a bit. And then he presses a chaste kiss to his lips, able to feel just how warm the other is. After it, they stare silently at each other, one smug and the other awed. Every time Grian is kissed is like the first time, in that he always gets incredibly flustered. It's cute.

A moment later, he hums and whispers against Tango's lips, "good point."

The blaze snickers before being pulled in again, Grian having given up on taking some of his weight off him. He tugs the dungeon master in as close as possible, hand grabbing at his robes as they kiss again.

It lasts longer, and after Tango glances over at the citadel. "Let's get out of the cold, yeah?"

Grian was admittedly shivering, but he still hesitates before nodding. "Alright."

Glasses picked up off the icy floor, the two go inside with the smaller tucked under his partner's cape and against his side. At some point between making tea and pressing soft kisses to Grian's cheek, the blaze remembers to message Scar. With their third assured of everyone's well being, Tango curls up with Grian, content with cuddling the cold avian to keep him warm.

-

week two's fic

heres the IQ! so maybe grian didnt 'seductively' take them off but... its fine!!

i havent posted a fic on tumblr in ages... and it was only once before, on an old account... so forgive if its formatted weirdly!!

this fic was actually so fun to write- i love it a lot. i hope you do too!! (and i hope next week i get my post out on time... =w=)

anyways... peskyblaze lives rent free in my head and therefore im stuffing it into everyone elses brain too!! /silly

[melanie-ohara]

A Hunt For Gold - Chapter 2

Whumpuary2024, Bonus - Prompt: Rescue

Ahsoka sets dangerous events in motion

I accidentally made this almost 4,000 words, so I'm splitting into two angsty, angsty chapters

AO3 Here

The days were getting shorter. Sabine had been keeping track since they were stranded, and sundown was almost an hour earlier. She initially thought the cold was from heading north, but now she was sure winter was settling over Peridea. The lower the temperature dropped, the more restless and distant Ahsoka became. She spent days on her Howler, scouting the path ahead and looking for Baylan's trail into the mountains. Sabine had lost track of how many days ahead he was now, but she could feel Ahsoka's anxiety. Something was pulling her up that mountain, and she didn't understand what it was. 

To distract herself, Sabine focused on her armour. Once she finished applying the grey top-coat to the repaired metal she started sketching a new design with a pencil, drawing directly onto the matte grey surface. She could have done it with a holo - it would have been much faster and neater - but with her armour compromised Sabine felt she had to reconnect with the Mandalorians of old, and work on it the old fashioned way. Shin kept her company while she worked, sitting close and watching intently with wide, fascinated eyes. They ate together, and every so often Shin's hand would seek out Sabine's if it was free, and they would sit in a strangely comfortable silence. She liked to run her thumb along Sabine's knuckles, which made her smile every time.

"What about the other pauldron?" Shin asked, when Sabine had carefully outlined her Starbird sigil on the right shoulder plate. It didn't feel right to use the Republic's symbol any more, even if she had helped design it, not while they were a galaxy away. 

"I'm not sure," Sabine said. "In the old days, Mandalorians would claim signets. Something that affected them deeply, usually represented by an animal." She touched her finger to the metal and remembered the previous beasts that she had carried with her - a loth wolf, the strange bird Ezra saw whenever Ahsoka was around, and the purgill that had taken him away. Now she needed something new, and she was at a loss. 

"A Howler?" Shin suggested, shuffling her chair a little closer and putting her weight gently against Sabine's side. 

Sabine shook her head. "I don't know. I don't feel… connected to this place." Shin's hand found her own and Sabine smiled as their fingers intertwined. "Maybe I'll paint you there," she teased. 

"Am I an animal, then?" Shin asked, giving her a sideways look from under her hair. 

Sabine raised her eyebrows and nodded. "Oh yeah, definitely."

Before Shin could reply, Huyang's voice rang out over the speaker. "Lady Wren, there is a problem. Please come to the cockpit." There was an urgency in the droid's tone that Sabine didn't like, and she had a sinking feeling in her stomach as she hurried out of the workshop towards the cockpit. Shin followed her a few steps behind, like she was unsure she was invited. One backwards glance at her face was enough to tell Sabine she was thinking the exact same thing she was.

"What's happening, Huyang?" she asked as they reached the cockpit. She dropped into her seat before the droid had started to reply, and Shin hovered awkwardly by the door. 

