#i will post the diagrams soon

[keepyourpantsongohan]

I have a Venn Diagram to share

[puppet-purgatory]

was looking at the watcher store again and noticed this puppet university has a latin motto on it, "disce aut pereant". this means, of course, Learn Or Perish. my university latin classes Did prepare me for this day :)

[cent-scratchnsniff]

share my love to you. share my heart for you

[queenofbaws]

there are already roughly a million posts like this already circulating, but man. just. sometimes you really do have to step away from something you're working on and come back to it later.

creative buds, please. please. no one is worse at taking my advice than i am, believe me, but seriously, if you've been feeling down or frustrated or stumped with something you've been working on lately, take this as your sign to maybe take a little break. a week, a month, whatever. you've been looking at it too long, you've read it too many times, you've erased that same line so many times you've lost count - you need to come back to it with a rested brain and fresh eyes.

however rough it feels to you now, i promise, promise, promise that it'll feel so much better after a little distance. <3

[nyansequitur]

i knew it was a super long shot. but still disappointed that there is no show by rock in the arknights sanrio collab

The obvious one would've been

I think. although cyan is. less sopping wet than jessicat. they have similar enough aesthetics

I dont need to explain this one, its obvious

Howan... ceobe? maybe? trying to match personality more than aesthetics.

could do this all day i think but. last one is gyaraco exu

both silly angels. even though gyraco sweeps all of rhodes island in arm wrestling i think. except for maybe chongyue. or mayer maybe

[lorephobic]

i still cannot believe that barry keoghan had a weird homoerotic dog moment with gay pirates’ cosmo jarvis and im the only person in the entire world who cares

[eggs-can-draw]

Thinks about smile for me,,,,,specifically the eyes,,,,,,,,,, hm :)

[potatochip-oc-dump]

hey girls... did you know, that um

princess house

[taumoeba]

Okay we hate gale blah blah he is still a victim and has been radicalized by his own experience of suffering so like i cant even be that dismissive of his actions (especially later) like yes they were misguided and people died and he made those choices but what other choices did he have. This is a book series about child soldiers so let the children be soldiers

[faefellangel]

Bonny Alistair of the Highlander Pack

[fluentmoviequoter]

Home to My Family

Amazing idea from @avada-kedavra-bitch-187!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader

Summary: After you give birth to twins, they're taken by a nurse for checkups. You soon realize that she's not a nurse, so Tim calls in reinforcements to save your children and catch their abductor.

Warnings: child abduction, r just gave birth but story begins post-labor, angst, happy ending with fluff

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Congratulations,” the doctor says as your second baby is placed in your arms. “Two healthy babies.”

“They’re perfect,” you murmur, your eyes on the baby boy in your arms.

“A nurse will be in shortly to take them for full checkups,” someone informs you.

“How do you feel?” Tim asks.

You look away from your son and smile at the sight of Tim holding his daughter. She beat her brother into the world by nearly three minutes, and Tim has been enraptured with her since then.

“I’m okay,” you assure him. “We did good.”

Tim scoffs and lays his hand on your son’s back as he corrects, “We did great.”

“Hello, Bradfords,” a nurse greets with a knock on the open door. “I’m here to borrow these babies.”

You watch as Tim hands your daughter to the nurse to be placed in a bassinet before he turns to you to take your son. It makes you uncomfortable to hand them over so soon after giving birth, but the first checkup is necessary. Tim takes your hand and sits on the edge of your hospital bed to wait together.

“Did you call Angela?” you ask.

“Where are those pretty Bradford babies?” another nurse singsongs as she enters. “Checkup time!”

You furrow your brows, but Tim is on his feet before you can ask any questions. Tim is heartbreakingly familiar with the reality of evil in the world, and he realizes before you that something terrible has happened. As he races into the hall, fear settles over you as tears build in your eyes. If the real nurse is here now, who has your children? And where are they?

The nurse leaves to double-check that your babies weren’t transported by another nurse, and you’re left alone. After several minutes alone, scared, Tim returns and shakes his head. His jaw is clenched tightly, but you can tell he’s only a moment from breaking.

“I reported it to the department,” Tim says, his voice tight. “Angela’s on the way and I let her know too.”

You nod before you sit up carefully, wincing in pain as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

“Hey, hey, no,” Tim murmurs, rounding the foot of the bed. He lowers before you and lays his hands over your thighs. “You just gave birth; you need to rest.”

“I need to find them, Tim. We have to find them!” you exclaim through your cries.

“I know. We will, I promise we will.”

“But you don’t need my help.”

Tim smiles at your attitude, understandable anger building beneath your pain, fear, and tiredness.

“Your help isn’t the issue, it’s your health.”

“Timothy,” Angela greets. She walks to your side and hugs you tightly. “Tell me everything.”

You lie back carefully as Tim recounts the events of the past few minutes. Angela nods along, then looks around your room.

“They’re still in the hospital, I’d bet,” Tim concludes.

“Grey stationed officers at every opening to keep it that way,” Angela responds. “There’s plenty of hiding places in a hospital. But Tim…”

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I have no idea who would do this. I’ve put plenty of people away, called CPS hundreds of times, any of those people could have decided to return the favor.”

Lucy and Nolan knock on the open door, and Tim waves them in as Angela draws a diagram of the hospital on the whiteboard opposite you. Lucy walks directly to your side while Nolan stands beside the door to watch the hallway.

“What do you need?” Lucy asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “Other than the obvious.”

“We’re going to find them. Half of the station is here for you.”

