#the musical ends with the comet passing by

[penguin--person]

i dont know how profound their romance is in the musical or whatever but in the book pierre meets natasha when she’s like 13 or something and then for the rest of the book it’s just like bruhhhh h h h . Russian novel moment ! this always happens. so i cant take them seriously really but maybe in the musical it’s normal . maybe

iim gonna be honest with you dude i didnt even know they were romantic when i first listened to it:( i thought it was like a found family moment. and yea he says "i have known her since she was a child and long carried affection for her" pierre FAIL moment but 'affection' isnt inherently romantic ! and. mannn i misread some moments so bad. after anatole fails to steal natasha away and her reputation is ruined, pierre goes to her and sees how messed up her situation is. how sad she is. and he goes "if i were not ugly and stupid and dumb but someone cool and awesome. id get down on my knees this minute and ask you for your hand and for your love" but i thought that was just like fuckinggg. "its not over for you. youre still young. if i could id restore your honour, but i cannot, but there will be someone out there that can, youre not over, you still have so much life left to live. id help you if i could but i rlly cant. youre going to be okay." and not. as genuine as it turned out to be. hes a poet and shit right hes a philosopher. i thought he was just being all cool and stuff with his words for no reason . pierre fail moment. poor natasha... auughhh

[versupital]

⋆⁺₊❅. like my stockings? satoru gojo.

on dasher, on dancer, on prancer, on vixen, on comet, on cupid, on dunder, on... gojo? the one in which your husband notices you're not having a great time at your christmas party, but he knows exactly how to make you feel better.

soundtrack! a nonsense christmas (duh)

content warning. sexual maturity under text, creampie, slight exhibitionism, gojo wears antlers, afab/fem!reader, jealousy, marriage/established relationship, switch!gojo

word count. 3.7k

{au/timeskip of this fic!} | inspired by this classic poem.

You would not have guessed that your crush from college would have ended up putting a ring on your finger. Back then, not a cell in your body had in you told you that he’d ever even notice you, let alone plan a future with you. 

But it had happened. One night of lust and bliss had turned into forever. The two of you had not been separated since your first hookup, and it had amazed everyone around you. 

Four years later, it’s still as surreal as the day you met. You glance around your large home (the one you don’t pay a dime for); the smell of pine, cinnamon, and gingerbread consuming the air. People stand from wall to wall, garland hangs from every banister, and your thirteen-foot tall Christmas tree is at the center of it all. 

Your husband, Satoru, to whom you have your eyes glued, has on a pair of white antlers. He looks like a snow elk, perfect and icy and ethereal, and you can tell that everyone is noticing as much as you are.

Dozens of eyes follow him as he prances around the party, holding a silver tray of spiked eggnog, flicking his hips to the music and making sure everyone is having a good time. You, on the other hand, look like St. Nick himself, in the way you stare red-faced at him, jealous smoke encircling your head like a wreath.

You notice him perking up, sensing your stare, and in the next second he looks directly at you with care. He drops a wink until he realizes that you are not smiling back. 

He captures the attention of Nanami, before passing him the drink tray, whispering something in his ear. Nanami’s back is to you, but you wish you could have seen his face; seen his response to whatever Satoru had said.

“Someone’s not feeling Holly Jolly,” Satoru pouts as he approaches you, flicking your nose. 

“Mhm,” is all you reply, avoiding eye contact with him and leaning away from his touch.

“Hey, ‘m gonna give you coal, naughty girl,” he narrows his eyes and dips his head towards yours, but when you don’t crack a smile, he grows more concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Yep,” you say, absently reaching up to adjust his hair, and he instantly responds to your touch.

Realistically, you know you have nothing to worry about, but when the whole world finds your husband attractive, the fear never truly goes away. You yourself had witnessed the way he’d managed to make the entire room go silent, based on looks alone, the first time you’d met him. 

“You’re not,” Satoru sighs. “Have I told you that you look ravishing in your little Mrs. Claus dress?”

You glance down at the red two-piece you wear, complete with white stockings and boots. Satoru had emphasized several times already that you look beautiful. It’s not that.

“You did,” you crack a small smile at him, “I’m fine, really, it’s stupid.”

Satoru takes a deep breath. You can see the wheels turning in his head as he picks up on what exactly is bothering you.

“Alright, who was it?” he asks. “Who stared at me for too long? We’ll go over together so I can introduce you. You know, as my wife.”

You nearly break character and laugh at him, but you hold the stark expression on your face.

“More like who wasn’t staring at you.” You hold your hands up, and Satoru’s face contorts as if he wants to be touched by them. “It’s alright, I’ll be over it soon. After all, I should be used to this by now.”

Satoru clicks his tongue. “You know,” he slithers his slender fingers down your arm, inducing chills from your nerves until he links his fingers with yours. “I’ve been over all of this socialization for the past half hour. Maybe I’m overstimulated. Need some peace and quiet.”

Your gaze travels up his arm, his torso, before locking with his eyes. “Maybe I do too,” you say, remembering that a large crowd does tend to make you tense. Right. “Where should we go?”

Satoru grins and begins to tug on your hand, leading you in the direction of the stairs. “We have so many rooms to choose from.” 

You think about it for a moment. You want to be somewhere warm. Somewhere with a fireplace.

“Baby?” you say, voice unconfident and small. “The bathroom.”

“The bathroom?” Satoru nearly falters, but doesn’t stop walking or look back.

“It’s… quiet, and warm in there,” you justify, but both of you know that that has nothing to do with why you’re ducking off to the bathroom with your husband in the middle of a party.

“Is it?” Satoru coos, rounding the corner to your bedroom, before you stride across together to the bathroom. “That’s just perfect, my little Vixen.”

You swallow thickly, the rage that had been coursing your veins earlier nearly gone now. What had you even been mad about? Your brain can’t think of the answer as your hormones start to water down your common sense.

“Maybe we should wait,” you say suddenly, nearly as soon as Satoru turns the lights on. “After all, someone will come looking for us.”

“No they won’t,” Satoru releases your hand and heads over to the fireplace, “Nanami’s got us covered.”

“Does he?” you tilt your head to the side. You watch as he effortlessly crouches and sets the firewood ablaze, heat entering the room and engulfing you. 

“He does,” Satoru says, voice suddenly deep and commanding. “So you should just come sit, and stop worrying the sugar-plums in your head.”

Your body obeys, as it always does. Not a moment later you’re sat right next to your husband, bottom on the plush bath mat on the floor in front of the hearth. 

He’s warming up his hands as you’re watching the fire light up his face. He’s usually so egg white pale, but with the warmth from the light, he’s glowing an orange tone, and it’s beautiful.

Then he laughs, and shatters your moment of hushed admiration. 

“That’s what all this was really about, huh?” he questions, turning to you finally, moving his now warm hands from the fire and slithering them under your thighs – on the bare skin between the hem of your skirt and the top of your stockings. “You’re grumpy from cock withdrawals.”

“Wh-what?” you blink rapidly up at him, furrowing your brows. “No, you know that I have a jealous streak.”

“Right, but,” Gojo perseveres forward, the tips of his fingers delving deeper into your skin, “you were staring at me, all in heat.” 

“Was not,” you argue, clenching your thighs, trying to shrink away from him, but you know that it’s useless. He’s got his claws on you, and he won’t let you get away that easily. “I was just making sure you didn’t burn yourself.”

“C’mon now, Vixen,” Gojo cocks his head, antlers jingling, still perched atop his snowy locks. “I would recognize that look anywhere. After all, it’s exactly how you used to stare at me during my horse races. Back when we still hooked up in the locker rooms. Isn’t it?”

“You’re wrong,” you argue, but your voice is meek, because even you don’t believe that. 

Satoru nearly has his face attached to yours, his torso leaning over you. You hardly noticed, with his enchanting stare, that he’s pulled your legs over his, and he now rests between them. You can smell the peppermint and cocoa on his breath, feel the heat radiating off his palms. 

His frosty eyes are half-lidded. He’s purposely sliding his tongue over his bottom lip, showing you what you’re missing out on, and it drives you mad.

“There it is,” Gojo taunts, voice ripe with desire. “It doesn’t take much, does it?”

You furrow your eyebrows and once again attempt to pull away with a scoff. Satoru uses your movement to rip you into his lap once and for all, forcing you to straddle him. 

You gasp as your knees hit the material of the mat on either side of his hips, cunt resting on the material of his silk pants. Your hands mindlessly grip onto his biceps, steadying yourself.

He looks up at you through his ivory lashes, reading your face as he decides his next move. 

“You’re delusional,” you squeak.

Gojo laughs at this, his whole torso shaking against yours. Instead of answering, he grips the tip of your chin gently with his long fingers. 

In a blur, he’s got you melting into his mouth as he dips his lips against yours, kissing you as deeply as his mouth will let him. 

Your lips slide together, his warm and wet with saliva. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, officially locking you in, now there’s no escape. His hands are moving to dangerous places: the crease of your thighs, the small of your back, prancing up your spine like the gallop of a reindeer.

The fire in the hearth is slowly growing; the warmth dancing across your backside in time with Satoru’s hands. The small silver bells on his antlers jingle as he slowly rotates his head to accommodate the movements of your jaws. 

Now, the tips of his fingers are sliding down the outer edge of your thigh, daring to dip underneath the material of your stocking and pull it down. 

You gasp, and bring your hands to his pecs, fingers pressing into the thick flesh there. This earns a groan from his throat, reverberating onto your tongue, and his fingers curl until you feel his nails breaking open your skin. 

Seems you’re not the only one who’s easily turned on, huh?

You break away from the kiss, trying to hide the fact that it feels like Satoru has sucked the breath from your lungs. You glare down at him, his lips already pink and puffy, his blue eyes low and dazed.

“You done yet?” he questions, entangling his fists in your socks. You respond by bucking against him, feeling his hard cock poking you the minute you do so. 

“Done what?” you grit, sliding your hands down his torso, finding the hem of his holiday sweater. 

“Securing your spot on the naughty list,” he smirks. 

“For what?”

“Lying.”

“Lying about what?”

You stare at each other for several moments. Then, a clatter of clothes more grand than hooves on the roof and several eye blinks later – you sit bare chest to chest, save for your white cotton bra. 

“About how badly you wanted me to drag you up here all evening,” Gojo breathes, his fingers on your body mimicking the flow of his words; slow and syrupy. “About what really had you upset downstairs.”

“I told you,” you huff for the last time, nails burrowing into the skin of his shoulder blades as threateningly as possible. “I was jealous. Everyone was drinking up my husband–”

Your back hits the floor in a smooth transition. 

“And you wanted them to know you drink me up in ways their pathetic brains could never comprehend.”

His voice travels along the pulse in your neck. It’s almost painful how sultry and warm it is. The tips of his hair tickle your cheek as he cocks his head to dip his mouth perfectly against your collarbone. 

“No,” you say again, still fighting him. 

His palms ride up the goosebumps on your ribcage, finding the stretchy band of your bra, threatening to pop it. You don’t care. You know for sure he doesn’t.

“Should I put coal in your stockings?” he whispers. “Or something else just as rock solid?”

You push at his chest, but he barely falters. He’s propped himself up with his free arm, his hand still expertly working that bra off of you. The hooks disconnect, the straps sliding down your shoulders. 

His antlers jingle again as he tilts his head to the side, innocently awaiting your argument. But you don’t have one, and he knows it.

“Guess I have been pretty bad this year,” you hum, back threatening to arch from the mat.

You wrap your arms around his neck, and nothing else has to be said before he’s pulling you back into a sitting position. 

“Well?” Gojo watches as your bra falls in your lap, and you take it and throw it to the side - nearly right into the fire. “What should be done about that?”

“Maybe we should talk about you first,” you argue, wasting no time crawling back on top of him, watching as he cranes his neck to look up at you with a wishful glint in his eye. “What kind of reindeer abandons his duties in the month of December?”

This earns you a chuckle, just before his face drops and his palm comes into contact with the base of your throat. A final gasp erupts from you before he presses his fingers into the skin, cutting off your breath. 

“I’m serving punishment to girls on the naughty list, aren’t I?” Gojo murmurs. “Surely, Santa will understand.”

“Not when the punishment is being served by someone else on the naughty list,” you purr. “I mean, is it really a punishment if we both feel so good doing it?”

“Hm,” Gojo shrugs one shoulder lazily, “let’s see how good your punishment feels first.”

One, two, three cracks and the last things separating your skin are gone. You sit, bare cunt dripping onto his length, stockings nearly ripped from the tugging and twisting they’ve endured so far. Gojo opts to keep his antlers on, and you can’t help but find that it makes the situation that much more exhilarating. 

You dip your head, and he parts his lips in expectancy, but at the last minute you connect your mouth to his jaw. You hear it snap shut as he closes his mouth, but not before letting out a slutty sigh. Your hands are everywhere: his shoulders, his chest, his neck, the back of his head. Everywhere but where he wants them to be.

He’s letting you take your time, grinding his hips up into yours, releasing your throat and leaning back on his palms, chest heaving as you drag your wet lips along his jaw, ear, and neck.

He’s so silent, you have to glance up at him to make sure he’s alright. His eyelids are low, but he seems to be enjoying himself. His cock jerks against your clit and makes you spasm. He won’t warn you again.

You breathe out against his neck and then your hand slithers between your thighs. It grabs ahold of his needy cock, but before you can keep going, he cuts you off.

