#mar does human things

[navigatorwrongway]

finally got nice enough to hang out with boom on the balcony!

[qqueenofhades]

Also, I am watching Good Night Oppy (the documentary about the mission of the Mars rover Opportunity) because apparently I want to Cry. And aside from the NASA crew who worked on the project all lovingly referring to Opportunity and its sister Spirit as "she" and talking about how much the whole project meant to them, the lead engineer on the Spirit program, when talking about the end of Spirit's mission, just gently goes "I guess she was tired too, after all the work she had done" and just. Hang on. Hang on I need a second

[cruesuffix]

What kinds of dipping sauces does alien! Mick like

ok this is an interesting question! i definitely had to look up some types of dipping sauces to get some ideas, because to be honest… i only ever use sweet n sour myself. if the band ever did introduce him to more normal sauces, personally, i think he’d like something sweet and a bit spicy like honey chipotle sauce, or something classic like buffalo sauce. i don’t think he’d like my favourite (sweet n sour) though… he’d be a bit put off by the flavour.

though, if we’re talking about micks more… interesting attempts at recreating human food, i think he’d just pour gasoline over his… creations, and call it a day!

(ok wait, i can also see him just eating ranch dressing right out of the bottle… probably because i used to do that as a kid and… well that’s weird enough for an alien to do too i guess!)

[rocaillefox]

oh yknow i think a very fun character would be like. one who doesnt search out revenge but will absolutely take it if given the opportunity. like its no skin off their back if they never get the chance to take revenge/fulfill a grudge, thats not their goal, but its not out of mercy or kindness, just a pragmatic 'i wont let this potential revenge destroy me in the process' approach to it. might have to include them as an oc in something 🤔

[deadsetobsessions]

Ghost King Phantom was an odd addition to the League. J’onn was often the last to find others odd but from the get-go, Phantom was the only quiet spot he’d have in his telepathic field. At first, it was off putting as most of the people that slipped beyond the reach of his immediate field tended to be villains and the like. But as Phantom remained in the Justice League, J’onn had come to learn to appreciate the calm spot in the turbulent sea of his friends’ and coworkers’ thoughts.

“You have taken to me faster than the others. Why is that?”

Phantom hummed purringly, another peculiar sound that J’onn had yet to see any of his human or alien heroes recreate with any success. They sat at their usual spot, face facing the cosmos and backs guarded by their friends. Plus, J’onn and Phantom could look directly into the sun without painfully loosing their sight.

“I guess I’ve always been fond of the stars. Of space, and everything in it. What about you? Why did we become friends so fast?”

J’onn shook his head, a human motion he’d learned a long time ago to imitate. “No, we became slower friends than most, as my telepathic abilities allow for easier communication and understanding of one another’s motives. With the exception of Batman but I have found he is often the exception to most expectations.”

“That checks out,” King Phantom laughed. “Well, I’m glad we became friends. It’s very cool to meet a Martian. Space is one of my Obsessions, you see.”

J’onn nodded. “I see. I am sorry that I am the only Martian you will meet.”

“You are?”

J’onn nodded again, slower. Sadder. His facial muscles, in this form, does not imitate human patterns well and he knew that most people could not pick out his emotions without his verbal expression.

Intuition tells J’onn that Phantom knew regardless.

“Would you mind telling me what happened?” His voice is gentle, the emotions that Phantom pushes at him are gentle and questing, but not demanding. It has been a long time since anyone has asked him of memories he clung to. And so, J’onn J’onzz speaks in the way that was natural to him, the way his people communicated.

With his mental voice flowing into Phantom’s head, J’onn tells him of the wonders that used to be his home. He provided images and sounds of how his home shone as the sun rose, how the shadows that fell when the sun dipped beneath the horizon felt as comforting as a Martian’s first telepathic cradle. He tells Phantom of his twin brother, grief and agony entwined in the memories of someone he had loved. He spoke of his wife and their daughter, and their cozy home on the windswept plains of Mars.

King Phantom sat still with him as the Watch-Tower moved along, around a king and his friend who was recounting the stagnant grief of his past.

J’onn tells him of the virus, borne of his twin’s hatred, and how he watched everything around him burn. How he had desperately tried to prevent his wife and daughter from using their telepathic abilities. He spoke of his failures. He wove together a tapestry of insanity and grief, built upon the burning bodies of his wife and their beloved daughter. He tells Phantom how the Mars now was just ashes and dust of his former home. How he could not look upon the planet and not see the shades of his wife and daughter and parents and friends, walking upon a barren planet that no longer held anything familiar to the last Martian.

Phantom had hummed again, a soothing rumble. Sadness dripped from the edges of his consciousness.

“If it was not for the Doctor, I would be dead and shattered.” J’onn spoke for the first time in three hours. “It is… less painful to live. I have purpose.”

“I am glad that you are not either of those things.” Phantom stood. “Come with me. I have to show you something.”

J’onn trusted Phantom, and thus followed the king into the glowing green portal.

They flew past many doors, Phantom often glancing at him before shaking his head and changing directions.

They stopped at a door that felt familiar. J’onn knew it from somewhere.

“Go ahead, open the door. But know that you can’t stay long. You don’t belong to this realm quite yet. Not for quite a while.” Phantom moves, hand gesturing towards the door without a knob.

“How..?”

“How else? You have telekinesis, don’t you?”

J’onn blinked. Right. He opened the door and- oh.

The door warped with the screaming storm of grief and love and oh-how-I’ve-missed-you that J’onn unleashed.

Because there in front of him were M’yri’ah and K’hym, his wife and daughter.

The door was an imitation of his home, back when he had not known true loss.

“Impossible,” he stumbled back.

“You are in the realm of the dead. You didn’t think the title of the Ghost King was for fun, did you, J’onn?” Phantom smiled and- a move J’onn would definitely engage in petty payback for, later after he’d gotten over the shock- pushed him flying right into the room.

M’yri’ah and K’hym cradled him with telepathic swirls of love and husband!-dad!-love-love-love-safe!

And J’onn shuddered and gathered the his world in his arms to say goodbye.

——

[evilminji]

Been Watching Weird Fruit Explorer(?)... and I just...

W-Who let Bored Danny have BooTube?

Sorry, YOU-Tube. He has TWO Apps now. BooTube is bigger. Way more random, yet... somehow more niche? Meh. It's what happens when you get billions of billions of people who all have their own Obsessions to rant over, on a site.

Ember's channel is pretty lit, tho, ngl.

