#jodiah monark

[trollcafe]

'Scared'

Google Docs Link A four-and-a-half sweep old Jodiah faces a truly terrifying enemy.

Daisee’s ship was so big, and you were, well, small. You knew the halls of her ship well, having spent much of your time here playing hide-n-seek. Sometimes you were lucky and she would join you and Lola, but most of the time it was just Mavrik who joined. When he was around, that is. 

Yet, despite the comfort you felt in the metal walls, you couldn’t help but be afraid of her recruits. They were all rowdy highbloods, only a handful of sweeps older than you. All sent here because they had anger issues or were deemed dangers to society. Here to be reformed, your dad had said with a particularly sad tone. Here to put their anger to good use. When you were a little younger, Lola had been able to convince some of them to play tag or help find you. Back then, you never noticed the hostility, but you could tell now. They looked at you differently. These days they all said you were too old to play games. But you always had Lola. And Lola wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. Neither would Daisee, nor Mavrik, and arguably even Kittle, not that you knew. You had no idea just how safe you were. A rabbit safe in the wolves’ den, only partially aware of how their maws dripped at the sight of you. 

One wolf scared you more than the others. Even Lola was fearful of this recruit. Lola wasn’t afraid of anything- for him to distrust someone spoke volumes to you. Without your twin by your side, you stuck close to the adults, for fear of being caught alone with that one. That was the case for this visit. Your Dad was doing his ‘rounds’ and checking out Daisee’s planes, with said eldest sister helping. You weren’t allowed down in the hangar with them, so you promptly located the nearest adult and clung to his side. 

Mavrik, as good natured as always, didn’t mind in the slightest. You held onto the back of his violet flight suit as you followed him into the mess hall. It was loud and smelly, despite there only being a handful of trolls milling about. You scanned the empty tables and faces with a silent worry, only shifting gears when offered a juice box. Mav puts his hand on your back and guides you to one of the tables. 

“Stay here, okay? I’m just a few tables over.” He gestured to where a medic was sitting with a box of, as you’d discover in a few minutes, vaccines. “You don’t want to watch me poke people with needles, right?” He laughed as you frantically shook your head. “That’s what I thought. Nobody’s gonna bother you here. If you get hungry you can steal some chips.” 

Your brow furrows as he ruffles your hair. You give your head a shake to fix your rattled hair. By the time you opened your eyes again, he was gone. So much for sticking with an adult. 

As it turned out, you had a pretty good seat to watch trolls come in and leave. You had a variety of thoughts on each one, coming up with wild and vibrant stories for every face you saw. Trolls would come in, grumble at Mavrik, maybe grab food, get their Fleet Mandated Updated Vaccination, and then leave. You enjoyed the invisible feeling. Save for the occasional glance in your direction, nobody paid you any mind. Soon enough, your juice box was gone, and you had successfully snuck up behind Mavrik and his medical assistant to steal chips and a cookie. The chips didn’t last long. It was only when you started to munch on the dry cookie that you felt the burning sensation of eyes boring into you. 

You turn your head and meet his icy gaze. 

Suddenly, Mavrik felt very far away. Like, miles away. There was an entire ocean between you and your protector. There he stood, the one recruit who scared you more than the others, more than any scary movie you had seen, more than any spooky creature in whatever video game you watched on GrubTube. When your dad had taught you some basic sign language to help you communicate better, you had assigned different people with a sign. It was easier than spelling names out! Daisee was the letter D, Mavrik the letter M, Lola was the sign for twin. Aeremi, a grub at this point, was the sign for bee- but only half of it. You had no interest in knowing the scary recruit’s name. You simply used the sign for ‘scared.’ There was no better way to explain him. He was scary. 

And right now, you were fucking scared, pardon the language. ‘’Scared’s’’ glare was cold, digging into your very roots even from across the mess hall. He was angry and hungry and burning with something you lacked a name for. You felt even smaller than before and painfully aware of just how visible you were. You wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, like it had sweeps ago. You’d rather be starving in that ditch again. That ditch looked like a breeze compared to ‘’Scared.’’ That must’ve been obvious from your expression, as he decided to beeline straight for your table instead of reporting to Mavrik, as if fueled by your fear. 

‘’Scared’’ loomed over you, eyes boiling over with rage. You tried to shrink down in your seat, tried to peel your gaze away but found yourself unable to break eye contact. For a brief moment you recalled an episode of Troll Animal Planet, where the narrator explained that predatory beasts often find direct eye contact to be a threat or sign of aggression. Looking at your predator’s balled fists, squared jaw, and burning eyes…yeah, you were feeling very threatened. This was a threat. You were in danger. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the ache in your chest from your racing pusher. After an eternity of silence, you finally hold out your unfinished cookie in a meek offering of friendship. You even try to smile. 

Crap, didn’t Troll Animal Planet also say showing teeth was a sign of aggression?!

You wince as he snatches the snack from you. At first you thought he was just very hungry. A glimmer of hope that you had simply misjudged him, that you had actually made a friend with the only troll on the ship close to you in age.He quickly crushed that hope. Just like he crushed the cookie in his fist, right before he threw the crumbs back in your face. Mean. You quickly discovered it was not the cookie that he hungered for. 

You were frozen in fear for a few seconds longer. When it seemed like ‘’Scared’’ might just turn that threat into a promise, you bolted, ducking under his arm and nearly tripping over yourself as you ran straight for Mavrik. You pushed yourself between him and the pilot he was about to vaccinate. He instinctively lifted the needle out of range, too stunned to speak. The pilot was confused. Mavrik was confused. His medical assistant was confused. You were terrified. There was not one good thing happening in this scene right now. You tugged at his shirt frantically, pointing towards ‘’Scared’’ while trying to stay hidden behind the violet’s frame at the same time. You had to let go of his waist to sign. Your hands trembled as you motioned.

“Scared?” Mav asked for clarity, confusion dripping from his voice at your frantic and sloppy signing. You nodded, then threw yourself into him with relief, hiding your face in his smelly flight suit. He put his free arm around you, glancing over his shoulder to what you were pointing at. You didn’t care if he knew that was that kid’s name. Hell, you were terrified. Mavrik would protect you. That’s all that mattered. 

“Almiss!” You hear Mavrik hiss in a scolding tone. You can feel him look over his shoulder, casting a glare. 

“Get outta here, Pipsqueak- go make yourself useful for once!” Mavrik’s assistant chimed in. You didn’t see the glare she received for it, nor the middle finger Mav was given for the crime of defending you. 

You didn’t pry yourself off your protector just yet. Luckily, he was able to do his job singlehanded. You kept your face buried in Mavrik’s side as he continued to work with one arm around you. He stroked your back in the best motion of comfort he could muster. After what you assumed was at least five trolls, you finally lift your head, peeking around the violet’s broad frame with caution. 

The troll you had dubbed Scared, because of how scared he made you, was gone. Almiss was his name, apparently. You toiled that name over in your mind, pondering it. That name didn’t convey just how scary he was. Two-toned eyes, barely your age and covered in scars. His gaze was so cold, so hateful. You didn’t even want to imagine what could’ve made him so…evil. 

Your thoughts are scattered as Mavrik ruffles your hair again, “He gone, JD?” You glance up as Mav looks over his shoulder. His chuckle is amused, and almost relieved, “First time he’s ever listened.” 

“Who’s to say he listened?” His assistant retorted, “He probably ran off to piss in your fucking fuel tank again.” 

“Language. Daisee will handle it if he does.” 

You perk up at the mention of your eldest sister. You free Mavrik from your hug to sign once more. 

It takes him a second to read your hands. You furrow your brow in slight frustration, signing again, with a sloppy urgency this time. 

“...Leave? You want to leave?” 

You nod, shoulder drooping in relief. 

Mavrik chuckles once more, “Sure, kid. Let’s go find your dad and Daisee.”

#jodiah monark #jodiah #mavrik #mavrik conrod #ghost.art #drabbles #hehe.

[homicidalfantrolls]

Call My Name

In which Dia is recovering from a loss and Paenit does all he can to help him through it. (Click title for matching song)

a sorta sequel/alt POV to It’s All Decay

art (in order) by ridiculousfantrolls and byrdstrolls. I love u both thank u for ur help and amazing art <3

—

Before Dia had even left, you had already been imagining what would happen when he got back.

Some younger, more naive part of you fantasized about him jumping into your arms like no time had passed. The more realistic part of you knew he’d probably say something snarky before demanding a pair of your pants so he could take a nap in your bed. The part of you that missed him so much it hurt just hoped he would give you a hug and say nothing at all.

When you received the news that Twitch and Hanagi Cheong’s ship had been found in the deepest reaches of space, only one of them having survived, you knew none of the situations you had envisioned would come to pass.

In her dying breaths, his sister had offered him probably the best gift he could ask for, yet something you knew he never would, something he would have given back in a heartbeat. A way out. A ticket out of the fleet, one that wouldn’t put him or his loved ones in danger. He wouldn’t hug you, he wouldn’t say he missed you. He wouldn’t say anything. Dia might not come back at all. You wouldn’t blame him for a second.

Your longing for him only grows worse as one of your crew members crashes on a routine supply run. As Mavrik Conrod of all people arrives to rescue her. A man you hadn’t seen since he lied to your face about the circumstances surrounding Daisee’s death, a man you hoped you’d never see again.

You had never expected to receive a warning before your medic returned. If it was any other person on your crew, you would have gotten a ping letting you know a shuttle was on its way to deliver them back to duty. Even if you expected Dia to return at all, you knew you wouldn’t get a message for it.

It was amazing how, getting no warning whatsoever that he was returning, his timing was almost too horrible to be accidental.

