#Paenit Almiss | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

homicidalfantrolls · 4 months

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Come Back to Me

The months old question is finally answered. (Though it’s not what you think.)

collab with @trollcafe that’s been forever in the making. please enjoy!!!

Part 1

Part 2

doc

It doesn’t take long for Paenit to find Jodiah on the dance floor. Even in a room as crowded as this, overflowing with more trolls than the pilot had seen in sweeps, his limeblooded siren stood out like a signal flare. Spinning in his iridescent dress, his new mask, his boots that didn’t match his outfit in a truly Jodiah manner; it all made Paenit’s heart throb painfully in his chest. He had seen a lifetime of stars, of swirling galaxies, experienced supernovas up close and personal, saw every wonderful and fascinating thing the universe had to offer- but none of that shone as bright as Dia did that night.

Paenit’s eyes follow as Dia spins with his kismesis. Seeing how Mondes was dressed made him feel slightly better about what he had originally intended to come in. At least he wasn’t the only one who was without much of a fashion sense. Though it was difficult to look good when standing next to someone as radiant as Dia.

It took every ounce of courage the cusp’s body contained not to turn tail and run. The beauty of the scene and how completely out of his league he was made everything overwhelming. Commander Almiss didn’t exactly consider himself cowardly—his track record of military operations would prove such. But this was no battlefield. He had traded the safety of gunfire for the hostility of social cues and the danger of a dancefloor. His leather gloves grew uncomfortable as his palms grew sweaty. For the second time that night, he was thankful for the cape draped over his shoulders, successfully hiding how bad he thought he was shaking. With one deep breath, he finally made his way over to Mondes and Dia.

The smaller of the two seemed to stiffen as the highblood approached, but across the floor Dia pulled him aside to mumble something into his ear. This seems to ease the olive’s anxiety ever so slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on Pae the entire time, even as he finally steps up to the kismesises.

Paenit turned to look at Mondes. The latter’s gaze scans the fleet troll up and down like he was searching for some sort of red flag only he could see. The two locked eyes under their masks, passing some unspoken understanding between them. Regardless of whether Mondes found a red flag or not, he steps aside and motions for his kismesis to get on with it. Be it the demonstration of respect, his kismet’s words, or the audacity of interrupting, something convinced Mondes to allow a strange highblood to sweep his kismesis away.

Paenit offers his hand to Jodiah.

Wordlessly, the limeblood takes it.

As gracefully as a man who had never really danced before the week began, Paenit swept him into a dance he couldn’t recall the name of. A waltz? A swing? He wracked his brain for the name, anything to avoid acknowledging just how out of his depth he was. Nostalgia plucked at his pusherstrings. Fondly recalling the time in basic training one of his drill sergeants made the recruits learn the basics of ballroom dancing. To help with grace and fluidity in a fight, that had been the reasoning at the time. If only he had known how he’d use those skills.

Jodiah speaks suddenly and interrupts his nostalgic train of thought.

“You took your time,” the lime scoffs, letting the masked stranger lead him. Despite Dia’s love of dancing he could hardly chastise the other’s skills in it. Or lack thereof. It wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. He pondered over the stranger’s strong hand in the small of his back, the other one holding his in a feather light touch. A gentle hand like that was hard to find. Not a possessive grip, but a confident one. Dia could flop over entirely limp and he was confident this stranger would catch him. It wasn’t every day he met a highblood who treated him so daintily. Dia bit back the initial annoyance that follows—he didn’t let just anyone get away with treating him so tenderly, especially not a purpleblood. But because he was playing nice, repaying the kind stranger for the drinks he swindled from him, he was content allowing such tenderness. For now.

The stranger’s mask prevented Dia from seeing where he was looking, but so did his own. The lime was studying every inch of him that could be seen, drinking in the details like he had the champagne had earlier that Mondes was currently keeping warm for Dia’s return. Sure, he had a decent look at the bar, but he had more time now. His dance partner was tall, but not too tall. Well built, standard for a purpleblood, but worth mentioning. Broad shoulders—oh, how Dia loved a man with broad shoulders—but he wasn’t imposing with his size. His posture was remarkably passive for a highblood dancing with a neon lime.

Their bodies swayed to the music, close enough to share heat, moving in perfect sync. To an outsider, it’d be easy to think they had done this plenty of times prior. Being so close, Dia recognized the cologne now—it was popular amongst highbloods in the Fleet, notably seadwellers. A musky, powerful, oceanic scent—he ever remembered the name of it. Megamare, a stupid name if you asked him. Just about any seadwelling commander had it somewhere in their quarters. Expensive enough to be high end, but not too advanced of a scent to be hoity-toity. It had been applied just right. It was a strong scent, one that could easily choke a person out. The stranger wore it lightly. Just enough to entice, enough to draw Dia in closer. His curiosity only increased at the unique choices.

Seadweller cologne on a purpleblood. A mute, overwhelmingly gentle purpleblood, who picked the masked anon out of a sea of possible dance partners.

“Usually I’m not the patient type. But what can I say, I like dogs,” Jodiah purrs, playfully hooking a finger in the shirt collar of his dance partner. His playful tone did a wonderful job of disguising his curious intentions.

The sudden claw against Paenit’s neck almost makes him trip. It’s a miracle he doesn't—perhaps that drill sergeant’s hard work paid off. He has to bite his tongue to keep from squeaking like the mouse he felt like. For not the first time this evening, Paenit was grateful for the face covering he wore. Though it still hid the identity of its wearer, it had the secondary purpose of hiding his flushed blue-purple face. Paenit was quite confident that even without the heavy cloak he had on, he would still feel unbearably warm. His heart was doing its best to break out of the constraining rib cage; the pilot’s throat seemingly experiencing anaphylaxis for the first time. He wondered if he had somehow been allergic to the whiskey Khirti had bought him. Or if, perhaps, she poisoned it. It wasn’t the thought of the impossibility of her getting the chance to do so that comforted him, but the unlikeliness of Khirti not just stabbing him then and there if she truly desired his end.

While Paenit’s mind raced with paranoid thoughts and panic, Jodiah yearned for knowledge. He studied the silent mask closely, looking for any hint of recognition, any sign or emotion. Some strange piece of him was daydreaming of a Hallmark movie moment. The realistic part of him knew this wasn’t the case.

“Still not much of a talker, hm?” Dia dropped the flirty tone. It clearly wasn’t getting him anywhere. His curiosity had yet to be sated, which only served to annoy him. While flirting got him nowhere, the change in his tone did have an effect of some kind: his dance partner tensing the smallest bit. Dia’s head tilted ever so slightly as he studied the mask once more. Finally, he relaxes, letting the troll take his hand once more, “That’s fine. We can just dance.”

His mind explored grandeurs of romance as they swayed to the beat. Specifically, Dia was thinking about Paenit. He hadn’t the slightest clue who he was dancing with—only that they hadn’t said a word, they wore Fleet cologne, and that a foolish, childish part of him wanted so badly for it to be Paenit. He wanted to tear that mask off and see who truly lies beneath it. He wanted to be twirled around in some grand romantic gesture, to be held lovingly and safely in the arms he missed so badly it hurt. However—Paenit hadn’t spoken to him since the day he left with Mondes. That same childish part of Dia’s pusher ached with hurt at the same time. Hurt and betrayal.

Dia knew his previous commanding officer well enough to know he never showcased himself as a purple blood, and never in his wildest dreams would Paenit Almiss show up to the Yule Ball wearing an outfit this grand.

But he had to know.

God, he just had to know.

