#starlit-warren

[beastenraged]

gdoll in jjk for the ask game?

Visible ball-socket joints at the shoulders and legs, shoes that look more painted on than actual feet, and a cross shaped crack leaking pink light in a porcelain stomach. 

“You’re like a doll,” Yuji realizes out loud. 

The woman smiles demurely. “You are not incorrect. That is my name, Doll. You may call me Professor Doll if it suits you.”

Somehow, the smile on her face makes her seem even less of a human. A person.

“What are you here for?” Fushiguro bites out, his hounds growling lowly by his side. “You’re not any sorcerer I’ve heard of.”

Not a sorcerer... is she a Curse then? But she talks and acts like a human, Curses don’t do that. Curses that aren’t Sukuna, that is. 

“What am I here for, hm, what a question indeed.”

Scythes drag against the flooring, as their owner walks forward. Slowly. Confidently.

Yuji hasn’t met many sorcerers, so he doesn’t really have a lot of comparison, but the first to come to mind at the sight is Gojo-sensei. Just the air of confidence, like there’s nothing in the world that can touch them, let alone hurt them. Which doesn’t feel great, up against someone who might be an enemy. Probably is one.  

“How about...a challenge?”

“Defeat me and I will allow you to leave, along with this artifact.” The finger is held up once more, before it is slipped into...something. Some kind of pocket in a cloak sleeve. “Lose, and I will show the two of you mercy.”

Mercy, that doesn’t sound too bad. Yuji opens his mouth, ready to accept the offer before Fushiguro speaks up instead. 

Fushiguro narrows his eyes, still in a stance ready to fight from. “And what does mercy mean to you?”

The woman, Doll, seems almost proud at Fushiguro asking the question. 

“Mercy, to me, would be ending your lives now before you suffer anymore pain.” Painted lips almost crack open into slanted grinning jaws. Even without there actually being a movement in that figurine’s facial muscles. If she, it, has them. “Is that not kind of me?”

“You’ll kill us?” Yuji blurts out at that. Wait, what? Why? Is it because he’s Sukuna’s vessel? 

“I’ll make it painless. I promise.”

In a blur of motion, the doll-woman moves. 

[astraldemise]

do you have any thoughts about silkmoths? specifically bobyx mori, the domestic silkmoth, or other species such as hubbard's slik moths or io moths?

bunny :)

[rosie-kairi]

marluxia or lauriam in "cruel and thin" for the palette ask?

One Lauriam, coming right up!

[versegm]

The bones of the yellow king for the WIP title thing?

Oh yeah that one's an original story! Without going into too much detail, the base premise is "wouldn't isekais fucking suck from the perspective of the people you've left behind?"

[beastenraged]

popping in to say that while I don't know much of one piece I am HERE for soulmates as horror. sorry, dragon, you're probably not having a good time. (romance as horror or soulmates as horror is SO fun though, I hope you continue to have fun with it)

Thanks!

Some other writer: I use Soulmate AUs to get my OTP together.

Me: I use Soulmate AUs to display how much worse people would be in relationships.

We are not the same.

I also looked up 'soulmates' on Google because I was curious to the different soulmate tropes there were and Google tried to gaslight me with the article selection AND its AI that soulmates are real, so there's that.

[beastenraged]

for the morimens ship prompt - 24/Celeste, with the prompt "gentle", if you're still taking these?

Celeste is meant to grant wishes. She exists to guide ships, to grant the desire of safe passage among others.

"Where the north wind meets the sea~"

But this situation...she glances over at the one singing the song, the only one currently sharing the same space as Celeste. The woman known by most as 24.

This situation has been strange indeed. For over the last few weeks, 24 has come to merely...sing. Sing all kinds of different songs near Celeste. Some better than others, more confident, but that singing has been getting better over time.

There's been a wish in the heart of 24, Celeste can feel. But it's one that's been...fading, recently in her vicinity. Not fading as no longer wanted but in some other way.

To better grasp what this wish may be, that she might grant it, Celeste had asked for a name. Or if 24 was enough. Stammering, the woman had faintly answered, "Mason" before fleeing into the night.

That had happened last night. Today...

"There's a river full of mee-mor- oh darn, I messed up."

The singing has been more shaky than usual. Maybe it has to do with the flickering wish.

"Is something needed to be corrected?" Celeste eventually asks. Only for...

"I lied to you!" Mason sobs. Nearly throwing herself onto the ground in the process.

Celeste blinks. Tilts her head slightly.

"I said my name was Mason, but that's not true! I'm, I'm...not Mason, I'm someone else in 24!"