Your hand throbbed as violet blue blood dripped from it, dripping onto the floor where Mavrik was lying in a small pool of his own blood, groaning.

And there was Jodiah Monark, standing in the doorway. Looking like he hadn’t slept in a week and hadn’t eaten in twice that time. His eyes sunken, his brother’s pants struggling to hold onto his almost emaciated hips.

And yet he looked just as beautiful as you remember.

Dia helped Mavrik as you retreated to your block. Even when you were confronted by him, you still couldn’t tell him the truth. You could only say you were sorry. And he held you as you cried, took care of you despite how much you knew he was hurting, how much he needed you to hold him instead.

When he fell asleep on your chest, you told yourself you would do whatever you could to make him smile again.

And over the next few months, you had desperately wanted to. You could only watch as Dia drew further and further into himself. As we went from having meals in the mess hall, to having them in his block, to finally not having them at all.

More often than not, when you returned to take his leftovers they hadn’t been touched at all. After too many times of returning to a full plate, you had told him you wouldn’t leave until he ate. And from then on, you had to sit in the block with him, looking out the window, petting his hair and feeding him tater tots.

You’d only seen Dia’s face a handful of times since you two were young. He still didn’t let you see his face straight on, beyond when you were panicking, but thankfully the reflection of the window and his own exhaustion made it safe for you to admire his features. Age had changed it in much the same way it had you. But whereas your stern features had softened, his soft face had grown hard over the sweeps. The smile lines around his eyes were accompanied by dark circles, his normally blindingly bright eyes dim with exhaustion.

And yet, as you watched his face in the reflection of the window, you couldn’t help but still be awed at how beautiful he was.

The weeks faded into months, though in space the days blended together seamlessly. Trying to encourage Dia to leave his block was about as easy as the time you tried to shoot your name into the side of a building. With the machine gun on your jet. Mostly because he hadn’t said a word in months. Not since he said you should find a new medic. Not since you told him you already had a medic and saw no point in looking for another.

You didn’t mind. You spent your time with him talking about whatever came to mind. Types of guns, planes, who Ship Cat had bitten that day (you). Occasionally you would a smile or very rarely a scoff. But he never said anything. Even when you kissed his cheek and told him you had to get back to work, and you’d look forward to seeing him later. He just nodded and continued to stare out the window as you left, his eyes seeing beyond the glass, beyond the stars and galaxies and planets. Watching something only he could see, seeing something only he knew was there. You told yourself you would stay over when he invited you to. He never did.

Three months after Twitch’s death, after Dia had returned to your ship, little had changed. You had changed up the things you fed him, knowing he couldn’t survive on potatoes for forever. But you were still bound to whatever he would eat, and it wasn’t ever enough. You were just grateful that he wasn’t losing weight anymore.

As you broke off pieces of rice cake to feed him, you hadn’t noticed you had started humming ever so softly. A song as ingrained into your bones as your genetic code, a song Daisee has sung to you since she had found you half feral in a dumpster.

Jodiah melts against you, letting you finish feeding him the small meal you had prepared. Your eyes glance to the clock i’m the corner. It had been getting late, the proceeding night having been filled with training exercises and the following one going to be filled with even more. You didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to remove your head from his shoulder, your arms from around his waist. You didn’t want your eyes to leave the reflection of his face in the window.

You kiss his cheek softly and pull away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Try to get some sleep.”

You climb off the bed, giving his face one last glance before you open the door.

And for the first time in months, you hear him.

“Paenit?” Dia’s voice, rough with disuse and quiet with apprehension breaks the silence.

Your hand pauses on the doorknob, your grip faltering. For a second, you think you might have hallucinated it. That heart sickness and desire had gotten the best of you, had you hearing things you desperately wanted to for so long.

But when you turn, your eyes meeting his, the mask having returned to his face, you knew it hadn’t been a dream.

Without even registering you had moved, you had pulled him into your arms, his face pressed into your shoulder and your hand cradling his head. Dia’s body shakes with sobs as his fingers curl into your jacket, your hand continuing to stroke his head ever so gently.

You hold him there until he doesn’t have the energy to cry anymore, as harsh sobs fade into soft breaths as exhaustion wins the battle for his body and he goes limp against you. You hold him as he his stiff body relaxes, as he curls against your chest and finally lets you take care of him. You’re not sure at what point you take your jacket off, at what point you lay down with him curled up on your chest and your legs tangled together like necklaces lost in a jewelry box.

You press your lips to his forehead, shifting your attention to the window that had been holding all of his attention for months. Your eyes watch the stars, the galaxies, the planets out the window. Not seeing passed them, not finding any answers hidden in them. To you, they’re the same as they always had been.

“Thank you,” you whisper to the stars. “For answering him.”

#flight risk #Corpse writes #twitch belongs to Robin and dia to Liam

[trollcafe]

Moving Day

Dia moves into his first apartment!!! :D His favorite rust moirail comes to help! Google Docs

---

Jodiah really, truly, did not have nearly as many belongings as he thought. He pondered on this as he carried another box inside the rather crappy apartment. There was so little to his name. Even the things he kept at his father’s, the things from his old bedroom he was allowed to take with him. Clothing and tools, mostly. 

The box is set on a coffee table- not originally his, but one his well-meaning moirail insisted on giving him. Said well-meaning moirail stumbled his way into the room shortly after Dia, arms shaking as he struggled to carry two boxes on one trip. 

“Dude.” Dia’s mask did little to hide the amusement in his voice, though he made no motion to help Festur as the scrawny rustblood toted the boxes in. He sets them down rather harshly next to Dia’s box, panting with exertion. 

“M-Maybe…You should’ve asked your…other moirail…to move you in.” Fester all but wheezed, doubling over with his hands on his knees. The lime shot him a sympathetic look and patted his back lightly. 

“I’m not ready for Tori to start sugar-lusus-ing me just yet. You good?” 

Festur looked up at his moirail, seemingly unaware of the trickle of ruby ichor dribbling from his nose, mixing with the sweat above his lip. Dia used the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe it away. 

“Why the…fuck…are those…so heavy?” 

“I think you grabbed my box of impact and torque bits.” 

“...Your what?” 

“Tools, Fes. You grabbed a box of tools.” 

The rust’s brow furrowed, a microexpression that spoke volumes to those who knew how to read him, “...There’s a toolbox in there?”

Dia sighed, a sound not autotuned by his mask. He reached into his stolen boots for a hidden knife - a gift from his father, naturally - and cut the box open with ease. To his surprise, there were no tools. 

“Oh, it was paper.” 

Festur stood upright, peering over Dia’s shoulders with curiosity and annoyance, “You have a box of paper?” 

Dia resisted the urge to elbow his already wounded moirail in his already busted ribs, “Important papers, dumbass.” He rifled through some, pulling out examples. Letters, wriggling day cards, holiday cards, drawings from his siblings,  awards, certifications, palmhusk pictures printed on printer paper, pages torn from books. 

Festur joined in, taking a small handful of papers to nose through. He didn’t bother questioning why Dia had these. He always knew the lime was sentimental. Hard to be sentimental in space. It was amusing to look at everything Dia had saved. Older cards had fingerprints from where Dia had held them, rereading the messages over and over. Fold where he had tucked drawings into pockets for safekeeping. Handwritten letters from his father and mother, tucked safely in their original envelopes. Setting one card down, he noticed an oddity. 

An unopened letter. New- the stamp was expensive, still shiny, and dated recently. The return address was some random Fleet port, with no name to send to. The envelope was neat, a gentle lilac shade, with a strange floral embossing. Festur turned the unopened document around in his hand, investigating it closely. 

“...Are you saving this?” 

Dia’s ears perked up slightly, then dropped again, “Hm? Oh, no. They were sent to the wrong person. I keep forgetting to return them to sender. Here- see?” He gently turned the document over, pointing to the name in the center. 

In a curly cursive handwriting, written in dark indigo ink, was the address of Her Beloved Annihilation. But right above said address was a name that made Festur’s brow furrow once more. 

Little Cristo. 

“Little is an…interesting name.” 

“And Festur isn’t? Who are you to judge, Mr. Septic?” 

Festur’s frown sank deeper, though not from the insult. A seed of worry had seated itself in his chest. He couldn’t quite place it, nor could he shake it. Some deep paranormal concern that the contents of this beautiful lavender letter were not as lovely as it looked. 

“Is this the only one you got?” 

Jodiah shook his head, unaware of his moirail’s growing concern. He rooted through the box of books and pulled out two….three…..four……..five…………six………………..seven. 

Seven more letters. All unopened, all addressed to Little Cristo. All with different dates. And sent from different Fleet ports. 

Wordlessly, Festur opened one, ignoring Dia’s complaints. He unfolded the crisp letter, holding it above his moirail’s head to read. Dia only tried to grasp it a few times before giving up, and waiting for an explanation. 

As usual, Festur’s face remained unchanged. He raised his brow in a faux amusement before folding the letter back up. With a perfect monotony, he said simply, “You got someone’s love letters.” 

“Are they at least juicy?” 

“No. Bland, boring. Old guy language.” 

“Ew.” 

“Mhm. Here- There’s a drop off by the House of Restoration, I’ll take them for you.” 

With a remarkable amount of casualty, Festur collected the other six letters, tucking them into his waistband for later. Dia had no complaints. They would go on to unpack a few more boxes, then Festur would say good day. He made Jodiah promise to lock the doors on his way out. 

“Paranormal paranoia. Watched a lot of trolls die from not locking their doors.” 

Dia rolled his eyes. 