"Ahsoka's comm unit is sending a direct ping to the ship, a half-second burst every six seconds," he said, calling up a 3D map of the mountain and highlighting the location of Ahsoka's comm. 

"A distress signal?" Sabine asked, getting more and more concerned. 

"Standard Jedi operating procedure is to initiate this protocol automatically, when the unit has been separated from its operator," Huyang explained. "It also transmits the previous ten seconds of captured audio."

"So play it," Sabine demanded.

Huyang hesitated. "I am not sure that Lady Hati - "

"Play it," Shin growled from the back of the cockpit. Even now, her tone sent shudders up Sabine's spine.

"Right," Huyang said. "Very well." His metal fingers clattered quickly over the interface for a moment, and then the sound of ignited lightsabers filled the cockpit. The hum was low and consistent, the sound of two opponents squaring off.

"I'm not here to kill you."

Sabine heard Shin draw a sharp breath and saw her stand up straight. "That's Baylan," she said. Sabine held up a hand to hush her.

"So put down the lightsaber," said Ahsoka. There was a change in the hum as one of them moved. Sabine felt her breath still as she listened. 

"We want the same thing, Ahsoka Tano." Baylan's voice was calm, measured, and assured. It was the same tone he'd used to convince Sabine to surrender on Seatos. "That's why you're here without your friend." 

"What is it that we want?" Ahsoka asked. It stung a little that she didn't correct him to say apprentice, but Sabine ignored that feeling. And focused on the lightsabers in the recording. They were still at rest, but it felt like they could spring into frenzied clashing at any second. 

"Allow me to show you." 

Ahsoka didn't speak for a few seconds, and then the sound cut out completely. 

"What happened?" Sabine demanded from the silence in the cockpit. 

"I do not know," Huyang admitted. "Ahsoka must have disabled her comm at that moment."

Sabine got out of her seat with a growl of frustration. "Damnit, Ahsoka! What happened to staying together?" Huyang turned in his seat to say something, but Sabine silenced him with a glare. "Do not answer that question, Huyang."

"We have to go after her."

Sabine turned, surprised that Shin had spoken up. She was still standing in the corner, wide eyed and more frightened than Sabine had seen her - more frightened than the day she had rescued her from the bandits that betrayed her and left her to die in the woods. 

"Baylan said there was power here," Shin continued, taking a step towards Sabine. "He was obsessed with it." She looked down at her feet and her voice dropped. "I'd never seen him like that before."

"What happens when we find her?" Sabine asked. Shin's jaw tightened and she swallowed, and didn't say anything. Sabine caught herself before she reached to put a hand on Shin's arm and instead took a half step back so she was out of her personal space. "You and Baylan are close, and I - "

"He's like a father to me," Shin interrupted, lifting her eyes to bear down on Sabine with a furious glare that almost made her take another step away. "And if he won't stop then we kill him." Before Sabine could even think of something to say, Shin turned and stormed out.

Sabine started after her, then stopped and turned back to Huyang. "Get us out to that signal source. The Noti will just have to manage without us for a while."

As Huyang laid in a course, Sabine went to find Shin. 

*

The temple Baylan led her to was carved into the side of the mountain. Above the entrance, great stone faces stared down at Ahsoka as she walked up the steps and snow swirled around her. It was undoubtedly Nightsister architecture, but it wasn't like anything she'd seen before. The style was different - where the ruins of Dathomir were smooth and curved, the Nightsister statues watching her were carved to be sharp, with teeth like knives and eyes like wounds. The Force was choked with strange emotions: fear, respect, certainty, control, pity. A billion parsecs from anywhere she had ever known, Ahsoka felt a strange pang of familiarity.

She had been here before.

"This is the place," she said.

"Yes," Baylan replied, even though it wasn't a question.

The darkness inside the temple wasn't absolute. Light spilled down from somewhere high above, but most of the illumination came from a shining inscription carved around a great circular door. Ahsoka had no idea how it was lit up, but it was bright enough to fill a room the size of the council chamber at the Jedi temple.

"You know, the old stories say this used to be a volcano," Baylan said conversationally, turning to look at her as she walked cautiously towards the door. His hands were clasped in front of him, and Ahsoka could see her lightsaber clipped to his belt alongside his own. "The ancient Nightsisters used all of its power to build this place." 

"It took a lot more than that," Ahsoka said. She had surrendered to Baylan not out of choice, but because something deep inside her demanded that she come here - that she return here - like a magnet drawn to a pole. She had given in to it for one simple reason, which was that she knew categorically that it wasn't the Force pulling her. It was something that had become a part of her, a very long time ago. 