Yanking off a strange purpleblood’s mask was a surefire way to get executed the second he left this safe zone. The masked stranger had yet to say a word to him, who’s to say he would respond to a name? Dia had to be smart about this. After what felt like an eternity of swaying in a thick silence, Jodiah sighed softly, wistfully, and rested his cheek on the stranger’s shoulder.

Angled in just the right spot to see the stranger’s chin. To see the scar that decorated his skin.

Not unlike a scar he knew. One he stroked with his thumb as he held his CO’s face. One he kissed often, one he asked about several times and received a different origin story each time, all jovial and light spirited and none likely the real cause. A scar perfectly placed, perfectly colored, going under his chin and stopping right at his neck. He had spent a handful of days wondering how a scar like that must’ve hurt, how the scar’s owner was lucky it didn’t go further.

Now it was Dia’s turn to swallow his pusher back down into his chest. He looked down quickly, deciding it simply didn’t exist if he didn’t look at it. His own heart was racing so fast it was easy to ignore the stranger’s heartbeat. His chest ached with need and overexertion. The rush made him dizzy. The level-headed facade he put on for his kismesis quickly cracked. He wanted the scar to be more than a coincidence. He wanted the scar to mean nothing. He wanted his everyday mask, yearning for the way it drew out excess electricity from his body to reduce the strain of intense emotions on his heart.

They swayed in silence for a few moments yet. He would’ve been content to let that moment play out forever if the burden of knowledge didn’t weigh so heavily on him. Without another word, Dia lifted his head, and slipped the leather glove off the hand he was holding. His stranger missteps—probably from confusion—but in the end it doesn’t matter. Dia stopped the dance altogether. Almost obediently, the stranger stops as well.

There they stood, in the middle of the dance floor. Dia pulled away from the purpleblood to study his hand. The troll didn’t pull away. If anything, he seemed to relax slightly as Dia followed the trail of scars. Scars he knew all too well. Scars like a map to the troll he missed most.

He took the other hand in his, and removed that glove too. He turned his hand over.

There it was. In the space between his thumb and forefinger, was a small heart-shaped oil scar. Followed by a straight line scar crossing each knuckle, and the telltale scars of someone’s fist busting on teeth. The world seemed to close in on the two of them, music fading into the background. Bodies of blur swirled around them as if they didn’t exist. Dia traced over the scars silently, his fingertips dancing over the ragged and calloused skin with a feather-light touch.

Finally, he looked back up, eyes boring through the not-so stranger’s mask, “…You came back.”

Paenit froze. Even if the two of them had long stopped dancing at this point. It was amazing how his blood could run so hot while he was frozen stiff in his boots. Slowly, he curled his hand around Dia’s. They began to move again, stepping across the dance floor. Whether it was an attempt to rid himself of the nervous energy building or to resume a facade of normalcy wasn’t clear. Dia was content to let Paenit take the lead once more, allowing the highblood to guide him as they swayed.

“I had to answer your question, right?” While there had been hope for a suave, confident tone to his voice, Paenit’s response came out as rough and as full of cracks as old runway pavement. Yet another thing that did not line up with his plan. Truly, laying things out in advance was far from his strong suit.

Dia’s demeanor flipped

“So…is it a no?” Dia asked, frowning ever so slightly beneath his mask. Even with his face hidden, Paenit could sense the disappointment. He could perfectly picture the way the lime’s brow furrowed, how his eyes would darken when he didn’t get his way. Just imagining it made him dizzy with yearning.

“I-what? Wh-why would you think it’s a no?” Paenit stammered, almost tripping over himself and sending the both of them toppling over. Quick reflexes once again saved the dance from ending in catastrophe. This time, it’s Dia who encourages them to keep moving.

“Well, you showed up here.”

“I-I know it’s weird but—“

“And I don’t see her with you.”

Paenit sighed. Then he chuckled.

“This…isn’t really her scene.”

—

As Dia folded and put away clothes (not all of which were strictly his) into a surprisingly ragged suitcase, he was as stone faced as ever. No words were shared as he made sure to gather up all the things he had moved into his commanding officer’s block, knowing that nothing of his was left in the one off of his medbay. Paenit had helped Jodiah move things bit by bit until the medbay looked like it had before he moved in. Empty. Sterilized. Cold. Part of Paenit hoped that Dia would want to check, return there just to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything.

But he knew he wouldn’t.

“I want Ship Cat.”

For a second, he was sure that Dia had scratched one of the records in the corner of the block. When his eyes shifted up from a pair of pants he was folding and he saw Dia in the exact spot he had been, eyes locked right back on him, he knew he was mistaken.

Paenit can’t help but laugh. Not a laugh he was used to, not one he had done since the days of Dia stepping on his sunglasses and rigging his coffee maker to explode. Sheepish. Unsure.

“You—You want Ship Cat?”

“I want to take her back to Alternia. She deserves to retire too. There’s plenty of kittens that could take her place.”

Paenit’s pusher sinks. He had never been good at saying no to Dia. Never skilled at looking into the flawless green gems that were his eyes and telling him that he couldn’t do what he wanted. He knew in his chest it was not a skill that he would ever develop.

“Dia—“

“Not now,” he interjects, placing the last pair of stolen pants in his suitcase and closing it. “You can bring her to me as your answer when you retire, and become my matesprit.”

Warmth encompasses Paenit’s body so immediately, so intensely, he wonders if the ship was on fire. If smoke and ash were creeping into the ventilation systems, slowly suffocating him and showing him all the dreams of a future he could never have. A future where he could fly planes again, help people instead of hurt them. A future of happiness, green grass and trees and the eyes of his matesprit, Jodiah Monark. A future where he could be happy, where he didn’t have to worry about being taken away to hurt people for a military whose only goal was causing more and more despair. Where they could be together, happy.

It was impossible to say when Dia took his mask off or when he began to approach Paenit. Like a dog drooling for his food at the sound of a bell, the clicking of Dia taking off his mask forced Pae’s eyes to close in anticipation of his kiss.

As their lips connect and Paenit’s arms wrap around Jodiah to hold him close, he could feel an ache wrap itself tightly around his chest like a constrictor killing its prey. It spreads into the admiral’s fingertips, his legs, up to the base of his skull. It screams to him.

Don’t let go.

Paenit lets him go.

Dia steps back, the sound of his mask clicking letting Paenit’s eyes know it was okay to open, okay to see him once more. To see him with the shroud returned over him, blocking out his light from view.

“Don’t take too long.”

Dia rested his hand on Paenit’s face one last time. Then, he was gone.

————

“Where is she, then? Don’t tell me you left her on your ship all by herself.”

“She’s not by herself—“

"So she's still up there? On that damn ship?" Jodiah’s tone is sharp, tinged with annoyance, but hardly as hostile as it could be. As hostile as it would've been had he been dancing with anyone other than Paenit. "You came all the way here, dressed to the goddamned nines, and you didn't even bring me my fucking cat?"

Anxiety prickled at Paenit’s chest, his ears laying flat against his head. Had he a tail, it would be tucked firmly between his legs in a sign of submission. Dia was still dancing, though his footfalls seemed heavier with his annoyance.

“I-I couldn’t take her just for leave—I didn’t—“ Paenit swallowed, avoiding the intimidating eyes of his dance partner. “Didn’t know if you would still…be around.”

"Still be around?" the lime parrots in a voice positively dripping with annoyance, though hushed in tone to keep the other dancers from being concerned about the fight. "Where else would I be? All you had to do was call me, send a text, video message, fuck—email works in space, too! Then you wouldn't have to wonder if I was ‘around’ or not."