Festur opened the remaining six letters on his walk hive. He scoured over the meticulously handwritten pages, noting how they were, in fact, not love letters. The language was flowery and poetic but deeply sinister. The author waxed on about meeting The Littlest Cristo (as it turned out, Little Cristo was not their name) only a handful of times, but knowing they belonged to each other. The letters would vary from violent in descriptions, to nearly sickening in how loving they were. Descriptions of ownership, of leashing one like a bad dog. Of painting the walls with their illegal hue, of washing them in violet so they knew their place. 

Either these letters belonged to a truly disturbed couple, or the true recipient was in danger. Festur wasn’t sure which he preferred. He knew one thing for certain- even if he knew the letters weren’t for Jodiah, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something very bad was about to happen.

#jodiah monark #festur canuis #ghost.art #drabbles

[trollcafe]

Written in the Stars

Google Docs Mondes -> @/byrdstrolls Mystery Wolf Man (& drawing at end) -> @/homicidalfantrolls

To say you, Jodiah Monark, felt powerful would be a horrific understatement. Beautiful, confident, elegant- combine those with powerful, and you might just hit the tip of your emotional iceberg. The mask you had spent so many hours perfecting seemed to have unlocked a new personality within you. One even more cocky than your usual self. It was exhilarating. Face completely hidden, not a drop of lime in sight. Your dress glittered in the light. You stood out amongst the clownish dark colors. A rather plain glimmering dress in the sea of overdone patterns and frills. You weren’t seeking any Ball King nomination so the theme wasn’t ultimately that important to you. In the end, you decided the chunky knee-high boots helped too.

Those shoes weren’t easy to dance in, but you made it work pretty well. By the Messiahs did you dance- twirling your kismesis around until he looked like he was green in the metaphorical gills. Then you promised him you wouldn’t go far, left him seated by the snack table with a bonk. You picked random strangers to twirl with after that. But you never strayed far from your kismesis- you did promise, after all. Finally, once you had your momentary fill of attention from strangers, you flopped down in a seat next to your poor abandoned kismesis, out of breath. 

“I didn’t know you liked dancing.” He said simply, voice muffled as usual. You had heard his voice clearly once. Since then, you had thought he sounded a little funny, so muffled. 

“You haven’t seen anything yet, babe.” You weren’t quite used to your non-automated voice, but there was no safe way to install an automater without making your new mask too chunky, “This is way better than any bar on a Fleet port.” 

“And to think I had almost forgotten you were a Fleet cop.” 

“I’m a better dancer than I ever was a cop.” 

“Must’ve been one incredibly bad cop.” 

That made you laugh. Your raw, chirpy laughter, unfiltered and whole. Laughing made your chest ache, a pang of anxiety. A reminder that you weren’t wearing your usual mask. It could never quite alter your laughter right, creating instead some strange noise distortion. You had gotten so accustomed to the sound that you genuinely forgot what your raw laughter was like. You glanced at Mondes through the side of your eye and found yourself yearning for the safety he must feel right now behind his gasmask.Your current mask may be pretty but it could be so easily ripped off. Part of you envied his confidence in wearing the same thing he always wore, in his refusal to take it off. You shake off that thought quickly. 

“You want a drink? Rosé? I can get one of those long straws.” Messiahs above you wanted a drink. Something to shake off your anxieties. Something to lower your pusher rate. Your kismesis is silent in response, but he begins to dig through the little clutch purse he was carrying for you. 

You reach across to gently take his hand, “Oh- hon, no. We’re not paying for shit tonight.” You recognized the glimmer of confusion that flashed over his eyes, and responded with your own small laugh, “Watch and learn, bunny boy.” 

You rose, and made a beeline for the bar. You could feel Mondes’ eyes observing you closely. Time to put on a good show. The anxiety was washed away in a swell of confidence, no matter how fake. You square your shoulders, lift your chin, and walk like you owned the entire ball. 

You studied each lonely troll sitting at the bar, finding the perfect victim as you sauntered up. Only a brooding, mystery-shrouded purple blood sat alone, making a prime target. Everyone else was accounted for. No problem. His mask was wolfish, black and purple, blending in perfectly with the fur on his coat. No horns in sight- though a purple of that size must’ve had them cropped down. He sat alone, glowering down at his untouched glass of whiskey. You can’t help but wonder what that poor drink did to deserve such a glower. 

You loved the danger that was associated with purplebloods. You had your fair share of them in the Fleet- power hungry and sadistic fuckers. It was almost pitiful how many of them got off on the thought of a mutant to tame. They made easy targets. Motivated by their own simplistic desires, yet powerful enough for you to hide in their shadows. This was arguably a ball celebrating this stranger’s kind, and yet he hardly looked the part. Sure, he was well dressed, but it almost seemed as if he fit the previous year’s theme more. The cape over his wide-set shoulders made him appear massive. Massive, alone, brooding, dangerous, with a faint air of loneliness. Just how you liked them. He would be just as easy as the rest. 

You came up from behind, initially setting a hand on his back, in the fur of his cloak. His head jolts up suddenly as if forcibly yanked from his thoughts. There’s a brief moment where you wonder if your lack of mask had you firing off electricity, but upon further thought you conclude you just startled him. Cute. Your hand trails off his back as you take the seat next to him. You lean over the bar. Chin on hand, elbow on the surface. 

“Howdy, stranger. Looking awfully lonely over here.” The initial prick of anxiety sparks back up as you hear your own unfiltered voice once again. That was fine, you could watch your tone. The way he silently stared back certainly was not helping. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he gave the smallest nod imaginable. 

Cool! Great, you knew he wasn’t going to kill you now. At least not here. He shifts, leaning back on the bar, but turning his body more towards you. The way his elbow rested on the bar gave off a nonchalant air despite his posture remaining slightly stiff. He said nothing. His open body posture was a good sign. He was receptive, open to your eventual manipulation. 

“What’s a handsome highblood like you doing here alone? Hm?” You attempted to bat your eyelashes, then remembered he couldn’t see your eyes. 

“.....”

You tilt your head, the gems on your mask jingling as you did, “Silent strong type, hm? I like. Very mysterious.” You smile with your eyes, then remind yourself yet again that he can’t see your eyes- so you force a small giggle. Fuck your laughter was so small and pathetic on its own. Your free hand reaches out, crossing the great divide between you and your handsome stranger, to play with the chains hanging off his chest. He leaned in a little closer. Drawn in. “You’re in luck, stranger.” 

You begin to lean in closer, voice growing ever softer as you do, “...because I’m pretty vocal. And I’d love to show you just how vocal…” You stop, a few inches from his mask. Your eyes search the black abyss of his mask’s eyes, looking for any sort of emotion. You’re certain he’s doing the same for yours. 

“....But…I told my friend I’d bring us back a couple drinks before I wandered off with handsome strangers.” You again have to remind yourself that he can’t see your eyes. Babydoll eyes wouldn’t work here. But your pleading tone must’ve. Without breaking the pretend eye contact, your mystery friend raises a hand to beckon the bartender over. He motioned towards you as the unamused bronzeblood approached. 

You turn your head, but don’t back away, insistent on staying as close as possible while you order a Rosé and champagne. You twist the chain in your fingers. A pleased purr rises from your chest as you watch the bartender get to work. You could feel your stranger’s gaze boring into you. Was he wearing some sort of cologne? It was vaguely familiar, nostalgic almost. A scent like that, he must be Fleet. It was smokey, a little woods-y. Perhaps cedar? You so loved the smell of cologne- it was unfortunate your usual mask had an air filter. 

You meet his gaze once more as the bartender has to leave briefly to fetch your champagne. You release the chain. Your hand rests on his chest. It was warm, almost concerningly so- was he even breathing? An undead purple. Now that was an exciting thought. No, as you trace the pattern on his vest with a coy finger, you can feel his pusher racing underneath. A shy purple, then? Even more enticing. You maintain your gaze on his mask as the bartender delivers both drinks. 

“I hate to cut our time short…but my friend is waiting.” 

If you didn’t know better, you would’ve said your stranger deflated at the thought. 

“I’ll be on the dance floor all day, if you find yourself wanting company again.” You trace a small circle on his chest, “I’d love to pay you back with a dance.” 

With that you push away, taking both your drinks with a silent nod of thanks to the bartender. You made your way back to your kismesis. Mondes was no longer staring at you- no, he seemed to be staring through you. And quite intently. Like a dog on alert. 

“He’s staring.” He says flatly as you approach. You shrug nonchalantly and offer him his drink. Despite the nonchalance, you could tell your kismesis was uncomfortable. You were an expert in reading him. 

“C’mon,” you nudge his foot to make him stand, “let’s go up to the balcony. He can’t see us up there.” Truth be told, you could feel those masked eyes staring right into your soul. It would normally have been unnerving, but for some reason, it felt…almost familiar. A wanted attention, you suppose. Though your story here is only half the tale, Jodiah. Your thoughts and emotions hardly matter here. You are but a means to the end of this tale. 

Mondes rose slowly, but kept eye contact with your stranger until you put your arm around him. You usher him along towards the grand staircase.

“He’s just jealous a grandma like you could pull someone as hot as me.” 

---

==> Your name is now Paenit Almiss, and the second Jodiah leaves, you are overcome with the feeling that you have made a colossal mistake.

#ghost.art #drabbles #jodiah monark #this wouldve been posted yesterday but corpse fell asleep as i finished

[trollcafe]

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

[trollcafe]

tryin out csp for realsies...a lil test with anon Dia :)c 

#jodiah monark #jodiah #ghost.art #his anon color is white...not...super smart but he likes to feel special #ummm he also cant take beloved's symbol #the monark crown #so he DOES have his OG symbol #the cristo warning sign

[trollcafe]

It'll All Decay.