He stopped using YOU-Tube almost overnight. Too many ads, weird algorithmic pushiness. No thanks. It was too small and too "trying to take my money". You know?

Buuuuut? See.... TUCKER is the Tech guy.

Coding and that sort of stuff. HE does hands on work. You want a toaster? He can MAKE you a toaster! With LAZERS! Runs off The Goo! But a program? Eeeeeeeh? Hit it with hammer maybe? Monkey make fire? Hit with stick? Blergh.

Yeah, he can SORTA push through.

But he suuuucks.

And like... he had a headache, okay? His project had just, quiet literally, exploded in his face. So when he looked at his phone? All the apps were blobs. He clicked the one that LOOKED kinda right. Shoved his arm in his phone and brute forced a channel set up.

He figured he could ramble about Space!

It's not like he cared is anyone LISTENS or not! It's a "for him" thing, you know? Like a diary. But more... putting on a ☆~show~☆?

So he rambles from the floor of his Lair's Lab, crashs and wails in the distance, green sky occasionally visible as he lazily floats by windows. Dropping... juuuust past human knowledge understanding of Space. Talking like he's STUDYING somewhere. Referencing PAPERS no human will ever be able to find.

But a few they WILL.

Some of which, are currently? Only half written.

But then? Oh YEAH... he should eat! You know... Sam keeps bringing him fruits and veggies and stuff from her internship at that Botanical Lair. Stuff never seen before of Earth. Or hasn't been seen in centuries.

Again, like, a FEW that? Randomly? Have???

He picks up something sharply purple, bright orange insides. Crisp crunch. He makes a face. And starts to ramble about it, distracted from Space. "Weirdly mushroom-y" he notes. "Kinda bubblegum sweet? But like... CHEAP bubblegum. Like it hits you all at once and is kinda chemically. But it disappears real fast? Huh. Spicy too..."

It's the first video on the Playlist. One of hundreds. Two of the green Lanterns RECONIZE that fruit ad HIGHLY toxic to humans, can't recognize what planet they're seeing. Or how this alien teen got himself on YouTube.

He seems... unaware of how incredibly famous he's become.

But his strange techno Pharoah friend has not. HE is both perfectly aware and apparently amused. Has taken to feeding him rare and hazardous flora and fauna, to see if it tastes good.

....there have been an alarming number of plants from dead planets.

And the comments the kid makes? Alarming as hell.

Sam's just pleased everybody's getting their greens. Danny's glad him n tuck get to hang and do "try weird foods and fuck around, bro time". They've made lazers! Talked about stuff! Debated why Martian Manhunter is THE superior Justice League member.

Danny understands. Wonder Woman is a BAMF. But he's biased, Tucker. He doesn't CARE if she has a sword and flowy, impressive locks! Shape-shifting telepath! From MARS!!! *imaginary mic drop*

And Tucker? Is conquering the YouTube scene with this charming, weird, relatable young alien. Who rambles about Space, debates nerd stuff, eats weird plants and describes them, and makes sci-fi technology! Theme? WHAT THEME? Phantom is a weird channel, man. You never know what you'll find!

And no one can get rid of it.

Believe them, governments have TRIED. Censorship? Not possible. Not without removing the whole SITE.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Die with a Smile

For @anonymous-existences who asked for a "Die with a Smile" by Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga using Spirt Halloween ship. Hope you like it!

Danny remembers being alive, but it was a distant memory as if he had woken from a wonderful dream. He could recall no scents or tastes from his time being flesh and bone, but he remembered sights and sometimes, if he was lucky a few sounds.

The sound of his sister singing. His father's laughter. His mother's humming. His best friend's fingers tap on his keyboard. His other best friend's plants when the water of her watering can fell over their leaves.

Danny held all the sounds dear to his heart, even if he could not remember their names or voices. Just their faces, smiles, and the warmth in their eyes before the car accident. Danny had been a Halfa from the age of fourteen, but twenty years later, he had died in a collision caused by a drunk driver, turning into a complete ghost.

Like all his previous adversaries, Danny could no longer return to the human world willy-nilly. He had reformed after he died in the Zone, becoming one of its citizens, anchored to the Realms between Death and Life.

He needed a gateway made by a mortal who willingly invited him through. All natural portals were nice, but it was a one-way. Anyone could pass through them to the Realms, not vice versa.

His parents had unknowingly created an open invitation when they stabilized their portal, allowing ghosts to run a rampage in the city. Danny doesn't remember why they had made it, but he wishes it was still there so he could see them again.

So that he could feel the deep love so evident in the glimpses and flashes of their faces that ran through his mind. He couldn't find his way back, so he spent years looking. He was one of the few ghosts that had no anchored haunt. Danny spends all eternity flying through the Realms in search of the love that he had once felt.

He lost count of how long ago that was. But along the way, he picked up other various wonders.

A bag that opens to his pocket of cosmos is flung over his shoulder. A long cloak that protected him from the scorching heat, freezing blizzards, howling winds, and drowning rain. A glimmering book that recorded his adventures in the consultations. And many new friends who have been in the Realms for so long they had developed their own culture and given birth to generations that knew nothing of the mortal realm.

Danny's ghost's name had also faded from his mind, knowing he used to answer something when he was fourteen. He is grateful that his birth name stays with him, even if he does not know his surname.

He now went as the Wander. Always searching for something he did not know if he could hold, let alone own. Wander grew in power, for his death had brought along all the ectoplasm of his Halfa days, and while his travels were relatively peaceful, there were times he needed to fight his way through.

He has never been defeated.

That was Danny's experience now. Wander, find adventure, find friends, find new incredible sights, become saddened that the new things didn't match the love he set on a pedestal, and wander again.

Over and over. Never lingering for too long. Never belonging.

Just lost in the endless void of the Realms.

Then, Danny had run into him.

A human had fallen through a portal caused by unnatural means. It was due to being attacked by a monstrous tyrant that was threatening his world. Omega Beam radiation polluted the portal, and for a second, Danny had thought he had finally found a stable way into the human world.

But alas, when he approached it, an invisible force kept him from leaving the Realms. Its constant flickering and electrical crackles mocked him, even if the scene behind the portal depicted a broken world.

Danny wanted nothing more than to fly through the human world, feel all those fantastic emotions, and live again. He pushed and pushed against the force field; however, there was no open invitation. He could not pass through the portal.

The human that fell after being pushed by the sudden explosion could. Danny had caught him and nursed him back to health, and when he awakened, he was struck dumb by those intense, intelligent eyes.