“I-I didn’t—I tried!“ Paenit sputtered, tone desperate, “Calls and texts wouldn’t go through and the fleet reads all my emails—I’m not allowed to have a personal account, you know that—I didn’t want them to try to bring you back after—“ he frowns, voice quieting before resuming, ”—after you went through all that to get out.”

He elected not to mention Annihilation’s recent bout of trouble and how it could have possibly affected Dia staying away from fleet custody. It wouldn’t help.

Under his mask, Jodiah’s expression softens. Knowing Paenit made an effort was enough to make him feel like crying. He shakes that feeling off without a word. He wasn’t a crier— he’d had enough of that emotional nonsense to last him a lifetime. Even his dance partner could tell he was still unsettled, though silence fell between them. He wasn’t yet satisfied with the answer he had been given.

When Dia finally spoke, his voice felt small and soft in his chest. Raw and uncertain, showing the hurt and distress his mask usually hid well, "...Well, you should've tried harder." He pulled his hand from Paenit’s to lightly hit his chest, taking out his frustration for something neither of them could control.

Guilt fell over the highblood like a shroud, his ears falling ever further down in his body’s subconscious effort to make him look smaller. The vulnerability in Dia’s voice felt like salt in a fresh wound, making his already aching heart pang miserably.

“…I’m sorry,” Paenit apologizes, even if the both of them knew there was nothing more he could have done. Still, he can’t help chuckle as Dia’s fist lands on his chest, much lighter than expected. He supposed the lime wasn’t as mad as he wanted Paenit to believe.

“I’ll steal a shuttle next time,” Paenit joked sheepishly in an attempt to add some levity.

"You don't even have to steal it- you're a fucking commander. You—Y-You can just—take it,” Jodiah countered, clearly not appreciating the humor. His words are broken up by a soft, sad laughter, as he continued his attempts to bite back tears. "A-A letter would've worked—or j-just, ask my dad to pass on a message? I..." He swallowed hard, throat aching with the threat of closing up entirely, "...I-It's been months, Paenit."

A knife to the chest would have been less painful than hearing Jodiah so broken up. Having experienced at least one knife in the chest before, that was something Paenit could attest to with confidence. His hands traveled to hold the lime’s face, his thumbs pushing under Dia’s mask to rub over his cheeks. Whether or not the other would electrocute him wasn’t the concern at the forefront of his mind. The sudden warmth of calloused hands passing the barrier of his mask forced Jodiah to freeze like a deer in the headlights. Once again, the pair had stopped moving.

“I couldn’t, Dia,” Paenit started softly, “I’m an admiral with no second in command. I can’t leave my ship even when I want to. The only…the only reason they let me come here is because they think I’m recruiting. They think I’m here in a fancy uniform telling everyone how great the Fleet is. I’ve been trying. I never stopped trying to reach you but…I couldn’t.”

He didn’t dare mention to Dia that it was most likely by design. Punishment for letting him go on leave, for letting him stay away so long when his sister went missing. For not finding a way to force him to stay under Pae’s employment. Nor does he—no, can he—mention why talking to Annihilation wasn’t an option. For so many different reasons. Reasons he was not confident Dia could understand, reasons Paenit couldn’t share, reasons Dia may not even care about.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” the admiral murmurs at last, resting his masked forehead to the limeblood’s. Dia relaxed slightly, having accepted that explanation. The certainty of his dance partner’s words, knowing the lengths he went to, knowing he at the very least made an effort- that was enough to make tears well back up. Words caught in his throat before they could be free. Forgiveness, hurt that remained, anger at the fucked situation, expressions of relief and love and sorrow, none of which could escape lest he stutter through his words like a stalled engine in front of his matesprit.

Matesprit.

Now, that was a lovely thought.

He was at the Yule Ball, and he was going to dance with his fucking matesprit.

Dia pulled away suddenly, grasping Paenit’s hand once more. He pulls the purple so suddenly, he nearly trips them both. He grasps Pae’s hand once more, pulling him back into the dance. The motion catches Paenit so off guard, he nearly stumbles and trips them both.

"You can get back to recruiting later—I deserve a dance with my matesprit first."

“Your…matesprit?” Paenit’s voice is barely audible from under his mask. His lungs fail to work and ache with need, his heart seems to have stopped pumping altogether, caught in the momentary excitement as Dia swings them both slowly.

Dia cocks his head expectantly, "Yes?" Paenit could picture his partner’s quirked brow and peeved expression perfectly, annoyed that his thought process needed to be explained at all. It was so easy to bury all those negative feelings, all the hurt and upset that still lingered, far under the surface with the promise of dancing. "You didn't bring my cat. But...you showed up. So I'm taking that as a confirmation."

“Y-Yeah…I-I did show up,” Paenit all but squeaked, as if reassuring himself he did such things. Confidence grew with his grin, wide and vibrant, under his mask. Pae springs to life with a giddy laugh, arms snaking around the smaller troll. He lifts Jodiah into the air to spin him around. Surprisingly, the lime lets him, going so far as to hug him back. His matesprit’s excitement proved contagious: Dia’s laughter joined Paenit’s in a bubbly harmony, holding onto the purpleblood for dear life while being swung around.

Matesprit. That was his matesprit.

Dia’s laugh was more beautiful than any song the band had played that night. Melodic and bright, it erased the weight Paenit had been carrying on his shoulders since he’d stepped inside the massive hall of the ballroom. The anxiety of how the evening would go, how Dia would respond to seeing him again, how absolutely fucked he would be.

Instead, the two were dancing in what felt like perfect sync. Perhaps not skilled, perhaps not enough to win awards or even gain the attention of any of the other couples scattered about the floor. Not that either of them noticed. No, they had stepped into a different world entirely. Where everyone else had faded into the scenery, turning into nothing more distinct than the dozens of windows looking over the sea. The only music was the sound of each other’s breaths, the beat of their hearts drowning out anything else.

Paenit’s hand drifted down Jodiah’s back, resting in the curve of his spine. Dia’s hand pushed into the slicked back hair of Paenit’s. If anyone had remained on the dance floor, they wouldn’t have noticed. They were too busy getting lost in each other.

Panting softly from all the excitement, foreheads pressed together, they stared into each other's eyes from under their masks. Until finally the edge became too hard to balance on.

Paenit’s hand brushed past the beads of Dia’s mask, cupping the lime’s face gently. His thumb danced over Dia’s soft and scruffy skin.

Dia knew what was wanted—hell, he wanted the same. For as much as he wanted to, he simply couldn’t in the middle of the dance floor, so publicly visible. Desire gnawed at his bones desperately. He could practically see his matesprit’s confidence waning.

With a sudden burst of energy, the limeblood took hold of Paenit’s cape and pulled him off the dancefloor. They spun as they went, putting up the illusion of dancing. For all his confusion, Paenit just went along with it, however clumsily. Dia pulled Paenit into him as they turned a corner. Pae’s hands went to the wall to prevent him from crushing the limeblood. The two stood there a moment longer, the heat of the previous moment returning tenfold.

Paenit’s size and cape proved to be the perfect shield. Dia felt safe under him, confident that Paenit wouldn’t let anyone see what lay under his mask. Without a word, Dia’s hands went under the wolfish face blocking his matesprit’s own, slowly removing it. Unveiling the truth he yearned for. His own mask follows suit. Both fall to the ground unceremoniously.

For the briefest moment, they could look at each other’s faces for the first time in months. Bare. Real. Full of flesh and life. Scars, freckles, mismatched blue eyes and blinding lime ones. More than just words and promises, more than a phone call or a text message or even a letter. Flushed cheeks and parted lips and eyes burning with desire. It was easy to forget Dia had a reason to keep his face hidden.