“There’s only one option that finishes this quickly,” Angela decides. “We split up and search every floor of this hospital.”

Tim looks to you rather than answering, and you promise, “I’m okay to be alone. I trust you, all of you, to find them and bring them back to me. Do whatever you have to do.”

“We will,” Tim promises. “Nolan, stay here, keep an eye on this hallway. Lucy, you’re with me.”

Lucy squeezes your hand kindly before she walks to Tim’s side. Nolan steps out of your room with them and closes the door. Completely alone, all you can do is wait.

“Hey,” Tim calls urgently. A male nurse spins and raises his hands in question. “Have you seen a nurse in pink scrubs with twins?”

“There’s lots of nurses, pink scrubs, and twins here, sir,” the man answers.

Tim takes a measured step toward him, and the man steps back urgently, bumping into the desk behind him.

“Do you want to be charged with aiding and abetting a kidnapping?”

“Sir, if you’ve seen a woman in pink scrubs with two bassinets, you need to tell us now,” Angela interjects.

“I haven’t,” he answers quickly. “I swear I haven’t.”

Tim steps away from the scared nurse and sighs.

“This floor is clear, no sign of them,” Angela reports.

Tim’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he retrieves it without looking away from the empty hallway.

“I remember when I wasn’t allowed to look at my phone on duty,” Lucy muses.

“Your children hadn’t been abducted,” Tim snaps. He reads a message, furrows his brows, and then says, “Angela.”

Angela knows that Tim using her first name isn’t a good sign, and she's proven right when he passes his phone over. “Where is this?”

“I can’t tell. The message seems familiar,” Tim replies.

Angela zooms in on the picture while Tim repeats the message to himself. Lucy moves beside Angela and looks at the picture, pointing to any discernable items in the background. The image shows your son in the bassinet front and center, and while it’s clear that they’re still in the sterile, white hospital, it’s unclear where.

“Supply closet,” Angela realizes just as Tim says, “Keiran Tumble.”

“The counterfeiter?” Lucy asks. “What’s his problem with you?”

“I arrested him, but I’m also why he lost visitation rights for his kids. They were in the warehouse with the printing fumes. He hasn’t been out of prison long.”

“Prison for counterfeiting?”

“Federal prison. The Reserve pressed additional charges. When he got out, he got served with the papers about his kids.”

“Wait,” Angela interrupts. “You said it was a female nurse.”

“Keiran’s girlfriend,” Tim guesses. “I didn’t see her, she wasn’t there when we raided his operation, but I’ve heard plenty about her.”

“Me too. Tim, she’s suspected of at least three murders. This isn’t a manhunt; we have to find her without risking your kids.”

“ Supply closet?” Tim repeats. “Let’s find the right one, and then we move in. She makes one move toward them, and you drop her.”

“Tim, maybe you should sit this one out,” Lucy suggests.

“No,” Angela answers. “If this were Jack, I’d want to be right there when we found him. Look that monster in the face and remind her that at the end of every day, I go home to my family.”

“I’m more use here, Chen,” Tim assures. “How’s Nolan?”

“He said everything’s clear there. Only a few nurses through since we left.”

Tim nods, but Angela purses her lips in thought.

“What?” Tim inquires.

“Isn’t your room across from a supply area? Wouldn’t someone have needed something by now?” she asks.

“No one saw them because they didn’t go far,” Lucy realizes.

“Let’s go!” Angela exclaims.

Fiddling with the blanket over your legs, you think about what you will do when you get your babies back. Kiss them, apologize even though they won’t know what’s happening, and then beg Tim to take you home. You refuse to think about any alternative.

“Yep,” Nolan says on the other side of your door. “All clear here, too. Good luck.”

“C’mon, Tim,” you whisper.

You trust him more than anything, but right now, your fear threatens to override all of your rational thoughts.

Suddenly, a single gunshot sounds. Immediately after, you hear screams and loud promises that everything is alright and everyone is safe. You, however, refuse to believe it until you see your husband and children. Frozen in uncertainty and fear, you count your shallow breaths rather than running through possible scenarios.

Two firm knocks on your door are followed by Nolan smiling as he holds the door open. Tim steps in with both of your babies cradled in his arms and a relieved look. You release a shaky breath, then smile as tears roll over your cheeks.

“It’s over,” Angela promises as she hugs you. “We got her.”

Tim walks to the other side of your bed and carefully lowers the twins to your chest. They coo softly in their sleep, none the wiser about what they’ve been through. Holding them against you, you kiss their heads and whisper that you love them.

“Do you know what you need now?” Lucy asks.

“Get me out of here,” you beg, smiling.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she answers, leading Nolan out of the room.

“What happened?” you ask Tim.

“Do you remember Keiran Tumble?�� You nod, and he places his arm around your shoulders as he continues, “He got out, mad about his arrest and losing his kids, and sent his girlfriend to make me feel some of the same pain. Or that’s the working theory.”

“It’s right,” Angela adds. “Only a criminal would be that stupid.”

"So, Nolan radioed an all-clear, got her guard down, and we went in. She shouldn't be out for a very long time."

You lay your head against Tim’s shoulder and say, “I love you.”

“Aw, I love you, too!” Angela jokes.

“If you weren’t our first choice for godmother, I’d kick you out,” Tim tells her.

“You love me.”

“Thank you,” you interject. “I’m glad you’re both here.”

“I’m going to go fill in Grey and then make sure your house is ready for an early return,” Angela says as she steps toward the door. “Need anything else?”

“You’ve done more than I can ever thank you for,” you answer. “I’ll call you later.”