Google Docs Link || Song Link

It took you two days to say goodbye to everyone for good after the trial. You were very specific about it. The last time you left for the Fleet without a goodbye, your matesprit died. So, you made sure you hunted down each person. 

Marsie was the easiest, for obvious reasons. Carbyn wasn’t too hard to hunt down, you got him when he was visiting Nesseo. Two birds, one stone. Daseos and Hanagi were the same. You gave Das a letter, and asked she give it to her reading teacher. 

Your siblings made their displeasure very clear. None of them liked your decision. Even Bertie seemed hesitant to speak to you. As you hugged Faxaen, you promised them it’d just be a couple weeks. You needed your things. And had to steal a cat. That got a smile out of them. Calysa was quiet, but there was more under her lime eyes that you didn’t dare dive into.

Mondes was the most difficult to track down. It seemed like he was avoiding you. His gaze was cold again. You felt like you were betraying some unspoken promise. All you could do was tell him the last time you forgot to say goodbye, someone died, and you’d had enough death for one sweep. You hesitated, resisting the urge to hug him. You stared at each other, silently, in some odd unspoken duel. You left first. 

Your moirail dropped you off at the shuttle. It wasn’t a lengthy or glamorous goodbye. He didn’t ask you to stay, or questioned why you wanted to go back. Tori was a good moirail like that. Or maybe you were a bad moirail for wanting him to not express his concerns. 

Time began to move in fast forward after you hugged him goodbye. 

You blinked, and suddenly, you were back in space. You didn’t even remember the shuttle back to Commander Almiss’ ship. You were just there. Breathing in the stale recycled air through the filter on your mask. Each step took an eternity. Everything felt hazy and unreal. You had to be asleep. Still on Alternia, sleeping on the floor of that AirBnb while Mondes made soup in the kitchen. You could almost smell the soup on the stove.

You were on the floor. But not the AirBnb. The floor of Paenit’s office, cradling Mavrik’s head in your arms. No soup, just blood. Violet blood stained the clothes you stole from your brother. That was all you could think of in that moment. How difficult those stains would be to get out. Bertie would never forgive you. Bertie would never forgive you, and another person you loved would die before you could help them. Selfish thoughts to have in the moment. 

Mavrik would have surgery to fix his jaw. You would confront Paenit about why he did it. But you didn’t have it in you to hate him for breaking Mavrik’s jaw. You just hold him as he cries,  go to sleep instead. 

And thus the cycle begins. You wake up. You counted the bandages in your cabinets, took stock of the medical supplies, reorganized the locked medicine box. You forced down food. You checked on Mav. You stared out a window in his recovery room. You went to sleep. 

Two days becomes two weeks. Two weeks of waking up, working in the med wing, checking on Mav, staring out a window, going to bed. 

Two weeks becomes a month. You stop eating. Mavrik is cleared to leave. He and his crew leave suddenly, and you forgot to say goodbye. 

One month turns into two. With Mav gone, you spend more time staring out the window in your block. You wake up, attempt and ultimately fail to organize your medical supplies. You stare out a window in some random spot of the ship until Paenit finds you, and tries to get you to eat. 

Three months. You tell your commander that he should find another medic. He just agreed, and you looked back out the window of his office. That’s the last time you speak to him. The medical wing you worked so hard on is now in disarray. You’re barely ever there. You spend a lot of time sleeping in Paenit’s office. And staring out the window. 

Five months. You’ve stopped talking entirely. Words took too much energy. You only eat when you’re told to. You haven’t left your block in weeks. All you do is stare out the window. Watching the stars go by. 

You think about her constantly. You watch the extraterrestrial clouds swirl around stars and space debris, and you think about her. How scared she must’ve been. How much pain she must’ve been in. You should’ve been out there. You could’ve stolen another ship, you should’ve called Mav to find her. If only you had gotten to her. Hanagi was a doctor, but maybe you could’ve done more. You would’ve given anything for one more minute with her. One more minute, and maybe you could’ve changed the way this played out. 

Was death kind to her? Did she find peace in the stars? Did she finally meet Daisee, if the afterlife was real? Could she hear your thoughts? Did she know she was loved? If by no one else, by you? Where does the soul rest if lost in the expanse of space? Was it wrong to miss someone who caused so much hurt? Did you tell her you loved her enough? You didn’t mourn the death of that uncaring, cruel version of her. You mourned for the little kid who held your hand as she took her first steps, who learned how to braid with your hair, who taught you how to climb high into the trees.  All anyone on Alternia could talk about was how horrible she was. The entire courtroom was filed with contempt for her. You sat in front of Alternia, and it took every ounce of self control not to scream into the cameras that she was still your sister. Everyone wanted her to be the villain. But even villains deserve to be mourned sometimes. 

Your lusus told you once that grief was just love with nowhere to go. Grief made people do horrible things. Didn’t you do horrible things when Festur died? You didn’t have a killer to hunt down, so you made yourself out to be the murderer. You tried to kill the person you used to be, made yourself a new face. There was more blood on your hands than Twitch could ever have fathomed being a possibility. Her academy’s simulations could never conjure up the things you’ve done in the name of grief and self destruction. Like now, for instance. 

You didn’t want your stuff. You didn’t want a medal, you didn’t want the cat you told Faxaen you’d steal. You didn’t come back for Mavrik, or Paenit, or your med wing. There was no way you could explain it, nobody would understand. You went back to space, because that’s where she died. And that was the only way you could be close to her again. Because you swear the stars were stained violet. 

You don’t know what day it is. You just miss her. And Daisee, and Festur, and Mezaka, and Necrol. And Marsie, and Mondes, and Toresce, and Hanagi, and even Paenit. You’re so sick of death that it consumes you to the point of mourning those still alive. 

You don’t know what time it is. But based on how sick you felt, Paenit was due to bring you another tray of tater tots. You barely touched the plate of hashbrowns he left. You hug your knees tighter to your chest, and rest your mask against the cool glass of the window. You were tired of this grief. You were tired of being tired. 

When Paenit brings a tray of food to your block this time, you don’t just stare at him silently. You hold out your arms. Take off your mask. And finally let someone hold you while you cry. 

#drabbles #jodiah monark #UM #wrow. #ask 2 tag #marsie/mondes/the cheongs & twitch are byrdstrolls #toresce & paenit are homidicalfantrolls #faxaen is sasster & calysa is roetrolls #bertie is outsidertrolls #ghost.art #i think i got em all #i know i didnt converse w/ anyone abt his isblings (or anyone elses) reactions #thats intentional ! #dia's idea of their reactions is supposed to be incorrect hes delusional & spiralling! #l

[trollcafe]

What were Jodiah’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?

The biggest disappointment he had was finding out the world was not as kind as he thought it was growing up. That's largely due to being anon before he joined the Fleet. Everything was easier when he had the choice to hide his caste, and when the world didn't view him as lime. He never connected the dots until he joined the Fleet and was forced to present as the caste he is. (He's considered a 'legal' limeblood, meaning he's allowed to stay alive but he can't contribute to the gene pool, can't reproduce at all, and likely won't obtain any ancestor title.)

realizing that. people treat him MUCH differently. based on how he presents. that took the biggest hit on his psyche. having to adapt after being forcibly outed. realizing the anon version of him was simply more palatable

His next biggest challenge is going to be realizing that the dreams he had when he was young simply aren't what they're cut out to be. being a paramedic wont be as rewarding as he thought!

currently he's starting to doubt if leaving the fleet was the right choice. he hates that thought because he promised his kismesis he would never go back ( and he meant it! ) but he's starting to unravel from the lack of structure and his own internal metronome telling him to go anon again, but dont go anon again, but go anon again, etc etc

#chow.ask #jodiah monark

[trollcafe]

A Different Altar

Google Docs  Nesseo and the Cheongs belong to @/byrdstrolls! 

Mondes didn’t want to be an altar for you to martyr yourself upon. Fine, sure, you could understand that. You wouldn’t sacrifice yourself. For him, at least. 

See, your name is Jodiah Monark. And who are you, if not giving your everything for others? Isn’t that in your name? A Monark is a Martyr, it's the curse your family bears. Bertie risks his life to save people from fires, Galile gives up all her free time to save lives from afar. Daisee died for it, crashed her stupid little ship to save Khirti. And your lusus, Her Beloved Annihilation, gave up everything he ever wanted in life, to ensure you and your siblings could have the best lives possible. You knew better than anyone how The Annihilation would do absolutely anything you’d ask, if only you’d forgive his mistakes. 

Being Jodiah Monark meant you were very, very, very attentive. How could you not be? You’ve seen the way misery hangs around the Cheongs. Gloom drapes itself around Nesseo’s pretty shoulders like an old friend. You’ve seen it. The way Marsie looks off to the side when Ness takes a drink, as if to avoid it. The way Mondes hesitates each time they raise that bottle. The way Daseos pretends to not see. The way Carbyn’s smile falters. The way Ness themself reaches for the bottle like it's their only life saver in the vast stormy seas of their life. 

In all fairness to them, it probably is. 

But you are no idiot. Treatment would be difficult to obtain in the current state of the family’s affairs. You’ve had to play doctor for them a handful of times. When Mondes let Marsie cut the vegetables and he cut his hand. One time, Das got a splinter at school. Hell, you’ve given Nesseo some advice for combatting hangovers, though you never truly thought they listened. 

You had spent many hours, absently tinkering on your mask, thinking to yourself about the situation. It’s quite easy to lock yourself into a bathroom with the excuse of mask maintenance. Bring your little toolbox, take the mask off, and tinker away. It’s always the same things you tinker with. The same bolts. The same circuit boards. You unscrew them, blow them off, screw them back in. Some days you take the entire mask apart just to rebuild it. And you think. As you sit on the bathroom floor, slowly unscrewing an allen bolt, you’re reminded of why you chose to use that bolt for an interior hinge. 