They closed the space between them at the same time. Dia’s hands tangled in Paenit’s hair, Paenit’s kept one hand firmly planted on the wall to shield the two despite his desire to hold his matesprit with both, the other pulling Dia’s small frame against his own. For the first time in months, the couple kissed. They kissed, and they kissed, and they kissed, until they were out of breath and dizzy. They kissed to make up for lost time, to apologize for things unsaid, to prepare for the time they’d lose until they could kiss again.

Eventually, Jodiah would leave. For as much as he loved Paenit, he made a promise and wouldn’t break it. He would return to his kismesis and get a proper scolding for running off and leaving Mondes alone. Paenit would have to return to his ship, to his crew, to his empty block. Painful memories didn’t sting as much, but the loneliness still ached deep within his bones.

They would leave each other once again, with a newly rekindled yearning. It may be weeks, months, sweeps before they saw each other again. But they were both confident. He would come always back.

In the end, the distance wouldn’t matter. As long as they could be together.

#corpse writes #Corpse draws #please read we worked so hard on this……i’m so happy with how it turned out and the amount of effort put in #I love it so much #Paenit Almiss

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homicidalkinks · 6 months

Note

How does Paenit feel abt rainbowdrinkers…..

“I haven’t put much thought into it. I haven’t met any, honestly. I know there’s plenty of people that fantasize about it, but plenty of trolls bite each other anyway.”

>He hums thoughtfully.

“ Though I guess it could be the feeding aspect of it…being used, treated as nothing but a source of food while they suck on your neck…sitting on you….”

>His voice gets quieter as he trails off, lost in thought and muttering to himself with an increasingly dark blush.

“Wh-What were we talking about again?”

#Paenit almiss #ask #anonymous

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trollcafe · 7 months

Text

New Perspectives

Google Docs Link Mondes & the Cheongs are @/byrdstrolls. Paenit is @/homicidalfantrolls.

Before you left for the Fleet, you made sure to say goodbye to everyone. To Nesseo, in rehab, Marsie, Hanagi, Mondes- and little Daseos. She was, at the time, much shorter than you. You had become quite smitten with the little jade as you got to know her. She was unlike anyone you had ever known. You loved the facts she spouted, how she lived and held herself so unapologetically. Das never seemed to fear taking up space in a room. It helped, of course, that nobody in the little Airbnb ever tried to make her small.

Watching her grow up in those five months, even as fearful as it had been awaiting Hanagi’s return, reminded you of watching Twitch and Bertie and Calysa and Faxaen and Merkii grow up, too. Some days, you wanted to wrap your arms around her spunky jade frame and hold her close, tell her to never grow up, to always stay herself. You never did, of course.

The only downside to Daseos, was having to pick her up from school. You’d see him across the lot. He wasn’t there every week, and then again neither were you. You tried so hard to figure out what weeks he was working pick-up duty. He seemed too busy to notice you, thankfully. Distracted by students pestering him, by other teachers. One time you caught him staring at a worm on the pavement. The world around you seemed to move in slow motion as you watched him nudge the little creature back into the damp soil, away from the harsh rays of the moons. An act of gentle kindness, unlike the man you once knew. The jagged rust you grew up with never noticed the small creatures. He was kind but never gentle, living his life in a rageful tunnel vision. In that moment, your chest ached. He wasn’t just alive. He had been alive long enough to change as a person. Without you.

You ducked away behind Marsie right as Festur looked up. Then Das came running up to show off her diagram of a sea slug, and the world resumed as normal.

The day that you left, you held Daseos by the shoulders. You looked into her bright, young eye, sparkling with wonder, swirling with age and trauma and things no child should have to hold. You told her to be good, to take good care of Mondes. And you gave her a letter.

“Give this to your literature teacher. Mr. C, right?”

She gasped, “You know that guy?!”

“I thought I did. But now, I’m…not so sure.”

✦✦✦

Five more months. Of silence, of staring into space and watching the stars swirl around your ship. Of hearing Paenit’s voice but never really understanding him. Choking down food to keep him happy. From hiding in his office to isolating yourself in your block. Five months of mapping the stars with nothing but your eyes. It’s a miracle you didn’t get voidrot from that alone. The stars changed from violet, to bronze, to jade, to yellow- never rust. All this time, Fester’s voice had been the sound of your consciousness, part of your never ending, never touched grief. Somewhere in those five months, your palmhusk had died. And you never bothered to charge it again.

That was, until the faithful day where the bravest fool you’d ever know showed up at your ship door. Mondes Rosado, with all the confidence of a man who’d stared death in the face, commanded for you to come home. The recruits on Commander Almiss’ ship were more appalled that Rosado had the gall to boss you around. Showing up at the Fleet’s doorstep was one thing. Telling you what to do was an entirely different, dangerous ball game. Despite that, it only took Commander Almiss all of twenty minutes to convince you to leave. By the time Mondes showed up, you were speaking again. The decision should’ve been easy- looking back you regret those long twenty minutes. Mondes must’ve been in agony. You didn’t want to leave Paenit, you didn’t want to leave Twitch. But as you told your commander this, he softly held your hands, and said you had punished yourself enough. He told you it was time to start enjoying your life.

You were convinced Mondes flew back much slower than he flew out. Not that you minded. You liked eating more than tater tots. You’d never admit it, but you even enjoyed rewatching Dune. You felt safe falling asleep tangled in his arms. Safe in a way you hadn’t felt in many, many sweeps. Hell, you didn’t even mind the spontaneous detour to a planet more ash than anything else.

You had about three dozen missed calls by the time you finally went back online. Siblings, your father, your moirail, Kitty even called twice. But only one number called once, five months ago. The joyous vibe of the ship had diminished significantly after visiting Corsica. In a morbid way, Mondes’ grief provided you a good distraction for what you needed to do.

“Rosado,” You softly broke the comfortable silence, “What time does Das get out of school?”

“It’s Sunday. She doesn’t have school on the weekends.”

“....Right.”

“Why? Something wrong?”

“No- no, not at all.” You slowly stood up from your seat on the couch, eyes never leaving the screen, “I-..I’ll be right back.”

Twitch’s ship was small, impossible to have true privacy. It didn’t seem like Mondes had followed you. He didn’t even take his eyes off the vegetables he so attentively chopped. Giving you the perfect opportunity. You locked yourself in the bathroom and turned on the fan. Your mask was set unceremoniously in the sink as you leaned against the counter. With shaky hands, you redialled the number. It rang twice.

“Hello?....Joey?”

Your blood ran cold. His voice, smooth like honey.

“...Jodiah? Is that you?”

✦✦✦

⇒ Your name is now Festur Canuis, and your ex-matesprit just entered your old barn.

You had been diligent in returning to the barn every Thursday. Was it creepy that you knew what days your brother wouldn’t be home? Probably. But even if he was, it was unlikely he’d venture out here again. The one time he did…poor thing, he just about passed out at the sight of you. It was pure luck he didn’t. No way in hell you could’ve dragged his heavy ass back to his hive.

Since your call with Jodiah, you had returned every Thursday. You would sit in your old, dead car, and grade papers, work on lesson plans, go over your rosters…boring adult things you couldn’t forego simply because you awaited an old friend. At first, you would freeze every time those rotting barn doors would creak. You convinced yourself after some time that he wasn’t going to show up. That was probably why you didn’t even bother looking up from the worksheet you were writing on. Not even when you heard the door shut, did you look up. It was only the uncomfortable feeling of eyes drilling into you that finally got you to look up.

There he stood. Baggy clothes hanging off his shoulders and hips like a funeral shroud. Staring at you with unease, discomfort, looking down at you from the top of his mask.