“Still worried about what our guests think?” he questions, hand sliding up to cup your face, watching your expression as you sit up on your knees. 

“No,” you answer, sitting up straight and finally bringing the tip of him in alignment with your ready, needy hole. 

“Good,” he coos, “giddy up, then.”

You nearly cackle, but there’s no time. His cockhead is pushing through your wet ring, filling you immediately with the girth of it alone. His eyebrows momentarily furrow, but you can tell he’s trying to maintain his poker face.

After you’re sure he’s in, snug as a bug, your hands come back up to his shoulders, and you lean into his face – desperate to get some kind of noise, praise out of him. 

“A-Am I redeeming myself yet?” you stutter, rotating your hips as you glide all the way down on his cock, bottoming him out.

This gets some kind of reaction out of him. He jerks a bit, his stomach rising and falling as he pants from being so deep inside of you. 

“Think I need a bit more convincing,” he purrs, and his hand finds itself creeping back up your thigh, tucking his thumb right in the crease.

The rest of his fingers work on holding onto your hip like it’s a reign. 

You begin to feel a sweat forming on the small of your back, but you suspect it’s partially from the heat of the fireplace. You lean your chest intentionally against Gojo’s and feel that he’s equally as warm. The action, albeit small, drawls a reaction from him – his spine arching, his lips quavering. 

You use your hands on his shoulders and the flex of your knees to push your cunt back up the length of his cock, just barely hitting the edge of his tip before you’re sliding back down again. Juicy squelches make an appearance in no time; your pussy managing to be embarrassingly wet for your husband as always. 

“G-G…” Satoru begins, his eyes squeezing shut just moments after being unable to finish his thought.

“Hmm?” you question, finding your rhythm now, abusing your hips as you pound them down against his thighs. 

“G-God,” Satoru says humorously, peeking open one eye just to see your reaction, which is nothing short of irritated.

“Hngh, stop playing, ‘Toru.” 

You need to hear it – you’re working for it. Just two words.

“S-Stop riding me like that,” he groans, his grip growing tighter on your hip. His own hips would normally be drilling up into yours, but this time, he sits stationary – letting his torso do the moving. 

He’s twitching, clearly trying his hardest not to crack, trying to act like he isn’t completely pussydrunk. 

“Like huh?” you question innocently. “Am I not doing what you asked?”

“Mmh,” Gojo shuts his eye again, lips parting as he slowly begins to give up. He grunts before muttering out, “Your punishment feels r-really damn good.”

“Doesn’t it?” you reply. “Don’t you think I’m being good?”

“So good, little Vixen,” he grunts, guttural and raw. “My good girl.”

You nearly giggle, but you’re too caught up in how deep and harsh you’re letting his cockhead dip into your cervix. How your cunt is sucking him up, drenching his groin in your juices. 

Plap, plap, plap. Each time you slam your ass onto him, you nearly stick. Everything is wet and nasty and warm. Satoru’s given up entirely, and he begins to crumble beneath you.

He adjusts himself from putting his weight into his wrists, and now, he’s got his arms wrapped securely around your body. His face rests perfectly between your breasts, which he’s licking and kissing each time you slam down again. 

The room, loud with moans and the crackle of fire, is thick with lust and a bubble of tension. His antler bells ring like a soft afterthought, perfectly in tune with the thump, thump, thump of your hips. 

It’s not going to be much longer before you undo him or come undone yourself. 

“Such a good… fucking… girl.”

The words barely make it out of Satoru’s raspy throat. His nails are breaking open your skin. Your hands can barely hold on to his sweaty shoulders.

The stockings have rolled down to your ankles. You don’t want to think about the state of your hair or your holiday makeup. 

“Please, ‘Toru,” you beg, “one more time.”

He knows why you’re asking. It’s all you need, to hear it one more time, to cum all over him. To nearly suck his cock right up into your stomach with the clenching of your walls. And he knows he wants it just as bad as you do. 

“You got me,” he grunts. “Ngh– riding me like this. Like a good girl.” He lets out a deep groan. “Show me how bad you want off the naughty list, Vixen.” 

“‘M sorry ‘Toru,” you cry, “just wanted you to fuck my jealousy out.”

“I know,” he grins, “just cum for me and it’ll all be better, yeah?”

“Ngh, all better,” you sigh, feeling the high creep up on the tip of your toes and travelling through your nerves before it bursts from your clit. 

You hold onto Satoru’s arms, and he holds onto you tighter as if you’d fall into pieces if he let go. You shake in the cradle of his grip, letting your orgasm take over, your head lolling and eyes rolling. 

Gojo’s not far behind you, his spurts of cum as hot as the fire next to you filling you up. You recall how you’d let him fill you up from the first time you’d had sex and every time since, never quite getting enough of it. 

He’s panting against your chest, which feels like it’s about to crack open from the pounding of your heart.

You’re catching your breath as you feel him softening inside of you, slowly beginning to slip out. He pulls his face away from your chest and his white hair is stuck to his forehead boyishly, his eyelids fluttering as he comes down from his high. 

“Feel s’much better,” he says, “m-maybe I can work something out with Santa, y’know, about getting you off that list.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you grit, rolling your eyes as you slide off of him, leaning back against the mat again, his cum dripping out of your hole as he watches, pupils blown.

“Again? Think we’ll have time?” he glances up at the clock. “I mean, surely, the guests notice we are missing.”

“Hm,” you tap your chin, “I’ll just tell them I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof, and that I had to go investigate.”

“Only to discover your husband, cumming down the chimney,” Satoru snickers, making his way onto his knees and crawling over you – slick as a panther.

“Making me scream, for everyone to hear,” you gasp, feeling the heat of his chest radiate against yours. 

“Merry Christmas to all,” Satoru murmurs against you, his cock jerking up again at the sight. “And to all a good night.”

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

BOOM SHAKALAKAAAAAAA

this is kinda, dare i say, short n’ sweet…

but i hope you all enjoyed <333 i liked connecting it back to my cowboy gojo fic from halloween.

anyway, i hope december is treating you all better than it’s treating me.. what with $1000 car repairs and all <3 i love it hereeee

i hope yall enjoyed my ‘twas the night before christmas’ references too i think i cooked a bit idk tho what yall think…

until next time!

~ pennjammin xx

[kobrafangs]

i've been compiling a bunch of maze runner headcannons over the past few weeks, and i decided to share what i have so far :) fyi most of these are ivytrio centered heheh ^_^ enjoy!!!

- newt would be a big oatmeal fan. he'd have it every day and put cubed fruits and maple syrup in it too. thomas prefers a plain toast with butter and always teases newt for "being an old coot"

- minho is rlly extra and likes to make these fancy pancakes that frypan taught him how to make

- newt would be addicted peach tea. every morning he goes to the convenience store and he buys a bottle before class

- newt loves bracelets and he made a matching pair for him and thomas :] (minho, newt, & thomas also have separate matching bracelets!)

- newt does poetry & art. he carries around a little sketchbook in his satchel where he jots random thoughts and sketches. his muse is thomas <3

- newt likes musicals & claymation/stop motion movies (his fav is dear evan hanson or kubo and the 2 strings) & thomas likes action movies (his favs are starwars or the spiderman movies)

- their fav movie to watch together is fantastic mr fox or coraline

- thomas and minho are both on their school's track team

- thomas downloaded duolingo as a joke but now he feels guilty if he misses even a single day so he has a daily streak of 479

- thomas almost threw up crying watching end game (he forced newt to watch it with him as well)

- thomas prefers calling/face timing over texting and he will do everything in his power to call

- he's also like the least coherent texter of all time He always has like 90 spelling errors in a 4 word text

- newt doesnt like calls but is also the driest texter of all time

- minho sends those corny Good Morning! gifs with a sunset in the background and glitter and flowers on it

- minho studies hard, passes his classes

- newt barely studies, passes his classes (hes just smart)

- thomas doesnt study whatsoever, passes his classes somehow

- minho has legible, normal-but-a-bit-wonky handwriting

- newt has a slanted cursive scrawl

- everything thomas writes is illegible

- minho has the dirtiest mind known to mankind

- when frustrated, minho gets really sassy, thomas gets snappy and fidgety, and newt just goes silent

- minho would go on 5 am runs and post a picture of him on his instagram story all sweaty and smiling and put the dumbest caption of all time on it

- thomas cannot eat unless he puts on a show

- minho scrolls on his phone and texts people while he eats

- newt raw dogs every meal No stimulation whatsoever. pure silence

- thomas is extremely ticklish. like hellishly ticklish. he will literally scream like hes getting stabbed and kick his feet if he gets tickled

- ivy trio stays up until like 3 am playing horror games. thomas is the one who always screams bloody murder at literally any noise, minho keeps yelling at thomas to shut up, and newt is the only one actually playing the game. they also love roblox

- minho and thomas play dress to impress and they get way too invested in it

- newt & sonya braid daisies in each other's hair

- thomas likes having his hair played with

- thomas likes chewing gum, specifically bubble gum because hes actually 8 years old and likes to blow bubbles

- newt looooovessss libraries he'd literally live in one if he could

- minho unironically says "where my hug at" to thomas and newt

- newt is usually the little spoon but he knows thomas likes it too so sometimes he insists on being the big spoon just so thomas is happy

- sun thomas, moon newt, comet minho

- thomas isn't allowed to play fnaf anymore because the last time he did he got jump-scared so hard he threw his phone against the wall so hard it made a hole

- thomas's favourite pony is pinkie pie, newt's is applejack, minho's is rainbow dash

- newt has a fear of heights so thomas and minho always have to beg for him to go to an amusement park with them

- danny gonzalez thomas, drew gooden newt, kurtis conner minho

- minho always quotes random tiktok audios that nobody gets so at one point he just started making up really specific ones that catered to whatever situation they're in and then proceed to gaslight newt and thomas into believing they're real

- dog thomas, cat newt, otter minho

- THOMAS TMNT FAN RAAAHHH

- newtmas' favourite date was an aquarium date. thomas is absolutely captivated by all the fish and newt is so enamoured

- newt would probably like manga (he really enjoyed saiki k, chainsaw man, and sxf)... its his guilty pleasure

- on minho's aforementioned morning runs, he BLASTS pop music thru his headphones. because of this he's literally almost deaf. he always goes "huh" "what?" "say again?" whenever talking to anybody but it especially makes newt so frustrated

- also. minho would love charli xcx SORRY I DONT MAKE THE RULES!!!! he really likes pop music because it gets him pumped up and energized

- when thomas is focused, his speech gets really curt and he kinda shuts the world out because hes so tunnel visioned. as a result people think hes just really rude and a pain to work with

- only newt can work with him effortlessly because they don't need words to communicate. a slight nose scrunch? thomas knows he made a mistake. quirk of the brow? newt nods his head to show his approval. thomas taps his fingers against the table? newt can tell he's frustrated. their relationship can be tacit but understood by one another which is why they work so well with each other

- thomas LOOOOOVES karaoke he literally will not hesitate to belt his heart out

- when thomas blushes, he blushes HARD. he gets really red in the face and gets super embarrassed and newt likes to tease him for it

- when drunk, thomas gets really chatty, newt becomes clingy, and minho turns into a whole nother person he gets SO rowdy and loud and crazy. life of the party kinda guy

and thats all for now hehe !! ^_^ hope these were entertaining enough :p

[angelseraphines]

THE PHANTOM MENACE | CHAPTER FIVE

“daughter of stars.”

the city of theed gleamed as a jewel reborn.

its domes, once shrouded in smoke and shadow, now caught the light of late afternoon and held it in gold. every marble tower, every colonnade, every river-spanning bridge had been washed clean, the battle’s scars scrubbed away, not erased, but honored, woven into garlands of red and violet, the colors of renewal. the rivers, once devoid of life with the consequences of the blockade, now sparkled with movement. procession barges drifted slow and ceremonial down their winding curves, covered in silken banners that fluttered in the wind like wings.

crowds had gathered in every quarter of the capital, on balconies draped in cloth, on the terraces of towers, along the grand plaza that unfurled before the palace gates. nobility stood shoulder to shoulder with farmers, engineers beside scholars, traders alongside children perched on stone ledges. the people of naboo, once confined in fear, stood now in open celebration. from the gungan high marshes to the cities carved into the hillsides, they had all come. they filled the streets with laughter, with wide-eyed joy, with awe at what had passed, and high esteem for what it had cost.

the skies above were bright with ceremonial escort craft, small and sleek, darting in slow patterns across the blue. their engines trailed light ribbons of silver, arcing through the clouds like comets. music filled the air, not the sharp blare of wartime signals, but something melodic, sweeping. theed’s royal musicians, arrayed in polished robes, played from the palace terrace. the sound carried through the open courtyards on currents of warm winds, horns, strings, percussion, rising and falling like a tide of memory.

the gungans had marched from the forests at dawn, accompanied not by war machines, but by dancers, drummers, and sacred beasts adorned in regal armor. they moved in formation up the central promenade, their banners raised, the rhythmic cadence of their language spoken like poetry into the wind. their warriors bore polished helms and newly burnished shields, but no weapons were drawn. the shields reflected the sun like mirrors, casting light over the crowd. the great kaadu mounts plodded slowly behind, their ornamental harnesses clinking with bells and carved emblems of peace.