Batman was the name the human gave him, and for a few months, that was what Danny called him. The way to his home, an Earth called Gotham, had closed as soon as the omega beams had vanished. Batman was beside himself, attempting to find another portal.

As the man was living without means of flight between islands, Danny offered to take him to a few natural portals. He warned him that even if he could enter said portals, there was no guarantee he would be back when he vanished.

Portals bend time and space. They may appear in the same spot, but it was also a gamble of when that would be. Batman had no care, taking Danny's offer, and the two went off on a new adventure.

The broken pieces of an endless city was the connection between the Realms and Batman's Gotham. It took some time before Batman admitted that the city they traveled through - as, for some reason, the city bounds stopped Danny's flight - was his beloved city. It was an exact duplicated, over and over again as time moved on in the mortal world; this one copied every new development without removing the old one.

It merely expanded right next to the old building. The natural portals across the range were unstable, lasting only a few seconds before Batman was forced to throw himself back into the Realm or he got stuck at the wrong time.

Batman left a clue at every stop the portal gave him, claiming one of his children would notice and help find a way to bring him home. Danny wasn't so sure, but if the human found comfort in the thought, he would not be the one to burst his bubble.

As for Danny, the familiar emptiness that came with the urge to move on never showed itself. He found comfort in the footsteps of Batman. He found glee in the laughter around the small fires they make in the destroyed streets, void of any color.

Danny had forgotten most colors, so used to the Grey's, blacks, whites and dark purples of the Realms but the way Batman spoke of it made him think back to the reds blues yellows and greens he had not realized he missed.

Slowly, his journal filled itself with nothing but the mortal he had found.

Batman survived on what little they could find in the broken streets of his colorless home. He seemed disgruntled by the silence of the repeating streets, the obvious signs of violence that never quite healed in his city.

After a while, Danny realized he felt whole again. As if a part of his soul had been returned. Batman did not bring him back to life, but he made him feel alive.

Danny informed him it meant the land was cursed, but that only earned him a cold glare and a sharp bite of beef jerky from a gas station with its window smashed in. Their travels continued, with Danny dreaming of the five sounds he could recall of his loved ones- he did not need food anymore as a ghost, but he did need sleep. His core required recharge- realizing a new sound had been added.

The sound of Batman's soft taps as he marched on, searching for a way home.

Danny created a new constellation for him. He named it the Lost Vengence. It seemed right, even if Batman rarely spoke.

A few months of them together, Batman had wandered into an air that exploded with green grass. He grasped for his belt, but whatever he was searching for wasn't there, and he fell to his knees screaming.

Danny, who hadn't breathed it in, had rushed him over to a crumbled hospital, strapping the human down and panicking over his state. He was no doctor, but if he left Batman alone to get help, leaving the area that didn't allow him to fly would take far too long, and Batman would die.

Already, his heart was beating too fast for a human. Danny had ripped off his strange mask, trying to get him out of the clothes covered in the green goo, but it didn't do much. All that was left was a human- a handsome human- screaming his head off.

Eventually, Danny realized that his journal may have the answer. He could not always remember what he recorded, but if he asked it to, it would pull up records of adventures he may have forgotten.

There was a method of passing on his healing that Frostbite once shared with him long before his death. He pressed his hands over Batman's chest, not with his palms but with his soul, and prayed the human would accept it.

A few minutes later, Danny's ectoplasm had sunk through the skin and cleaned out the effects of the strange grass. Batman slumped against the metal table, breathing heavily and sweating profoundly, but he stared up at Danny as if he were bestowing an angel.

Since ectoplasm was purely emotional, no words had to be shared between them to know Danny had wanted to save him more than anything. Had felt the way Batman made him feel complete.

"My name is Bruce Wayne," Batman had told him later that night while the pair looked through a mall that seemed to have been flooded. The water splashed against their mid-calfs, slowly picking their way through the new clothes that Bruce could wear.

His soft smile filled up to his core, and neither mentioned the way the distance between them closed or the fingers that laced together,but Danny knew he had found it.

What he had been searching for all these years.

Bruce would sometimes stop them in the nicer parts of his city- places that merely went out of business instead of being broken down- and treat him to the few things he had forgotten of the human world.

An ice cream parlor had been stripped clean, but the owners had left one fringe with three tubs of ice cream. As time was frozen, it was good to eat, and Danny realized that while he did not need food, he did enjoy it. Bruce was sensitive to the weather that changed every few hundred miles.

In the parts with ice and snow, he curled up on Danny's chest, protected by the cloak that expanded to cover them. In the fires, he was carried on Danny's back, the fabric of the cloak protecting him from burning while Danny's hair flickers snowflakes for him to breathe.

Other times, he merely liked holding hands because he, too, felt whole with Danny.

Then they came upon a part of town that belonged to Bruce's third youngest son. He called it the Nest, and a date and time was carved on the wall. His son had found a way to stabilize a portal, and he planned to pull Bruce back home.

The boy thought Bruce was trapped in the past, but his rescue would still work. Bruce could finally return to the humans.

He understood. Danny had lived his life. Now, it was time for Bruce to finish his.

"Will you go? Would you leave me?" Danny knew the answer to his questions the second he looked into Bruce's eyes. It cracked something deep inside, but he was not angry or feeling betrayed.

"I'm sorry," Bruce whispers, tracing his hand on the curve of Danny's cheek. The ghost leans on it, wishing, not for the first time that he had the sensation of touch again. He only gets brief impressions of something against him, but Danny can not feel the texture of Bruce's clauses.

The warmth of his skin.

"Don't be. This was the best part of my existence in a long time. You were everything that I had forgotten about love."

He knew humans were warm. He remembers a tiny moment when his sister's fingers in his hair comforted him.

But he could not remember what their warmth felt like.

Bruce's face crumbled before it softened. "I'm not gone yet. We have a few hours."

"Just three," Danny whispered, looking at the numbers on Bruce's watch. He had set a countdown to when Tim would activate the machine- the portal- that only called Bruce home. Since the boy did not know it wasn't a time issue but a different reality, he had unintentionally made it with only Bruce in mind.

The force keeping all ghosts like Danny in the Realms wouldn't let him enter.

"I know how I want to spend them." Bruce found a record player broken in the movie theater beside his son's shining new hideout. Apparently, it was the one that had been abandoned in Bruce's youth.

It played a lovely old, slow dance from the forties that echoed through the dusted room, surrounding them in its soft, wistful melody. Bruce guided Danny to the center of the stage- the only place not covered in dust or supplies- and carefully bent him into an elegant dip.