It was because of Hanagi. You had, naturally, read some of her studies and glanced at blueprints she had made, long before you ever met her family. Funny, isn’t it? She had influenced your life before you ever dragged yourself into this mess. You were hardly an idiot. You’d done the math- the little personal use space ship they departed on would’ve most definitely lost power by now. You had set a countdown timer on your palmhusk to know the exact date their survivability ran out. And every time you visited your moirail, because he so gratefully kept your palmhusk, you’d see the little numbers tick down, closer and closer to zero. 

You couldn’t save Hanagi. And Mondes doesn’t want you to save him, either. But you were struggling to sit by and not save someone. You sigh, the un-muffled sound of your exhale feeling alien to you. If only there was a way you could save someone. 

The sound of the refrigerator closing in the distance is what makes the idea spark. 

In a flash, you put your mask back together. You don’t bother with making it perfect. Just usable. You scramble to your feet and leave in a hurry, without a word to anyone. Though your rush to leave is ultimately a waste, as you end up waiting for the subway anyways. The rail had just left the station when you got there, resulting in a ten minute wait. The extra twenty minutes of solitude on the subway gave you time to think about your approach. In hindsight, you were grateful the Fleet base that your father was stationed at was so far away. 

It was the middle of the day, in the middle of the work week, meaning you had to use your personal Fleet identification code to be allowed into the facility. Doing so most likely pinged your CO that you were on a Fleet base, but that was the last thing on your mind. You had a different general you needed to meet with. And, if you knew anything about your lusus, you knew he’d be eating a late lunch in his office right now. 

You knocked on the doorframe to announce your arrival. Her Beloved Annihilation looked up from his bowl of chicken salad, shock evident on his face. His fins fluttered nervously as he set his lunch aside, rushing to finish his bite, motioning for you to take a seat. 

You don’t sit. You step inside his office, closing the door behind you. 

“Dia- I was just thinking about you! Wondering where you’d gone off to. You look…” You imagine he was going to say tired. Or annoyed. Both, maybe, “...well. Is that your brother’s-?” 

“Annihilation.” You cut him short. You could see the hurt flash over his eyes. After Festur died, you had resorted to calling your lusus Beloved, rather than Dad like any of your siblings. It was a personal rebellion, your own little way of hurting him for hurting you, even if you knew he hadn’t done it intentionally. After he repeated the offense by not telling you about Twitch, you went a step further, only calling him Annihilation. “I need you to do something for me.” 

Annihilation sat upright, folding his hands on his desk, “Of course, Dia. What can I do for you?” 

He watched you closely. Her Beloved Annihilation always had a way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the room. His gaze soft and attentive, his smile warm. Despite the security his attention provided you, you still hesitated. It was a lot to ask of any one man. Even someone with as much power as Her Beloved Annihilation. This could so easily go awry. What if he turned them, and you, in? What if all that talk about doing the right thing, not the Empirical thing, as a child, was just talk? 

You square your jaw under your mask. 

“I would like you to pardon Nesseo Cheong.” 

Annihilation watches you silently for a moment longer. You can see the gears turning in his head. Wondering why you’d ask? Or wondering how he could do it? You weren’t sure you wanted to know. 

He opens his mouth to respond. You cut him off, “Marsie is alive. Don’t ask how. Marsie is alive, and therefore can testify who his murderer truly was. I can get that confession from him. You know I can. Doing so would confirm that Twitch arrested the wrong troll.” 

Annihilation leans back in his seat, crossing his arms, “That gives me ground to pardon the man Twitch arrested. Not Nesseo. Nesseo was still impersonating an officer.” 

“Nesseo Cheong was not impersonating an officer. They were in the process of shadowing, as a means of finding a career as a prison guard.” The lie rolls off your tongue so smoothly.

“Do you have the documents to prove that claim?” He cocks a brow. 

“I can get them.” You nod. 

He nods as well, sighing softly. Silence falls between you two once more as you watch the gears turn again. You follow his gaze to the wall of his office, where several pictures were hung up neatly in frames. Photographs of your family, of his late quadrants, memorable moments. Finally, you slump down on one of the plush chairs on the other side of his desk. 

You know how this works. You knew anything you said could and would be held against not only you, but Nesseo, and also your lusus. It was risky. It was dangerous. And it was a complete violation of their privacy. But it was worth the risk. 

“...Nesseo Cheong is an alcoholic. We can say their behavior was influenced by addiction and the desire to get better. Emotional trauma or something. Does that help?” 

“Possibly.” 

“Twitch kidnapped Hanagi Cheong. Nesseo’s older sister. Nesseo is the sole caregiver of the youngest Cheong, Daseos.” 

“I take it that’s where you’ve been?” 

“It’s impossible to take care of a kid when neither of you can leave the hive.” 

Annihilation nodded slowly. The silence resumed for a moment, but was stopped short when he laughed. You barely notice the giggle his laughter sparks, too muffled under your mask to be heard. “You’re not making my job any easier, Dia.” 

“But-” 

“I’ll figure it out. I promise, I’ll find a way. It’s easier said than done, you know this.” His smile is as genuine as his tone is teasing, “It’d be best if you stop telling me any more incriminating details. Have your forger send the documents you’ll make over to me as soon as possible.” 

You nod, and slowly rise. 

“I shouldn’t need a statement from Marsie or Nesseo. The documents are more to cover my own tracks. I’d tell you to avoid getting caught with them, but I doubt they’re leaving the hive much.” 

You nod again, “...Should I tell them..?” 

“No, no.” He shook his head with a grin, “I’ll send an official letter once everything has been processed and their records wiped. Don’t worry about providing an address.” 

You knew better than to ask for clarification. You just nod again. Despite your answer, you hesitate to leave. 

Your lusus seemed to pick up on your hesitance, tilting his head slightly, “Is there anything else I can help you with?” 

You’re quiet for another second. After what felt like an eternity, you shake your head. “No…just-...Thank you. For helping.” 

“Of course, Dia.” The tension visibly melted off his shoulders. 

You turn to leave, pausing at the door, “I’ll stop by with lunch tomorrow, okay? See you then, Dad.” 

You didn’t wait around to see his reaction. It felt a little dishonest, calling him a name you weren’t prepared to. There was a knife of guilt twisting in your chest as you made your way out of his office, off the base. Doing so was just one final way to ensure he actually went through with the pardon. It was the only insurance you had. 

#drabbles #jodiah monark #her beloved annihilation #ghost.art

[trollcafe]

Lucid

Google Docs Link

It was odd, looking at Jodiah. He looked so familiar. More than you expected. You had only ever seen him once before. You only remembered the incident because your kismesis was furious with you, for reasons you would never find out. He kicked you out of his hive for making Jodiah…freak out? Cry? You weren’t too sure, actually. You remembered the absolute anguish and horror in his eyes as they locked with yours. Hard to forget such stunning eyes. He said your name, then ran. 

That was a far cry from what was happening now. He sat beside you at your kismesis’ table. He was on his palmhusk, barely paying you any attention, simply reading off instructions for Toresce. If you were the one reading off instructions for a recipe like that, well Tori would throw a pan at your head. Must have something to do with Dia being…small? Cute? Lime? You were none of those things. 

“Hey Bub, can you pass Tori the pepper? On your right.” Dia’s mask was shut off to let his normal voice fill the void. You instinctively did as you were told, only realizing a few seconds after that he didn’t say your name. Who was Bub? Why were you Bub? 

You didn’t get to ponder the question long. You must’ve froze after Toresce snatched the pepper from your hand…leaving your hand out in the open. Jodiah grabbed your robotic hand with such intense concern. A level of gentleness you hadn’t felt in quite some time. You blink, and any concerns about being called Bub were gone.

“What happened to your hand?” Dia pulled your hand towards himself, setting his palmhusk down. You shift to face him with a small smile. 

“It’s, uh, a long story?” You offer with a sheepish shrug. Why were you nervous? You held up your other hand, waving the matching prosthetic. 

“Both of them?!” Dia frantically snatched your other hand, bringing both to his level. You thought it was sweet at first. Then you noticed your kismesis, his moirail, Toresce, shooting daggers in your direction. Your face flushes a nervous blue. You meet his gaze and try to shrug to say you had no idea what was happening. You so rarely did. His flared fins don’t settle, but he does turn back to the pan. 

“Wow…I bet that made playing bass a lot easier.” 

[play this audio]

His words rush over you like ice water. He sat there so relaxed, just gently investigating the way your finger joints moved, as if his nonchalant words didn’t chill you to the bone. 

 “…what?” Are you feeling defensive? Shocked? Hurt? You glance towards your kismesis. For protection? Encouragement? Toresce didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he didn’t care. “No, I-“ 

Jodiah doesn’t let you finish, “Your hand? Your fingers were crooked after your hand got broken.” He finally looked at you again, brows furrowed in concern, “You don’t remember? I had to make the splint. You didn’t wanna go to the hospital so I did the best I could.” 

Toresce finally turned away from the sizzling pan, only to ask a question you didn’t hear.

Your eyes trailed down from Jodiah’s bright eyes to your hand. The fog that constantly clouded your brain, that suffocated your every thought, that tormented you endlessly, it….moved. You stare at your hand with a slowly growing smile. You could see it. The fog lifted, and you could fucking see it. 

You had broken your hand, and had crooked fingers. Oh, by the Messiahs did that feel so good. You could remember! Jodiah’s words blew away the segment of fog covering that specific memory up. You could picture it clearly. Jodiah lets your other hand free as he carries the conversation with his moirail. You turn your back to them both. 