"Do you need a translation?" Baylan asked, with a pointed glance at the glowing lettering. 

'A great and endless prison, for the great and endless. The way is shut to all who bear not my blood.'

"I know what it says." Ahsoka realised her mistake in coming too late, but there was still a slim chance Baylan didn't know that. "A pity there are no Nightsisters left to open the door for you."

Baylan smiled grimly. "You know I don't need a Nightsister." He took a few steps towards her, and Ahsoka firmly stood her ground. "Where is Morai?"

[buggybuggs]

Fresh New Commission Sheet!

As I've been drawing more, I've decided to make some updates to what I offer commission wise!

i use PayPal and Ko-Fi for payment :) all prices are in USD!

Click below for more information!

Hey! Glad you clicked!!

The main difference between this comm sheet and my previous one is updating the prices, simplifying my finishing process, and to showcase more of what I can do with my art!!

Got the norm base prices - 20$ headshot, 25$ halfbody, 30$fullbody

Finishing is my term for shading, as I have two shading methods, and a wiggly-line style of art!

Examples below of Style 1 (smooth) 2 (pixel) and 3 (wiggle)

And I do offer discounts for symmetrical works! I didn't write it on my sheet but its usually 5 bucks, whatever makes the number look good.

Now for the 4 featured things -

Yes, I do have an 18 + account, i'm not linking it here but it shouldn't be too hard to search for my 2nd account on this blog

I'm also happy doing taur designs! I can even make them of usual non-taur creatures!

Nonfurry designs are cool too as you can see by my monster girls, here's a human though for good measure (her name is Sam)

And animations!!! I can do smooth Live2d Animations and also frame by frame animations!! Double the price of the usual commission for what it'll cost, so 40 for headshots, 50 for halfbodies, and 60 for full!

And not listed on the sheet.. Ref Sheets!

The base is 50 bucks for the fullbody and your choice of focus shots, and for 5 dollars each you can get a symmetrical outfit doodle added in!

Other than all that, if you see anything I post and want something like that with your characters, feel free to send it over to me!! Whether its a big OC lineup or some specific pose i did before, just let me know!

That's about it though! Here's my TOS below, and feel free to DM me if you have any questions!

I usually give updates for 1-2 sketch phases, a color phase, and then the finished piece. Once I send you one update, I'll wait for your approval before moving onto the next phase. During these updates, any requested changes should coincide with the stage of the artwork (Posing during sketching, color changes during colors, etc.). Please don't have any fear however if you do need to make a last minute change, just keep it reasonable please. I usually add filters onto my art, I'll be more than happy to send unfiltered alternate versions upon request. Feel free to also personally request different filtered looks (Making the piece pastel, adding a static filter, giving the piece a pride flag overlay, etc.) I'm always happy to experiment. When commissioning an animation, please let me know whether you'd like a smoothly made animation using Live2D or a frame-swap animation. Feel free to ask for examples, but just note that these you'll need to pick one or the other Feel free to message me here or on Discord (Mel#4367) for any questions, or if there's something you'd like that isn't listed here [By commissioning me, you agree that your commissioned piece will not be used for AI art, any cryptocurrency related means, or reused/resold for more than you paid.]

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Chapter 14: Ruusaar (Second Chances - Hunter x reader)

Ruusaar. n. foundation.

Chapter Summary: Reunited with your squad, you and Hunter come to an understanding.

Chapter Warnings: canon compliant as far as Echo going with Rex to fight for his brothers; I nearly cried writing this one, y'all, so angst but also feelings!; if I missed anything, please let me know!

Word Count: 2,421

Read it here on AO3!

< Previous chapter | Next chapter >

You scramble to your feet, heart stuttering in your chest. “Hunter, where. Is. Echo?” 

“He’s not dead,” he says. He pushes to his feet, a few loose curls bouncing on his forehead. “He’s...well, I’m not sure where he is, exactly.” 

Your knees nearly give out as relief crashes over you. He’s alive. Only Omega’s hand slipping into your own helps to ground you, keep you steady. Meeting her red-rimmed eyes, tears prickle in your nose. 

“Explain,” you say, looking back up to Hunter. 

Lips pressed into a thin line, he nods once, before leading you to the cockpit. The wash of the hyperspace vortex is familiar—but the empty co-pilot seat shatters the otherwise comforting sight. Tech glances over his shoulder in acknowledgement of your entrance. 