Oh god, that mask.

It was horrifying. The cold look in his eyes should’ve been what chilled you to the bone, but in all honesty, it was that mask. Sharp and heavy, concealing some horrible secret. You had seen it from afar, and had caught a glimpse or two from when the court case had been televised. What had the Fleet done to his face? Had it been the Fleet, or was it your death? Could you even blame someone in that instance? Your papers are set aside as you slowly rise, never breaking eye contact. In actions reminiscent of someone trying not to piss off a rabid bear, you slowly exit the vehicle and dare to venture closure.

“You’re alive.” The sound that leaves his mask is hardly a voice. And certainly not his own. It reminds you of the growl of an engine. A robotic, deadly thing.

“If it’s, uh, any consolation…I’ve only been alive the past, er…sweep or so?” You offer a half-hearted shrug.

“Oh.” You could practically see the gears turning in your ex’s head, his eyes studying every visible aspect of you. Mentally calculating the length of your arms compared to your torso, cataloging every hair on your head. Checking his mental list several times over. Making sure, without a reasonable doubt, that you are in fact Festur Canuis.

The silence that falls is thick. You began to wonder if you were purely imagining things, if Jodiah actually stood in front of you. You were just beginning to relax when Jodiah’s mask suddenly just…turned off. The lights died out entirely. He started to sway. His lime eyes rolled back right as his legs buckled under him.

Instinct took over as you closed the gap between you two with record speed. You grabbed him by his hoodie, momentarily shocked at how lightweight he was. You pulled the unconscious lime close, keeping him as upright as possible. Nostalgia fogged at the edge of your mind, memories of being kids and having this same issue happen. The electricity in his body would overwhelm his heart, and he’d pass out. You recalled holding him upright would sometimes speed up his recovery time-

With a sharp, muffled gasp, Dia’s eyes snap open. His nails grip into your arms frantically. It took a few seconds for the recognition to spark in his eyes. When it did, he immediately buried his masked face into your chest. You yelp and stagger back slightly, taking him with you. It became quite clear that his mask was not designed with hugs in mind.

“Joey–Joey, stop–” You squirm slightly, “Your mask- it’s, its sharp-”

He looked up, eyes wet with sorrow and terror, silent as ever.

“Let’s take it off…please?”

“Y-You can’t look at-at me.” Jodiah’s voice, no longer mechanical, wavers in his demands. He shifts to hold you at arm’s length, his vibrant eyes studying your own deadpan ones with a startling new frenzy. “Pr-Promise me. You-You c-can’t look. D-d-don’t f-f-fucking- d-d-“

You knew that stutter. Like an engine stalling when you turned the key. The starter trying so hard, desperate to ignite. But the spark never lights. The words fall out of his lips clumsily but never whole, never the right words. You said nothing in return. A hand moves from Jodiah’s waist to the mask on his face. You’re not sure how you know what to do, you just do. You’d been reading a lot of books lately- part of the Language Arts teacher job, right? A common theme these days has been soulmates. Trolls with souls that were destined to be tangled together. You always thought that idea was fucking idiotic. There was no way to prove fate or destiny existed. You had died, how could you have a soul?

But as your hand found its way to the right sweet spot on Jodiah’s mask, gently pulling back and then down, you started to wonder if the concept was really all that stupid. He doesn’t stop you. The mask is discarded unceremoniously, dropped off to the side. He’s shaking like a leaf in the wind, and with how small he felt in your arms you worried he’d blow away like one too. Your expression softens ever so slightly.

This wasn’t your Joey. Your Joey had a round, clean face, warm cheeks decorated with freckles. He always wore a smile. His fangs poked out over his lips like a promise. The man who looked at you with your lover’s eyes was so tired, so aged. His jaw was sharp, his nose broad and round. His face looked sunken in, hollow, decaying. His lip quivered in a nervous silence as he studied you. Waiting for his powers to do something, anything. Waiting for the facade to end.

You raise your brows in the subtle way you often did to show you weren’t upset. “I’m fine, Joey.” The hand that removed his mask now cupped his cheek. The lime turned his face into your palm, closing his eyes for a brief second, relishing the touch. “See? I’m fine. I feel nothing- It’s okay.”

Nothing was an understatement. Seeing his face sent warm sparks down your spine, made your chest bubble with excitement, made your head fizz. Certainly a far cry from the sedative powers Jodiah remembered himself as having. You’d explored his memories, of course you had, and could recall him taking down highbloods far greater than you with just a cold glare. The buzzing carbonation in your think pan was a muted version of his powers. But you couldn’t let him know that, not with how he felt now. You were always a little too good at lying to your Jodiah, and it appeared that trend would continue with the Jodiah in your arms.

Fat tears welled up in his bright, sunken eyes, right before he buried his face into your chest. You instinctively wrap your arms around him, swallowing his small frame in your own. You close your eyes and press your face into his hair. He didn’t even smell the same. The Fleet had done horrible things to the man you once knew. But you knew in your bones that it was really your death that had made him sharp, had forced his edges to be so jagged to protect what he had left.

You couldn’t love this man in the same way you once had. Too much time had passed for that to be a possibility. You were different, he was different- love wasn’t some kinda puzzle you could finish just by forcing the pieces in a certain way. You missed your Joey, and you always will. You couldn’t call up a necromancer to bring him back. But you could get to know the man he’d become, the man in your arms, holding onto you like he was afraid you’d vanish. The love that melted its way across your skin was much deeper. Warm, genuine, pure. Pinker in nature. Oh, how the time apart gave you a newly painted perspective on your feelings towards him. You knew, as you nuzzled into his soft hair, that you’d do everything in your power to make sure he never sobbed like this again. Not over you, not for any reason.

You weren’t pieces from each other’s missing puzzles. You were two halves of the same star that found its way back together.

#ghost.art #new perspectives #festur canuis #jodiah monark #many others 2

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homicidalfantrolls · 4 months

Text

Save the Scratches

A view into that I bet you’re wondering how I got here moment.

Khirti, Dia and Leo belong to @trollcafe

Doc

—

The more you pondered and the harder you thought about the situation at hand, the more convinced you become that the entire thing had to be some sort of divine prank. Had you been one to dabble in conspiracy theories (or just day to day fleet operations as some would claim) you would be insistent that this was all orchestrated beyond your pathetic attempts to do so. A two step plan. Go to the ball. Ask Dia to dance. Dance with him. Answer the question that you’d been too chicken shit to do months ago. Profit.

Instead, you became tangled in a spider’s web made of silk you could spend the next fifteen sweeps in the fleet working towards and still not be able to afford a yard of.

Dionis pays no attention to you or his matesprit as he examines various fabrics and patterns. He and the seamstress go back and forth, tittering on about inseams and waist sizes and words you had half a mind to believe they made up on the spot. Leo had been smart enough to bring a puzzle book with him. You only had your bouncing leg and enough anxiety to run a steam engine.

“Can I have a page?” You finally ask the massive seadweller next to you.

“It’s sudoku,” Leo responds, deadpan and without looking up from his book.

“So? I like puzzles.”

“You liked building and assembling,” Leo corrects, as if what he said made any bit of sense.

“What does—“

You’re cut off by Dionis returning. For the first time since he left, Leonra lifts his attention from his book to look upon his matesprit. Leo had always had his emotions under lock and key, his expressions never revealing much. Whether that was because of his dealings with Deepbite or it was the way he’d always been, you couldn’t say.

What you could say, however, was how much happier he seemed since you last saw him. Leo had always carried himself stiffly, something your foolish younger self had attributed to ego. While he still carried himself with a similar stiffness, it was now due to the pain plaguing his leg instead of the fear of being ambushed at any moment.