At that moment, Danny and Bruce were all that existed in the broken-ended city of Gotham's past.

A smile blooms on Danny's face, twirling around the man who caught him and guided him, saying without words how much he adored Danny. The unsaid words between them meant nothing in the face of their world ending, but their smiles made up for it.

Danny's book had fallen open at one point, his collected stars and cosmos flying out to surround the pair as they swayed and slowly danced. He felt the thumping of Bruce's heart against his chest, pressing closer to record the feeling in his core and soul.

Song after song. Step, spin, sway, dip, intelligent eyes that watched him with the same amount of wishful longing and bright, loving smile.

"I could die again," Danny told him, hands on Bruce's shoulders and the human hands on his hip.

"I am," Bruce whispered back as his clock started beeping. They had ten seconds left. "I want you to remember me with a smile."

"Of course." Danny leaned back only far enough that when he pushed his face against Bruce's, their lips sealed in a burst of incredible, indescribable sensations. All at once, it's like sounds, feelings, tastes, and sights rush back at him, making him feel as if life was being breathed back into him, only for it to vanish as Bruce's body slowly fades away.

He leans back after his hands pass through Bruce's body, no longer anchored enough in the Realms to hold, and gives him the brightest smile he can muster. Neither mentions the tears rolling down their faces as he whispers.

"The party is over, and our time on this Earth is through, but I'll love you. For all eternity. I always do when I think of those who are still alive." Danny watches him fade away in soft, gentle sparks that he would later gather and shift into stardust.

He places them in Gotham's skies so Bruce can have a tiny part of him, even though he cannot see it. Danny turns around and marches back towards the realms.

The Wander must find a new purpose.

[akazzzaa]

Were / are they a Virgin?

Summery- Where they a virgin when they where humans? are they still ?

Genre- Smut. MDNI

Warnings- Talks of sex, masturbation.

Human Muzan

Was a virgin- He didn’t get married. He had a wealthy family but never found a wife. He was born with a frail body so even if he did have a wife-he couldn't. Or at least it would be very bad experience putting sex off for him. Although he never had a big “desire” to have sex- he still was curious about it and often masturbated as a human.

Demon Muzan

Not a virgin- Don't really need to explain- but he's had sex a lot. He likes it, but can live without it. He has other things to focus on so he doesn't seek sex a lot. Sex does come naturally to him though anyway. He's a 'young' good looking man after all. Who often manipulates women and people to get what he wants. If he has to play Husband and a Oiran, he will.

He has also had sex in his female form.

Human Kokushibo

Not a virgin-His first and last was with his wife. He had a duty as a man to produce heirs and that was it to him. He did like sex, but was very insecure. He was emotionally unavailable I suppose, and never expressed himself.

Demon kokushibo

Virgin. He remembers his past life and know how sex works, but he doesn’t see humans as equals- only as cattle. He’s not opposed to it though, he’s seen plenty of humans that are pleasing to the eye and would like to indulge in. But never acted on it.

Human Douma

Not a virgin. Was never married or had plans to - but he was good looking and had different features that made him more 'exotic' so a lot of people where curious, and so was he. He didn't have a lot of sex due to being so busy - only problem he faced was that people fell in love with him after they had sex. He never felt that.

Daemon Douma

Not a virgin. He has toyed with men and women and finds it entertaining, plus it does feels good. People who have had sex with him don't really live to tell anyone else. There are a few who live. Doesn't actively seek sex but he can tell when a humans wants him. He will also use the art of seduction to get what he wants too.

Human Akaza

Virgin. He was planning on marring Koyuki and was waiting for their special night. He never thought he would- having tattoos of a criminal over his body has made him feel worthless so he had a lot of doubt about finding love. Him and Koyuki had kissed a lot but that's as far as it went.

Demon Akaza

Double virgin. He never feels the desire for sex. He only wants to get stronger. All he does is follows Muzans orders, train and eat.

Human Hantengu

Not a virgin- Has had wife's. No idea if any kids have come out of it but there where attempts.

Demon Hantengu

Virgin? Maybe the lust clone has had sex but the other clones and himself? Virgins.

Human Gyokko

Virgin

Demon Gyokko

DOUBLE VIRGIN

Human Gyutaro

Virgin. Women would scream at the sight of him. Not only because he was ugly but had bad hygiene, malnourished and weak. He was fighting everyday of his life. Never thought about it.

Demon Gyutaro

Virgin. Only as a demon he got curious and had the desire for it, he hasn't tried to have sex cause he know he will just get laughed at which will result in someone's death.

Human Nakime

Not a virgin. She had a husband in her human life but never had kids with him.

Demon Nakime

Virgin. Doesn't have the desire to have sex.

[navigatorwrongway]

having a “only see this shit in facebook screenshots” moment today my god

[fortheb0ys]

I wanna dress Will Graham up all nice and pretty just to mess him all up again :3

BROOO YOU GOT ME THINKING!! Give me like two sentences and I could go on and on if I'm feeling it. So I offer you my ramblings🤲

Does anyone remember that one Criminal Minds episode where this lady collects human dolls?!?

Well, make that into male reader insert <(´･ω･`<)

CW Sorry, i realized I don't put these often : reader is a serial killer and will is profiling him, reader views people as objects, reader can't tell what's real and will uses that to his advantage, will refers to himself as a 'sex doll', murder (not too descriptive), reader loses his virginity, sex, stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behavior NOT PROOFREAD ENDING IS RUSHED!

FEM ALIGNED + MINORS DNI

You watched Will from a distance, become fascinated by Will's beauty. His curly hair, his facial structure, his build, his everything.

He haunted you. You saw him everywhere you went.

Will was different from the rest. A body of pure perfection. The others ones in your collection were unamusing, marred in compaison to him.

Once you've had gotten your hands on him, your collection fell neglected. Left on the shelf to collect dust. Disposed of them when they broke.

Will was your prized doll like one of those vintage Christmas Barbies.

Once you've finally gotten your hands on him you noted he wasn't in perfect condition. It was quite clear under closer eyes, a few nicks and scratches. You'd treat him better than anyone else would. You wanted to keep him from farther damage.

At first, Will was a bit hard to play with. His face model was always in a scowl. Brows knitted in anger.

You thought about redoing his face, scraping off the base and painting a new one. Thoughts about the last time you've done it deterred your decision. Their faces had always came out disfigured, never getting quite right.