“Like she won’t still be at the house when we get home,” Tim mumbles.

“Hey, I filled up your freezer with comfort food, be nice to me, Timothy.”

Alone with your babies, you smile as Tim extends his finger to your slowly waking son. You’ll never get tired of being with them, and there’s no one else you’d rather have by your side than Tim Bradford.

[mamawasatesttube]

stopped writing the horrors (halloweenfic) for a little bit to bang out some silly lil halloween party fluff :) and now back to the The Horrors mines i go!

Music drifts through the house, a rotation of classic Halloween tunes. Bart and Cissie are dancing in the middle of the living room, while Cassie does an enthusiastic shimmy nearby; Anita’s in the kitchen baking some pumpkin pie with Greta, and Kon?

Kon is on tipsy-and-sleepy-Rob-watching duty. Tim, dressed as a vampire (real creative, for the guy who works with Batman, right?) is lying curled up against his side, head on his thigh, and idly drumming his fingers to the beat of Thriller.

It’s nice. Just a chill li’l house party with his besties. Kon is dressed as Cal Kestis (you know, the Jedi Knight, survivor of Order 66, with the cutest droid companion ever), though it’s warm enough that he’s ditched his poncho. Tim’s currently using it as a pillow. He insists he’s wide awake, but he’s had two cups of Cissie’s spiked punch, and everyone knows a tipsy Rob is a “liable to doze off any second now” Rob.

As if he senses Kon thinking so and just has to spite him, Tim suddenly sits bolt upright. “Kon,” he says. “If you were a monster”—he cups Kon’s cheeks in his hands and stares intently into his eyes—“I would mash you.”

“Um,” Kon says. “Thank you?”

Tim nods seriously, as if that makes any sense whatsoever, and then just as abruptly flops himself back down across the sofa. He nearly cracks his head open on Kon’s knee; Kon has to catch him and more gently adjust him to lay across his lap.

“You’re very… smashable,” Tim adds, like an afterthought. He’s wearing makeup tonight, glittering along his cheekbones in the low light. “Though you’re not a monster. At all.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Kon says wryly. Tim may have had more than two cups of punch, actually. Either that, or he didn’t eat before coming here. “You want any water?”

Tim goes a curious shade of red, blushing all the way to his ears. He sits up again, hugging one knee to his chest, and hides behind his hair. “Are you—are you calling me thirsty?” He sounds scandalized. “I’m not! I’m just saying. You’d make the mashiest monster ever.”

Oh, brother.

Trying not to laugh, Kon gets up from the sofa and holds out his hands. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re hydrated, doofus. C’mere, let’s go to the kitchen.”

Tim takes his hands, stands up, and then goes so perfectly still that Kon immediately knows the room is spinning under his feet. “I’m not drunk,” he says, and then flops forward into Kon’s chest with a hum. “You smell good.”

Wrangling a tipsy-to-drunk Tim is kind of like what Kon imagines handling a post-surgery ferret might be like. He’s so… noodley. And clingy. And smiley. It’s kinda cute, not that Kon would tell him so to his face anytime soon. The guy’s already got a big enough ego.

“Okay, not-drunk Robbie.” Kon pats his back, grinning. Cassie catches his eye over Tim’s shoulder and laughs outright. “Let’s put one foot in front of the other and go get you some—I mean, I want some water.”

“Oh!” Tim lifts his head. “You want water? You should’ve just said so.” Tim pats Kon’s shoulder with a remarkable amount of unintentional condescension for a drunk guy. Kon has to admit, begrudgingly, that it’s kinda impressive. “C’mon. Kitchen time.”

Kon knows how to pick his battles. “Lead the way,” he says, and lets Tim think he’s in charge as he guides them both to the kitchen.

He gets a glass of water into Tim’s hand and then picks him up and sets him on the counter, where he swings his feet and starts babbling. It’s swell right up until he starts trying to drunkenly backseat drive Anita’s piemaking (“Kon, tell him I’m not putting an engine diagram on my damn Halloween pie.”), at which point Kon groans, picks him up again, and carts him back to the living room.

“You,” Kon tells him, plopping back down onto the sofa, “are a menace.” He boops the tip of Tim’s nose.

Tim wrinkles his nose, then wriggles himself into Kon’s side and tugs his arm around himself. He’s so busy getting himself settled into Kon’s arm just right that he doesn’t even notice he’s using both hands to arrange Kon’s arm, which means Kon’s TTK is the only reason he doesn’t spill apple cider all over himself, Cissie’s couch, and the floor.

“But I’m your menace,” Tim informs him, once he’s satisfied with their positioning. He’s got both of his legs tossed across Kon’s lap now, and Kon’s poncho haphazardly draped over his shoulders like a weird jacket (instead of, like, putting it on like a poncho, which it is). “So there.”

Kon’s heart does something very mushy and flip-floppy in his chest, and he just sighs, squeezing Tim closer. “Yeah, bud, you got me there,” he agrees, and pretends he’s not incredibly charmed by the smug look on Tim’s face. “You got me there.”

[csolarstorm]

The Circle of Arceus Doesn't Need Modern Legendaries

(Source: Centro Leaks)

That's right, it's time for me to post a theory about this.

A lot of people are pointing out that this diagram is obsolete simply because there's been five more regions of legendaries since it was made and it's been...almost 20 years. I think that's only partly true. It actually holds up surprisingly well in modern Pokemon.

GameFreak definitely tried to get away from the whole "legendaries are gods" thing after Gen IV, mostly because where do you go after Arceus? So you don't get a lot of newer legendaries involved in the creation of the Pokemon world.