You cautiously pick up an imaginary bass guitar. You’d call it muscle memory if you still had those. Your right hand fell just at waist level, pinching an imaginary pick. Your left hand gripped the neck. Your pinky was straight, folded over your ring finger in a modified grip. The memories flooded your senses. The concerts in smoke-filled venues with speakers so loud you couldn’t even hear your own thoughts. You used two fingers to play, sometimes three when needed. It wasn’t ideal, but your hand was crooked. You remembered when you met Bruuno, how he helped you develop your own modified grip. He showed you musicians from sweeps ago who played with only two fingers. Fuck, it felt so good. 

The fog had cleared just enough. What an amazing feeling. It was addicting, thrilling, hair-raising. You wanted to remember more. Remember everything. There was so much fog, so much under that shrouded surface. What else were you missing? What else did he know? 

You turned back to Jodiah in a rush. Fuck their conversation. Fuck Toresce. This was more important. 

“I remember now!” You exclaim, delighted. Jodiah cocks a brow as you continue, “I- I forgot- but I remember! My hand was crooked! I-..I lost my right hand first…but I stopped- I stopped playing when I lost my left…because I couldn’t get the grip right…with all four fingers.” 

Jodiah’s eyes wrinkle around the edges in a way that suggested he was smiling. There was something in those eyes. Mischief? Delight? He took hold of your hand, your right hand, and pushed your sleeve back up to your elbow. A cautious finger traced an invisible line on your prosthetic. 

“Do you remember the scars?” He continued to trace invisible lines on your arm. Detailing a map only he could see. 

“Scars?” You were almost breathless in anticipation. 

“You punched a mirror when you were four. It was bad, you bled everywhere. I wasn’t in med school then…but that was one event that made me want to be. I wrapped your arm up in my shirt.” 

You were both silent for what felt like a long time. You desperately searched the fog, staring off into a space only you could see. Finally, it cleared, smearing like smog. The memory was fuzzy and dull but it was there. “….it was pink. A pink shirt.” You finally broke the silence. You could see the scars as he outlined them now, nodding. You had so many scars on that arm. You would rub them when you were nervous, or scared, or upset. You would start getting tattoos later in life to cover them. 

“Mhm, that’s right.” 

“Why?….why did I break the mirror?” You finally peel your eyes off your arm to meet his knowing gaze. He sighed, eyes softening with a thought you couldn’t yet see. 

“His anger always rubbed off on you…it rubbed off on all of us.” Jodiah wasn’t looking at you anymore. He looked through you. At someone he must’ve cared about, with how gentle his rough features turned. 

           “…whose?” 

Just like that, Jodiah snapped back. He blinked once, twice. The soft caring gleam in his eyes steeled up once more. He let go of your arm. You found yourself missing the nostalgia of his touch. 

Like some kind of sick irony, his palmhusk went off. He turned away from you to read a message you weren’t meant to see. 

“I have to go.” Before you could argue, he was gone. Your kismesis saw him out. He told you to watch the stove but you were lost in thought. Lost in the adrenaline of the fog clearing. Your eyes went back to your arm, back to the map of scars you could almost see in the metal. Your left hand brushes over your right arm. You thought you could feel them. You had so many questions, too many.

How did you break your hand? How did Jodiah know you?

   Why did the fog clear; what more does he know? 

      What else have you forgotten? What is under all that fog?

           Who was Marsie? And why is that not the person Dia was talking about? 

#ghost.art #drabbles #jodiah monark #riptid canuis #toresce is homicidaltrolls #and marsie issssss byrdstrolls #i decided i dont care too much about the flipping tenses #however i highly recommend playing the audio #the audio is what remembering feels like to rip

[trollcafe]

Little Bird

Google Docs

You remember the first time you ever held a grub. She was so small in your arms, so fragile. You were worried you might drop her. Crush her, squeeze her too hard, hurt her somehow. Your massive arms dwarfed her tiny cerulean frame. Your worry must’ve shown on your face. You remember Sinopa’s soft smile, a rare sight indeed, as she said you would make a great lusus. 

That night, you went to every bookstore you could find, and bought every book on raising grubs, to teaching wrigglers, that you could find. Your matesprit found you passed out on the couch. The little cerulean grub, later named Staris, was curled up on your chest, with a book covering your face. Necrol took a picture that remained framed in your office. You found yourself looking at it often. Especially when stressed. You caught yourself staring at it now, wondering how the hell you messed up so badly. 

The day you were handed Jodiah was stormy. You remember it well. Sinopa called you in a panic and agreed to meet you somewhere incredibly private. She said it was an emergency. You ran out in a raincoat, with a pouch sling holding a tiny fuchsia grub close to your chest. You knew it was dire because Sinopa never, ever, ever, left her caverns. She didn’t even say hello to you. Her moirail said more with a nod in your direction. 

She shoved the warmest lime green grub towards you. His choppy hair had white down feathers. You didn’t even question it. Jodiah snuggled into Palola’s little side like they had always belonged together. 

Not a single one of those damn parenting books could have ever prepared you for raising Jodiah Cristo. 

No, he was a Monark, tried and true. 

You called Sinopa almost every week with a new question or problem. 

You see, Jodiah was an interesting one. He was sweet as ice cold lemonade on a hot day and twice as sour. As a child, Jodiah was full of life and wonder. And fuck, did that kid wander. You trusted Palola to keep him safe. Maybe that’s where you went wrong- you tasked a child with keeping another child safe. Dia wandered, frequently getting lost. He would follow the birds into the wilderness. Something out there called for him. He always said it was the birds. But he always came back. And if he didn’t, then Palola would find him. They had a whistle to call their brother home. Palola would whistle, and Jodiah would chirp back. He was your little Bird who never flew too far from the next. 

But one day, Jodiah didn’t come home. You had never been so scared before. The Fleet had nothing on that level of primal fear. Even thinking about it makes you choke on the fear. 

It was three days and four nights before Jodiah showed up. You had gone into the woods he frequently explored and searched endlessly. You called his name. You begged. You sang. Palola whistled. Necrol even came home to help. You went against your better judgment and sought help from Fleet Search and Rescue. You were inconsolable…until one of the last search crews found him in a ravine. They said he must’ve fallen down the cliff and gotten stuck.  

Jodiah stopped talking after that. It felt like, even now, sweeps later, he never got over it. 

Did he even remember that? Did he remember the way you held him, so tight, openly weeping into his messy braids? Did he remember how you took off of work for months, nearly an entire sweep, to get him to speak again? Taking him and Palola everywhere you could? To the aviary, to the library, to therapy, the aquarium, the movies, whatever you could to bring your little Bird back to you. You swallow hard, trying to keep yourself grounded as your thoughts continue to race. 

Jodiah didn’t talk until you brought home Twitch. He asked to hold her- you were so stunned you didn’t respond. After that, he talked to her all the time. But he was never quite the same. Not the same little Bird who flew too far. He started to open back up to you. You relished in it while you had it. Daisee’s death made him retreat back inside. You realized then that he only ever spoke to his siblings. And typically, only Twitch or Palola. 

How could you ever tell him she had gone missing? 

As a teenager, Jodiah was stubborn. You have to bite back a bitter laugh. Fuck, was he stubborn. He didn’t do a damn thing he didn’t want to do, that’s for sure. He never got into arguments, and he didn’t say much, but he was as bullheaded as they could come. He and Necrol had plenty of standoffs. You thought he might start healing when he met that rust boy, Festur. The two never told you the truth on how they met, the story always changing. But that little rust with the scars on his face seemed to bring pieces of your Birdie back. 

You would never forgive yourself for calling him when Festur died. You had no way of reaching him, and you hated the thought of telling him months later. His broken sobs haunt your dreams even now, overlaying the other atrocities you’ve committed. You should’ve been there, you should’ve been the one to hold him. 

He apparently had a kismesis. You never knew. How could you have known? He never talked to you. You never heard about his dreams of being a paramedic, of saving the world. Everything you knew about Jodiah was learned second hand. Seconds on the clock ticked by while Jodiah raced through like a silent bullet. He was a mute wriggler, who grew up into a rowdy teenager, to a dedicated medical student, to a Fleet medic, then mechanic, then interrogator, then medic again. He had so much baggage before he was even an adult. Death surrounded him in a way even you feared. Trauma hung over his shoulders like an old friend. Jodiah was blowing through life faster than you think he was aware of. 

Why didn’t you ever think to slow him down? 

At some point, you picked Jodiah up for the last time. You would set his little feet on the ground never to hold him in your arms again. Maybe if you held him more, maybe if you fought against his stubbornness, you could’ve slowed down the trainwreck. There was a point in time where you held his hand for the last time, where you braided his hair for the last time, where he stopped asking for help tying his shoes. Where he no longer wanted to match outfits with Palola. Where he stopped chirping along with the birds. Where he stopped finding wonder in the universe. Where the world went from that vibrant technicolor joy to monochrome. Was it the ravine he fell into? Was it the trolls along the way? Did you miss something in those parenting books? 

Your little Bird didn’t tell you he was returning to the planet. You were, luckily, on planet for work when he arrived. According to the paperwork, he arrived to your hive four days after he supposedly returned to Alternia. Where had he gone? Who was he with? Why did he look so tired? 

You reached out to him. He stared back at you with his vibrant emerald eyes. The same eyes everyone claims are full of life and mystery. His eyes always looked dead to you. He was dead inside. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about Twitch?” 