That was a level of guilt you didn’t have the brain capacity to process right now.

“Your suit will be ready in a few days. Plenty of time for adjustments,” Dionis informs you with a pleasant chirp to his voice. There was no denying he was much more excited about this whole endeavor than you were.

“Dionis, I—“

“I’m going to hope you’re planning to thank me instead of complain about cost or try to back out of this. I get enough of that from Leonra,” he interrupts with a flick of his tail. “You were much more receptive to this than he usually is. Don’t ruin this for me, dear. Don’t forget whose hive you're sleeping at. You go back to that motel and the conversation will be about the smell, not the mysterious purpleblood galavanting around.”

While there was too much in his words to unpack, you find yourself settling on the least frightening aspect of it.

“But I’m not…a purpleblood.”

“Maybe not. But you are a cusp, dear. You’ve always lived as the lesser end of what you truly are. I think, just for one night, you deserve to act like the half of yourself you were never allowed to show off. Don’t you?”

—

“He’s been waiting for you.”

The voice that suddenly speaks next to you startles you so terribly that you slap your poor whiskey clean off the counter.

Khirti follows the flight of your glass before turning her attention back to you. Without even so much as a pause, she waves the bartender over.

“Get him another whiskey, will you? Top shelf this time. Not whatever motor oil he had before. I’ll take another as well.”

Whether she didn’t notice your discomfort or just didn’t care, Khirti hops up to sit on the bar in front of you. She stretches one leg over the other, crossing metal over metal in a display that makes your chest ache painfully.

“You can’t pretend you haven’t seen him. Bitch is lit up like a damn road flare. We almost matched but then I’d outshine Tori and defeat the whole point of dragging his grumpy ass here.”

The bartender sets the drinks down in front of you, which earns him a fifty caeger bill from her wallet that she’d stashed in her top.

“Don’t act so surprised, Pip. Dia may not have told you but I’m a social media manager now. I’m sure he told you about our moirail. Gigs like these are a great way to get sponsorships and interest up. Also lets Tori flare his feathers out. Long story short, it pays to do a job for a guy who has no idea what a reasonable amount to pay you is. Also helps to date him.”

Words were not your friend at the moment. Your throat burned despite your whiskey remaining untouched. Your head remained turned away from the women at the bar, your gaze remained fixed on the bottles behind it. The labels were impossible to read from this distance, even from someone with the perfect vision of a pilot. You pretend you can read them anyway. Your brain makes up fake names for the liquor, fictional brands and slogans of vodka and whiskey and tequila.

Twin Sunset lime flavored vodka.

Rocket brand wine cooler.

Cherry tequila brought to you by Radio Silence.

Flower Vodka; An explosion of flavor.

Enjoy the free fall sensation of Loose Screw beer.

Relish the subtle taste of watching the most important figure in your life blow up because you fucked up repairs on your own plane so they couldn’t stay in the air, die because you weren’t fast enough to save her or were too selfish to give up your life to, never be able to look her father in the eyes or—

“You still with me?”

Once again, the sound of Khirti’s voice startled you. Your whiskey thankfully remained unharmed, though your ego did not. Your face feels warm under your mask, your ears pinning back ever so slightly.

“Y-Yeah.”

“Not used to seeing you zoning out. You were usually more vocal about when you were annoying someone.”

You don’t say anything. You’re not sure it’s a choice or an inability to form words. Your throat was closing up, preventing enough air to form coherent thought from entering your body. It was still enough for you to try desperately to come up with an excuse to leave.

“Khirti—“

“Dia told me you decked Mavrik.”

For not the first time since Khirti came over, you find yourself grateful for your mask. While you couldn’t be certain of what expression lie beneath, you do know that your tongue felt dry after you forget to close your mouth.

You swallow, hopefully not as audible to her as it was to you. Your chest burns with a different emotion, one you hadn’t felt since you had punched the man.

“…I did.”

“Why?”

“He’s…not who everyone thinks he is.”

“Dia told me it’s because he lied about how Daisee died. Because you said it was your fault.”

You didn’t know they planned to open the windows. You don’t know why they would in the middle of winter. Maybe you should tell them to close them. Even under your heavy fur cloak, you could feel the chill in the air.

Khirti, however, does not. Despite her dress only containing enough fabric to barely fit the definition, she didn’t flinch. She was as still as the stone countertop she sat upon, her metal legs staying crossed and unmoving.

“K-Khirti, please—“ you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. It barely reaches your own ears. Through your mask and the commotion of the ball, one couldn’t be sure you had even spoken at all.

Khirti, however, heard you perfectly clearly.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I-I-my plane—“

“No, no. Tell me what happened to make you think it was your fault. Everyone knows it was a conspiracy. Everyone knows they were trying to kill me, that they wanted it to look like an accident or incompetence. That Daisee just…got caught up in. So tell me why you think her dying and me losing my legs had anything to do with you. When everyone else knows it didn’t.”

Your chest burns like fire. Your throat felt similar to how it did after every day of special ops training. Of screaming back at your drill sergeant, of swallowing ice cold seawater after as punishment.

“I…Khi—“

“Not now, Pip. Not tonight. There’s more important things going on tonight. Like a sexy limeblood who’s been waiting for you to answer his damn question for the past four months.”

Khirti hops off the bar, landing gracefully on the marble floor.

“Don’t be a stranger, Pip. I’m glad you’re back.”

And with a hand on your shoulder and a kiss to your mask, Khirti was gone.

You had only a few moments to stare into the glass of whiskey before the devil spoken of appears.

—

When Dia leaves, your anxieties are confirmed.

There was no chance, on any planet, in any galaxy, in any universe you had the balls to pull this off. What the hell were you thinking? You weren’t some kind of knight in shining armor, an action movie hero who could sweep him off his feet all suave and ask him to be your matesprit. You had imagined that scene over and over again to the point that if they asked you to direct a movie on it, you could do it with your eyes closed.

But now that you were here, you’re once again reminded of just how in over your head you were. You didn’t come up with any of this, this wasn’t your plan, your idea. Your original operation was to just…come down here, plain as day, and hope to run into him. Running into Leonra and Dionis was the fluke to end all flukes. Leonra saw no issue with your idea. It was unfortunately his matesprit who had to call you both idiots.

The only reason you hadn’t attended in your normal attire was him. The only reason you got his opinion was a fluke. He would forgive you for wasting his time, right? Leo too. He didn’t want to come but Dionis would have dragged him anyways, independent of him wanting to watch all this play out. It would be fine.

—

“Don’t be a pussy.”

Leonra’s deadpan tone hit you like a frying pan to the back of the head. You attempt to stammer an excuse out before Dionis interrupts you.

“Honestly, dear. You’ve come all this way. Quite literally, I might add. You took the week off and everything. You’re really planning to leave without saying even a word to him?”

“I…I don’t think he wants to see me. He didn’t know who I was but he flirted with me so I just—I think he’s moved on and that’s fine because I took too long but I don’t—it was a mistake coming here, I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing, I just—“

“Almiss.”

Your rambling is cut off by Leonra’s voice. Your ears pin back under your mask. It’s Dionis who speaks next.

“It wasn’t a mistake coming here. I’ve seen him looking around the entire time. He’s waiting for you, even if neither of you realize it.”

Your frown deepens, eyes avoiding the couple under your mask.

“I just—“

“None of that,” Dionis interrupts you once more. “Look at me.”

You do.

“You love him, and he loves you. So you’re going to go over there and ask him to dance with you. Because if you don’t, I am repossessing that outfit I bought you, right here, in the middle of the ball.”