naboo’s royal guard had taken to their formal station along the palace walls, no longer in combat stance, but in ceremonial array. their white-and-crimson uniforms gleamed in the light, their staves held upright, their helms crested with feathers, each motion crisp, choreographed, graceful. they stood in honor now, not in defense.

flower petals drifted down from high terraces like snow, pale blue, soft lavender, and the ivory bloom of the lake islands. they floated over the crowds, over the flagstones, catching in hair, falling across shoulders, gathering in the folds of gowns and robes. a breeze stirred them, sending some upward again in spirals before they quelled into silence.

and above it all, the royal palace watched from its hilltop perch, serene and sun-warmed, its great doors open to the world, no longer sealed in isolation.

naboo had gathered not to forget, but to remember, together.

to celebrate not the end of war, but the fragile, precious return of peace.

at the head of the grand procession, upon the white marble dais beneath the clear, open sky, the queen of naboo stood in magnificence, bathed in gold.

padmé amidala, robed in ceremonial white layered with feathers as soft as mist, appeared almost otherworldly beneath the descending sunlight. her headdress, crowned with radiant silver filigree and crescent-shaped crests, rose behind her like a halo. her gown shimmered with embroidered light, each motion releasing a thousand flickers of iridescence, and her face, painted in the traditional symbols of sovereignty, was beautiful, serene, and radiant with triumph. her hands, gloved in fine sheer, were folded lightly before her, though she made no attempt to conceal the pride that lived in her bearing.

to her right stood a small girl no taller than her waist, lady avella otrikus, child of a venerated noble house, draped in deep gray and ivory furs despite the warmth of the day. the girl was regal in miniature, her dark hair parted with precision, and her wide indigo eyes twinkled with solemn fascination as she watched the procession rise up the promenade toward them. she did not speak, but her gloved hand gripped the edge of her cloak with nervous reverence, the way a child might when standing in presence of legend.

clustered behind the queen, standing with measured poise beneath the domed arch of the palace platform, were members of naboo’s most ancient bloodlines and courtly houses. lady hedna kanve of the canal province, adorned in cascading silk of smoky rose and silver, stood with a long veil trailing behind her, her gaze fixed outward with icy detachment. beside her, lady kilea marel, a young woman in pale blue and white, clutched a velvet fan in both hands, though she did not use it, too focused on the ceremony to be comforted by gesture. lady hiarmen rharrellis wore a gown of deep metallic green laced with black filigree, her dark curls swept into a jeweled coronet that glinted with sapphires as she turned her head. her stormy eyes, lined in kohl, moved with languid precision across the gathering, ever watchful, ever unimpressed. further along stood the taller, broad-shouldered lord havric tyrn, a man known more for his bluntness than pageantry, dressed uncharacteristically in formal brocade, the sleeves marked by the gold sigils of his house. his gaze, narrowed beneath thick brows, swept across the assembly not with joy, but scrutiny.

and among them, undeniable in her presence, poised akin to a celestial vision carved from a dream, stood vasharre rharrellis.

her gown was unlike any other present. it shimmered with oceanic hues, deep sapphire, violet, and blue-black silk layered in sheets of sheer gauze that rippled with every tendency of the breeze. clusters of tiny glass crystals were sewn into the bodice and shoulders, catching the sunlight in soft refracted sparks that scattered across her arms and collarbone. her hair had been arranged by ebos’s careful hand into a high, coiled crown of waves, laced through with fine silver wire and inset pearls. long earrings of mother-of-pearl and cut gemstone brushed the curve of her jaw, and the nova star pendant gleamed just above the heartline of her gown, unmistakable, unhidden.

she stood without moving, every detail of her bearing cultivated into tranquility, chin raised, dark lashes lowered, lips soft and composed. beside her, or just a step behind, stood ebos onvene in her own muted finery, her sun-tanned hands folded demurely. no words passed between them, but the handmaiden’s emerald eyes were dignified and vigilant, as ever.

on the far side of the gathering, away from the political assembly and state officials, stood master mace windu in his deep tan robes, arms folded across his chest, the lines of his face unreadable. and beside him, standing straight, dark-haired, his tunic too large at the shoulder, was kraen rharrellis.

her elder brother.

he stood in silence like his master, face turned toward the front, his purple lightsaber still clipped to his side. he was taller than she remembered, older somehow, despite being only a year older than the boy who’d flown into battle. he didn’t smile. he didn’t wave. but he was there.

behind them, to the left in the tiered viewing platform, master yoda had taken his place. seated on a hovering dias, his expression was unreadable save for the faint narrowing of his eyes. his presence was peaceful, nearly imperceptible, an ancient stone resting at the center of the storm.

the crowd’s murmur fell to mere whispers as the great gungan procession reached the steps.

at the head of the column stood boss nass, armored and dignified, his massive form crowned by an ornate headdress of shells, tusks, and colored fabric that swayed with every step. behind him came the gungan guard, flanked by warriors on decorated kaadu, their banners raised in ceremonial arcs of green and gold.

boss nass approached the queen with reverent pride. and in his thick, booming voice, one that echoed through the arches and across the open square, he proclaimed the peace between peoples.

then he reached into the folds of his cloak.

and with both hands, he held out the glowing orb, an artifact of union, of sacred accord, luminous with internal light. the sphere of peace.

padmé stepped forward.

and all of naboo watched as she extended her hands to receive it.

he stood only a short distance away, beyond the edge of the royal assembly, framed against the pale marble colonnade, his figure lit cleanly by the golden hush of the afternoon light. no longer a padawan. no longer the gilded shadow behind a towering master.

obi-wan kenobi.

his robes, though simple, had been freshly pressed, the traditional browns and creams of the jedi order unembellished. the saber at his belt now hung without uncertainty, the braid that had once marked his apprenticeship gone, severed by fire and by grief. his bearing was calm, reserved, restrained, yet altered. the sharpness of youth had been burned down into something polished, something forged. he no longer looked over his shoulder. he no longer waited for instruction.

beside him stood the chosen one. anakin skywalker.

he was dressed in formal garments suited to a padawan learner, his tunic light, his boots new, the leather of his belt unscuffed, his frame still awkward in posture. the short padawan braid had been woven carefully behind his ear, its first thread of tradition barely brushing his collar. his face shone with pride, his wide blue eyes dancing with restrained excitement as he watched the ceremony unfold. and in the midst of the stillness, vasharre saw the split second instance, a traace of warmth exchanged between the queen and the boy, a brief smile shared across the crowd, subtle but unmistakable. padmé’s lips lifted in a sweet skile, and anakin straightened beneath her gaze, beaming in return.

vasharre did not smile.

she watched them, watched him, the man in jedi robes standing in the same place her thoughts kept returning to, and for some period of time, she could not breathe.

a part of her still saw the padawan who had stood with her beneath coruscant’s towers, who had looked her way with clear, careful eyes after the rescue, who had told her without ever saying so that he would not let the darkness take her. but now… he was a jedi knight. an honored defender of the republic.

she had seen his master die.

the celebration, the peace, the mirthful joy in the air, it all began to blur at the peripheries, overexposed by guilt. she remembered qui-gon’s body atop the pyre, shrouded in flame. she remembered the heat on her skin, the scent of burning cloth and flesh, and obi-wan standing at its front, unmoving, silent, with grief locked behind his features like a sealed chamber. she remembered wanting to go to him then. to say something. but no words had come.

and now he stood again just out of reach, touched by the light, but never hers.

“qui-gon jinn was your master,” vasharre whispered under her breath, though no one heard it. “master jinn died saving me. i brought him into that fight.”

ebos heard the the young lady’s hushed words. she moved gently behind vasharre and leaned close, her voice hardly above the wind.

“do not look so long at things that cannot be held, my lady.”

vasharre blinked. her painted nails dug into the pale skin of her palms.

“obi-wan kenobi is a jedi knight now,” ebos murmured. “his path is not his own. and his vows… bind him deeper than affection ever could.”

vasharre did not respond. but she turned her gaze away. slowly.

across the square, at the far end of a smaller delegation beneath the east pavilion, stood her father, lord naem rharrellis, deep in conversation with chancellor palpatine. the two men stood close, cloaked in shadow and sable, their expressions unreadable beneath the masks of politics and poise. whatever passed between them, she could not hear. but she could see the way palpatine inclined his head when he spoke, the way naem occasionally pressed a hand to his chest in thought. they were old friends. and in this scene she observed, they looked like equals.

the atmosphere changed.

vasharre breathed in.

and tried not to look at the jedi knight again.

sheev palpatine’s posture was one of warmth, shoulders inclined, hands folded in the shape of courteous appeal. his voice, though too low to be heard from a distance, moved with the cadences of practiced persuasion.

vasharre’s eyes were fixed on them from across the courtyard.

naem rharrellis stood tall, his face composed, his manner unhurried. there was something about his composure that unsettled her, not evasiveness, but discretion. his tone was modest, controlled. he shook his head once, not in disdain, but in firm refusal. and then, after a beat, he rested one hand briefly over his heart and offered a slight bow.

palpatine inclined his own head in return. not disappointed, not surprised, only thoughtful.

vasharre furrowed her brow, the unease building behind her temples.

he had refused.

they were asking him to return, the people of the galactic republic wanted him to return, and he had turned it down. her father, the beloved senator who had guided naboo through five decades of peace, who had been mourned nearly as fiercely as the queen when they believed both lost during the invasion, who had spoken with the voice of their world across the senate floor, and he had refused.

she turned her head to her handmaiden, whispering. “why won’t my father accept the seat again?”

ebos, who had remained beside her with eyes calmly trained on the front of the assembly, gave her a scolding look.

“you shouldn’t be listening,” she said, her voice chiding but soft. “they are speaking of matters above even your rank.”

“but it’s his seat,” vasharre murmured. “and the chancellor himself is…”

“my lady.” ebos’s tone carried warning now. “this is not the place.”

vasharre looked away, chastened, but her fingers, as if responding to thought before action, rose to her pale neck.

she touched the nova star pendant that lay just beneath her throat, the original, the one she had worn for years, its star-pointed face cool against her skin. it had been present during every chapter of her short life, her naming ceremony, her first court debut, the night her mother died, and today, where naboo had achieved glory and harmony.

but today, for the first time in her young life, she wore both.

the second nova star, kept in a silken box sealed with her mother’s initials, untouched since the funeral, was hidden beneath the fold of her gown, suspended from a longer chain. it pressed gently against her ribs now, where no one could see. it had been her father’s gentle insistence that morning, his only instruction.

“bring them both,” he had said, his voice unreadable as he fastened the clasp at the back of her neck. “you don the emblem of my name, and so it becomes your duty, as heiress of house rharrellis, to guard the pendant your mother loved, until the day it may be entrusted to one deserving of its legacy.”

the nova stars had passed through blood and time, from head of the family to heir for generations unbroken. to wear both was to embody memory. to carry legacy. and yet, the heavier of the two was not the older one, it was the second. because it had once belonged to someone else.

her fingers hovered there a second longer.

then she looked up.

and saw him watching her.

obi-wan kenobi stood in the same place as before, his hands now folded neatly in front of him, his expression calm. but his eyes, so often impeded, unreadable, had found hers. and in them, there was no surprise, no warning, no distance.

only acknowledgment.

he saw her.

and he smiled.

it wasn’t wide. it wasn’t public. it wasn’t for anyone else.

but it was his, and it broke something loose in her chest.

her heart swelled, not with giddiness, not with the fragile, trembling troubles of her girlhood hopes, but with a fullness she couldn’t name. something between gratitude and longing, between loss and peace. and before ebos could take a breath, before propriety could intervene, before her mind could catch up to what her heart had already decided.

she moved.

her silk hem swept behind her as she stepped down from the assembly platform, her eyes fixed forward, her steps even and sure. her injured arm was bound in its sling, but her bearing remained regal, every line of her posture unshaken. ebos’s intake of breath was barely audible over the melodic music and the rustling wind.

“my lady…” the handmaiden started.

but she was already crossing the flagstones. already closing the space between them.

she was already going to him.

as she approached him, the noise of the square seemed to fade, not disappear, but fall elsewhere, akin to distant waves on a lake. the crowd blurred into shadow and color, the banners swaying high above faded from her notice, even the music seemed muted. all she could see was him.

obi-wan kenobi stood a few steps apart from the other jedi and dignitaries, composed as always, his posture relaxed yet unmistakably disciplined. his hands were loosely folded before him, his shoulders squared, and his expression, so often pleasant yet indistinct, was softened now by the ease of the celebration. but to vasharre, as she drew closer, it felt like approaching a star.

she had rehearsed what she would say. she had imagined this moment more times than she could count. but now, with every step, her thoughts grew more disconcerting. by the time she reached him, her hands, one on the hidden nova star pendant, the other clutching the folds of her gown, were shaking at her sides.

he noticed her immediately. he had already seen her approaching, of course. yet when she came to stand before him, no words left her at first.

obi-wan offered a polite bow of the head, respectful, composed, cordial but proper.

“my royal lady rharrellis.”

vasharre’s throat felt tight. her dark eyes lifted to his, clear, steady, as blue as ever, and then quickly lowered. she felt the wind catch the veil of her gown behind her and tried not to look as small as she felt.