That's... "Confusing," Celeste settles on. "Clarify."

"Well...Mason is the host of 24, and there are many others. I am one." The not-Mason pats her chest. "I am meant to sing, and only sing. But I've been...lingering. Before and after. Long enough...that I'm not just Singer anymore, I'm someone else. Someone else with a different name."

Celeste still doesn't quite understand, but she supposes it's not too different from how sailors would name smaller boats on board a larger ship.

"Do you want...a name? Is that your wish?" A wish, Celeste feels more on familiar ground with that. "Singer, is that your wish?"

But instead of asking for a name, the woman hums and asks something else.

"My singing, yes, what has it been like for you?" The woman that is not Mason, but still 24, looks at her eagerly.

Celeste, as a ship maiden, is not one for words. There would be something wrong with her had she provided much more insight on the journey ahead. So when the words come, they come slowly. Shaking. As she tries her best to pick them out. "Soft...sweet...gentle..."

Gentle!" The woman claps her hands, spikes softening slightly on her skull. "Call me Gentle! That is my name!"

"Gentle," Celeste says. "What is your wish?"

"My wish?" Gentle tugs at the ends of her hair with two of her four arms. The other two smooth down her clothing. "Um, well, I wanted to just sing at first. Get better, so no one would tell us, me, that we were awful at it. But I have been getting better...so..."

Hopeful grey-blue eyes stare up at Celeste's perch.

"Could I keep coming by? And still sing?"

To be trusted with that, fulfilling a wish and wanting more...different. Warm and gentle in Celeste's core.

Celeste has already requested the Keeper help her in finding a wish...could Gentle be another?

"Gentle...could you help me find my wish? I would like you to keep coming and singing as well."

Gentle's pale face fills with red. She stammers, "If you want me to...yes! I will!"

She clasps her hands together. "What can I do to help?"

Celeste thinks. The singing...that has be nice.

"Can you sing again? That song you were doing earlier?"

"Oh, that...I can do that!"

Gentle opens her mouth and hums. Hums until the words flow out once more.

"Where the north wind meets the sea~"

Celeste closes her eyes and listens. And for once, she does not feel the need to search for a wish. Not when she knows this is already fulfilling one and creating one.

Together.

[beastenraged]

how would tulu in PJO go, do you think? lots of fun ways to play with that concept

Percy has experience with demigod dreams. A lot of it, and most if it sucks. As life as a demigod generally does.

But this...he looks around the scenery of his latest dream. It's definitely some kind of temple, though it lacks the columns and alters and stuff he's familiar with.

It seems more like a...sea cave, actually. Minus the huge stone throne in the center, of course.

A stone throne with someone sitting there. Staring at him.

He looks like a kid, a young kid wearing a crown and surrounded by tentacles. Definitely a god, but also not?

Because there's more weight here. It unfortunately reminds Percy of the dreams he's had about Kronos, heavy and powerful even with the guy being a hundred little pieces right now.

"Ah, so you're the strongest godling connected to the sea."

Um. It doesn't sound like this god-slash-titan-slash-powerful monster doesn't really know about him? Which might be kind of arrogant, but Percy thinks that having the gods debate about killing him right to his face gives him the right to think that. Honestly.

"Hello?" Percy tries.

Yellow eyes look him over calmly, as their owner slumps over to lean on his palm.

"I would get another to do this, but it seems that here it is...frowned upon for gods to intervene more directly." The other hand is waved in the air dismissively. "Thus, you."

Well, isn't that just great?

"I would like you to..." Fingers tap on the throne arm. "Find Murphy for me."

He waits. There's nothing else. Just that.

"You aren't...going to give me a rhyme or anything? For a prophecy?" Percy checks.

The god looks at him blankly. "I hate poetry."

Well. Percy guesses that's a point. Doesn't help with the main problem here, though.

"Um, how do I know this Murphy when I see him?"

"Hm. Decent point."

PANG.

Percy doubles over, head in his hands, as an image flashes through his mind. The pressure of it feels like if a herd of satyrs started dancing on his skull.

A pinkish haired girl, not much older than Percy, pouting, cheeks puffed up. She wears red and carries a parasol, but the red, when Percy takes a closer look is actually OCTOPUS TENTACLES wrapped about her waist and legs.

What the Hades. Percy squints up at the god, hand held up to his nose. His nose that is now bleeding everywhere.

"Oops." That young face screws up. "Well. You know what she looks like now."

[beastenraged]

out of curiosity, do you have any more snippets of "a folly of []"? (no worries if not, of course!)

Castor limps. All he wants to do is sit down, lay down. But this is his chance. It might be his only chance. To get his brother out. 