Plus, GameFreak used to have these random moments where they worried about continuity. Why do we need incense to evolve the Baby Pokemon from Sinnoh? You think players are going to complain that Munchlax should've hatched in Johto? Well, you might be right...but still.

That might be why a lot of newer legendaries have an alibi that explains why they weren't in the Pokemon World when it was created. Many of them were either in Space, or "Ultra" Space:

The Orignal Dragon of Unova

The Cosmog Line

Necrozma

Eternatus

By the way, some professor really should look into the reason so many incredibly dangerous space dragons are just dropping into the Pokemon world.

Then there's legendaries that are strong in the context of their story, and some are even worshiped, but they're more like regional gods and myths.

The Swords of Justice

The Tapus

The Legendary Heroes

Kubfu Line

Calyrex and His Steeds

The Paradox Duo

The Treasures of Ruin

Ogerpon

Most modern mythicals unfortunately fall hard into this category, to the point that some are literally just a monkey, Zarude. Actually, there's no need to list the others. You get the idea.

But who does fit the circle?

That leaves the Aura Trio, the Forces of Nature, and...Terapagos. In my opinion, these legendaries would be right at home in the circle. The Aura Trio deals in life and death, which is pretty major.

That Yggdrasil inspiration would make the Aura Trio right at home on the tree of life from the beta origin story. You know, that "giant tree of life" that Rayquaza, Groudon, and Kyogre broke apart, that turned into the sky, earth, and ocean?

The three gathered in a circle and prayed, and the seed sprouted. The sprout quickly grew, and became the giant tree of life. However, the tree continued to grow, soon filling the entire world, and no one was able to move.

(...) RAYQUAZA wrapped its body around the tree of life. GROUDON and KYOGRE slammed their bodies into the tree of life. Eventually, the tree fell and broke into three pieces.

REI, AI, and HAI prayed, saddened that the tree would rot away like this. Then, the pieces of the broken tree would transform into the sky, earth, and ocean. RAYQUAZA became the pillar that holds the sky.

(Source: Centro Leaks)

Yeah, now I'm thinking the Aura Trio are more of a second try at this whole tree of life thing at GameFreak. Because the whole "Rayquaza wrapped its body around the tree" gives me major Yggdrasil vibes. Surprise Pokemon theorists, Nidhogg isn't Zygarde...it's Rayquaza!

Rayquaza did Ragnarok!

But some people think the Aura Trio are aliens who came to earth on the meteor that the Anistar City Moondial was made from, so that would explain why the Aura Trio aren't in the circle. After all, the Unovan Original Dragon came from a meteor just one generation earlier.

There's also the alleged "original story" rumor for XY that claimed that XY was originally about aliens. The Teraleak probably has something to say about that. So the jury's out about the Aura Trio - they could belong in the circle, but they might be aliens.

(Wait, the rumor was that the alien plot was cut for time? As in, it would have been included (and maybe made less "weird") if they didn't rush? So is THAT was what in Southern Kalos...)

Or maybe my theory is wrong. Deoxys is on the outer layer of the circle after all. Maybe Arceus doesn't discriminate against aliens, they just have to stay on the outer layer. It's not that much of a difference either way - there's plenty of room on the outer layer with the other mythicals. I'm talking about the head honchos really.

The Forces of Nature probably belong on the circle, if we're being honest. They kind of clash with the Legendary Birds' role in the mythos as "weather" gods, but they should be on there.

Lastly...Terapagos is an enigma when it comes to this whole post. It might be more powerful than Eternatus, since "tera" is more power than "giga", right? It's so much power it can literally warp a Pokemon's type. Like Arceus, or genetic engineering.

And Terapagos isn't an alien like Eternatus, at least there's no evidence of it. It's been stuck underground, but it used to live on land. I would say it's just a really, really powerful Pokemon that isn't technically godly, but it's literally based on the World Turtle, another creation myth.

It's in the same boat as the Aura Trio, only it's not an alien. Except, it is responsible for the "Stellar" type, as in stars. And there is this Pokedex entry:

An old expedition journal describes the sight of this Pokémon buried in the depths of the earth as resembling a planet floating in space.

Who says that planet is Earth? What if that's its homeworld?

Terapagos doesn't just borrow inspiration from the world, but the idea of worlds itself, or the philosophical idea of "turtles all the way down". Not only does it depict a world, but a world on a world. A world on a world on a -

I don't know how to end this. Are all my Teraleak theories going to be this long? I hope not. Happy Teraleak! Enjoy the leak!

---

Edit: Changed the name of the title. It used to be called "Newer Legendaries Just Aren't in Arceus' Personal Circle".

All pics other than the Arceus circle are from Bulbapedia. It's easier that way.

[buildgrist]

I wrote this last year on Twitter, but since Empty Spaces has sort of abandoned ship, I'll post it here too:

"Funeral"

A woman's whole life changes the first time she sees a combat doll.

First-person, combat doll setting by Twitter user mars_phobos_L1

CW: Harassment, violence, military context, blood, personality changes, conditioning, surgery, unreliable memory

Story below cut:

1.

I washed out of combat training almost immediately, but it wasn’t enough to get me off the hook. I’m sure you all know how it goes – just because you can’t fight doesn’t mean you can’t support the ones who do. If you can’t carry a gun, you can fix a gun, if you can’t fly a plane, you can fuel a plane.