“i only…” her voice faltered. she cleared her throat gently, tried again, more courteous. “i wanted to thank you again. for saving me.”

her gaze remained downcast, as if the words themselves carried too much burden to raise her eyes.

obi-wan tilted his head somewhat, a mannerly smile playing gently at the corner of his mouth. “it was my duty,” he said simply. “and one i was honored to fulfill.”

she nodded, but still did not meet his eyes. the silence between them stretched, not uncomfortable, but dense with something unspoken. he sensed it. he was not a child. nor was he unfamiliar with grief, or the significance of things unvoiced.

his voice lowered. “you’re troubled, my lady.”

vasharre looked up then, barely. her lashes fluttered like black moth wings against the sun. she hesitated. she could have said no. she could have deflected. but his gaze was too gentle. too honest.

“i am very sorry,” she said, her voice as light as a breath. “about master qui-gon jinn.”

obi-wan’s expression changed, scarcely. not a frown. not shock. but something more private. more inward. the way a man’s face changes when a scar is touched, even gently.

still, he said nothing at first. and she took his lack of response for confirmation.

“i know you may never say so,” she added quickly, “but i understand. master jinn died protecting me. i should not have been there. if he hadn’t had to shield me…”

“no.” his voice was soft, but forceful enough to stop her.

he met her gaze fully then. and for the first time, vasharre saw not only the discipline of a jedi knight, but the deep, calm assurance beneath it. it rooted him. made him feel older than he looked.

“master jinn died in the most honorable way a jedi can,” he said. “he died fulfilling the duties of the force. and his sacrifice… it was not in vain.”

she said nothing, but her black eyes shimmered, the anguish in her chest beginning to subside.

obi-wan continued, his voice quiet and sure. “you had no hand in his death. not in any way.”

she nodded, but slowly this time, her chin dipping low, her posture releasing something she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“he believed in you,” obi-wan added, almost as an afterthought. “i know that.”

that undid her.

not in tears, not in speech, but in the way her shoulders softened, the way her hand relaxed against her side. the wind brushed a dark curl across her cheek and she did not hold up her hand to remedy it.

“thank you,” she whispered.

obi-wan’s reply was a nod. nothing more. but it held more peace than anything she had known in days.

for the first time since the catastrophic duel, she let herself breathe.

vasharre hesitated.

the period of time lingered between them, soft and suspended, the breath of a vow not yet spoken. the square behind them was alive with music and laughter, banners unfurling from the upper terraces of theed, but she heard none of it. the voices of the crowd fell away into a distant hum, blurred like vibrant color beneath water. her gaze remained on him, on the jedi knight who had walked into the mouth of darkness and emerged alone. and she knew, even now, that she would never be able to repay what he had lost.

but she could give him this.

her hand rose slowly to her collarbone, where her own pendant lay, the nova star, strung along a fine silver chain, its starburst shape catching the afternoon sun in a glint of blue fire. it was the one she had always worn, gifted to her at birth as tradition dictated, passed down from one generation of rharrellis daughters to the next.

but today, hidden beneath the folds of her ceremonial gown, she carried its twin.

her fingers trembled slightly as she reached beneath the silk layers of her dress, to the longer chain draped near her heart. the second pendant slipped free, the gesture gentle, reverent. it was identical in shape but older in polish, its gleam softened by time.

obi-wan’s eyes, already curious, followed the motion.

and they broadened in astonishment.

“you know what this is,” she said delicately, unfolding the chain between her fingers. “you must recognize it.”

he nodded once.

“the nova stars,” he said. “there are only two in existence.”

“there have always only been two,” she replied. her voice had gone soft. steady. “one kept by the daughter. the other kept… until it must be given.”

his expression altered, subtle, uncertain. his hands remained still. he said nothing.

vasharre looked down at the pendant for a breath, then up again, into his eyes.

“i haven’t worn this one since my mother died,” she said. “it’s stayed locked away in the ancestral case. but this morning, my father handed it to me. without explanation. he simply… told me to wear it today. to carry it with me.”

her breath caught, just once, but she did not falter.

“so there must be a reason.”

she reached out, slowly, and without haste, giving him time to stop her, to protest, to step back.

he didn’t.

her fingers moved with the delicacy of someone dressing a sacred statue. she passed the chain over his head with care, letting the pendant fall softly against the folds of his jedi tunic, where it fell over his chest. it looked almost out of place there, this symbol of nobility, of intimacy, of naboo, resting against the robe of a jedi knight sworn to a life of detachment.

and yet, it didn’t clash. it fit.

she withdrew her hands.

her personal nova star glinted faintly at her throat. the one he now wore gleamed beneath his collarbone. and for the first time in the in many years of rharrellis history, both pendants were worn at once.

“please,” she whispered, “keep it.”

obi-wan did not speak, his light blue eyes locked on hers.

“not for me,” she added, voice shaking, “but for what it means. for what it stood for before all this. before death and lightsabers and loss. keep it… and never forget.”

her throat closed for a instance.

then, almost inaudibly. “don’t forget naboo. and don’t forget me.”

the words echoed faintly in the silence between them.

obi-wan’s gaze dropped to the pendant for a long, hushed minute. his hand rose to touch it, so very lightly, a single brush of fingertips over metal. then he looked back at her.

and he smiled.

not the polite, distant smile of duty. not the somber mask he wore for the order. but something gentler. older. something that hadn’t surfaced in many days.

“i swear it,” he said softly. “i’ll remember naboo. and i’ll remember you, my royal lady.”

his hand closed over the pendant once more, this time thoroughly.

“for all of eternity.”

and though she said nothing in return, something within her aligned, as if a star, long wandering, had at last found its place in the endless sky. not bound by oath or tradition, but by the celestial gravity of two nova star pendants and the meaning buried in what could never be said with words.

[comet-forgot-you]

Hiii comet, how are you? I'm the anon who asked for bassist reader x Max (reader eats Max backstage after the show) and it was the most perfect thing I've ever read!!

I was thinking about a part 2 (if you want to do it, if you don't want to that's fine!!) where R's band need to hire a photographer to take their pictures for an album and it turns out Max is the photographer hired, so they pose for the photshoot and at the end R tells the band to go ahead and stays behind to help Max "organise her stuff", but R acutally ends up eating Max again (reader loves giving Max head confirmed!!). At the end R is trying to ask Max out on a date but it's too nervous about it and Max is like "🤨🤨 you just eat me out like its the air you need to live and now you can't ask me out? 🤨🤨" but kind cocku about it because well its Max... she'll be cocky about it!

Again only write this if you feel like it, no pressure and no need to do it 🫶🏼🫶🏼

yes ofc bby. pt. 1 here.

smut. 18+ pls.

do not repost for any reason.

music blasted through the speakers of your car as you sped down different streets, heading to some rundown part of town for a photoshoot. your band had grown over the past few months, your fans begging for any new music from you guys. you had spent almost 2 years working on your newest album, and it was finally finished and ready for release.

you pulled into an almost empty parking lot, the only other vehicles there being ones of your bandmates. you parked next to them before getting out, heading into the studio. your band’s music rang through the small building and you followed the sound until you found them.

“late as always,” your drummer, alex, spoke the second they saw you, a bright smile on their face.

“shut up,” you mumble, moving to join their small group, wrapping an arm around the guitarist. they laugh at you and you cant fight the smile that makes its way onto your lips.

“this is max,” alex introduced, nodding over to the girl standing in front of them, camera in hand. you recognized her the second you saw her, of course you did. you hadn’t been able stop thinking about her after the concert. she always seemed to pop into your mind the second you were horny and alone in bed. you always thought back to the pretty noises she made, her taste, her smell, her. you has been hoping you’d meet her again at some point, this time making sure that you would see her again.

“max,” you mumble, nodding towards her, “nice to see you again.” a faint blush crosses her cheeks at your greeting, a smirk pulling at your lips.

“hey,” she greets quietly, suddenly nervous.

“wait you guys know each other?” you look over to your bandmates, nodding.

“yeah, met her at the last concert.” you glance over to the girl, the memories of your last encounter running through both of your minds. she nods slowly in agreement.

“lets get started, yeah?”

hours pass before the shoot finally ends, your bandmates starting to head out, talking about heading to a bar. “i’ll catch up with you guys later, i’ll stay and help her out.” your group exchanges looks before nodding, shooing you back into the studio.

the music had changed since your group had walked out, changed to a much softer tone of music. “max,” you call out, walking into the now empty studio. she lets out a startled scream, jolting at your sudden appearance. you cant help but laugh, shes so cute.

“jesus fuck, you scared me. i thought you guys left,” her hand is against her chest as if she were slowing her racing heart.

“im sorry,” you laugh out, leaning over slightly. “im sorry. they left, but i forgot something, had to come back.” why did you lie? your heart was pounding and you could feel your cheeks flush. max looks around the room, searching for anything you could’ve left behind, but you fix her attention back to you.

her large eyes meet your own, flickering down to your lips. “hi,” she says shyly. you smile, letting your hand drop from her jaw to her neck.

“hi,” you whisper back. “i haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” you confess quietly, eyes flickering down to her lips. max’s head tilts slightly, eyebrows furrowing.

“im surprised you remembered me,” she mumbles quietly. the statement makes you scoff, hand dropping even further, holding her hip.

“how could anyone forget you? i told you i wanted to see you again.” max looks away, flustered. she scoffs.

“yeah right, im sure you say that to everyone.”

you don’t. you tend to be forgetful, never seeming to maintain a memory of names, but max’s stuck with you like it was handwritten in your brain. “i don’t.” max rolls her eyes, her hand dropping to hold your wrist. you tug her closer to you, “can i kiss you?”

max doesn’t respond, her eyes searching your own. your eyes cant choose where they want to be, flickering between her eyes and lips. “please,” it’s desperate, you need to kiss her so badly.

max doesn’t respond, her hand instead cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss. her lips are soft, and you’re reminded of when the first time when she told you her name, the way she bit her lip.

you take her bottom lip between your teeth, tugging it as you moved to press kisses against her jaw. max’s hands find your head, her fingers tangling in your hair. “i need you,” you whisper in her ear, your hot breath sending a shiver down her spine. max takes your hand in her own, tugging you through the studio into a small lounge area. she tugged you on top of her as she laid back on the small couch, your lips connecting once more.

your hands wander all over her, you fingers caressing the skin just beneath her clothing. “please,” she whines out, arching into you. you smile against her lips, pulling her shirt off. your trail kisses down her body, sucking deep marks into her pale skin. one hand held you up, the other struggling with her jeans, too caught up in covering her body with decorations of you to focus your full attention on getting her pants off.

the second you’re able to unbutton her jeans, you pushing yourself off of her, pulling the denim off of her, underwear, too. your eyes meet her soaked cunt, the one you always thought about. you’re tongue is on her before you know it, lapping away at her folds.

max is a whining mess between you, unable to keep herself still. her whines slowly turn into moans as you continue against her cunt, your tongue swirling around her clit in a slow, teasing manner. max’s fingers tangle in your hair once more, bucking into your face.

“stop,” she groans out, referring to your teasing actions against her pulsing clit. you cant help but chuckle, the vibrations leading to more moans from the girl. your tongue goes from teasing her sensitive clit to prodding at her entrance. “please,” max is desperate, she needs you as badly as you need her. you give in almost immediately.

you wrap your lips around her clit, fingers slowly sinking into her cunt. its more like they’re sucked into her cunt, her pussy greedily taking you in. “fuckk,” you groan out against her cunt. her walls flutter around your fingers, a pathetic whimper leaving her lips.

you scissor your fingers in and out of her, lapping at her cunt like it was your final meal. max arches her back off of the couch, pushing her cunt into your face. she was close, you remember the way her body reacted the last time.

her walls clamped around your fingers, loud moans bouncing off of the walls. its not long before her orgasm is washing over her and you’re lapping it all up, not a single drop wasted.

you help her ride out her orgasm before fetching her clothes, the ones you had thrown mindlessly throughout the room. you were stalling, really, trying to build up the courage to ask her out.

you handed her her clothes, watching her intensely as she redressed herself. she glances up at you, eyebrow raising. “need something?” you swallow your nerves, now or never.

“you, um. i just wanted,” you huff at your inability to get yours words out, eyes avoiding hers. “i just, do you, fuck.” this was so stupid, how were you stuttering this badly trying to ask her on a date?

max scoffs, pulling her shirt over her head, “you just ate me out like your life depended on it, whatever it is you’re trying to say, say it. quit being nervous,” she spoke,

moving to stand only inches away from you. you reach a hand out to hold her waist, her words making you feel even more nervous. you groan out, head falling back slightly before you respond.

“do you want to get dinner sometime?” max smiles, pressing a light kiss to your lips.

“yes, i do.” she smiles, walking away from you to retrieve a pen from the small table beside the couch. she holds her hand out and you place your hand in hers. she writes her number down on your palm, the sensation making you want to cringe but you stay still, too afraid to pull away.

the second she lets go of your hand, you’re pulling it back to read the numbers written down, they’re clear, a small heart drawn beside it. you don’t even make it out of the building before you’re entering her phone number into your phone and saving her contact. you didn’t want the ink to accidentally smudge, did you?

[justabigoldnerd]

Thank you so much @pippinoftheshire for the tag!!!

From "So Make Your Siren's Call"

“It's….,” Illya exhales sharply, squeezes his eyes shut to excavate the syllables that are eluding him, “Eto krasivo. Thank you.” “As much as I'd love to, I can't take all the credit. She helped, of course,” Solo gestures out to the waves, an easy grin lighting up his face once more, “But you're welcome.” Lighting sparks deep in Illya's gut and the hair on his arms stands on end. They're caught in suspension, hanging onto each passing second with steel claws. The crashing waves war with the rushing of blood in Illya's ears to create a deafening drone. Is that a musical undertone he hears, or is his mind playing tricks on him?

