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snakes-writing-corner · 1 year

Text

The Outside Looking In

Chapter 1: Observation

An ongoing self-indulgent OC fic with Nightmare’s Gang

-Summary-

Snake is a universe jumper from an entirely different multiverse unrelated to Undertale, who finds themselves curious at the constant battle between Nightmare’s Gang and the Star Sanses.

But what happens when Nightmare offers them a chance to join him? Well chaos of course! Follow Snake as they attempt to navigate this found family of skeletons as they simultaneously help them all through their own individual problems, and maybe the gang will help Snake through their own issues as well.

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The air was crackling with magic.

Watching from the top of a nearby building, using illusion magic to keep themselves hidden, was a tall cat-like figure. Their single cobalt eye in a silt while they observed the scene before them.

Multiple skeletons were fighting in the middle of this universe’s Snowdin. Two groups of opposing ideals that mercilessly traded blows with the other.

It was… fascinating to watch truly, while this universe’s residents were rightfully afraid of the powerful magic the skeletons had, I couldn’t help but watch. I rarely met monsters as powerful as the variations of the one skeleton I encountered all that time ago.

I first came to a variation of the original Undertale dimension out of boredom. No threats to any multiverses I normally dealt with had appeared so I wanted to take a small break, and boy am I glad I did.

When I first appeared I was curious, these universes’ rules differed so much from my own to the point souls could be used as an actual weapon, and it was fascinating the first time I saw it happen. I had gotten into a fight with Flowey when I first arrived and was able to see how my soul translates into these rules.

Flowey was easy to deal with and shockingly create a weird type of bond with, and he eventually explained the meaning of the types of human souls.

Patience, Kindness, Bravery, Justice, Integrity, Perseverance, and rarest of them all Determination.

Determination apparently allowed the user to quite literally reset the world. Whether to their last save point if they died, or all the way back to a certain point. However, it could only work if the user had enough and could lose the ability if another, stronger, soul of determination appeared.

I learned pretty quickly that my soul was quite different than most others, most likely because I’m not from this multiverse at all. While the main soul trait was indeed Determination there was also Perseverance and a bit of Patience merged in. I couldn’t reset probably due to a variety of reasons, but I don’t really care about that.

I felt something go by the side of my head, and turned to see one of the skeletons hit the ground a few feet away.

Ah, right, the battle.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen these monsters fight each other, the first time I saw one was a while back when I jumped into a different dimension. A version of Underfell in a pacifist timeline if I remember correctly.

I was minding my own business when a bunch of monsters started running from something, which naturally caught my attention. I mean I am still technically a cat after all, we are notoriously curious.

I remember hiding behind Grillby’s just simply watching, and soon enough I heard some laughing. A short skeleton with hollow eyes with something black streaming down his skull from his eye sockets that vaguely looked like tears. The weirdest thing was the glowing target on his chest which would occasionally twitch on its own, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s most likely his soul. Honestly he kinda looked like the Sans I met back before I started doing some universe jumping to explore this multiverse, but a lot more spiteful. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that smile of his falter now that I think about it. I learned he’s called ‘Killer’ after observing for a bit.

The second skeleton that emerged was shorter than Killer, his name is ‘Dust’ if I recall. He wore his hoodie over his head most of the time along with what I think was once Papyrus’s red scarf. Unlike Killer he was a lot more quiet and calculated. I’ve rarely ever heard him speak, but I get the feeling he’s extremely troubled about something.

The third was quite literally the largest version of Sans I had ever seen, he was definitely taller than me by maybe a foot and could probably easily snap me in half. He had a single red eye that was almost as big as the eye socket it rested within, he also had sharper teeth than the other two. The thing that mainly caught my attention though was the giant hole in the side of his skull, it almost looked like someone had taken a hammer to it. His name was Horror, he apparently came from a timeline that was experiencing a horrible famine, to the point of, well, cannibalism to survive. At the very least he actually seemed the happiest out of the group so he has that going for him.

The last member I saw was definitely the most overdressed person I have seen in a long time, but hey he nails the outfit so who am I to judge? He wore a practically all white jacket, with black underneath, and a type of cloth coming down the back of the jacket. The way he carried himself reminded me of a guard of some kind so he was most likely a royal guardsman in his original AU. Getting a name for him was significantly harder than the other three, but with enough persuasion I managed to get someone to give me a name. Cross was the name he was given, and I knew virtually nothing about his past so he was a mystery to me.