His hard shell didn't deter your love for him. You treated him gently, bought things for him, making small conversations at your little tea parties. His anger was met with your kindness.

It took a while till Will's shell chipped away. His scowl disappeared, replaced with a friendly smile. Happiness to see you home from you doll hunting.

Soon he became the best doll you've owned. A pleasure to have company with.

His voice box sounded much different from the others. The other doll yelled crude obscenities. Of course, their angry words didn't last long as taking out their boxes quieted them down.

Will was kinder. He was more willing to carry a conversation. He'd let you play with him without protest. Let you play with him, brush his hair, change his clothes. The others were hard to move, their sticky joints refusing to move.

Of course, the hunt for new dolls didn't stop. Once Will met these new friends, he became cold. Back to the old Will.

Will never liked play to nice. Mean and unpleasant words were barked at the others. They broke quicker than anticipated. You'd find Will covered in red, broken dolls at his feet.

He'd plea that he was special. That you couldn't have any other dolls. He was the only one that's supposed to be in your collection. Red, teary eyes begging to be the only doll in your collection.

You pulled him into close embrace, feeling his pounding heartbeat against your chest. Whispered promises as he cried at your every word.

Your precious Will, beautiful yet so broken. You plege devotion solely to him.

Since than you only cared for Will. Every moment was spent with him.

He seemed to enjoy playtime as well. He'd sit quiet and pretty as you changed him. His hands always posed between his legs. His joints bent seamlessly as he shifted in his sit.

One day while picking his clothes for the day, Will made mention that he had working parts down...there. That they'd the react when played with.

He said he was a 'sex doll', that only he's the only one.

He guided you as you were inexperienced. Spoke you through each step. Your fingers nervously stretching him. Your eyes trained on Will's face, looking for any sort of discomfort.

Fingers still he's face contorts. You weren't sure if it was discomfort or pleasure. You weren't going to risk breaking your precious doll by testing which one.

Your hand begins withdrawaling from between him. Before you could do or say anything farther, Will's hand shoots forward to grasp your wrist.

"Don't fucking stop." Will growls as his grip tightly.

His eyes darken, a glint of something beneath them. Like there was a secret to be shared behind blown out pupils. It seems almost sinister.

Your heart skips a beat and your mouth goes dry and all you could do was give him a small nod. Sex brought out this side of an otherwise gentle Will. One you were not willing to challenge.

Once Will felt like he was fully prepped and ready, he made you withdrawal your soaked fingers. With shaking hands gripping your cock, guiding it to his ready hole. A hiss sounding from Will almost made you stop but you wouldn't dare to do that again.

It felt so fucking good. Stinking in inch by inch. His hole stretching to fit your cock. His insides warm and wet. Pleasure consuming your entire being.

Did all dolls feel like this? Why haven't you tried this before?

Once Will completely bottomed out, he gave you a slight squeeze. You had to hold yourself back, nearly cumming after only just a moment.

Your eyes shut tight as your head falls against Will's chest, trying to focus on breathing. Shaking breaths timed with Will's heartbeat.

A sharp kick to your side, a signal that Will wants you to move. Eyes snap open to look deep into Will's. That look still present, now even darker.

"Take it nice and slow." Will spoke sweetly behind a kind smile. He's gentle once again. Will's changes in mood were slightly off putting.

You began to move at a slow pace, sloppy as you tested the water. Thrusts were shallow and somber. Will's hand grip at your hips and begin guiding your movements.

"Follow my lead." He locked eyes while you felt the need to look away.

His hands push you forward establishing a rythm. Pushing in deep to hit something the made Will gasp and pulling out till your tip was the only thing in him.

You tried focusing on keeping the order as you roll your hips into him but everything felt so good your mind went numb. Will's grunts turned into moans as you kept nailing the spot in him that made him sing.

You push your entire weight onto, trying to reach deeper and deeper. Confidence is now yours when Will clenches around you. The heat is suffocating, sweat pools down your back.

One of his hands leaves your hips, guiding yours onto his weaping cock. Your fingers tightens around it, jerking it in rythm with your thrusts. White drips for his tip on his stomach. He's as close as you.

Your thrusts finally lose pace and your thrusts become shallow once again as you feel like the end is near. Will pulls you in a kiss, swallowing your little sounds, cumming together. White paints your bodies.

You pant as you collapse on top of Will. Your eyes fall heavy as you focus on catching your breath.

"Will you stay with me forever, doll?" You plead once the room had fell silent.

"Till time separates us."

You pull Will close, your head against his neck. In that moment he felt real, almost human. Like his heart beat just as yours. Like flesh and bone.

[suntoru]

❝ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ❞

─ ✰ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: scaramouche thinks you’re an awfully clumsy human being. you’re lucky he loves you just as much as you like to see him suffer.

─ ✰ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, kissing, slight blood (you get hurt), 1.4k words

─ ✰ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this is very half baked ill write more genshin I SWEARRRR

"stupid," scaramouche mumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

if you didn't know any better you'd think he was degrading you, but his actions betray his words. though his tone may sound brash and condescending, you've grown accustomed to his prickly demeanor. there's a subtle shift in his voice, a hint of concern mingling with a sense of protectiveness. he squats down right next to where you're clutching your bloody knee.

pulling you snug against his chest, his touch is surprisingly gentle as he carefully inspects the scrape you received from tripping over a rock. despite his initial dismissal, there's a sincerity in his actions that speaks volumes. it's as if beneath his layers of harshness and sarcasm, there lies a genuine desire to ensure your well-being, hidden behind a facade of indifference.

he sighs, tenderly blowing air on the scrape in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. "does it hurt?" he mumbles, his tone attempting to regain some of his abrasive personality. but when it comes to you, he finds it impossible to maintain his usual harshness. you nod softly, your eyes glazed over in a blurry haze, and he can't help but feel a strange sensation in his chest. or rather, the place where he would feel a sensation if he had a heart.

he's at a loss for how to make it feel better, his mildly annoyed faltering in the face of your discomfort. his nose crinkles. if it were him in this situation, he would have brushed it off easily, perhaps even stomped on the flowers in the surrounding area for good measure. a scrape like the one on your knee would be insignificant to him.

but mortals are so fragile, so easily breakable. you cry over small, uncontrollable events, like someone passing away or falling on your knee. you're bad for his health, he swears silently to himself. every time you trip or stumble or shed a tear, he finds himself inexplicably worrying about you. it's a strange feeling, one he's not accustomed to— caring for the emotions of someone other than himself. he doesn't like feeling vulnerable, yet in your presence, vulnerability seems inevitable.