Nothing wrong with that, of course! It’s simply efficient use of resources, and I’m certainly in no place to criticize that, especially not given my current status, so to speak. But even then I wasn’t exactly bothered by it -- I would have rather not been conscripted at all, but maintenance would be safe and interesting and I was already pretty good at it.

2.

The first time I ever saw a combat doll was when I was at the range, trying to get in enough practice to pass my pistol qualifications. I didn’t even know she was there, at first - there was no fuss, no fanfare - but as soon as her handler started barking those sharp, staccato orders I realized what was going on.

I looked over, of course. I know, we’ve all been taught not to make eye contact with the dolls because they might take it as aggression, but how could I not be curious? Can any of you say you wouldn’t be tempted to take a peek?

I hadn’t expected her to not be wearing her mask. All the publicity photos, all the technical diagrams, all the battlefield footage always shows dolls with their masks on, so I assumed that was just their usual state – but no, I was wrong. That was her natural face, with her implant jacks and her surgical scars and her delicate-looking skin. I truly hadn’t expected her to be so pretty…

She caught me looking, of course. Dolls are the apex predators of the battlefield, and noticing a maintenance trainee staring at her was trivial in comparison. She met my eyes before I could look away, and then I couldn’t look away. I knew nothing except her eyes and my heart pounding in my ears, and I had no idea what was coming next… and then she grinned at me.

That grin did something to me, something strange and frightening and wonderful. It felt like lightning running down my spine, like watching a sunrise after being blind my whole life, like finding my way out of a forest I’d been lost in since birth. I was never the same again.

3.

I needed to know who she was, of course. She could pick off targets faster than my eyes could follow, with a perfect bullseye every time. Her handler ran her through everything in our arsenal, and more besides - pistols, rifles, machine guns, throwing knives, on and on - and she was perfect every time. How could I have not wanted to know more after watching a display like that?

Well, apparently, that made me the weird one in the battalion. Everyone I asked about her just shrugged or gave me sidelong glances. Why would they want to keep track of which doll was which, they asked? They were all equally frightening, after all. What did it matter what the shark swimming next to you was named?

It took more than a week - and a couple cases of beer - for me to find out who I’d seen. My buddy on the security team had seen the handler’s name and done some quick research, and he was willing to pass on that information… for the right price, of course.

Victoria. Her name was Victoria, and the next thing he said to me was “be fuckin’ careful around that one,” which didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me at the time. We’re taught to use caution around all dolls, combat or not, why the extra warning?

Because, he told me, there were stories about the Victory-class dolls. They weren’t the fastest dolls or the most powerful dolls, but they were notoriously unpredictable, and dangerous even to their allies. I won’t get into the details right now, that’s not what I’m here to do - but some of your classmates went pale the moment I said her name, so ask them about it later.

But what did that have to do with Victoria? I had to ask, because I used to be a little slow on the uptake sometimes. In case any of you haven’t put all the pieces together: Victoria is the first Victory-class, the flagship, the template upon which all others were modeled – and that meant if there was some fault with the Victory-class dolls, some flaw in their design or their conditioning, Victoria would definitely have it.

4.

Even with all he’d told me, and all I’d learned on my own afterwards, I still couldn’t get her off my mind. Not that I was thinking about her every second, or even every day, but that moment never quite left my mind. I’d lay down and try to sleep, close my eyes, and behind my eyelids I’d see that bare face, that grin, and my heart would start pounding all over again.

By the time we were given our assignments, I knew what I was going to do. I knew what I had to do. I got the cushiest possible position – 8th Supply Battalion, well away from any combat zones, where the greatest danger would be a private driving a forklift drunk. The perfect position to serve out three years of compulsory service and go back to my old life, right?

Except I didn’t want it. I hadn’t wanted it since the moment I’d seen her.

As soon as we were dismissed, I went straight to the commander’s office and asked for a transfer – which they don’t usually do, of course, but he was willing to hear me out anyway, so I told him I needed to be on Victoria’s maintenance crew. Once he was done laughing he asked me what I was really there to ask for, and I repeated my request. I explained to him that I was serious, that I wanted, needed more than anything else, to be assigned to maintenance for Victoria.

He didn’t understand – which is no surprise, because I don’t think any of you do either. Why would I have wanted to be transferred to the only role that had higher casualty rates than front-line infantry, right? Truth be told, I didn’t understand either, and I still don’t. There’s nothing I can point to, no specific reason, just this surety that I belonged there and nowhere else.

Someone needed to do maintenance on the dolls, right? Why shouldn’t it be someone enthusiastic about it, someone fully committed to their role? I don’t know if my argument won him over or if he was just tired of listening to me, but in the end he just shrugged and wrote out my transfer orders: maintenance crew, Victory-class combat doll “Victoria”.

I still remember what he said when he handed me the orders:

“It’s your funeral.”

5.

Just because I’d volunteered for the position didn’t mean I was any less nervous when I first reported for duty! The rest of the crew had already been giving me a hard time - I was the squeaky-clean new girl, fresh out of training - but honestly, they weren’t why I was nervous. That was just some laughs and some hazing, nothing I wasn’t used to by that point.

No, I was nervous because of the six-plus feet of exquisite purpose-built killing machine standing in the middle of the maintenance bay.

The thing is, though.. the reasonable thing would have been to worry that Victoria was going to kill me, right? That’s what you’d be afraid of, that’s what any sensible person would be afraid of! But it wasn’t what I was afraid of.

I’d done my research, I knew the numbers, and I was certain - beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt - that I wasn’t going to survive three years in her maintenance crew. I’d made my peace with that before I ever even walked into the commander’s office.

I was worried that Victoria wasn’t going to like me.