Why did you have to be the bearer of bad news? Was it such a crime to want your little Bird back? You wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, demanding to know if he remembered being lost in the ravine, the same ravine that later killed his matesprit, what happened out there? What changed him? Why did he go? What did he see? Why hasn’t he come back? Why is he a husk, why is he glaring at you as if you alone sent Twitch out into space to die? Why doesn’t he talk to you? Why doesn’t he talk to anyone? Where was he? Who was he with? Why didn’t he come back home? 

Instead, you take a shaky breath. 

“I wanted to tell you in person.”

#jodiah monark #her beloved annihilation #drabbles #ghost.art #i didnt edit or revise this AT ALL sorry if its clunky #twitch is robin byrdstrolls!

[trollcafe]

funky little monkey, he’s a twisted trickster everybody wants to be that mister’s mister.

#jodiah monark #jodiah #ghost.art #i gave up ont he bg ok!! i have 2 go to work

[trollcafe]

Nowhere to Run

Google Docs Link 

The news came in the most unsatisfactory way possible. One would imagine such heavy and important news would, at the very least, arrive in a dramatic way. Such as a delayed farewell letter, or a fated meeting. But no. That isn’t how things work for you. Like most things in life, the delivery was as menial and unsatisfactory as it could come. 

You had just gotten back into the swing of things on the ship, having forcibly shoved aside the guilt of kicking your spiraling sister out into the cold. You kept yourself busy. Going over paperwork, examining old evidence as if it’ll tell new secrets, reading old cases, and tinkering. You toted your beloved toolbox everywhere now, finding a new mechanical victim to disassemble every day. You had successfully rebuilt every appliance on the damn ship by the end of your first week back. You had been in the process of going through the mechanical guts of the coffee machine for the fifth time when you received the email. 

Because, of course it was an email. 

A sweep prior, you had gotten drunker than a dog and depressed as all hell. You were loathing the circumstances of your life when your eyes fell upon pictures of your old kismesis. Mezaka, a goldblood, taller than you, quick as a whip and sharp as a tack. She was brash and hotheaded. She was everything you wanted to be: confident, intelligent, driven. As Festur’s moirail, she matched his energy and settled his fire in a way you never could. You never imagined yourself as someone who would miss their kismesis, but god did it hurt. She was desperate for a better future for the three of you. So she left, jumped into a courier job for the Empire off planet, and promised to return. She never did. You had followed her after sweeps of hearing nothing, enduring the rage of your abandoned matesprit. He was furious. You yearned for your youth with both of them by your side. The Fleet was no place for a lime, but you had no other choice to find her. You jumped ship at the first sign of commitment, as a means of searching farther and wider. You survived out of spite and a need to find your missing kismesis. When it all came up dry, you got stupid drunk, and searched online for an information broker, a bounty hunter, something, anything. 

You found a shady looking website that promised to locate anyone if you pay. With nothing to lose, you entered your bank information, your email, her name and caste, and promptly forgot about it. The email came from a no-reply account, informing you that you had been charged $500, and to have a good day. There were several attachments. 

Mezaka-Frapei-TransferRequest.pdf 

Mezaka-Frapei-WorkOrder-Form-Filled.pdf 

Mezaka-Frapei-Housing.png

Mezaka-Frapei1.png

Mezaka-Frapei-DeathCertificate.pdf 

Mezaka-Frapei-Obituary.pdf

You stared at the list of attachments in shock. You didn’t believe them, nor the email itself. In a distracted haze, you pack your toolbox up. You didn’t even put the coffee machine back together. Behind the quiet walls of your block, you opened each one. You read over every word, zooming in close to look for errors, to find the nonexistent flaws that would disprove them. It had to be some sick cruel joke, you repeat to yourself. 

The dates were correct, everything added up beautifully. According to the paperwork. Mezaka had been a courier co-piloting cargo ships for the Fleet. She had, supposedly, stuck nearby Alternia, before filing a transfer request. She made it to a colony not too far off, where she transferred from cargo delivery to smaller, local deliveries. Essentially being a postal worker. According to the collection of pictures, Meza had built a whole new life. Without Festur, without you. The pictures had been taken carefully from security footage or zoomed in from social media posts. Some were candid, as if taken by someone observing her from a distance. She had the same confident smile. Except, in these photographs, her arms were around new trolls. A jadeblood and an olive, it seemed. Neither looked anything like you. They were larger than life. You were sitting on the ground, alone and in the dark, struggling and failing to bite back tears. 

The last thing you opened was the death certificate. And…it checked out. Mezaka Frapei, your former kismesis, had died roughly seven months prior to you receiving that email. Isn’t that some sort of bitter irony? You had paid for this service before she died. If you had looked a few months earlier. If you tried harder. According to the obituary, she had died of cardiac arrest. Hadn’t you told her to get her arrhythmia checked out? Look where it got her. Look where it got you. On the floor of a dirty Fleet ship, crying into a mask. 

The worst part of everything wasn’t that Meza had left without a word. It wasn’t the hurt, or the betrayal, or the heartbreak. It wasn’t even the crushing reality that she had fully and wholly ruined your life for nothing. It was that she was dead, and you could never tell her about the pain she caused. You found yourself on the floor, holding a faded polaroid of her and yourself tightly. Her smile, just as confident, her arm around you, so caring. Had it all been a lie? 

You wanted so desperately to grab her by the shoulders. To shake her, to scream at the top of your lungs. Had that been her plan all along? Did she ever even care? Had she known about Festur’s death, had she known you left, did she get any of his letters? He sent them every day. Did she have them, did she hold onto them, did she even read them? Or did she throw them away? You wanted to throw your arms around her and sob, and scream into her chest that you had missed her, that you just wanted to know she was okay. That every single fucked up aspect of your life had been entirely caused by her disappearing. That your sister was gone and you barely shed a tear. That you threw away your hopes and dreams to find her. That Festur had died hating your guts for leaving him, to find her. That, ultimately, you were blaming her for things she never directly caused. 

Anger swirled under your skin, making a horrible cocktail when combined with the sorrow. It wasn’t truly her fault, was it? Mezaka had left. But you never had to go find her. You could still hear Festur yelling at you, that she was gone.  Meza never held you at gunpoint. She didn’t force you to follow her, force you to throw away everything. Meza didn’t throw Twitch out in the cold. Meza didn’t tell you to leave everyone who ever cared about you behind. Meza never tore a rift between you and your father. You did that. But it's easier to pick a scapegoat that can’t defend herself. Meza was gone, and had abandoned you, just as Festur said. She was gone, and she was never coming back. You defended her. You yelled back, you promised she would return. You always bet on losing dogs, didn’t you? You’d defended Twitch just as much, and that damn dog turned on you all the same. 

You didn’t want to be alone. But you couldn’t stay there. There wasn’t a single troll here you could ever let see you like that, 

One of the perks of being the Commander’s Favorite Fucktoy was having a key to his block. He put an awful lot of trust in you, only for you to turn around and bite him. Kinda like what Mezaka and Twitch did to you, huh? You used his key to break into his block, from there stealing the keys to his personal escape pod. You already memorized his admin code. You had used it several times for genuine work-related purposes, with his permission. Now, you used it to unlock and get into his escape pod. It required the admin code alongside the keys to actually start. The admin code was once again needed to plug in the coordinates. You had those memorized as well. Luckily, your ship was in the process of floating by the medical space station that Palola worked in. If there was anyone who you could actually talk to about this, it would be him. 

You had to work fast. Fleet security was strict, you knew your commander would be alerted of each instance that his admin code was used. The thrill of the crime was almost exciting enough to shake the depression out of you. You had never actually flown a ship on your own before, but you had watched Officer Apollo initiate the autopilot a few times. Enough times to be able to mimic it. Before you knew it, you were detached from the main ship, enroute for the medical station. Alone, in a stolen Fleet ship. 

By the time the pod made its rocky arrival on the docking bay, you had cried it out several times and already planned your speech. You weren’t sure how or why nobody was expecting you at the docking bay, but you weren’t about to look this gift horse in the mouth. You used Officer Apollo’s admin codes to gain access inside the building. 

The halls were pristine and white. They buzzed with empty perfection. Only the hum of the overhead lights and the drone of electricity under your skin filled the hollow white walls. Maybe if you had stopped and thought, you’d be more concerned by the lack of anyone present. You didn’t stop to think until you found Palola’s lab. You entered through the emergency exit. The alarm blared for a few seconds- startling you and the few trolls in there with you. 

You were already a criminal, you decided, placing your hand on the security pad. It only took a few seconds to fry the emergency system. At least for that one specific lab, the Fleet wasn’t dumb enough to put all of them on the same power source. Palola worked primarily with plants, meaning he’d need his own power and ventilation system should anything go south. Unfortunately, you fried his security system. Three of the four trolls present got wise enough to bolt. Leaving just you and your twin brother. 

He was staring at you, his expression difficult to read and familiar all at the same time. You know he’s talking to you. You’re staring at his horns. You both had gotten them carved so young. To be twins, to be like Beloved. Palola’s mouth moves as if he was saying your name. You don’t hear him. You only hear your heart racing, horror soaring as your twin gingerly approaches, and the electricity in your veins rising as a ringing buzz. Palola’s face is twisted in worry. Your chest rises and falls with each shaky breath. You stare at Palola, willing something- anything- to come out. You were always so good at holding your tongue. You screamed internally for yourself to just speak. Just say anything. Stop holding it back. The pot was past boiling over at this point. It just needed to come out.