but it's not all mortals he feels this way for. if it were one of his subordinates, he would have had them punished severely for shedding tears over such a small thing. however, with you, he finds it's different. he knows, all too well, the nature of human life, witnessing countless souls fade away in the blink of an eye; your lifespan is but a fleeting moment compared to his eternity. perhaps that's why he worries so much. scolding you for not taking proper care of yourself, angrily patching you up when you get hurt— these actions have become common occurrences.

yet, it doesn't stop the sinking feeling he gets every time it happens. it's as if with each scrape, each tear, he's reminded of the fragility of your existence. and in that reminder, he feels an unfamiliar pang of concern, a whisper of something resembling... affection. how strange.

he finds his fingers instinctively wiping away a stray tear rolling down your cheek, a frown marring his usually composed features. retrieving a spare bandaid, patterned with cute bunnies that you had insisted on buying, he takes extra caution when tending to your wound. somehow, you always manage to find trouble, a fact that both frustrates and perplexes him.

you're such a baby, always getting yourself into situations that require his attention. and yet, for some reason, he doesn't exactly mind it. after all, he'd rather you seek his comfort over a dimwit like a certain ginger harbinger.

you nuzzle into his touch, letting out soft sniffles as you pout sadly, wincing at the pain. he tries to be as gentle as possible, tenderly placing the bandaid over the scrape with the utmost care. and when you're not looking, he shoots a glare at the stupid rock that caused you harm, silently cursing its existence.

"hurts..." you mumble, tugging on his sleeve with pleading eyes. "will you kiss it better?" you ask, your voice tinged with vulnerability. he hesitates, his mind immediately conjuring up logical reasons why such an action would be ineffective and potentially harmful. but the look on your face melts his resolve, and with a resigned sigh, he leans in and tenderly presses a kiss on top of your so-called 'boo boo'. it's a small gesture, but he can't deny the warmth that spreads through him at the sight of your grateful smile.

in one motion, he tilts his oversized hat downwards, completely blocking his face, leaving you blinking softly and cocking your head in confusion. what could he possibly be doing?

"...scara?" you question, attempting to shift to where he seems to be looking. but as soon as you move, he shifts his gaze elsewhere, and you mimic his movements, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

"would you stop that?" he scowls finally, ceasing his movements and refusing to meet your gaze. his cheeks are tinged with a pretty pink hue, gradually deepening into a full-blown red, a clear sign of his embarrassment. you can't help but stare at him innocently before bursting into laughter, playfully pinching his cheek as you tease him about his flushed face.

"aww, scara, you flustered?" you taunt, but he swats away your hand, attempting to evade your playful teasing. "i'm not—" he begins, his voice trailing off as he struggles to find the right words, but the embarrassment on his face speaks volumes. with a bratty huff, he removes his beloved hat from his head and places it firmly onto yours, obstructing your vision. his hand remains firmly placed on your head to ensure you don't pull it off.

"hey!!!" you protest, squirming in an attempt to lift the hat, but his grip remains steadfast. he's adamant on not letting you see his face; perhaps you've gone a bit too far now. is he pouting at you? gently, you intertwine your delicate fingers with the hand that's pressing down the hat, silently coaxing him to relent. eventually, he does, allowing you to lift the hat and meet his gaze, although he still stubbornly avoids making direct eye contact, staring off into the distance with a petulant expression.

he resembles a toddler at this moment, cheeks puffed in annoyance, yet his hand remains firmly clasped against yours. despite his outward irritation, you don't miss the way his thumb gently moves back and forth, caressing your fingers.

it's endearing, really, and you can't help but smile at his adorable display. surely, he wouldn't mind too much if you continued to tease him, would he? with that mischievous thought in mind, you press a tender kiss to his cheek, lips as soft as custard pressed sweetly against his pale porcelain skin. nuzzling into his face softly, he predictably flinches back, his embarrassment turning a deeper shade of red.

"hah? what was that for?" he hisses, but you can see the subtle fluster dancing in his eyes, betraying his composed facade. suddenly, he feels trapped in a dizzying spiral of butterflies in his stomach, unable to think clearly as every single thought in his head revolves around you. "hm?" you giggle mischievously, playing innocent.

"i'm just... kissing it better."

bonus!!

a day later, scaramouche stealthily makes his way back to the spot where you had tripped and hurt yourself. squatting down, he inspects the object responsible for your fall with a disdainful glare. it's just a stupid, ugly grey rock. annoyingly mundane.

"you'll never be a precious gem like you wish you were," he snarls, his voice dripping with contempt as he channels his elemental skills against it, slamming it against various surfaces with relentless force.

"you're boring. get out of my sight." with each strike, he vents his frustration, punishing the rock for its audacity to cause you harm. he continues to torment the poor rock, his determination unwavering until it's reduced to mere shambles, pebbles scattered haphazardly across the ground. only then does he allow himself a satisfied huff, a smirk of triumph gracing his lips as he surveys his handiwork. with a sense of accomplishment, he strides proudly away, eager to return home to you.

© SUNTORU 2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[mellowdisko]

Many forget that Nipton was never about Vulpes acting for his own sake. At the Fort, when you ask Caesar what the Frumentarii do, he tells you: "Infiltration, assassination, dramatic atrocities to break the spirit of the enemy..." Thats exactly what Nipton was: a dramatic atrocity, a letter that reads: "We are here. We have arrived."

It was never meant to be a lesson. The NCR does not care about morality, neither does the Legion. Nipton was a town that was destined to be destroyed not because it was a wicked place (Vulpes was lying through his teeth about the whole thing -the dead legionnaires are evidence- like thats what he does, that is literally his job!) but because it was small enough to burn without consequence, close enough for the message to be heard. Nipton wasn't a lesson. It was a spectacle, meant to be seen by the eyes of the Republic. Thats why the Courier is tasked to spread the news, they're a mailman delivering a letter.

And Vulpes? Can't say he's explicitly sadistic. A bad person? Absolutely. But not playful with his cruelty. He is just as cruel as every other legionary. The only difference is he is smarter about it, more intense.

Nipton isn’t a part of him. Nothing is. Nothing but the Legion. He does not carry the weight of that town. He does not look back to the ruins he has left behind. Nipton is no pang of remorse, no pleasure, no sin. It is merely a step forward. Proof that the Legion has entered the Bear's den, proof that its will is being done.

And we never see Vupes as he truly is. He is not a person, at least not anymore.