HAH y'all get ZERO context LMAO

No pressure tagging @huggiebird @happybean17 @falling-into-peril @heytheredeann @bighandsforabigheart

@kcscribbler @mybelovedillya @cha-melodius @the-golden-comet @thattripleabattery

@too-young-to-fall-in-love @times-up-alone-tonight @vnyu73 @nicijones @prettyboynapoleonsolo

@fandom-meet-fanthem @agreeableartist @willtheweaver @area-fiftyone

And an Open Tag for anyone else who wants to join!!! 💕💕💕

[milesandcorysupermacy]

can you do a fic we’re y/n is miles(doesn’t matter which one) little sister who can lowkey sing but denies it

HEEEEEY, POOKIE! So ik I took long to answer ur request but u inspired me to write again because I can actually relate to this 😭

---------------x-o-x-o--------------------------

"Mariposa"

1610!Miles x Younger-SISTER-Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Cursing, Reader is 13, Miles is 15, Me not knowing anthing about the music industry, Not spell checked bc im lazy, Reader recorded without her consent (it'll make sense, I promise 😭)

Songs that were used: 'In Your Hands' By Halle, and 'Hailey's Comet' By Billie Eilish

Summary: You've always thought you could sing well, but you never considered it was exceptionally well. When you're confronted with other people's opinions on your singing, you start to change your mind. Can you really sing?

Taglist:

@we-loveebony

@im-miss-simp

@ilovespiderverseee

@maxoloqy

@edgyficuselastica

@thehighlordishere

---------------------x-o-x-o---------------------

You walked into your kitchen, humming the soft melodies of the Billie Eilish song playing in your shared airpod with your older brother, Miles.

"Hey, you wanna order tacos? Your treat, by the way."

You turn to him, confused from this comment since he usually pays. You hate to admit anything nice about him, but one thing you can say is...he's a gentleman.

"Why am I paying?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe this will jog your memory."

Your over-dramatic sibling says as he points to a scar on his left cheek. You sheepishly chuckle as you scratch the back of your neck, embarrassed. The scar he's referring to is from two days ago when you threw scissors at him.

"Oh, right. In my defense, I thought your spidey senses would make you catch it."

Miles gasped.

"HOW?!?!!? I was holding sketches! If you thought I would drop my precious babies for some scissors...you clearly don't know me, mother's other child."

He said, not referring to you by name anymore. You rolled your eyes as you threatened him with the worst thing of all...no food.

"Well, if you're not even referring to me by name anymore, I guess you don't want any tacos!"

Miles immediately frowned, gasping from your threat.

"No! I love you my most beautiful, sweet, elegant sister! I still want the tacos! Make mine carne asada, please!"

You rolled your eyes at his willingness to switch up so easily. You sighed, opening your Uber Eats app to find the closest taco place.

"What a drag to love you like I do, ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh"

You sang quietly along to the infectious melodies of Billie Eilish's 'Hailey's Comet'. Miles just stared at you, stunned. He's never heard you sing unless you were joking around, but right now he could've sworn you were a Grammy-nominated artist. He let this keep going on until the song ended, still staring at you while you absent-mindedly look into your phone. Not noticing him staring daggers into the side of your face.

"Ok, I placed the orde-"

"You sounded really good just now, why didn't you tell anyone you could sing like that?"

You stared at him bug-eyed, not knowing how to respond to all this sudden attention on you. Being the younger sister of Miles Morales, you just kinda got used to flying under his radar. I mean, he's a *almost* Straight A student, exceptionally good at art, a superhero, and he's in one of the most prestigious schools in Brooklyn. How could you even compete with that?

You're just a 13 year old girl who passes all her classes to keep her and her parents sane, and pretty much nothing after that. You acknowledged this hidden talent, but immediately compared yourself to other singers and realized that you would get crushed in that audition room. You weren't some Beyonce waiting to happen, you were just a girl. A girl who has absolutely no idea what she's doing.

"Why? What do you mean why, Miles? Have you heard all the other singers out there? Dude, I would get fucking crushed the moment I let out the first note. Not just that, but you're so obviously mom and dad's favorite. I mean, every time I come home with a B I feel like an idiot compared to you. You're just better than me, and everyone knows it. I fly under your radar, Miles. Every time that you, mom, or dad introduce me to somebody, you guys always say Miles' little sister. Face it, dude. I can't compare to you."

Miles felt his heart shatter hearing your words. As a big brother, his job was to protect you. How could he do that when he was causing the problem himself? He never looked down on you, he was proud to have you as a sister and he couldn't believe that you felt this way about yourself. What made it even worse was the fact that you started crying, he immediately sprung into action when he saw the tears falling. He engulfed you in a hug, feeling extremely guilty.

"I'm so sorry, Mariposa. I never even realized that the family was downplaying you like this, you're incredible and deserve to be seen as such."

You felt a smirk coming onto your lips from the nickname that he called you, referring to your Halloween costume from 10 years ago. Small moments like this made you realize that you had a brother who loved you, and would talk to you about anything. That's all that matters, right? You and him against the world...well, maybe just him. (Give the man credit, he's literally spiderman.)

"It's fine, I'm sorry to drop all of this on you. I feel like I kinda overreacted."

You awkwardly chuckled as Miles look at you like you were a woman gone mad.

"Why are you sorry? I'm glad you brung it up, now I can be more aware whenever I see it happen again. The fact that you feel like you're always under my radar is even more of a reason to get yourself out there! Who knows, I mean maybe Mami and Dad could hire you a manager. We're in New York, this IS industry city."

You thought about the idea for a second and honestly, it sounded great at first. Then you started to realize that you were 13, about to graduate 8th grade, and have no experience in vocal training. The once great idea started to sound like a complete fail.

"While I appreciate your excitement, Miles. I'm barely a high schooler, and have no experience. If I were to make it in the industry, it be pure luck!"

You waved him off as he was walking around you in a circle, spewing ideas. Starting to become annoyed with how invested he truly is in your life, a blessing and a curse.

"Well maybe if we go to the mall and-"

"What? No, that's so idiotic."

"Well, if you can open for an artist's tour-"

"How am I gonna do that with my middle class, Afro-Hispanic family in Brooklyn, New York?"

"Well, I got a few piggy bank-"

Miles was thankfully interrupted by a notification from your phone saying that the tacos were downstairs at the front desk.

"Thank fuck."

You whispered as the notification saved you from hearing any more of Miles' idiotic ideas.

"Miles, you mind going to get it?"

"Yea, just gimme a sec."

He says as he puts his shoes on, but that's really just a cover for his plan. He decided to play one of your favorite songs right now, 'In Your Hands'. He did this since he knew you wouldn't be able to resist singing it, especially since nobody else is around. While he's downstairs, he left his phone recording in the apartment so that he could catch your angelic voice and show it to his parents. Great plan....well, at least he hopes so.

~Timeskip~

While you and Miles play Wii Bowling on the living room TV, (you were beating his ass btw) your parents walk in. You both greet them and help with groceries, you then decide that you wanted to take a shower and exit the room. This gives Miles time to execute his plan!

(We're gonna pan over to Miles' scene bc I'm not. writing about you taking a boring ass shower.)

"Ok, we have like 40 mins until she's done with her nightly routine."

Miles says very suspiciously which causes his parents to feel concerned about him.

"Miles, buddy. You alright? I hope you're not sick or anything."

Jeff says as he cautiously touches Miles' forehead. His mother begins to chime in with the concern too.

"Yeah, you do look kinda pale."

Rio says, also touching the poor boy's face.

"He does, doesn't he? I'm glad I wasn't the only one noticing-"

"I'm not pale, I'm very pigmented!"

Miles whisper shouts. His parents back off with their hands up in a surrendering motion.

"Anyway, I wanted to show you guys a video of Y/N that I took. I know it sounds weird, but it's a video of her singing. It sounds really nice and I want her to have a talent of her own since everyone compares us."

His parents smile with approval and appreciation of how nice your brother was being towards you right now.

"Well, show us whatcha got!"

Rio says, enthusiastically. Miles opens his camera app and plays the video, immediately smiling at your perfect voice as you sing the melodic notes of the song.

"In your Hands, in your hands.

You can't let go or you'll lose your chance.

'Cause after me, you'll never fall in love again, la-la-la."

You melodically sung along to the song ans your parents stared at the phone with shock. They listened to the whole 3 minute video and smiled the whole way through, stunned by your almost perfect vocals.

"Wow...I can't believe that's my baby girl singing!"

Rio said, bewildered.

After some time, you finally walk out the bathroom with your pajamas and a towel on your head. Your family just stared at you with shock as you walked toward the kitchen for water.

"What? Am I not supposed to drink this water or something?"

"Girl, where'd you learn to sing like that?"

You furrowed your eyebrows at your dad, believing he's truly lost it this time.

"What are you talking about?"

Miles smiled cheekily at you as he played the video of your singing. You immediately grew embarrassed as you felt your face heat up and eyes widen.

"Miles, I'll kill you!"

You shouted as you charged towards your older brother who hid behind his mom.

"Baby, this is great! We signed you up for vocal lessons and even got you a meeting with a manager tomorrow, that's...if you say yes, of course."

Your mom trailed off.

"You better say yes, this stuff wasn't cheap!"

Jeff complained as your mom shot him a glare.

"Fine, I'll do it."

You said as you smiled from your families interest in you and your interests. You and your family conversed on some logistics and commitments that you will have to make for this newfound hobby. With that, there was just one more question to ask...

"So, what will your artist name be? We need a name to put on the email to the record label."

You looked up at your older brother and smiled before saying...

"Mariposa."

-------------------☆-☆-☆-☆-------------------

THIS IS ITTT 🤑🤑

The first post after my lil hiatus 🤧

Anyway, I hope yall liked it and thanks to the anon who sent this, ima answer the other request I got too!

💞💞

[lustkillers]

TRY HARD.

⊹₊ ⋆ summary - he felt like she was out of reach, but he was standing in her perfect view.

⊹₊ ⋆ pairing - clyde x fem!guitarist!reader.

⊹₊ ⋆ note - my first ever fic, lets hope this isn't shit. requests are open, give me something good to write :) lmk if you all want a pt.2 or something!

based off of try hard by 5sos.

SHE stars on the stage like a blazing comet. Gorgeous hair, wild and free, her guitar sings in time with every strum of her fleet fingers. The audience erupts with cheers as she builds to an electrifying climax that reverberates through the air and touches all those who are lucky enough to be listening tonight.

Everyone came to the shows for her. All crowded to see the lead guitarist, as she played chords no one has ever heard before. Her hands moved like lightning across the strings and no sound was ever too complicated for her to replicate.

No one knew her like Clyde did. He knew her well, actually. In fact, he had been the one to introduce her to the music that she loved so much. He was the one that pushed her to do what she's always wanted, and so she did. However, that required for her to leave him behind. His heart was broken but his loyalty stayed, and he promised to forever be her biggest fan.

What sucked for Clyde was that he didn't say what he wanted to say before she left. In reality, even if she did stay a little longer, he still wouldn't say anything.

He felt like she was out of her league, and that pushed him 5 steps backwards. Those 5 steps became 10, and then those 10 steps began to distance themselves further.

They had lost contact.

But now, he found himself at the venue everyone went to that night. Word got around that the best guitarist was playing that night, and that she was apart of the band; MAYDAY.

Hours pass as bands continued playing, both Clyde and his friends messing around. Lastly, someone had announced that Mayday was playing now.

The crowd cheered as the first string of chords played out loud. Came out the stage was Mayday's lead singer, then the drummer, bassist, and lastly, her.

Clyde could feel his heart pound faster . He hadn't seen her in years, so time flew by as he watched her play. When the song ended she paused and looked directly at him. Clyde couldn't believe it; even from a distance, she had still recognized him. They stared for what felt like an eternity until finally she smiled and went back to playing.

Clyde was filled with joy and admiration; watching her perform that night felt like the most surreal and beautiful experience. He couldn’t believe it, yet there she was in front of him—playing with passion as if nothing had even changed. He was finally within her reach.

However, everything went downhill. Causing ruckus at the venue, he found him and his friends getting kicked out. Oh, what a scene that caught her eye. Clyde couldn't help but feel embarrassed in front of her, as he was being hauled out like a mischievous child.

Thankfully, as he got hauled out, her band was done playing, and she found herself running out the venue.

Clyde was now "punching" the bouncer, and got pushed back. A laugh emitted from her mouth. Her presence made him look up, a smile creeping up from his lips.

"My girlfriend, Y/N." He said, walking up to her. The word 'girlfriend' was something she hadn't heard in a while, as Clyde used to call her that every time, even though it didn't mean anything. Or so she thought.

"Hi, Clyde." She breathed out, a smile curling her lips.

She gave him a hug, Clyde's arms tightening around her. He felt the warmth emanating from her body as he pulled away, a small smirk creeping up his face.

"You killed it up there." His hands cupped her cheeks, faces inches away from each other. God, they both wanted to kill for a singular kiss between them.

"Thanks, but I gotta thank you for bringing me to where I am now, wouldn't have done it without you, y'know?" She quietly said, looking right into his eyes. They both knew the tension between them was there, yet a move wasn't made.