Hunter lowers himself into one of the other seats, and you mirror him across the small space. Crawling into your lap, Omega curls up against your chest; you wrap your arms around her, a surge of protective warmth blanketing you. You’re home. You’re safe. You’re okay. 

Wrecker sidles into the cockpit and silently takes the remaining empty seat, the co-pilot chair. His usually happy and unbothered expression is drawn and tired, eyes downcast. A trill of alarm flits through you. You glance at Hunter for reassurance.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Hunter sighs. “We were on Coruscant a few standard weeks ago.” 

Jaw dropping, you narrow your eyes at him, feeling a little betrayed. The entire time you’ve known these men, protecting Omega has been their number one priority—going to the literal heart of the Empire is probably the most counterintuitive move they could have made. And they made it without you. 

Hunter drops his eyes from yours, grimacing. He continues, “An...old friend needed help with something. It had to do with other clones. We couldn’t say no. Echo decided to stay with our friend to keep helping other clones get free of the Empire.” Rummaging in one of his pockets, he pulls out a smooth, black holopuck. “Here.” 

You catch the puck in one hand. Pressing the button, a miniature blue hologram of Echo gutters to life. Omega shifts in your lap; you hold the puck so she can see the holo, too. 

“Nav,” the recording starts, and you can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips. Echo continues, “Listen. I don’t know when this will make its way to you, but you deserve to know that I don’t blame you. There are no easy answers these days. 

“I’m going to work with an underground network to free clones from the Empire and fight for clone rights. My comms will be off. But send me messages; I’ll see them...whenever I come back online.” The image of Echo grins bashfully and rubs at the back of his neck. “Not sure how often that’ll be. But I’ll comm you all as soon as I’m able, just so you know I’m alive.

“Take care of the kid, Nav. And take care of Hunter. Ask him—” Echo’s gaze draws away from the recording device, and in the background are muffled voices, Tech calling for the drop out of hyperspace, if you had to guess. “Well, that’s my cue. I’ll see you around, Nav.” 

With that, the blue glow fades. 

Omega sniffles, burying her face against your shoulder. You mindlessly rub her back, drawing soothing circles. Your own face is wet with tears. Hunter offers you a tight, sad smile. 

“I know you and Echo were close,” he says, his voice soft, softer than it should be. 

You can only nod. “How—” Your voice breaks, and you clear your throat. “How long ago was this?” 

“Two standard weeks, give or take,” Tech says. “Our friend contacted us not long after we left Iridonia. We completed another unsuccessful mission for Cid. The Marauder was stolen; we retrieved it, obviously, and then we received the transmission. We thought it was you.” 

Wrecker perks up at this part of the story. “Yeah! We took a vote and went back for you.” He grins and says, “We all voted to go.” 

You glance between him and Tech, before your gaze settles once more on Hunter, who is avoiding looking at you. “All of you?” 

Hunter meets your eyes for a fleeting moment—long enough, though, that you recognize the pain behind the shield he’s thrown up around himself: It’s the same pain that’s lodged itself between your lungs and breastbone since they left. When he drops his gaze again, he nods slowly. “All of us.” 

“Well,” you say, warmth creeping up your neck, “thanks for that.” 

Tech swivels his seat around. “Now I believe it is your turn to explain. What were you doing in an Imperial detention facility? And if that transmission did not come from you, who sent it?” 

You squeeze Omega a little tighter, unsure how she, of all of them, will react to this news. After a moment, you say, “I think it was Crosshair.” 

Drawing back from your embrace, Omega peers up at you with wide eyes, a glimmer of hope overtaking her expression. Wrecker’s jaw drops, while Hunter works his. 

“Explain,” Tech repeats. 

You recount the appearance of the strange ship, your encounter with the sand lion, the brief conversation with Crosshair before he stunned you, and the time spent in his ship. You don’t omit any details, not anymore. They deserve the truth, and you deserve to tell it.

When you mention the name Tarkin, each of them tense, glancing at one another. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“Tarkin’s no friend to clones,” Hunter says, a bite of anger in his voice. “If he’s after you, he’s after us.”

“We’ll be safe, though, right?” Omega says. “Maybe he still thinks we’re dead. After all, if Crosshair survived on Kamino and told the Empire we escaped, why haven’t they been chasing us?” 

“Good point, kid,” you murmur. She flashes a toothy smile, before her face drops again. 