He wears a mask, a new face with every new encounter. In Nipton he is wearing the mask of a vexillarius, in the strip the mask of a gambler. And at the fort, he is just another legionary: red-clad and quiet, a little fox curled at the foot of his emperor's throne. He has 0 indicators of individuality, he is not a person. He's only a name, a shadow streching across the Mojave.

I do believe the only time we get a glimpse of who Vulpes truly is, is when Caesar tells his backstory. His cunning, his wit—but also his insubordination, a hint of rebellious youth. That is who I think he really is: a rebel boy, not in opposition to the Legion, but in relentless devotion to it. Someone who is willing to tear down every pillar, disobey every order just to see the flag rise higher.

Vulpes will slaughter, torture, and betray and engage in "profligate scum" activities for the benefit of his side. He is ready to serve even if it angers the Son of Mars. He doesn't ask for permission. Doesn't beg for forgiveness. He does what he must, then kneels before the blade waiting for the punishment that has never managed to come since his first trial as a decanus. And there is passion in that, a desire. To paint the desert with his nation's red, to whisper his lord's name to every ear, to tame the untamable: the idea, the dream.

At the Fort, we see him as nothing more than a docile soldier but we know that he is different, remarkable; Caesar had said it himself. Rebel boy: always ready to mangle and burn the world and himself along with it just to serve what he believes is providence.

He is "a rather intense young man," whose entire existence is a disguise. A spy so devoted to his duty that he has stripped himself of everything else. A spy, in the fine suit of a gentleman or under the hide of a coyote, tearing down his own tower of humanity as the gods he belives in look down and smile.

He is not a person. He hasn't been a person for a long time.

He is a name, a shadow, a hollowed out man. He is an animal kept at arms length, dog on a leash who does not want to be set free, a weapon, a tool. Pale hand of the Legion reaching west.

With every step through the desert, Vulpes Inculta has left a piece of himself behind, until he is left with nothing but blind faith and bloodied palms. And when you lose everything you ever had in a big bad wasteland you tend to cling onto the first bright colour you see:

Crimson—so inviting, so cruel. Like home.

[murdrdocs]

very slight dubcon but not rlly; oral (f receiving) MDNI18+ w/ COUNT ORLOK

count orlok isn't a typical lover at all, but that is because that is not his intentions. he does not take you out into the spring air for romantic picnics, nor does he bring you freshly picked flowers. before your union, he did not properly court you and ask your parents for permission to be wed.

you know it is foolish to expect him to behave in the ways of typical husbands, human men who pride themselves on being able to provide for their wives—be it financially or physically.

but maybe you are foolish.

you crave things you’ve experienced in your youth. those few times when you allowed a man’s mouth between your legs in the dead of night, a pillow over your mouth to muffle the sounds that would have surely awaken and anger your parents. you crave the giddy feeling you would get at having lips against yours and hands curiously, almost shyly, explore your body before slipping beneath your nightgown.

but count orlok does not think of these things. it is not in his nature, not anymore at least.

and yet, you beg him to give you this.

in the dead of night, your nude body bathed in the cool moonlight, you rest your hand on the marred skin at the top of his head and begin to push him down your body.

“please?” you ask, your voice breaking as tears sting behind your eyes. your nose begins to run and strings of saliva connect both ends of your open mouth.

even these small displays of request trickles fear down your body. but it’s what you want, even if you are petrified at having to ask.

shockingly, count orlok obliges. he willing sinks down, bones cracking as his skeletal body settles between the parallel plush pillows of your thighs. and he is merciless as soon as he lands.

maybe he does not understand the intention, because he sucks in lieu of licking to bestow pleasure upon you. he pulls your parts into his mouth as if he intends to receive life force from this part of you as well. but you know that is not he intention as his teeth have not punctured your skin. not yet.

it shouldn’t feel good, and maybe it doesn’t. maybe your deluded nature is weighing on you more than usual. maybe your hormones are so intense that the suction of your cunt into his decrepit and cold mouth is enough for you.

or maybe there is not more to it. maybe it just feels good.

your back crescents and your hands fist the sweat soaked sheets.

“yes,” you cry, cradling his head between your thighs. “more.”

his tongue flicks out and the first press of the muscle against your cunt has you sobbing. your nails dig into the sheets, wringing the tainted fabric in your grasp. your legs flail against the bed as the count continues, his tongue slipping down and inserting into your entrance. when he opens his mouth wide, the sharp edges of his teeth tickle against a spot of your body that produces insurmountable pleasure.

your moans are unpredictable, switching between pitchy and cracking, and deep and guttural. you're losing yourself and your composure in a way you have never had before, all because the count—the being you are now forever intertwined with—is finally pleasing you in the ways of your kind, instead of simply in the ways of his kind.

it hurts at times. he's not exactly gentle with it, and it doesn't help that his tongue does not possess as much saliva as yours does, but you like the pain. it blends well with the pleasure until you cannot decipher which is which.

soon, all too soon, it becomes too late to attempt to decipher. your back arches and your moans crescendo as the pleasure builds up within your body. when the pleasure releases, you're left twitching against the bed.

you're far too busy focusing on calming and controlling your body to notice count orlok's next moves.

his hands placed onto your thigh, holding your body down, and he sinks his teeth into the supple and unmarred flesh of your thigh, thereby staking his claim on yet another part of your body. you release a pained sound, one that doesn't taper off into a moan anytime soon. this hurts more than drinking from your heart does. the pain is that of an insistent pinch, only increasing in strength with each audible slurp of your life-force into his decaying body.

but you give to him. your body calms without conscious decision, and the count continues to drink until he's had his fill. by then, you're tripping between the lines of consciousness and unconsciousness. just before you slip away, you hear the deep rumble of his voice telling you to give him more.

you try to come back to him, but you’re spent from having been pleasured and used. without further thought, you float off and let him continue as he pleases.