“And I’ll let him.” Leo chimed in, having returned his focus to his sudoku.

You can’t help but laugh. While still filled to the brim with anxiety, it still felt like a weight off your chest.

“Alright.”

#:333 #part deux #corpse writes #Paenit Almiss

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homicidalfantrolls · 1 year

Text

I think in honor of Robin doing a judge meme of just. The Worst Guy I thought I should do one with the Nicest Guy :)

Reblog with 1 troll/alien/whatever at a time to be judged (probably complimented) by Paenit!

Can reblog multiple times, judge backs appreciated but not required!

#hewwo #his sprites aren’t done but I love them regardless bc Liam made them <3 #paenit almiss #paenit judges

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homicidalfantrolls · 4 months

Note

OKAY WELL. Tell me. Do you think you’re pathetic? Like right now, are you happy with the person you’ve become? Also I want yo see the tattoo because its uh. very nice artistry.

“That’s a very…loaded question. I certainly think I’m a better person than I used to be. And okay. You can see my tattoo.”

“But only because you asked so nicely.”

#Paenit Almiss #ask

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homicidalfantrolls · 1 year

Text

Past Tense

[Docs link]

As you watch the shuttle doors close, and Dia wave at you from behind them, dread still dug into your chest.

You didn’t like the thought of Dia lying to you, even if you both knew at this point he had. He wasn’t going to see his friend rollerskate or his moirail fight. He was doing something far more dangerous, far more risky, and far more stupid.

Your thumb runs over the worn face of a small, circular toy in your pocket. You don’t move from your spot as the shuttle detaches and jettisons towards the direction of Alternia, carrying your medic with it.

You don’t move even when he’s out of sight, even when the bell rings for dinner. You just open your palm to stare at the faded toy compass in your hand.

You regret not giving it to Dia. Even if it didn’t work, part of you hoped it could still help him find his way home.

—

Ever since you had made the decision to transfer one Jodiah Monark onto your ship, life had been…different. Not bad, just…different. In all your sweeps in the fleet, a coffee machine had never exploded on your ship. A member of your crew had not curb stomped your sunglasses in front of recruits, nor had gone out of his way to fix things you had no idea were broken. A medic had never asked you if you wanted pain medication before suturing a stab wound, never decided he was going to stay overday in your block out of concern you wouldn’t let the wound heal.

He’d certainly never climbed into bed with you. Never admitted to being in love with you.

And you’d certainly never admitted to loving him back.

Unfortunately for every fiber of faux moral high ground you possessed, every conviction or concern for your crew or position. You were up shit creek without a paddle. No. No, you were in shit ocean clinging to a piece of driftwood and every second that you spent with him your grip got looser.

Maybe what you thought was an ocean of shit was just a lake of chocolate.

Your nose crinkles at the thought. It was no secret why you decided to join the military instead of becoming a poet. Your skill with words was akin to Ship Cat’s knowledge of calculus. Enough to get by, but not enough to go anywhere with.

…Maybe Dia was right about you overworking. The stab wound in your hand hadn’t even completely healed yet, and here you were, typing away and imagining the chief mouser on your ship being a professor at a prestigious university.

She would make a shit teacher.

Hand rising to pinch the bridge of your nose, you sigh. A brief glance at the clock tells you its just about time to head out. Dia had only given you reluctant permission to return to work if you swore you wouldn’t do any overtime, lest he take away your work privileges entirely. The only one on this ship with any sort of command over you. You knew him well enough at this point to be confident it wasn't an empty threat.

You had just hovered your mouse over “clock out” when your monitor flashed with an alert. A warning about a stolen fleet vessel being reported in your sector and to not engage in any way shape or form. A fleet vessel piloted by a Doctor Hanagi Cheong and…Twitch Monark.

Your eyes widen behind your aviators, shocked that Twitch of all people stole a fleet ship. Twitch had always loved rules to the point of what your younger self considered obsession. Even so, how could someone as high in the ranks as her steal a ship? Surely she didn’t even really need to ask, even if she was more administrative to your recollection. Beyond that…why would she? Why would Twitch Monark steal a fleet ship with a fucking doctor.

It had to be a mistake. You actually chuckle at the thought of this being anything but a hoax. No, Twitch wouldn’t steal from the fleet. You’d sooner believe someone had hacked into the fleet communications arrat as a prank.

You lift up your cell, about to dial Dia. He would get a kick out of this. His younger sister, who you had always joked about having a stick so far up her ass you could see it in when she talked. You couldn’t wait to hear him laugh again.

Ring.

While you had expected to hear the noise in your ear, it instead came from behind you. The red landline phone behind your desk. Your personal line. You found yourself frequently forgetting such a line existed; the main fleet branches so frequently forgot you existed, after all. The line’s only purpose was really to reach out to you for orders to divert course for something important, or, in exceedingly rare cases, prepare for a space dog fight. Considering that your ship was filled to the brim with trigger happy recruits and was intentionally kept far away from any hostile territories, you had never once received that call.

A soft frown creases your lips.

You answer.

“Hello! Is this Officer Almiss?”

Your ears twitch curiously at the unfamiliar voice. The rank it addressed you with was wrong as well. Your frown deepens. “Yes? May I ask who’s calling?”

"Oh, great! I was hoping I got the right number,” the voice answers in a sort of forced glee, "This is Palola, you might remember me as Dia's twin. I hope now is not a bad time—I had some pressing matters to bring up.”

Palola? It was mostly via spending so much time with Dia lately that you’d been remembering more about the Monarks, though you’re not sure you ever spent so much time with Palola. He was softer than Dia, who even then was about as firm as cooked pasta. Most of his time had been spent with plants. You had only just opened your mouth to ask how he is when he continues onto business. You had remembered him at least being more sociable, so it was a bit of a surprise.

"I assure you, you aren't in trouble, I am actually calling about Jodiah. I am...quite relieved you were the one he was transferred to, if I'm honest. I don't believe I could safely make this request with anyone else...This is going to sound odd, but I need you to not let Jodiah leave. Your ship, I mean. Don't accept any transfers or time off requests." He pauses. "...Please."

Your ears flatten against your head as he speaks, gears turning in your pan as you process it. “…Why?” you finally ask after a few moments, a part of you hating yourself for even humoring it. Dia had already made it abundantly clear how he felt about people making decisions for him.

Palola sighs into the receiver.

"I was sorta hoping you wouldn't ask, if I am honest. But I hate lying more than I hate gossip. I'm sure you know Dia by now, he likes to keep his heart close...and I'm sure you got the notification about Twitch. Dia...doesn't know. About Twitch, I mean. And I'm worried what he'll do when he finds out."

Oh. You sigh as well, crossing your legs as you lean back in your chair. Your mouth feels dry.

“I’m sorry, but I’m sure you can understand why I couldn’t just..forbid him without knowing the reason,” you explain softly, hesitantly. “Why would you be worried…? I saw on the report that she stole the ship but I thought it must have been a mistake. It was that Dr. Cheong, wasn’t it? Twitch would never.”

There’s a long pause, followed by a sigh.

“There’s been...issues…with Twitch lately, to say the least. My concerns don’t stem from Twitch’s behavior as much as they do Dia’s.”

He pauses again, but only for a second, “If I tell you the whole truth, Officer Almiss…and JD finds out…you know he’ll go nuclear on both of us. If that’s a risk you’re willing to take, I can go more in depth. Though I implore you to just…trust me.”

Frown deepening, you place the phone down to lock the doors to your office and shut the blinds. A very rare but very understood sign you couldn’t be disturbed.