He smirked. "You can thank me, back at my place," he said, pointing at the van his friends were hopping into.

She laughed, her hands on her hips, examining the van.

"Lead the way."

[twiishaa]

and the rest was bassically history : meet the members! the VIP pass to see comet backstage…

🎧 masterlist for this smau 🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆

🎶 currently playing : no celestial by COMET (it’s actually by lesserafim) ✩°. ⋆⸜ 🎶✮

🎧 yn ln 🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆

you know her you love her <33 she’s the lead vocalist in the group, and she writes/produces the songs with the help of the others. her favourite song by them so far is ‘blame it on me’, from their latest EP ‘set me free’. they have a new EP coming out though, so rehearsals have been getting more frequent..

🎧 semi eita 🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆

the group’s lead guitarist! he’s been playing guitar ever since he was 11 and being in band has been his dream, so he’s taking music performance at university. his favourite artists are nirvana, radiohead and deftones. he’s really good at everything music, like theory, preformance and composition. even though he looks a bit scary while playing the guitar, he’s really sweet! everyone’s mom loves him even if they say his fashion sense .. is kinda .. (not me tho guys i love leather jackets and docs)

🎧 yachi hitoka 🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆

she’s the rhythm guitarist! originally, in the early comet days, they tried playing with her on keyboard but it sounded empty so yachi started learning guitar. she also handles a lot of the management, like with their official accounts, our responsible queen <3 she’s taking fashion design and loves designing and making their stage outfits. everyone loves her!! yachi and yn are quite close because she’s the only girl in the band too.

🎧 tsukkishima kei 🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆

majoring in classics. he’s the drummer, and sometimes he helps with writing the basslines too. he’s a bit mean at times, but he means well! he enjoys playing at shows and people can tell through the little smirk after the ending of each song; he denies it every time someone brings it up though. he’s not chronically online like the others, so he doesn’t post much on twitter. despite his quiet demeanour, his drumming style is really loud and chaotic, so don’t be fooled!

🎧 azumane asahi 🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆

his specialty is writing lyrics for the softer songs. comet’s beloved bassist! he likes the deep sound of the bass, which is why he chose it over guitar. majoring in fashion journalism, so sometimes him and yachi get to work together on projects. he’s not used to being popular, so when people approach him on campus he gets a little flustered! but, when they preform he forgets about all his nervousness and gives it his best. his favourite song by them is ‘nobody gets me’, from their unreleased EP…

🎧 notes 🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆

yay !!

guys pls listen to comet’s discography i worked super duper hard on it

i drafted a post for comet’s ep release but it’s gone… :(

see you guys soon!

🎧 taglist : @turquoisenintendo64 @laughingfcx @riverharkness @walllflowerrrsss send an ask or comment to be part of taglist <3 🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆

[robinyourcreator]

DJ SMUTTTTTTTTTTT

slaksjfalsdkjf;l shoulda known you'd go right for that one, comet

ANYWAYS i have posted bits of this before for one wip wednesday or another, it's post-game, mother superior breaks into my tav's house in the lower city like a cat who has gone .2 seconds too long without someone paying attention to her.

excerpt under the cut

It was easy enough to slip away. Everything was easy, with her, a weight off your shoulders, the release of a breath you never seemed to realize you'd been holding until you were in her presence once more.

You were the one meant to be doing the unburdening, and yet it seemed to always be you who walked away from your little encounters feeling lighter. You don't... you don't know if she feels the same. She’s never said. It wasn't her way. It wasn't your way.

Words were not needed between you-- words would only get in the way between you, only entangle the most fragile and precious thread that still tied you together.

And you were so careful, so very, very careful, to never, ever pull that thread.

You've come to her tonight; a novelty for you. She was meant to darken your door, and never the other way around. But it had been some time since she had last come to you-- long enough that you could get away with... indulging yourself, if only a little.

Your Lady's work was going well. The ranks of the Cloister of Somber Embrace grew with every passing day. Your Lady's blessed darkness was taking root in every corner of Baldur's Gate, your influence, Her influence, spreading throughout the Sword Coast and beyond.

You had earned a little indulgence. A reprieve. A moment to breathe.

So you had come to her, to her home, a modest apartment in a quieter corner of the Lower City. Its proximity to the House of Grief hadn't gone unnoticed, but you had never dared to comment on it. She had sought a quieter life after the Absolute Crisis-- wasting her talents on spoiled patriar's brats, tutoring them in music and rhetoric-- and as nauseating as you found the idea personally... It suited her.

She had yet to arrive, but you had anticipated that-- you hardly needed spies to track her movements in the city, the heralded Hero of Baldur's Gate had eyes enough on her already, and word of her packed performances reached every corner of the city. You had timed your own arrival precisely to give yourself enough time to prepare a surprise for her, knowing how little she liked to linger and socialize with her vapid and adoring public.

She preferred more... intimate company when she chose to indulge in the notion. In that you and she were much the same.

Your implements are all spread on her side table, silk ropes secured to all four posts of the bed. And there you lay in wait, obscured in shadow, nearly invisible.

You hear the latch at the door, and a whispered prestidigitation, watching the shadows dance through the crack at the bottom of her bedchamber doors from the candle she's lit. Hear the long, tedious process of her checking and then painstakingly rearming the traps she's placed in her entryway that you had chosen simply to avoid rather than deal with when you'd come in.

Her steps are silent. So too is the swinging of the door's well-greased hinges, with barely a click in the lock to warn you of her approach. You approve.

She finds you seated at the end of her bed, your legs crossed and taking advantage of every inch of slit in your dress, sipping a glass of her wine-- your favorite vintage, and considering how little she cared to indulge in that particular vice of yours, a particularly interesting choice for her to keep around.

She freezes, fear flashing in her eyes for a fraction of an instant before she relaxes into herself, her higher functions catching up to override simple animal terror when she recognizes you.

Funny, that. She may be the only person in all the world who relaxes at the sight of you. "You're back late, dear," you tease her, setting your drink aside.

You have more entertaining vices to indulge, after all.

"I didn't realize you kept me on such a tight leash, darling," she teases you right back, falling into the pantomime of a relationship you've set as naturally as she breathes.

You flash a smirk at her. "Oh, don't tempt me. I just might."

[spork-supremacy]

Thunder bringer

Okay so I like Epic the Musical and when listening to the Thunder saga when it came out, and when listening to Thunder Bringer I thought "Hehe, this could so be a Ras convincing Jay thing," mind you this was pre-DRs2-Pt2 leaks so no actual spoiler just a kinda verbal animatic I made through ✨notation✨, less of an actual analysis.

“Pride is a damsel in distress

Hiding away where only I can undress her

Try all she can not to confess in the end

It's all the same once I

Apply all the pressure”

(in context this line is zeus mocking odysseus so of course he’s comparing pride to a ‘helpless woman’) 

In my context pretty much the same thing but it’s Ras mocking Jay in front of the other administration agents

Just imaging him circling Jay as he tries to intimidate him

“Thunder, bring her through the wringer

Show her I'm the judgement call

The one who makes her kingdom fall”

I’m thinking Ras sicks Jordana and Cinder, and the other wolf warriors on the agents and kinda forces Jay’s hand into revealing his power

Also the ‘her’ quickly changes from meaning pride to referring to both it and jay real quickly

“Lightning, wield her, use and yield her

Show her what she can't conceal

For true nature will be revealed”

Continuation of above thought

Tries to convince Jay to join through showing how he could gain by showing the respect/fear he could earn from others

“Tell me, Odysseus

If I were to make you choose

The lives of your men and crew or your own

Why do I think they'd lose?”

Jay doesn’t give two shits about his job and probably doesn’t like most of the agents, finding them annoying or incompetent, but they are all he has so he can’t admit it.

“Enlighten me, King of Ithaca

Since hunger was far too great

I wonder who'd take the weight of the damned

And suffer a gruesome fate to the

Thunder Bringer, here to ring your

Ears until your deaf with fear and

Spear you while your death is near

Lighting wielder, here to yield your

Time for you have passed your prime

Sublime you for your act of crime”

(these last lines are about eating divine cows and getting punished for it, consequences yay)

Once again more battle scenes as jay slowly losing control of his power as he had been repressing it before.

There could be a good chance the administration or just Jay, betrayed the wolf clan or cheated them in some deal so this could be punishment.

[ZEUS, spoken](Ras stand in)

Choose

[ODYSSEUS, spoken](Jay stand in)

Choose?

[ZEUS]

“Someone's got to die today

And you have got the final say

You?

Or your crew?”

[ODYSSEUS]

“Please don't make me do this

Don't make me do this”

-Jay still has a conscience and prefers most consequences of his actions being more of an indirect result.

[SOLDIERS, Penelope]

“When does a comet become a meteor?

When does a candle become a blaze?”

“ (I can take the suffering from you)”-Penelope bit

“When does a man become a monster?

When does a ripple become a tidal wave?

When does the reason become the blame?

 (Let me take the suffering from...)

When does a man become a monster?”

-Just imagining all the agents behind him are murmuring about the choice he will make, they slowly are starting to understand though, that they are not surviving this and they slowly start to compare him to a monster

- Also as he deliberates there is just a faceless voice (Nya, of course it’s Nya, granted a vague memory/ idea) calling out to him to chose the selfish option because it will lead to less personal suffering.

[EURYLOCHUS](literally can be any known agent, maybe Prentiss because he works directly under Jay)

“Captain?”

[ODYSSEUS]

“I have to see her”

[EURYLOCHUS]

“But we'll die”

[ODYSSEUS]

“I know”

Jay probably was found with his Yin pendant and later researched the meaning of it, or was told it by another person in the administration from Ninjago. So that plus not caring much for his coworkers, probably means he’d rather risk them for one person who may actually like/love him.

This I think is weirdly consistent with early show Jay at least, selfish mf 

He also just needs to know who he is engaged to.

also the guy touches Jay's shoulder and pretty much gets immediately electrocuted after he says "I know"

“Thunder, bring her through the wringer

Show I'm the judgement call

The one who makes her kingdom fall

Lightning, wield her, use and yield her”

Here Ras makes Jay kill his agents by himself to further prove that he has switched sides and because it could be a nicely emotional shot as he leaves everything he’s ever known behind.

“Show her what she can't conceal

For true nature will

 be revealed”

Maybe a good close up on Jay’s face as his regret and fear slowly turns into him enjoying the thrill and buzz he receives from electrocuting everyone and finally being free of his personal hell.

I also imaging an electromagnetic field growing around him and engulfing everyone into a kind of electrical storm it creates.

Bonus idea i thought of when we only had the first snippet of song:

“Lightning, wield her, use and yield her

Show her what she can't conceal

For true nature will be revealed”

This little section taken out of context

I just think it would be funny if over this showed a Jay vs Nya fight in the tournament and once she figures out who she’s fighting, and he kinda picks up that she is starting to hold back more. Dude probably thinks she’s into him and doesn’t want to wreck his ‘pretty face’, so he tries to seduce her. Like, mid-fight. It kinda works.

[rythmicjea]

Jeronica Endgame Analysis

I wrote this on Reddit and have been meaning to bring it over here. But commenting on @elizacinnamon's tumblr is what convinced me to do it. Buckle up because it's a long one!

Okay so, looking at all of the easter eggs in the episode, to me, it's heavily coded that Betty and Archie do end up together and that Jughead and Veronica end up together. The first thing that should be acknowledge is that everything in this episode is done with a purpose. They couldn't definitively say who Archie ended up with because Archie comics is predicated on the unanswered question of "Betty or Veronica?" so they had to make things "ambiguous" so people could come to their own conclusions.

When we hear of Veronica's life, Jughead says that she was known for her "impeccable taste" and "produced some of the most iconic movies of our time". So, right there, that's huge. That's a lot of heavy lifting. While he is complimentary and sensitive to everyone else's ending, the way he describes Veronica's life is just more. Take Fangs, he doesn't describe "Pixie Girl" as a "timeless" or "iconic" song. He just says that Midge and their daughter were taken care of and that his gold record will hang as long as there is a Riverdale High. He doesn't mention if Kevin or Clay won any awards for their work, but he says that Veronica won two Oscars. He goes out of his way to note the importance of Veronica's achievements.

The scene at The Babylonium is where I've found the most clues to their shared future. Jughead says "I always loved this theater". He doesn't say that about any of the other places they visit. Throughout the show, they regularly used characters to represent overarching themes. For example, Archie = Riverdale. I take Jughead's declaration to be a euphemism for Veronica. It's not that farfetched to believe that they fell in love while in high school. They were together for a year and a half before graduation. So, in the scene, he says "I always loved this theater. But it had a good run." At this time, in reality, both Veronica and Jughead have passed. Their run ended. He then lifts the seat and HIS CROWN is drawn under it! Why? This is a quick visual cue that he and Veronica are connected. If the Babylonium is a physical representation of Veronica (which is what the episode frames it as) then she essentially has a Jughead tattoo on her (a bit of a dramatic way of putting it lol). But, also this is not the first time something like that is in the show. In season 1 and 2, Betty wears a sweater with a yellow three pronged crown. It's universally recognized as Jughead's crown (she wears it on his birthday and in the Heather's musical episode). So, he makes his statement and BAM Veronica appears. Every time we see a character that isn't in the "relived day", it is a clip of them in the future. Veronica is the only character to essentially be an apparition. They didn't have to include her, but they did. And seeing as it's Narrator!Jughead (the real/angel Jughead is in the Pop's in the Sweet Hereafter, and the show literally ends with typewriter sounds) telling Betty all of this, Veronica's appearance can be taken as a clue that she is ever present in his mind/life.