He says your name again. The realization finally kicks in. You made it all the way there, located the one person in the entire universe that you could fathom talking to, went so far as breaking several major laws just to do so…only to clam up. Palola’s touch is gentle as he examines your arms, shoulders, hands, what he can see of your face. You only notice how shaky you are as he grasps your hand in his own cool ones. You had been selectively mute as a child, but that was sweeps ago. A completely different person. Not you. The person with a living matesprit and kismesis, the person who never even fathomed joining the Fleet. You haven’t had an episode like this in forever. Beneath your mask, you open your mouth, only to close it again. Silently, you squeeze his hand. A lone tether in the vast expanse of your distress. 

It looked as if he asked if you were alright. The air was thick with the smell of ozone, your mask doing little to control the influx of electricity beneath your skin. Sparks danced underneath your freckles. Your eyes welled up as you bit your lip. Palola seems to catch on, you think, as he exhales a sigh and pulls you tight into his chest. He holds you so tightly. As if he was afraid you’d come untethered and drift away. 

You never learned how to ask for help. And it didn’t seem like you could start now. 

#drabbles #jodiah monark #festur canuis #ehehe. lore <2 #lore*<3*

[trollcafe]

Homesick

Google Docs Link

When the world became too much for Festur to handle, when things were too loud and too much, he could always find peace in the old barn behind his hive. Riptid never went out there, he knew that was Festur’s space. The rotting wood served more as a garage than a barn. It was always a strong gust away from toppling over forever. Riptid was smart to be wary of it.

But Jodiah never feared the reaper. Neither did Tianel, but judging the loud music barely muffled by the old wood, it was safe to assume she wasn’t there. She’d been talking to a recruiter for a company that had been hiring. It looked promising. A future for the three of them, maybe even Riptid. Jodiah would feel bad leaving his family behind, but he would come back, and he was sure they’d all understand. His thoughts swirled around his head, almost loud enough to drown out the music as he pushed the door open. 

Now, there was no sound system in the barn. No speakers or fancy stereo. The sound came from the old muscle car that Kittle had left for Festur before ditching him. It used to drive, up until a few months ago. The transmission went out, Festur had said, too expensive to get it repaired. Jodiah had offered to pay for it, but his flush was never one for handouts. They had spent many nights flying down empty highways, screaming lyrics in their own private concert. Fes could usually be found in the driver seat with the windows down. Pretending it still drove, pretending things were simpler. At that moment, however, he was not in the car. Curiously, Jodiah closed the barn door behind him and went to investigate. 

He started by turning the radio down. He loved Troll Tracy Chapman as much as the next guy, but this car hadn’t been fast in a very long time. Easier to investigate without her singing. Jodiah yelled the rust’s name, then Tianel’s, and Riptid’s. The lime glanced around to no avail. He was about to start shouting for Kittle. Fucker left for the Fleet without a word, Jodiah wouldn’t put it past the violet to randomly pop in. He began to fish his phone from his hoodie pocket when he was grabbed from behind. 

Warm rust-tinged arms coiled around his waist and lifted him into the air. Jodiah’s panic only lasted a second before it quickly melted into a fit of laughter. Festur spun them both around twice, faking a growl as he did. Jodiah’s laughter fizzed out as his feet found the ground once more. Festur made sure he was steady before he pressed a quick kiss to the lime’s cheek. 

“Gotcha, Joey.” 

Jodiah twisted around in Festur’s arm, draping his own over the rust’s shoulders, “Psssh, I let you win that time.” His cheeks were dusted with a lime blush and a cheeky grin. 

“Suuuurrreee,” He rolled his eyes, pressing another chaste kiss on the lime’s freckles, “Can’t let the masses know the kid of the great Annihilation got got by a rust, huh?” 

“Fuck the masses, don’t tell Tian. She’ll never let me live it down. Speaking of, is she coming here later…?” 

Fester nodded, beginning to sway. He always had a hard time standing still. Especially when his favorite songs played. Instinctually, Jo swayed with him. 

“She’s finishin’ some paperwork, then coming over. Rip’s been under the weather, might get a pizza if you wanna stay too. Wait- you eat with Twitch on Thursdays, nevermind-” 

“It’s Friday, goof.” Jodiah couldn’t restrain a soft laugh. “I’d love to stay.” 

Fester hummed in approval, and silence fell between them. Jo rested his head against Festur’s shoulder, letting the music swallow them both whole as they danced. It would be the last time they danced together in that barn. How were they supposed to know? Maybe Jodiah would’ve enjoyed it more had he known. Would’ve closed his eyes a little longer, breathing in the stale air, feeling warm in the moment. 

“Do you really think she’ll leave us?” Had he known, maybe he would’ve kept his mouth shut. 

“She’ll come back.” Fester promised, sounding so confident in the moment, “She always does. She’ll write. She’ll visit.” 

Jodiah was quiet. Had he known, maybe he would’ve said something else. Rather, he squeezed his flush tightly, holding him close. It wasn’t the last time they’d hug, but close to it. 

They were interrupted by the barn doors opening. Jo’s gold blooded kismesis stood, watching them, hand on her hips, as if busting them for misbehaving. 

“Ew, you two, get a room!” 

Laughter. Genuine belly laughter. That night would be the last time they all three laughed together. They would eat pizza, watch a shitty action movie with Riptid and Pawps, and fall asleep in a heap on the couch. The next day, Fester would help Tianel pack after work. Jo would study for his upcoming med exam sitting on Tia’s bed. It would be the last time they were all in the same room together before she left.

Tianel would leave the next week. Jo was almost too late to say goodbye, delayed because he had to drop Twitch off, made it by the skin of his teeth. Tian held him so tightly, he thought he might suffocate. It would be the last time he saw her. Had he known, he would’ve held her a little bit longer, he would’ve complained less. 

Jodiah sent letters. Festur sent even more than he did. There was never a response. Jodiah watched his flush crack and crumble, watching him grow angry as yet another person left him behind. Tian was his moirail, not Jo. He felt useless when Festur got angry. He tried, he really did, he never gave up hope that Tianel didn’t leave them. It spiraled until Festur hit. It only happened once and shook both of them to their core. It ended with a hug, a desperate apology. This would be the last time they hugged. Had he known, he would’ve held him longer. 

I’ll go into the Fleet, he said, I’ll find her and bring her back. She must be lost, or stuck, and she needs our help. But Festur didn’t listen. 

You’re leaving me too, he had yelled, the sound of betrayal deep in his voice. 

Jodiah left for the Fleet a sweep after Tianel disappeared. He waited for hours at the loading deck. His family came, each one saying their goodbyes. But Festur never showed. Jodiah waited, and waited, and waited. 

Had Festur known he was going to die, maybe he would’ve gone to say goodbye. 

—

Dia blinked once, twice, three times. The hazy past faded from his mind, only the reflection of his face in the mirror remaining. What an odd place for a mirror, big enough to view himself from where he sat on a bed that wasn’t his. It wasn’t uncommon for his reflection to trigger the same movie-like scene of regrets and memories. It was so much easier to imagine a different person had gone through all of that. It wasn’t Dia, the man with the mask and the robotic voice. It was the sorrowful bastard staring back at him. 

Dia studied his features carefully. Tired eyes, sunken cheeks, even his freckles seemed dull. When did he get so old? When did the weeks become months, become sweeps. At what point did he give up being a doctor to become what he was now. At what point was he supposed to stop searching for Tianel. 

A ding from his phone tore his attention away. Finally, hours after the prison break, did Twitch reply to his text. He was happy she was alive. It was so difficult to be mad at her, despite it all. He knew loss. When Beloved had told him the news about Festur, over the phone, he would’ve done anything in that moment to bring Fes back. But Fes’ death was ruled a suicide, there was nobody to be angry at but himself. Nobody to throw on death row. And there was no bringing Fes, or Marsie, or Tianel back. 

He turned back to his reflection with tired eyes. The baby-faced lime decorated with freckles staring back at him didn’t belong in the Fleet, where he sat now in his commanding officer’s private quarters. The violet he slept with would be finished showering soon, he knew this well. His reflection longed to go back home. Home, in that barn, with that broken down muscle car blasting music, slow dancing with the other two pieces of his heart. How it hurt, to be homesick for a place you could never return to, for a time you barely remembered. 

The faucet turned, shower dying out. With a newfound sense of urgency, Dia finished lacing his boots. He spared his reflection one last glance before situating the mask on his face. He was no longer the lime dreaming of being a doctor, who wanted to make a change in the world. He was Dia, part of the problem he sought to fix. 

Quiet as ever, Dia snuck out of his commanding officer’s quarters. No strings attached, the door would latch behind him. He would return to his own as if nothing ever happened. The next day, he would land back on Alternia to visit his hospitalized sister, to begin repairing the cracks in his family once again. He might try to find Mondes. He would take Merkii to the aquarium, he would check on Toresce, life would keep moving and flowing and changing. But tonight, in the dark emptiness of his block, Jo would slow dance with the memories of his missing lovers. Wishing for the past, for that old muscle car to fly them all away. Feeling like he belonged, feeling like he could still be someone.

(tianel, twitch, marsie, merkii, toresce, & kinder are not mine)

#jodiah monark #festur canuis #homesick #jazz.art #drabbles #there is SO MUCH lore in this #why dia doesnt go by jo. why he joined the fleet. #theres also several song references

[trollcafe]

Hot Boy Summer Starts Now!!!!!

Lovely comm from @zayathekid !!!! Who does flash comms SO often i def recommend following and commin <3<3

#jodiah monark #looks at zaya. woe! ftc money be upon u!!!! #art 4 ghost #this was a grad gift to myself :)

[trollcafe]

i’ll dream each night of some version of you, that i might not have, but i did not lose.

#jazz.art #jodiah monark #jodiah #festur #festur canuis #do NOT. look closely. #DONT!!! #i GAVE UP!! #but yes fes is wearing the jorts.