“So, Crosshair is a good guy again?” Wrecker asks. His brow is furrowed in genuine confusion. 

“He is still working for the Empire,” Tech says, “so that part is unclear.” 

Hunter catches your attention, his eyebrows raising just a fraction, asking a silent question that you’re relieved you can still decipher. You nod; he leans back, face vacant, staring into the middle distance. 

“Let’s say he hasn’t told the Empire you’re all alive. He also used a comm frequency that can no longer be traced because it’s off-world,” you say, holding up fingers as you list evidence. “He waited until after I was in custody so it couldn’t be pinned on him. And unless another clone has taken up the habit of carrying toothpicks, who else would have left one with my pack?” You shake your head. “I don’t know about ‘good guy,’ but...” 

“He helped us,” Hunter says, quiet, thoughtful. “For now, that’s going to have to be good enough.” 

“Do you think...” Omega’s voice trails off, like she’s afraid to finish her question. 

You shrug with one shoulder. “I dunno, kid. Crosshair has to make his own decisions.” 

She slips from your lap and pads across the cockpit to curl up in Wrecker’s grasp instead. Cold without her, you tug your legs up to your chest, resting your chin on one knee. The five of you sit in silence. Today has been a whirlwind. Somehow, you wonder if being captured and brought to Coruscant hasn’t left the squad in a worse spot than if you had just...told them about your past in the first place. An admiral knows your name now. Who else in the Empire has accessed your file? Brain cycling through progressively more and more anxiety-fueled thoughts, you lose track of time.

A soft blip-blip-blip from the control console breaks you out of your spiral. Blinking, you peer at Tech, who eases the ship out of hyperspace. Through the viewport, you stare out into the vast black void, dotted by specks of burning gas. Another few moments, and Tech throws the lever once again, sending the ship hurtling through another hyperlane. 

Omega has fallen asleep on Wrecker. Gently, he cradles her closer, then stands with more care than you’ve ever seen him move. The girl doesn’t even stir. Sending you a soft smile, Wrecker ducks out of the cockpit to put Omega in her room; when he doesn’t return, you figure he’s probably gone to sleep, as well. 

Sleep sounds nice, but despite your aching eyes, a fresh knot of tension has twisted your heart up, and you know you won’t find rest until it passes. 

“You guys should rest,” you say, voice hoarse. “I’ll take watch.” 

Hunter begins, “You don’t have—” 

You hold up one hand, and he falls silent. “Please,” you say. “Let me do this.” 

Tech offers no argument, and, unlocking his datapad, shuffles out of the cockpit with a mumbled, “Goodnight.” When the door swishes shut behind him, you thud your head back against the headrest. Hunter, though, remains in his seat across from you. You study each other for what could be moments, or could be hours. You don’t know, and right now, you don’t have it in you to care. You’re home; that’s all that matters. 

Echo’s words drift to the forefront of your mind. Take care of the kid, Nav. Like you weren’t already planning to do that. But it’s his request that you take care of Hunter that has you stumped. Sure, Echo was the first to realize you harbored a crush on Hunter, but taking care of him? And what was he going to tell you to ask Hunter? 

Swallowing against the sudden lump in your throat, you worry your lip. “Hunter.” 

His gaze flicks to you. In the blue-white lights of hyperspace, half of his face is hidden in shadow—the un-inked side, giving him an intimidating presence. Or it would be intimidating, if you didn’t recognize the deep well of exhaustion and confusion in his glimmering eyes. His mask has dropped, you realize. Shoulders slumped forward, permanent frown, chest rising with shallow breaths: you’ve never seen him this stressed. Maybe he’s just never shown you this side of him before. 

You continue, “Thank you. Really. You didn’t have to come back, and I’m grateful you did. I owe you. All of you.” 

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, pressing his fists against his eyes. He draws the bandana off as he sits up straight again. Free, his curls cascade over his forehead and tumble to his shoulders. You want to freeze him here, take a holoscan, do something to capture the way he looks in this moment. Without the bandana, he looks so...young. Scared. 

“You owe us more than that, Nav,” he finally says, voice low and scratchy. “But we came back because we don’t leave one of our own behind.” 

You consider his words, weighing your own. Is that what I am, one of yours? is what you want to say. Instead, you sigh. “What about Crosshair?” 

“Like you said, he has to make his own decisions.” Hunter searches your face. “We’d welcome him back if that’s the next choice he made.” 