When we see her in her office, she has four "The Comet" posters behind her. Hanging posters of the movies you made is very common. What isn't common is that one franchise has such a place of honor, so that means it's incredibly significant to her. Her clothing is in the style of the early 80s (the creators had an idea to bring everyone through time with each episode but it wasn't feasible so this is kind of a nod to that. Cheryl is seen in the late 60s, Betty in the 70s, and Veronica is the early 80s). We know that Jughead adapted The Comet into a comic book, and he was the one that introduced her to WEB DuBois' people. The artwork of the posters is the same as the comic he created. Making movies at that time was very time-consuming. Also, franchises like that were not common. The whole "Saga", "Trilogy", and "Universe" collections of today were not done to the same extent back then. So, not only was "The Comet" incredibly popular (because it got four movies) but it spanned over a large time frame (again, she still has the posters up decades after graduation via her clothing style), meaning that there was a consistent dialogue between Jughead and Veronica.

Outside of the Babylonium is a poster for "The Big Sleep" (It's also on the Marquis). This is a direct reference to the episode "The Red Dahlia" (3x14) where Veronica enlists Jughead's help. It is one of the main "Jeronica" episodes of the series. In that episode he says that he'll be her "Philip Marlowe". In The Big Sleep, Philip Marlowe is the main character played by Humphrey Bogart. In the same episode he says "Nice hat... Bacall." Lauren Bacall is the female lead of The Big Sleep. Bogart and Bacall were a huge draw for audiences. They were a power couple of their day (and they were also married... hint hint lol). They were the Bennifer and Brangelina first.

Now, moving onto Jughead. He doesn't talk much about himself. Everything that Betty says can literally be read on screen in his obituary. There are two main takeaways from this scene. The first is he barely talks about himself. When he does, he focuses on talking about his career and there's no mention of his personal life. This is a parallel to Veronica's description. He only describes her career and not her personal life. What is also a parallel is that in his summary of Veronica's life he says that she was known for "taking risks on young, raw talent" ie Jughead. Jughead tells Betty that he "put all of his eggs in one basket". That turn of phrase is to mean that you did the riskiest thing possible. When Betty asks if he ever regrets not getting circled he says 'sometimes'. It's a very ambiguous statement. BH shippers will say that he is talking about Betty. But his relationship with Betty ended in high school (both times) and were never rekindled later in life. It doesn't have to be that regrets not marrying Veronica, but it can be taken that way.

The second is on the artist easel in the Madhouse offices. There is a picture of Veronica. It is not a photograph it is the canonical comic book portrait of Veronica (Pep Comics IS Archie Comics). And it is smack dab in the middle of the easel. This is another parallel to Veronica's future. She has "The Comet" posters and he has her portrait. Remember, his first comic book line that he created was "Veronica: The Teenage Witch". So this is a clue that he has used Veronica's likeness IN his magazine for most, if not all of, the run. There's no picture of Betty or Archie. Why still have Veronica's portrait and use her likeness if they weren't still connected in real life?

Now we come to the final scene. So, throughout all of Riverdale (with a few exceptions) the milkshakes that the core four drink all correspond to their hair color. Betty = Vanilla, Archie = Strawberry, Jughead and Veronica = Chocolate (double chocolate to be specific - which can be extrapolated to represent them. It's a stretch but it can be made). In the final moments, we see that this formula has been flipped. When Betty sits in the booth, Archie is drinking a Vanilla milkshake and he hands Betty a strawberry one noting it's "her favorite". What are Jughead and Veronica drinking? Double chocolate milkshakes. If in the Barchie Endgame theory Strawberry being Betty's "favorite" is to mean "Archie" then we can apply that same logic to Jughead and Veronica. Then there is their seating arrangement. The girls on one side and the boys on the other. Betty is sitting directly in front of Archie and Veronica is sitting directly in front of Jughead. Again, because they had to keep the "Who will Archie choose?" answer ambiguous they use this blocking technique to show the pairings without the pair sitting right next to each other. (Couples either sit next to each other or across from one another.)

That is my analysis of the finale using clues to prove that Jughead and Veronica were "endgame". I hope you liked it! If you have any corroborating theories let me know!

[ereyies]

i love your of mice and men oc. let me tell you i was scrolling thru the omam tag after reading that book for class because GOSH that ending destroyed me. bronwyn is so cute!!! and i love the ideas you have for her character and how she’d add onto the book. is there any more of your character that u thought of?? i’d love it hear it! ur art is stunning btw!!!

artists and writers are the backbone of dead fandoms. but i dont know if you could even call this fandom dead cuz i dont think it even had a life 💀

THANK YOU SO INCREDIBLY MUCH!!

this means the entire world to me you have no idea just how touched i am that you love my oc 💖 💖!! be VERY careful going through the of mice and men tag because unfortunately there are a LOT of nsfw bots!!

as for anything else relating to Bronwyn and her character, I don't have much else written/in mind other than that I have already shared other than maybe two things (copied and pasted from a document i made just to keep track of her lore):

Candy and Bronwyn probably wouldn't be close despite Candy having worked at the ranch for years. Not because of anything bad that happened between them, however I imagine that Candy was initially the main contributor to all the gossip said about her on the ranch and later on he learned she wasn't a bad person at all and just a lonely ill child, but by that point he had both immortalised her as a legend but condemned her from ever making real connections with people again. Knowing what he started and how he unintentionally isolated her and prevented her from being easily able to make friends with people on the ranch, the guilt would probably prevent him from forming any close connections with her.

I feel like if she were actually a character within the novel, her presence within the story would be similar to Andrey Bolkonsky in the musical Natasha, Pierre, & the Great Comet of 1812 (brilliant but strange musical btw, if you're interested in musicals it's definitely worth a listen!!). She is this looming presence amongst all the characters, always being mentioned in passing during conversation, this figure that everyone is aware of yet never sees, never actually being present in person up until the very end.

Candy would probably be the reader's introduction to Bronwyn, since Candy is a known gossiper. She'd be this influence in the story but is never truly there. I'm not too sure how she'd be important if that were the case though? Perhaps she'd be a figure symbolic of a 'point of no return' for all the characters. They all have a dream that isn't totally impossible which they come very close to achieving, and could very well leave their situation, but Bronwyn never had a chance and can never truly escape, locked up just to be forgotten about. Maybe she'd be a warning of the terrible fate which Lennie would have faced if he had lived and been institutionalised.

ANYWAYS moving past all of that; i have only made very few drawings of Bronwyn since my last post talking about her (admittedly due to extreme art block). But I’ve mostly been brainstorming about Curley and Bronwyn, the similarities and differences between them, mostly differences. Here is some of my recent art:

I always love experimenting and playing around with my style, trying out new brushes, techniques and colours <33 The last isn’t exactly my favourite mostly because i was just getting a feel for how to draw Curley and had little to no references for the pose and so it looks a little stiff. But!! I made many notes for my ideas while I was doing the sketch:

Thank you once more for your ask!! It means the world to me <33 I was so embarrassed when I first made her and feared being called ‘cringe’ or that people wouldn’t like her or something else along those lines, but the reception so far has been nothing but positive and encouraging!! I definitely plan to make more art and potentially even write some short fanfics including her in the future!!

oh one final thing, i also made a spotify playlist for her!! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0qrBhwqopc6KrC7RouFxOZ?si=GPudTv12S92QwBBXqxw0Bg&pi=khdpmOzjTfeQP

Thank you once more for being so kind <33 I hope you have the most wonderful day/evening/night!!

[quibble-auk]

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil

I finally finished the little blurb with Echo and Cometeater. Idk if I got your guy right in this, I just kinda winged it. I swear Echo isn’t usually this awkward, but he’s kinda still messed up and Comet is not helping.

Anyway. I want them to be friends, or at least friendly, but you can tell me if I’m wrong. That may just be me… but of everyone on the base (other than my medics) I feel like these two could chill.

The start is… idk it’s something. I was struggling with how to start it tbh. I gave up. Same with the end.

—

Echo didn’t really know what to do while he waited. Dropmix was supposed to be doing some more tests on his doorwing sensors to make sure everything was healing right but the medic was preoccupied. Even though Echo had previously scheduled the appointment he had been brushed off in favor of treating the mechs that had just come back after getting caught in a minefield—which he had no issue with. He despised having to come down to the medical bay.

Especially when Leoblast wasn’t able to come down with him.

It was nothing against Dropmix or Jeopardy—the older was gentle and kind, and the younger was sweet and innocent—he just simply didn’t like the medical bay. Not after the incident with Sunrazor. He had spent plenty of time in the medical bay both during the ordeal and afterwards. But he had to come get screened, again, just in case for whatever reason things weren’t healing properly.

Usually, Leoblast had always been willing to come down with him to keep him company, however the guardian was off on a patrol. So, Echo would just have to deal with sitting in the sterile room by himself for the time being.

Well, almost by himself.

Jeopardy had sat down a bot cloaked in a blue blanket when he stormed through. He hadn’t been able to offer much introduction, preoccupied with gathering supplies for Dropmix and unfortunate mechs who had detonated the landmines. He had muttered a frantic introduction before explaining to the smaller mech that he couldn’t go with Jeopardy into surgery. Echo hadn’t been able to hear if the mass of blue ever responded.

But the other mech in the room had yet to say anything and Echo would rather not bother him for the time being. Maybe if he was in a better mood he may have been able to muster up a joke or two to try and break the ice, but today he wasn’t up for it. He hadn’t been up to pulling a prank or messing around in awhile, Leo was starting to get worried.

Echo stared down at his fidgeting hands, doorwings flicking behind him as he hunched over in his seat. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft hiss of the medbay's ventilation and the low lulling of soft music that was ever present. Echo’s fingers tapped a twitchy rhythm against his knee as he stole a glance toward the other mech.

Cometeater.

That’s what Jeopardy had called him, right before disappearing behind the surgical doors with a tray of energon packs balanced in his arms. The name didn’t quite match the mech’s current state—bundled tightly in a blue blanket, helm bowed, and posture almost painfully small for someone with such an intimidating designation.

Echo’s doorwings twitched again. He hated awkward silence. It pressed into the back of his processor, static loud and itchy. The pale green mech clearly wasn’t in good shape either—so what was the harm in saying something? Even if Echo didn’t feel like talking, maybe a word or two would help pass the time. Distract both of them.

“It’s um… Cometeater right?” The Praxian began, tilting his head towards the other, “I’m Echo, Jeopardy introduced us a bit ago but…” He trailed off, where was he going? He smiled and laughed nervously, readjusting his posture. He wanted to kick himself, he used to be good at things like this. “We haven’t gotten a formal introduction I guess.”

Cometeater didn’t respond at first—not with words, anyway. The bundle of blanket shifted slightly, as though startled that someone had decided to speak to him at all. He blinked at Echo, eyes sizing him up for just a moment before he responded. The younger mech's voice was soft. Not shy, exactly—closer to something cautious. Carefully rationed. “Yeah… it’s Cometeater.”

Echo gave a small nod, eyes flicking to the floor again. “That’s… a name,” he said with a half-laugh, before wincing. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I just—Cometeater. It sounds… I dunno. Intense?”

The other mech just shrugged blankly. He really wasn’t giving Echo much to work with here. The sharpshooter smiled, trying to remain friendly despite the unease that was crawling through him. There was something about the way that Comet watched him that was unsettling.

The Praxian cleared his throat, trying to brush off the static curling at the back of his mind. “So, uh… are you from around here?” he asked, gesturing vaguely. “Base-wise, I mean. I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Another pause. Then, softly, “No.”

Echo waited, thinking there might be more, but that was apparently the whole statement. “Cool,” he said anyway, stretching the word out like it might fill the gap in conversation. “Got transferred here recently? I haven’t really been keeping up with the gossip on base recently, maybe I missed your arrival?”

Cometeater just stared blankly at him more, not a single tell on his face. There was no way to tell what he was thinking. The silence stretched on long enough that Echo was starting to believe that the other wasn’t planning on responding at all when they finally spoke again. Cometeater shrugged again and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “It’s complicated.”

When someone said something like “it's complicated” it was a very clear message to drop it. So Echo did. He nodded along, wing twitching slightly.

“…Yeah. I get that,” Echo said quietly, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips, fidgeting again. He didn’t push for more. He knew how much it sucked when people did that—asking questions like they had a right to your trauma just because they were curious. He wouldn’t be that guy.

He let the silence settle again. This time, it didn’t feel quite so suffocating.

Cometeater shifted a little beside him, drawing the blanket tighter like it might shield him from the room, the war, the universe. His eyes weren’t on Echo anymore, instead fixed on a spot near the door, far off and vacant. The Praxian could see the mech’s clawed hands working at the hem of the blanket, tugging at the seams mindlessly. He would destroy the blanket if he kept doing that for too long.

Still, Echo didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back in his chair again and let his gaze wander the ceiling, counting faint cracks in the paneling that he’d memorized from past visits. After a few minutes passed like that, Echo tried again. Not with words, but with something simpler.

He reached into one of the little compartments on his hip, fumbling for a moment before pulling out a tiny hex-shaped stress puck. Tempestrift had given it to him when they were still just getting to know each other—a little comfort thing, something he could squeeze or flick or spin when his processor started spiraling or he got antsy while waiting for a target. Just something simple to forget or play with.