“Palola, while I know you care and I know you’re Dia’s brother, I…unfortunately cannot take your word for it in this situation. Dia already recently became very…irate when I second guessed his decision about what he does or doesn’t need to do. To be honest, even if he hadn’t, I’ve made a rule of it myself,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I care about Dia, like my whole crew. I can’t make an unfounded order but I also…don’t want to go behind his back, Palola,” you explain carefully, this whole situation already having your head spin.

Another soft sigh can be heard, one of unmistakable resignation.

“…Alright, I can respect that. I’m glad he has a boss that doesn’t mind just how prickly he can be,” he explains in a way that tells you he didn’t entirely agree.

“I’m worried, once JD finds out Twitch is in trouble, he’s going to try and leave so he can find her. Which wouldn’t be a huge issue, but….I’m sure you know how intense Jodiah can be. JD doesn’t know that she’s gone yet because you beat Annihilation to him. He was on his way but got sidetracked…and you came in just in time…and the last time Dad broke news like this over the phone…it broke him. It was like The JD I grew up with died when Festur did. He just…hasn’t been the same. He doesn’t talk to me anymore. Or anyone, for that matter. He’s reckless and fleeting, he’s…dangerous to himself.” Palola sounded like a man who just got done running a marathon, exhaustion leaking from every word.

“…I-I’m sorry, Pa- Officer Almiss, I don’t mean to ramble…or put you in a bad situation. I...I don’t want Jodiah to follow her when he finds out. I don’t know what caused him to have a breakdown and steal that ship. I don’t know why you agreed to take him. But he loves Twitch…and she’s gone. I don’t…I can’t lose them both.”

The longer Palola speaks, the further into the ground your pusher sinks. A confirmation you had never hoped to hear.. Festur was dead. You had hoped maybe they’d broken up, fallen out of love…anything but…

You use the remote to dim the lights in your office to remove your sunglasses and set them on your desk. “Paenit is fine, Palola,” you tell him, voice soft as you take in everything. “I’m sorry about all of this. I can’t imagine what you two—all of the Monarks— are going through. But I just…” you sigh again.

“You want me to keep him here? For how long? He has a moirail on planet, I don’t…it’s not fair to restrict that. Shouldn’t his moirail be able to help anyways?”

Palola barely lets you finish. “Don’t.” He says quickly, with a newfound urgency, “Don’t trust him- he--…he has a moirail but don’t trust him. I-I know that sounds horrible but Jodiah- he’s—he’s a liar.”

He laughs softly, sadly, that unmistakable exhaustion still permeating every syllable. “That’s…that’s pretty sad, isn’t it? I’m sorry for dragging you into all of this…uh, I…I’m not sure how long. I can have our lusus try to catch you guys at a fuel dock..? I’ll…have to get back to you on that one…” he murmurs.

“There’s…only so much I can do from where I am. Don’t—don’t like…think you have to do anything different…if you think he might know, or he—he’s acting weird…can you let me know? You can call at any time.”

You frown, sighing as this whole situation just gets more and more convoluted. It’s as if a claw had just descended from the sky and plopped you into a maze. You didn’t know which way was out, what doors had cheese behind them and which ones would electrocute you. You didn’t know if Dia was always like this and you’d just been too angry or apathetic to see it when you were younger, but it was…difficult to hear.

“You don’t have to apologize. If…Annihilation wants to see Dia, talk to him…if you think that’ll help, I’m happy to do whatever I can to make it happen,” you assure him. You would try your damndest to be unavailable to meet him though.

That was one door you were certain of what lay behind.

“I can try. He’s going to find out sooner or later. He’s already been pilfering my block, I imagine my files are next,” you laugh, though it’s too tired to contain much humor. Your files were at least infinitely more secure than your pants drawer. The fleet had no stake in the latter.

An almost bitter laugh floats through the speaker of the phone. "I'm not sure what will help at this point...but I don't want to see him just...launch himself towards certain death to try and save someone who's...already lost."

A soft laugh escapes him. "I…he's been stealing from you? Oh, dear...when I said he was a thief, I meant along the lines of his last...outburst, yeah? I hadn't realized he made a habit of it. I've only ever known him to repeatedly borrow from those he likes. Maybe it's a good sign?" He pauses to sigh again. "You've got yourself quite the handful, Of-, er, Paenit. I wish you luck."

Though you had expected him to hang up, he instead just pauses and continues, "...You can also call me if you need help. I...I know he can be a handful...and I don't mean to micromanage...or make you think he isn't independent, messiahs know he likes his independence...I worry about him. Thank you for being understanding."

“I appreciate it, Palola and I’ll…do my best to protect your brother. At this point, I think we’d be lost without him,” you admit with a soft sigh.

You hang up and rub your temples. You open your computer, clicking through to Jodiah’s file. You hesitate for what feels like an hour before you finally mark any time off requests from Dia as needing approval before going through. It felt…wrong. But you had to trust Palola. For now.

—

“What the fuck is this?”

“A compass.”

“I see that, dipshit. It doesn’t even work.”

“Of course it doesn’t work, it’s a toy.”

“Are you that fucking stupid you think I’d want a toy compass that doesn’t even work?”

Jodiah Monark snickered, brandishing a grin missing a tooth or two. He’d always been a late bloomer, still growing teeth back even at this age. He wordlessly held up an empty snack bag which was snatched from his hand with an irritated scowl.

“Cracker Jacks? This popcorn tastes like shit. And it comes with a toy? What are you, two?” Paenit scoffed, flicking the bag back at the limeblood who scrambled to catch it before it got caught in the wind and blew away. His dad had always told him never to litter.

“I don’t buy it for the toys or the popcorn, I get it because it reminds me of you.”

The mismatched eyes of the blueblood widened ever so slightly, ears perking with interest. If one didn’t know him, they could guess the emotion on his face was flustered.

“…What? How the fuck does popcorn remind you of me?” he scoffed, forcing disdain into every word.

Dia rolled his blinding lime eyes, a playful smile on his face despite the annoyed gesture. Once more, he held up the snack bag to Paenit’s face.

“It’s not the popcorn, idiot. It’s the peanuts.”

Paenit hissed as his vision turned red, hands lunging like a viper. While Dia was fast, jumping back in case of a hit, Paenit still came out with the empty bag.

“You fucking little shit I am going to beat the fuck—“

“Almiss!”

The two children stopped dead at the deep, commanding voice. Both their gazes shifted to the shuttle a few dozen yards away. A tall, muscular woman stood in the doorway, a crate of medical supplies held under her arm.

Her bandanna kept her hair in place, but the wind from the shuttle blades starting up threatened to blow it off.

“C’mon, Pae. Gotta get back to base,” Daisee Monark told her young charge, voice softer but still holding that same level of authority it always had.

Paenit growled under his breath. “Yes, Captain,” he called back over the roar of the engine.

“You too, JD. Nile’s waiting. Gonna be sun up soon and he said he’s making korma,” she informed her brother, smiling softly.

Dia perked up, a grin that had flashed on his face being shucked away at the impact of a cellophane bag hitting it, courtesy of Paenit.

“Next time I see you Monark, you’re gonna fucking wish I died in a plane crash,” the recruit hissed, pocketing the compass pendant and marching to his commanding officer, jumping into the open door without the assistance of Daisee’s offered hand.

Daisee chuckled, flashing a wink and a grin at her brother. Dia smiled.

“See ya in the stars, JD.”

And then she was gone.

#i spent a decent amount of time on this so if you could please read and also reblog that would be great!!!!#i love how it turned out #twitch belongs to byrdstrolls dia daisee palola and annhilation belong to jazztrols #trolls*#paenit almiss #corpse writes

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