6.

I know that probably sounds bizarre to you - after all, nobody worries about whether their tank likes them, right? - but trust me, it was absolutely the biggest thing on my mind. So much so, in fact, that I decided to introduce myself to her immediately! Why hang around hiding behind the rest of the maintenance crew when I could just walk right up to her and make a good first impression instead?

So that’s exactly what I did. Right into the maintenance bay, right past the rest of the crew, right across those painted lines on the floor… one foot in front of the other, listening to the pounding of my heart until I was within arm’s length of an active combat doll.

I took one more deep breath, accepted that it could have been my last, and gave her the usual introduction: name, rank, and role. She just stared at me, with those intense eyes I remembered so well, and I offered a little bit of extra politeness – just a simple little “I look forward to working with you, ma’am.”

7.

The moment the words were out of my mouth, she grabbed me by the collar and dragged me in, my body pressed up against hers, and as I stared up at her in shock and fear and excitement, I heard her voice for the first time.

“You’re cute,” she said.

There were teeth in my neck before I could even make sense of her words - combat-specced teeth, the kind that can slice through bone - and it was unbearably painful… but also something about it felt right. I was helpless in her grip, completely powerless, and I realized that I’d wanted that all along.

I saw her true face for the first time, then. That flat, blank non-expression she’d been wearing when I walked up to her had simply been another mask, another disguise… and she’d let it fall away. As she licked my blood from her lips, I understood – she was a hunter, a predator, hungry for more and strong enough to take whatever she wanted… and I was her prey.

I suspect your instructor would kick me out of this class immediately if I described what she did next, so I’ll just say ‘she had her way with me and I had no desire to stop her.’ You’ll have to use your imaginations for the rest… or come find me sometime and I’ll be happy to tell you all about it!

8.

Anyway, even though it seemed like I’d made an excellent impression on Victoria, the rest of the maintenance crew was pretty clear that I’d made a pretty poor impression on them. As soon as we were off-duty and the dolls had all been escorted back to their bunker, they made their feelings known in a very direct fashion.

I got off easy, they told me, pointing out maintenance staff for other dolls. One man had a bloody bandage where his ear had been, and another was completely unresponsive – just blankly staring at a wall. In comparison to things like that, a bite and some fucking was downright gentle for a Victory-class doll!

The crew insisted that I’d better not expect special treatment from Victoria to mean they’d give me special treatment too – I protested that I’d never once expected that, but I don’t think they were listening to me by that point. From all the shouts and cursing, it seemed like they were upset that I, the death-wish rookie who walked right up to a combat doll and introduced herself, had been treated more gently than maintenance staff who simply wanted to carry out their duties safely.

I tried to answer them, I tried to explain that all I’d done was to be friendly and polite, that I’d just wanted to treat Victoria with the respect she deserved. They didn’t like that answer.

Nobody told me about this, so I’ll pass it on as a warning to you just in case: maintenance crews aren’t just wary of their dolls, they’re downright resentful of them. From their perspective, the dolls are the thing that stands between them and getting home safely, and they’re not particularly fond of people who see the situation differently.

I, not knowing this, made some helpful comments about the dolls not being our enemy, about our purpose being to support the dolls so they can carry out their Purpose. Shortly thereafter, in a totally unrelated event, I slipped and fell down a staircase – completely by accident, of course.

I’d been hoping that the maintenance crew - and the staircase - had gotten all the vitriol out of their system by then, but it only got worse. Someone had found out that I’d volunteered for the maintenance crew, while they’d all been unwillingly forced into that position, and it was all over. That was all the proof they needed to decide I wasn’t like them in some indescribable way. They might not have been able to explain how, exactly, I was different from them, but they all agreed that I was, and they all wanted to make that my problem.

9.

I next saw Victoria for post-mission diagnostics two days later. The procedures would be routine, and yet the crew was far more anxious than they had been for our previous visit to the maintenance bay. A doll just back from an operation, having spent only a few minutes being gentled by its handler before being sent off to maintenance, was the most dangerous kind of doll as far as the maintenance staff was concerned: all keyed up on adrenaline and battle stimulants and potentially unsure as to whether or not it was actually safe or still on the battlefield.

The crew all talked like they were off to the firing squad, and I had no idea what to expect as we all walked down to the hall… especially when they all hung back, in ones and twos and threes, lagging behind me while I walked up to the maintenance bay first.

I was the tribute, the offering, the fresh meat tossed to Victoria to sate her hunger - and oh, did she ever take the bait. She ran to me, snatched me right off the ground, and sprinted back to her designated zone as if to convince everyone she’d never left.. except now she had me clutched in her arms, her deadly teeth tracing up and down my neck, that beautiful voice giggling in my ear.

The maintenance team had to conduct their diagnostics around me, in the end. Victoria simply didn’t want to give me up, no matter how they tried to convince her -- and I had absolutely no desire to argue with that. Where could I possibly have wanted to be more than her arms?

In fact, I didn’t want to leave her arms. Even once our duty shift was done and she’d turned me loose, bloody and weary and deeply content, I lingered in the maintenance bay as the others fled for the mess. I knew what was waiting for me there - the same thing that had been waiting for me since I first met Victoria - and I wanted to avoid it for as long as possible.

10.

I hadn’t expected her to notice me hanging around - surely I was unworthy of her attention, right? - and yet, as I lingered behind, she spoke to me for the second time. “Not joining them?”