There are so many things you want to say in this moment. Apologies, explanations, questions, answers: none of the words feel right, none of them string together in ways that make sense to you. You want to ask about Crosshair’s scars. You want to know every detail of what happened while you were gone. Kriff, you just want him to tell you where you stand. 

Slowly, telegraphing every movement before you make it, giving him ample time to get up and leave, you make your way across the cockpit. He merely looks up at you, head tilted to the side. When you raise your eyebrows in your own silent question, he hesitates for only a moment before opening his arms. Trembling, you settle into his lap, much like you had that night on Quantxi. His body is warm, almost hot; his arms are strong where they rest around you. You want to cry. 

“Are we going to be okay?” you whisper. 

He looks down at you for a long moment. This close, you spy the freckles hidden beneath his tattoo, admire the lines and creases around his eyes, study the depths of his gray irises. He’s so close that his warm breath puffs across your face. 

“I was...” He shakes his head, thumping his head back against the seat. “I am angry with you for lying to us—to me. But these past two weeks....” He falls silent again. Then, quietly, so quiet that you’re only certain he speaks because you’re pressed against him: “I missed you more than... more than I thought I would.” 

Your heart leaps. “Let me fix this. Let me make everything up to you.” 

“I’m not good at this,” he says. “I’m not good at...feelings. Not good with people.” 

“You’re good with Omega,” you offer. 

His lips twitch. “She’s a clone.”

“Ah, right,” you say. “I’m nat-born, how could I forget?” 

“S’not a bad thing,” he says. “But I don’t know if this is something you can fix, Nav. I think this is something that just has to be.” 

Biting your cheek, you reach up hesitantly. His cheek is coarse with day-old stubble, but he lets you turn his face towards yours so you can meet his eyes again. 

“Then let it be with me,” you say. 

He nods and leans forward. You stay absolutely still, freezing in his arms. He presses his forehead to yours briefly, his curls tickling the sides of your face, so close that you’re damn sure he can hear every nerve in your body shrieking. When he pulls back, the soft look he gives you nearly makes you sob. 

His expression falls in the next heartbeat, his eyes screwing shut. “One more mistake, Nav, and you won’t ever see us again.” 

“I- I understand,” you whisper. Any louder, and you won’t be able to hide the way you’re holding back tears. 

He nods. For a second, you think he’s going to accept that as the end of the conversation and stay here with you, to hold up his end of the bargain, to let whatever hurt he needs healing to sit between you. But he nudges you to your feet and, without another glance, disappears into the cargo hold. The near-deafening silence of hyperspace presses in on you, and you sink to your heels, shaking. 

Tag list: @the-hexfiles @fjordg @idoubleswearimawriter @skellymom

[enigmatist17]

Whumptober 19 - Blood Trail

"Jazz! I found something!" Helm snapping up from the culvert he'd been looking in, the Autobot second in command hurried over to the voice that called out, Trailbreaker knelt down by a patch of ground. What should have been green with the organic growth known as grass was instead purple, spilled energon from a wound that could turn out to be fatal.

"Good job mah mech, this gives us a good starting point." A quick scan showed another patch of energon not far away, and with a whistle, Jazz surged forward. They had had a nasty fight with the Decepticons breems previous that came out as a draw, both sides retreating to lick wounds that had been primarily given when the Insecticons had barged in partway through, snapping at both armies. Pit it had been so bad Ratchet and Hook were doling out aid to any patient they came across, factions temporarily not mattering as they just rendered aid while an enraged Megatron chased after the accursed things. It had only been after most of the Autobots started what would be a painful drive home that Jazz realized his own SIC was missing, Mirage nowhere to be found as his compatriots called out for him. So he, Trailbreaker, Tracks, and Gears had remained behind to look for him, the four mechs following the energon trail that seemed to have no discernible direction.

"How the frag did he get this far with so much energon loss?" Gears cursed after poking his helm into a small alcove, no evidence of anyone being in there making him curse some more. "We're gonna have to backtrack, and it's going to take a Pit of a time."

"Is this really the time for you to be bitching?" Tracks sniped back, spotting another few drops leading further toward a rocky area that bore its own wounds from missile fire. "Honestly, I think this is not the time to be thinking of yourself, you glitching -"

"Enough you two!" Trailbreaker revved his engine with a glare. "I know we're all worried, but taking potshots won't help us right now."

"I suppose you're right." Tracks sighed as he followed his trail.