He’s seen all kinds of different bodies, among those Chosen by the Lantern. But this is different somehow. More real, more physical, where he can smell sea salt and fish in the air, and hear the slapping of finned feet, marks of wetness left by tails and fins on the marble floors. 

There is a physicality present that the Chosen lack. Except for him and Pollux. 

He tugs at the arm of the last in line. Someone both gray and pink, lighter and darker than his compatriots. 

Caecus, blind and not, human with this inside from birth. It ate him alive, the becoming. 

“What?” Pale, almost pupilless eyes turn to glare at him. 

What does he say, what does he tell him? Hali, he needs help. For once, Castor wants her to say something. And she does, hissing out as many words as she can. Anything that he can use. 

The vessels fail due to what cannot be seen with eyes alone. / The Divine Maiden alone is not enough. / God sleeps and that is the Divine Realm sought, an eternal dream. 

“You’re getting tainted vessels from the Church. That’s why the rituals with them keep failing.”

“...what?” Caecus pauses in place, and it’s enough, along with what he says, to get the rest of the fish-people to pause as well. 

Lemurians. 

“If you take me with you, I can tell you more!” 

Caecus’ face twists. “Tell us that our allies are apparently ruining our vessels? Lady Miryam would have seen-”

“Hold on, that’s interesting.” The tallest, the leader. Gray and tattooed and surrounded by octopus-like tentacles circled about his legs. 

Goliath, giant among men. 

“But Caecus is right. Our High Priestess, she’s no fool, she would’ve caught on by now if that’s true.”

“Not if it’s invisible. Or nearly so.” Castor lowers his eyes, lets his long hair brush into his face. “And not if the Church doesn’t think it’s a taint. We call a blessing from the Lantern, you’ve seen the dark oils, haven’t you?”

And even if he hasn’t...there are other things to try. 

Harder to tell the lack of a dog’s bark, than the presence of one. 

“Hm.” The tallest tilts his head slightly, slitted eyes narrowing. “How do we know you have anything else useful, kid? Other than some ‘ooh you’ve been betrayed.’ You think we’d take you with us just for that?”

The shark-man that leads them, with a sword larger than anyone else’s... How can Castor hope to convince him? 

By Goliath’s trickery, they drank the wine. He is cunning enough to find a way. 

The thing about having Hali in his brain, with all the information she carries and whispers, is that other things are there too. More than just the words she says. Like, for example, images of wine glasses shattering on floors and tabletops, their original holders twisting and turning into scaled shapes. A sharp-toothed smirk behind it all. 

If Castor has a say, he can figure out how to word what he sees, rather than just what Hali says alone. It’s what Juilette doesn’t understand, every time she drugs him so she can get what Hali says alone, is that without him, she’s missing things. 

And maybe, if she wasn’t planning to do that to him and Pollux, he would have warned her. But she is. He didn’t. He won’t.

Castor clears his throat. Picks his words once again. 

“You turned an entire country of nobles to Seafarers under your banner with the right words, I think you can figure out a way to get me out.”

Everyone freezes in place. Not completely, not like any Lantern Bearer would, but enough to show the shock. That the information that Castor’s picked to translate bleeds true. 

It is Goliath that breaks that silence first, a shiver running through the ridges on his skin. 

“Hm. That’s interesting.”

“Lord Goliath?” Caecus’ ear fins flick back and forth, as does his tail. Nervous, if Castor’s experience with his own wings is anything to judge by. 

He seeks after strength and Goliath stands at the pinnacle of what he wishes for. 

“Come on. There’ll be a place on my ship for you. Least I can do for someone who knows my deeds, huh?”

The shark-man turns, decision made. 

They’re leaving now?

“Wait, my twin-”

“There’s two of you?” The larger man raises an eyebrow. “Huh. Well if we run into him, we run into him. But you-” A shark’s grin, sharper and wider than any Castor’s ever seen before, aims at him. “You’ll do.”

Wait, no. He tries to back up, wings flicking out. Too late. A large hand shoots out to grasp him by the upper arm, and its owner, Goliath, begins to drag him along in his wake. Caecus is close behind, as are the other Seafarers, all watching him and their surroundings intently. To make sure he doesn’t get away. 

Another trap. But this without- no. Castor swallows. No. 

What about Pollux? What about his twin? Castor can’t leave him, not like this! 

“What do I do, Hali,” he begs, under his breath. “I can’t leave him.”

One remains mortal, the other becomes a god, that is the Dioscuri.

The next words, the next thoughts, are even quieter. Barely more than a whisper. 

I’m sorry. 

But this is our way out.