It was meant to be provide him with something to do to keep him from losing his mind with the endless amounts of waiting he was always doing.

The blue mech stared at it for a moment in his palm, then tilted it slightly toward Cometeater. “You want it?”

The younger mech looked over at him slowly. Didn’t take it. Didn’t reject it, either.

“I, uh… I know what it’s like,” Echo added, his voice a bit rougher now. “Sitting in here and feeling like your plating’s gonna peel off if you don’t do something. Even if it’s dumb. Even if it’s just a stupid toy.”

He tried to smile. It didn’t really land. His fingers absently flexed around the small fidget toy, his wings flicking uncertainty as he forced himself to remain still. After another beat of silence he slowly retracted his hand, heel bouncing on the ground as he looked away, “You don’t have to take it if you don’t want it. Just… Figured it would help.”

Echo couldn’t help but look at the edge of the blanket again, where a seam had already come loose. Cometeater slowly followed his gaze down, eyes widening when he looked at the minimal damage done to the fabric. For a moment, Cometeater just stared at the frayed edge—like he’d only just realized he was the one unraveling it. His claws froze, stiff with guilt. Then, carefully, he folded them into his lap. Not tightly. Not clenched. Just… still. A small effort, but Echo could tell it took some control.

“…Sorry,” Cometeater mumbled, voice barely audible. His optics stayed on the blanket. “I didn’t mean to.”

Echo waved the apology off with a flick of his wrist, smiling sympathetically. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not even torn yet. You don’t have to apologize. You’re fine,” He hesitated, leg still bouncing. “I used to pick at my own paint when I got bored, or I’d start to carve little notches into my gun. So at least with the blanket you’ll be spared a lecture on abusing equipment from Rumbleclutch.”

Cometeater didn’t smile or laugh at the sad attempt to lighten the mood.

The blue mech looked down at the puck he held, debating if he had made the right call or just blown this entire attempt to converse. He decided to focus on the small toy in his hand rather than his failed joke, smile falling.

The small puck that he had was far from anything fancy or nice. The paint had long since been stripped and it was notched and scratched, but so was everything since the war had started. Finding small toys like that had become rarer and rarer, but Tempestrift had gotten him nicer ones since then, he really didn’t need this one anymore.

He tried to offer it again, “You don’t have to take it, but I do have others if that’s what you're worried about. And it’ll help the blanket last longer.”

Cometeater looked at the puck again. This time, for a little longer. He didn’t reach for it, but something in his expression flickered—like a radio signal almost coming through, then fizzling back into static. His claws twitched slightly, and he shifted in his seat again, less like he was trying to disappear and more like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to exist in the space.

Eventually, with hesitant, almost mechanical motion, he extended one hand from the safety of the blanket and took the puck.

Not quite from Echo’s palm, not quite directly either. He scooped it more than he grabbed it, like it might burn him if he touched it wrong. Once it was in his hand, he immediately turned it over, claws tracing the worn edges and the uneven grooves. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes stayed fixed on it, brows furrowing just slightly.

Echo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, wings settling just a little lower on his back. “Yeah,” he said softly, “it’s ugly, but it does the trick.”

Cometeater didn’t answer, but he didn’t let go of it either.

The music playing overhead shifted to something slower, almost mournful. Echo didn’t recognize the track, which probably meant Dropmix had added new music again when no one was looking. There was always something kind tucked into the playlists—old frequencies of home, long-lost Cybertronian lullabies, distant echoes of a world that didn’t exist anymore.

That was another reason why Echo hadn’t been fond of the medical bay. Not only did it mean he had to sit still and wait patiently but it carried a weight. Sure, people were healed here, but so many were lost as well. The music that was meant to soothe could easily become too reminiscent of what everyone had lost.

His leg continued to bounce as he waited, after a moment of glaring at it from beneath his blue visor he managed to get it to stop. Instead he ended up fidgeting with his fingers, running his fingers over his thumb over and over as he waited. He hated waiting. Waiting for a target, for his team to respond, for someone to come rescue him, or for medical attention. It made his thoughts way too loud, then he would get distracted and people would get upset.

But sitting still and doing nothing had always made his plating itch. That was nothing new, it wasn’t somethin he had picked up from his time with Sunrazor—unlike his inability to have a solid conversation with someone. Echo had always needed to do something, otherwise it drove him crazy. Both Rumbleclutch and Leoblast argued that his inability to do nothing was why he was always getting trouble. Tempestrift said it made him reckless but fun to be around, made him more spontaneous.

Echo missed Tempestrift.

The door hissed open suddenly, pulling the blue mech out of his own thoughts. Echo’s doorwings snapped taut for a second before settling again when he saw it was just Jeopardy—the young medic’s expression taunt as he moved through the entrance with a datapad tucked under one arm, some smudged energon drying on his plating.

“Sorry for the delay,” the medic said, a little breathless. “Dropmix is still busy trying to resync someone’s fuel pump, but I can take you back, Echo.”

The sharpshooter blinked, stood slowly. His joints cracked louder than he liked. “Oh, yeah it was no problem, I didn’t mind waiting.”

He really shouldn’t lie to Jeopardy, but he hated to see the younger mech so distraught. Echo really didn’t care who saw him, it was the same either way. Despite what Jeopardy thought he often provided just as good of care as the more experienced Dropmix. He didn’t give himself credit. Echo smiled as he rolled his shoulders, wings flicking as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Jeopardy gave a warm glance to Cometeater, Echo could see something more solemn in his gaze though. “I’ll be back in just a moment, this shouldn’t take too long”

Cometeater didn’t answer, but he didn’t shrink either. Just curled the puck a little tighter into his palm and gave a small nod. That was enough for Jeopardy. The medic looked back at Echo and motioned to the open door he stood in front of. Cometeater looked up at Echo as he began to walk away, eyes widening as his hands clenched around the small puck.

Echo hesitated. Then looked back down at the green mech. He didn’t need that one anymore, Tempestrift had given him other ones, it still didn’t mean some part of him fought against parting with it. “You can keep it,” he said, nodding at the puck. He smiled, “You might find another use for it besides destroying perfectly good blankets.”

Cometeater blinked up at him, empty eyes looking over Echo once more before turning back to the object in his hold.

Echo hadn’t managed to learn much but he had confirmed one thing from the conversation. The pale green mech that had been following Jeopardy around for the past couple of weeks was an odd bot, but not a bad one.

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tags @the-golden-comet and @wyked-ao3!

Silent Sunday Tag🚀

Rules: Write something without any dialogue. Inner dialogue, aka thoughts, is allowed but that's it. Thoughts and actions, to keep the scene/snippet/whatever you wish 'silent'

I mean Anarac is just perfect for this, all his scenes are silent. Here are his initial thoughts on his crew mates!

In the latest hours of the agreed-upon night, when the others slept in the superfluous way of the dead, a clear tenor voice occasionally rang out from on high. Anarac secretly listened as Faalgun ran through countless bar ballads and sailor’s laments, with even a few of what might’ve been classical pieces mixed in. Sometimes, Anarac would even tap his foot in time. The young star sailor had quite the voice, especially in the ears of someone who hadn’t heard music in a very long time.

However, as much as he enjoyed Faalgun’s songs, it was the other three he actually saw the most of. Mostly, Anarac hid when they were around. He was curious about them, yes, but also wary of getting too close. As a compromise, he watched from a distance. That way, he couldn’t hurt them and they couldn’t get close enough to accidentally snap his fragile self.

Such observations were… intriguing. For most of his existence, all Anarac had possessed were observations, so he was quite good at them. Or, he supposed he better be, otherwise that was just seven thousand years in the bin.

Nyda was the one who stuck out the most to him. That had to be a purposeful state, he assumed. What else were the green mohawk and dozens of piercings for, if not to draw eyes? She was quite begrudging about it, but she did perform the cataloging duties needed for the start of the voyage. Unlike Kaulakri, she didn’t seem all that interested in getting into the science of what they were doing.

There was another piece that stuck out to him. Anarac wasn’t terribly familiar with Nabafyrian traditions—the people were old enough to have existed when he had lived on Illaros, but it wasn’t like he’d traveled to their forest with his, as he best remembered, middling salary. However, he did recall later instances. Flashes of dark rain and a monstrous form he beat at, trapped from within. A forest damp with blood, like a storm of red rain. A swarm of green-haired berserkers his shadowed, taloned hands swatted at like gnats.

Anarac swallowed down a distant echo of nausea as he felt the sticky blood coat his palms. When he blinked, he found himself sitting, huddled up behind one of the crates. How long have I been sitting here? Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter much.

Pushing through, Anarac recalled the odd braided belts the Nabafyrian warrior-priests had worn. Some had been decorated with tufts of what looked like hair. Nyda wore a similar belt—two strips of brown leather stuck through with tiny braids of green, red, brown, and black. He wondered what the significance was. She had seemed put out by Pash’s assumption that she was a guard, though, then again, she seemed put out by most things.

Pash was another odd one, with odd energy. Nyda had called him fae, Fair Folk. Anarac knew little of such things—he’d seen the elusive folk occasionally pass from their realm into this one when he’d existed on high. End hadn’t been too concerned with them, though, so neither had he. Now that he was himself again, Anarac wondered where the Fair Folk actually came from when they dove in and out of their pools of moonlight.

It didn’t seem to be a harsh place, judging by Pash. The young man had an easy-going air and softly manicured hands. His clothes were fairly nice, indicating he’d been able to make a decent living as a musician. However, just like with Nyda, there were details that stuck out to Anarac.

Whenever he slept in the hold, Pash always remained facing the door, his back to a wall. He wasn’t overt about it, but he always kept the people around him in the peripherals of his view, never allowing them completely behind his back. And, of course, there was his slit throat. That was not the wound of a musician with the right sort of friends, Anarac decided. He felt a stab of concern for the kid even now, knowing it was far too late to change his fate.

Kaulakri, out of all of them, concerned Anarac the least. He’d met many like her—he imagined he had, at least—in his time. Well put together, slightly frazzled, ferociously organized. Always thought of as a little stodgy or odd, but no organization could function without them. He’d say he was glad to have someone so unflappable aboard, however, there was that slap to consider….

A moment of fury in a whirl of confusing circumstances, or a sign of some deeper instability? Anarac was hard-pressed to say. He sighed as he began to do something he hadn’t done in a very long time: he began to pace. All these new faces had his energy up. Almost, his legs felt like they recalled how pleasurable exertion could be.

I'll tag @somethingclevermahogony @lostcryptidinthewoods @kuebiko-writing @mysticstarlightduck @willtheweaver and anyone else who wants to play :)

[transmurderbug]

🐛 Weekly Tag Wednesday! 🐛

Thank you for the tags, Kat @mybrainismelted, Kaka @stocious, Evie @energievie, Comet @spacerockwriting, Nosho @creepkinginc, Jess @jrooc and Alice @spookygingerr! So many people! 🥰💙

Weekly Tag Wednesday - Firsts!

Name: Sky 🪲🪨

Age: Nosho divided by zero.

First Pet? My family's German Shepherd named Döme. The first pet that was mine was a guinea pig. His name was Kormos (smoky/sooty).

First Word? As if my mother remembers 😂 All I know is that my father wanted it to be dezoxiribonukleinsav (DNA, but in Hungarian).

First Celebrity Crush? 🤷

First IRL Crush? One of these days I'll need a scientific rundown of what that's supposed to feel like. I never had one, I guess?

First kiss? Sorry, this one is a skip for me. Blah.

First Car? Issss the one I still have! A 2009 Renault Clio Grandtour. My pookie (yes I am THAT person).

First apartment/house/dorm/whatever away from your parents? A small ass apartment I half lived in with someone.

First time on a plane? A family vacation when I was around... 5. It was fun! I've been totally in love with flying ever since.

First cellphone? A "hand me down" from my mother, an old... Nokia? If I remember correctly. Your typical "you're going to school and coming home on your own, here, in case you need it".

First concert? I don't remember... I'm pretty sure some kind of a rock concert though. I was raised on good music. The first one that I excitedly got tickets for on my own was when I was 15, one of my favorite bands was celebrating a birthday.

First foreign country you visited? I think it was Austria when I was a few months old!

First sport you ever played? Athletics from basically the day I could walk. Nothing specific at first, but I ended up being a good jumper and sprinter later. My true calling was probably discus/javelin/hammer, anything you can throw.

First career aspiration? It was constantly changing, but the focus point was always animals.

And finally… tell me about the first time you wrote/drew/created/whatever something that made you think "wow" That's a tough one... maybe back when I was doing graphics extracurricular in school and we designed some background set for theatre, more specifically for an Oz play. The yellow brick road I worked on turned out pretty cool! I used to write poems too, some weren't too horrid 👀

Tagging, because I'm on time! Voluntary, as always, if you wanna pass, here, have this apple: 🍏 @ian-galagher @transmickey @deathclassic @gallapiech @look-i-love-u @suzy-queued @mickeysgaymom @sam-loves-seb @heymrspatel @dynamic-power @blue-disco-lights @thepupperino @metalheadmickey @transsexual-dandelions @sgtmickeyslaughter @ms-moonlight-inn @palepinkgoat @krysmiss @callivich @rayrayor @francesrose3 @lee-ow aaaand anyone else my scrambled brain is forgetting.