"I'll take that." Gears grumbled as he followed Tracks, his usual fire tempered by worry as they searched for their compatriot, their energon trails becoming smaller and infrequent. As the bots fanned out and kept searching, Gears was the one to finally come across the missing spy, quite literally, as he tripped over something that wasn't there and fell with a thud.

"Mirage?" The minibot grunted as he got back onto his pedes, eyeing the sizable puddle in what was seemingly dripping from thin air with a soft curse. "You need to reveal yourself pal, we're here ta help." The static response from the invisible bot made something in Gears' spark twist, quickly kneeling down as he sent an emergency comm to the others. Jazz seemed to appear from nowhere barely a kilick later, kneeling down roughly where Mirage's helm was situated, the noble revealing himself after Jazz hummed something Gears had never heard.

He was in rough shape, but the sparking mind control cerebro-shell on his helm is what made the energon run cold.

"My my, what a mess; let's get you patched up, shall we?" Tracks' usual tone is tense as he pulls a med kit out of his subspace, Trailbreaker and Gears helping him when needed as Jazz remains in Mirage's vision. He explained to Mirage what was happening as Tracks worked, clearly itching to rip off the shell, but he knew it could easily fry Mirage's mind, so he just comforted the mech the best he could.

"Come, we need to transport him before some fragging Decepti-creep tries to come back." Gears grumbled, blaster at the ready as Trailbreaker transformed alongside Jazz, the two making a makeshift stretcher for the wounded bot.

"Ratchet shall have you fixed in no time, you need only to handle our journey home."

They only hoped it would work out.

[natsmagi]

what are your opinions abt people using ych as bases? don't want to start anything but my friends said its theft but it's just a pose? as long as u don't make it your own or smth

ohh very interesting!! i think maybe its being viewed a bit incorrectly here? because arent ych's usually art commissions? theyre little poses an artist has drawn out for you to commission for ur character to be in. this is a good way of doing comms if u dont really have a lot of time for elaborate and fully unique pieces but are still in need of a couple bucks

so honestly, i dont think they should be used as bases...... you can definitely use them as inspo! but dont draw over them like one would a base..... it feels disrespectful to the artist and kind of takes work and income away from them. so, if you see a ych you like, its better to just commission the artist! or, if comms arent open, draw ur own variant from scratch! its ok to use other peoples work as inspiration, just dont draw over it if theyve not given expressed permission to do so

no one can own a pose, this much is true, but they do own the ych drawing. so, when it comes to the ych drawing itself, what the artist says goes

[silentshadowbl0g]

text update 06-2023

hey yall! thanks for the nice tags on my recent art- a big reminder that i am pretty active on twitter @sadmachlne666 (the i is a lower case L) and i usually post art regularly, sometimes still warriors, but usually its whatever im into

as far as personal life, the mods and I have had a really hard past couple of years, but we’re doing our best to keep going.

Orion and i spent the whole month of October together last year, and we both plan on visiting Heck soon. I believe they’re both still technically mods here but I’ll be really surprised to see them answer anything, as they’ve both pretty much washed their hands clean of warrior cats or anything of the like.

I’m moving out of my parents house FINALLY- I’ll be moving in a 3 bedroom with two other friends of mine this upcoming July, im super excited.

(Everythings been paid off except the first bill due the first of July, im okay with money but my commissions ARE still open, i just may be slow getting to them cause im busy with preparations and my irl job. if you cant comm me, please consider reblogging the comm price post! thanks!)

As for Silentshadow’s Path- all ive done the past few years is brainstorm TBH! i have a very loose world and story built in my head but ive yet to nail anything down- mostly just the characters and their motivations and roles in the story. Trying to keep everything as it was when it was warrior-ifed is pretty hard, but i have to remind myself ive been working on these characters since 2013, its gonna be hard to change a world overnight (for me anyway).

So ive been thinking- i might just abandon this blog and make a new one? go back to my roots, make new references for everyone (everyone im keeping anyway. remember i made over 200 characters for this story??)

I’m tempted to just private/archive this blog, its what i wanna do but i know lots of fans, including my friends even, enjoy going back and just looking through this blog every now and then- id hate to take it away from anyone.

But as of now, even though im a bit too busy to draw and sit down and chat, Id love to interact with you guys again, feel free to send me some asks every now and then if you have any questions. I’ll let yall know what i do in the future- probably after im moved into my new apartment! Thanks for an amazing couple of years this whole project was.