“No ma’am,” I told her, quietly enough for nobody else to hear. I hadn’t meant to say anything else, but the prospect of having a sympathetic ear was just too much, and the words just tumbled out of me. As she stared down at me with that blank expression, I explained how the crew had decided I didn’t belong, and how they’d been treating me since – the punches, the kicks, the fish in my bunk, the thousand other little reminders that they’d decided to hate me.

Eventually I ran out of words and found myself simply staring up at Victoria. She hadn’t said a single thing the entire time, and her expression was the same unreadable blankness that I’d seen before. While I tried to figure out whether she was sympathetic or simply bored, I suddenly realized that she’d met my gaze, staring into my eyes as if she was looking for something. I couldn’t imagine what she was looking for - and, truth be told, I still don’t know what it was - but I stared back up at her and let her look for it.

I guess she found what she was looking for - or perhaps found an absence of the wrong things - because she simply grabbed me by the arm and practically dragged me right out of the maintenance bay. What was she doing? Where was she going? She ignored my questions, of course, so I stopped asking them and simply walked along with her in silence.

You probably haven’t seen a doll bunker yet, but they’re extremely sturdy – downright overengineered, even. They’re even more heavily reinforced than munitions bunkers, and the only route in and out is through an extremely sturdy-looking steel door. It’s the sort of thing that makes the vault doors in heist movies look like tissue paper… and that was the door Victoria had led me to.

Even though I’d walked to the bunker with her willingly, I couldn’t help but protest a little as she swung the bunker door open. I had been told, upon my assignment, that only handlers and commanders were permitted to enter the doll bunker – all support staff were required to stay out in order to avoid ‘unnecessary manpower shortages’. Not that that stopped Victoria, of course! She simply picked me up by the back of my uniform like an uncooperative pet and tossed me right through the door.

11.

Have you ever walked into a room and found eight combat dolls staring directly at you? Sixteen eyes fixed on you, unblinking, like cats that have just spotted a mouse? Presumably not, but if you’re very lucky - or very unlucky - you might get to someday.

That’s where I found myself as the bunker door slammed shut behind me – gracelessly picking myself up off the floor under the hungry gaze of eight combat dolls. They waited a moment, graciously permitting me to get back to my feet, and then… well, I guess the best way to describe it is to say each one started trying, in her own way, to draw me away from my host.

Not a word was spoken, but carnal offers were made, and one or two dolls began to creep toward me as if stalking prey – and then suddenly they all froze at once. I couldn’t receive dollchat yet, so I didn’t know what Victoria said to them - and even now she just giggles when I ask! - but whatever it was, it was enough to convince the other eight dolls not to steal her guest away.

I spent that night in her bunk. I didn't do a lot of actual sleeping, of course, but the moments I did get... having a combat doll holding me close and murmuring sweet reassurances in my ear was maybe the safest I'd ever felt in my whole life. To be told I'm safe now, that the squad will look out for me, that I'm theirs forever…

12.

I hardly ever left the bunker after that. I would have never left, if I’d had the option, but there were still two things I was expected to handle: work and food.

I was still a member of Victoria’s maintenance crew, expected to be present for those duties, and since the necessary hardware was in the maintenance bay, that was where I had to be too. My first duty shift after being taken to the bunker, I’d hesitated – I was even more uncertain about showing my face around the rest of the crew now, after all! Victoria had just returned from a mission, so she would be waiting for me there, but I still had to get from the bunker to the maintenance bay on my own…

Before I figured it out myself, one of the other dolls took pity on me. She took my hand in hers, as if I was a child, and led me to the maintenance bay herself. It was permitted - after all, she was being escorted by maintenance staff - and nobody dared to say she couldn’t stand by while we Victoria received her post- mission diagnostics and I received an entirely different kind of post-mission attention.

I’m not sure if the crew ever appreciated just how much lighter on them she was when I was around, you know? I don’t know if they even noticed, or if they were too busy hating me. It didn’t matter, though – when we were done, Victoria and the other doll walked me back to the bunker, hand in hand, as if they were concerned I’d stray – or flee, perhaps, but there was already no chance of that.

If any of you ever get invited to a bunker, be aware: there’s nothing for you to eat. There is food for the dolls, although it’s terribly bland, but those meals are measured out to the last bite. Even once the whole squad had fully accepted me as their own, they still didn’t have anything to give me – every bite of food for me was one less for them, and dolls are always hungry.

The only way for me to get food would be to get it from the kitchens myself. I’d have to brave the hallways solo, avoiding any other staff, and throw myself on the cook’s mercy in the hopes that they’d be willing to let me take something back with them – and I’d have to do it two or three times a day! It’d be absolutely miserable, right?

As it turned out, that was practically a nonissue. The kitchen staff recognized me on sight - word spreads quickly, especially when you’re escorted to the bunker by two dolls! - and realized that we could solve each other’s problems: I needed food, and they didn’t want to interact with the dolls. If I could come out of the bunker to receive each day’s rations, rather than the staff needing to hand-deliver it directly to the dolls, they’d be more than happy to throw in each day’s worth of meals for me! Teamwork and problem-solving, that’s what we’re trained for, right?

13.

With food resolved and my duties sorted out… well, one day started to blur into the next. There are no windows in a doll bunker, after all -- there’s no sense of time unless you’ve got a chronometer built in, and I sure didn’t. I slept when they let me, I did as I was told, and every time the rations were delivered I felt a little more like I was walking through a dream.

The kitchen staff stopped looking straight at me, eventually. It wasn’t that they were afraid of me - I was no doll, no battlefield predator - but something about me unsettled them. Maybe my body language had changed – after all, I’d been spending more time around dolls than humans, even I could tell that I was picking up their mannerisms, that I was absorbing the way they spoke and moved and held their bodies.