[hoodreader]

𝒫𝑅𝐼𝒩𝒞𝐸𝒮𝒮 𝒯𝐼𝒜𝒩𝒜 𝐸𝒩𝐸𝑅𝒢𝒴

♡ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི tiana most embodies the energy of saturn for most of the film. she’s so absorbed in labor / work that she’s like a hermit. and the most saturnian thing about it as well is that she does it to sort of honor her late father, whom she looked up to + felt inspired by

♡ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི it’s also a classic rags 2 riches type of story. tiana grew up impoverished, like most other black louisianans in the ‘20s

♡ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི i don’t think these qualities of being a hard worker are necessarily admirable - u need balance. she worked her whole life ( three jobs !? ) and overworking urself is actually anti-saturn. that’s the lesson she had to learn

♡ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི i’m guessing she’s a capricorn rising. always had so much responsibility and never really allowing herself to have fun + fail + be human + fall in luv

♡ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི her personality is effortlessly graceful and really regal. despite being a poor black girl from louisiana, prince naveen thought tiana was a princess at charlotte’s party - i feel like royalty are able to identify themselves quite easily. so just wearing a princess dress doesn’t make someone princess-like, but bc tiana has so much grace / charm / poise, he assumed she was also of royal lineage

♡ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི she’s pretty strong minded, funny, etc but she doesn’t really let people in enough for them to see that she is. when naveen came to learn that she did have a lot of personality outside of work, he was pleasantly surprised !

♡ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི she’s also smart as hell :) bold and protective. she’s fiercely loyal - when the shadow man offered her all of her dreams in exchange for the necklace, she decided to be loyal to love / herself / naveen. even tho having that restaurant meant to much to her and her father

♡ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི so for that reason… i’m getting leo sun vibes from her. regal, charming, loyal

♡ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི she’s very sentimental - when her mother gifted tiana the gumbo pot her father used, she was brought near tears. her wanting to have a restaurant at all is very sentimental

♡ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི she’s imaginative. despite everyone telling her that she shouldn’t pursue her dream - bc she’s a poor black woman - she doesn’t quit. she keeps going! she’s a dreamer

♡ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི she claimed she struggled to dance bc she’s never done it, but she was able to so quickly learn how to dance with naveen in that one scene. she has a natural artistic affinity

♡ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི she’s good in the kitchen! i think that’s a gift that shows intuitive abilities

♡ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི for that reason, i peg tiana as a pisces moon! sensitive, still loving her family a lot ( she just channels it into work ), a dreamer, and a visionary

as for her other placements… i feel like she’s a virgo mercury, virgo venus, and aquarius mars. but these are mostly vibes, lol

u cannn switch the rising and sun ( leo rising + cap sun ) instead. but that’d change her other planets too. so for that, i see: leo rising, pisces moon, capricorn sun, capricorn? mercury, capricorn venus, and aquarius mars.

what do you think? this was my favorite movie growing up, i watched it probably ( no exaggeration ) thousands of times lol. anyway, i hope this was a fun read. i want to do more disney characters son

[not-an-alien-scientist]

Human: Dude I'm not so sure about this whole pack bonding thing you've been talking about humans don't even like each other

Alien: Well is it not true that your species collectively grieved over a non-sentient robot on the planet I believe you designate as "'Mars"?

Human: Okay look, that's different, Opportunity's last words just broke our hearts okay

Alien: But... it did not send a last message of words. It was merely the last data recorded by the non-sentient robot. The data showed scientists low power and also indicated the skies on the planet were dark to the point where no sunlight was visible at the time of the last data transfer, nothing more. x

Human: Exactly

Alien: So why does your species grieve over basic data?

Human: Well you just said it "My battery is low and its getting dark"

Alien: That is a poetic translation of basic data

Human: Are you trying to dishonor Opportunity's work?

Alien: N-no I jus- - -

Human: Opportunity was a good boy who did his best. End of story *huffs out and goes to grab some soda*

Alien: *watches human walk away without any farewell words* ?!?!? *jots down in notes* [ Humans can be very protective of their own even when challenged with basic facts, proceed with caution when discussing pack mates of any type, including all non-sentient pack mates. ]

[katakaluptastrophy]

The ships … the ships were still full of people. I reached our hand out into space. I extended. I struggled. He said, I bit through the sun first. It’s human nature. That started things going.

Imagine being on those ships (and remember, not everyone in those ships was a nefarious trillionaire) zooming away from earth.

Maybe you've watched mushroom clouds blossoming across the face of the earth as you pulled away, the lines of communication fizzing out and going dead.

Watched...something...happen to the earth. Watched the sun flare and then flicker out.

I sliced through Venus, Mercury, Mars … by that point a couple of the tugs had already launched through the Kuiper. I had to kill Jupiter and Saturn in a fucking hurry. I reached … they blinked away from me … all I could do was hope that they’d watched what I was doing and all died from fucking terror. You and I went full fucking Hungry Caterpillar. We took Uranus … Neptune … crunched down Pluto … found every satellite and craft, reached in, crunched up all the humans, moved on.

You try to make contact with the installations as you pass - the small city on Mars, the helium-3 capture facility at Jupiter, the mines on Saturn's moons, the skeleton crew constructing the shell on Uranus, the Kuiper platform. Maybe the comms are eerily quiet. Or perhaps, you make contact for just a moment, enough time to witness what happens when god doesn't kill people "clean".

As you speed away, the rings of the gas giants burst asunder and the planets seem to desaturate, the readings go haywire as their magnetic fields suddenly destabilise. And something, oh god, something seems to slip away from each one, some absolute acid trip of horror, like some kind of writhing, fleeing ghost.

The moment I found the fleet spinning up to enter FTL, it was too late … I could only grab one of them … and you and I held it in the palm of our hand. I was in there with them. All those frightened people. All those runaway rats.

And then something physically stops one of the ships. Alarms are going off, sparks are flying, lights are flickering, and there's a horrifying sense of presence (if John feeling Alecto's presence was unremitting screaming inside his head, what does the presence of the newly combined John and Alecto feel like? Because I don't think that invovles less eldritch psychic screaming, somehow).

And then you break free, and spin off into some kind of warp of time and space, with the knowledge that you are the last humans left alive in the universe and that something truly terrible lurks on the husk of the earth.

Imagine 5000 years of that tale being passed down through humanity (that's equivalent to the time that passed between the stone age and the present day), as civilisations rose and fell across planets and systems.

And then imagine, one day, being the ship that encountered something they'd never seen before. A ship, of an entirely unfamiliar design, bearing an unfamiliar symbol: a skull. The whole ship is covered in bones. Sleek, designed, inlaid bones. Human bones.

When they hail you, you see humans, but not like you've seen before. They're dressed in strange outfits: military uniforms and robes that look like something from a textbook of the most ancient history. They're carrying swords. Swords! Many of them seem starved and sickly, as if their bodies are consuming themselves. They speak of their empire and their god in strange, archaic words - an impossibly ancient language from the earth that was - of the resurrection of the dead, of the Lord over the River, of necromancy.

And you realise that however horrifying the tales of the earth's death in fire, there are things worse than death.