Or maybe it was something else. Maybe there was something in my eyes. I had prostrated myself before the squad and worshipped them for the goddesses they were. I had licked blood from a doll’s body without ever stopping to wonder who it had belonged to. I had given myself to them over and over, even after my stamina was exhausted and I could do little more than accept their desires.

They had made me theirs - with pleasure and pain, with fear and adoration - but they decided I was ready for more.

14.

I’d tell you it was a day like any other, but I don’t even know if it was a day. It was just another moment in the bunker, a moment of laying on a bare concrete floor, my limbs tangled with giggling dolls who simply couldn’t bear to let their plaything go… and then it wasn’t.

They hauled me up off the floor and pushed my back against the wall, one on each side of me, and the rest of the squad parted as Victoria approached, as the doll who’d claimed me first stood over me once more.

“You’ve been fun,” she told me, “but you can be better. We want you to be better. Don’t you want to be better for us?”

Even after all the time I’d spent with them, I still hesitated. I knew what they meant, and I had learned exactly what it entailed. The surgery, the conditioning, the experience of not being human anymore – but wasn’t I already seen as no longer human?

Victoria saw that hesitation, she saw the fear in my eyes, and stroked my head like a pet. She promised me she’d stay by my side the whole time… and she promised to do my conditioning herself.

How could I say no to that?

15.

The surgeons broke me. There’s no way to sugarcoat that. Even without all the modifications combat dolls get, having an arrhythmia control device implanted in your chest without any anesthetic is simply more than any human can bear and stay sane – so I didn’t. I screamed, I struggled and I let myself fall apart.

Victoria put me back together. She reminded me how much I liked being helpful, and how much I enjoyed being useful. She dug up my memories of how much I loved each and every member of the squad, and she made those memories into the core of my personality so I could never, ever forget again. As for the rest of my memories… well, I told you this whole story, didn't I? But everything before the dolls took me in feels distant, removed from me, as if they're someone else's memories instead of my own. It's better that way – I have a whole new life and a whole new family to love.

Speaking of which, Victoria had a surprise for me once I'd recovered, a way of celebrating me as the newest part of their family. One at a time, each doll got up on one of the bunks like it was a makeshift stage and delivered maudlin, overdramatic speeches about the person they imagined I had been before, and we all giggled along together.

In the end, it was my funeral after all.

16.

There you have it, that's the whole story. That's how I went from being just like you to being who I am now. Your instructor wanted me to share it as a warning, a cautionary tale, and I'm sure for most of you it is. But for one or two of you, if it appeals–

Yes, sir?

Understood, sir.

Thank you for your time, everyone! May fate preserve us! Good luck on your quals!

[sunlit-skycat]

Pale by Wildbow shill post

“The practice, as we call it, is best summed up as an ongoing contract. By pledging to make your word inviolable, forces in this world will start listening. Routine, ritual, and expectation have formed the grooves and determined how best to communicate with those forces. Diagrams, symbols, knowing who and what to appeal to. Many, many things become possible. If your word is inviolable.” [...]

“Something terrible happened, of a scale that words cannot easily convey. We need you to look into it,” Matthew said. “No need to solve it. Simply… look into it.”

Overview

Pale is an urban fantasy web serial about three girls Awakened into a world of magic in order to solve the murder of a Judge, a supreme being that oversees magic in an area. Soon, however, they discover that the very roots of magic are built off of systemic injustice, and that outside forces want to destroy the meager sanctuary that they have been charged to protect.

Why you should read it

Pale has a huge meta-system that tries to provide an explanation for how all fairy tale type of magic works. When one Awakens, they give up their ability to lie, but that doesn't stop Practitioners from trying to mislead everyone around them. Nothing comes for free. The easiest way to deal with the costs of Practice is to pass them off to someone else, which over the years has led old Practitioner families to exploit magical creatures and each other to do their bidding.

In a way, Pale really reminds me of the Harry Potter fandom, particularly the newer fics that try to examine all the unexamined issues that Rowling put into the worldbuilding and never explored. It tackles subjects of imperialism, child abuse, community building, and justice. There's a lot of fun things to discuss about it, including whether the protagonists ultimately got it right at the end.

Many of the characters in Pale are marginalized in some way. Of the main characters, Lucy is the only black girl in a rural Canadian town and sick of it, Avery is a lesbian and doesn't know how to come out to her dubiously tolerant family, and Verona's single father is an abusive emotional black hole that wants to drag her down with him. Overall, there are a lot of well-realized female characters who are allowed to let their sharp edges cut others in the story.

The fandom

Pale had an earlier prequel work set in the same universe called Pact, which features different characters and settings but has roughly the same magic system. Because of that, it's most useful to think of the fandom as an being composed of an umbrella group, called Otherverse or P-verse by different places, and then subcategories of Pale, Pact, and OC focused works.

The main cast runs young, so shipping isn't big in the fandom, but if you like f/f potential Pale is pretty decent for it. The OC fic tends to have a lot of queer main characters as well.

On Dreamwidth, I run sister communities at blueheronteanook for canon character based fic and meta, and hillsgladehouselibrary for OC fics. There also is a discord server for these communities, the Blue Heron Tea Nook.

You can read Pale fic on Ao3 here.

Where to read it

Pale can be read online here: palewebserial.wordpress.com/

There also is a fanmade audiobook that goes up to arc 10, about 1/3 of the story. It's on Spotify and Podchaser.