The four worked well together, especially against their current opponents. It was quite interesting to see their fighting styles compared to each other.

Killer was more supratic and reckless in his attacks, but could easily come up with a different form of attack or defense on the spot.

Dust was more calculated and calm, playing more defensively than Killer’s offensive battle style. I noticed that Dust tended to dodge and wait for an opening to strike.

Horror was bigger than his teammates and opponents making him slower, but has more power behind his attacks. He didn’t use magic as much as the other three, instead opting to go for hand-to-hand combat or using his axe; honestly a clean hit from that weapon could probably take someone’s arm off.

Cross definitely fought like a royal guardsman, a mix of offensive and defensive pressure that was almost like watching a dance at times, he’d definitely been training his fighting abilities for a very long time. He also seemed to take fights more seriously than his teammates.

From the intel I gathered the four worked for a being called Nightmare, a protector and deity of negative emotions. I’ve seen him occasionally, most of the time only when he needs to step in to protect his henchmen. Nightmare was a completely black skeleton with a single cyan eye that seemed to pierce through any soul it looked at. He was covered in a black goop that covered his other eye, and had four tentacles growing out of his back made from whatever the goopy substance that encompassed his body was. He fed off of negativity hence why he sent his henchmen to torment AUs from time to time.

“Brother! Stop this!” A voice rang out.

Ah, speaking of Nightmare, that was his brother Dream wasn’t it?

The “Star Sanses” as Dream called them were a group that helped others in different universes for their own reasons.

The group consisted of three skeletons Dream, Ink, and Blue.

Dream was the leader of the group, and wore an equally eye blinding outfit to match his role as the protector of positive emotions. Being the opposite of his brother he fed off of positivity, unfortunately it seemed he developed an outlook of toxic positivity along the way, believing everyone should feel positive emotions despite negative ones being needed sometimes as a part of life. I couldn’t exactly blame the guy though, he meant well and just wanted to help others, but just didn't have the best way of going about it.

Ink was the group’s second member, a protector of the multiverse and a being with no soul at all. He can only feel with the help of the paint vials he carries on him, which are only refilled upon the creation of more universes, without those vials he can’t feel a single thing. He was also more interested in making sure timelines stayed on track with what was intended for their story, which is probably the only reason he helps Dream in the first place because he wants to make sure things stay on track. I honestly don’t think he cares for other people’s feelings whatsoever.

The last member of the group was Blue who was honestly the most approachable out of the group. I managed to catch him alone one time for a sparring session and it was pretty fun. Out of the three he’s the kindest and likes to believe anyone can change for the better, which is admittingly a slightly flawed view but I respect him for keeping to it. I honestly feel bad for him because he keeps pushing himself to keep up with the other two, sacrificing food and sleep to do so. I would honestly take him out of the group if I could. Blue’s a nice friend and sparring partner and his worldview is honestly a little refreshing compared to my own.

My ears flicked at the sound of groaning behind me. I turned my head to see an out of breath Killer wheezing on the snowy ground, damn he must have been hit pretty hard.

Looking back towards the fight and seeing everyone was distracted I decided to take a risk and dropped my illusion spell as I jumped down to stand beside the skeleton.

I awkwardly clicked my tongue as I knelt down to access the damage, Sans’ like puns right?

“Guess you could say the snow’s bone-chilling huh?” I said with a slight hint of awkwardness in my voice.

Killer wheezed from his spot on the ground. Well at least the joke seemed to land despite how bad the joke was.

“Trying to lift my spirits or something? You must have a death wish.” He said as his smile seemed to grow larger.

I rolled my eye and put my paw over his chest, it seems the idiot broke a few ribs. I noticed how he tensed up a bit at the contact as I started to mend the broken bones.

“Says the skeleton with multiple broken ribs laying in the snow.” I shot back.

“Got me there.” He said, trying to shrug before looking at me. “What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ here anyways?”

“Your group’s fights with the Star Sanses are interesting to watch.” I replied simply.

Killer smiled wider at that. “They’re quite fun to mess with.”

“So it would seem.” I responded.

I brought my paw back from his chest.

“Alright your ribs are healed, have fun fighting I guess.” I said dismissively, ready to use my magic to leave this universe.

Something didn't feel right. My pupil turned into a silt as I summoned my sickles and turned around just in time to block a knife from hitting my back.

“Don’t turn your back on a predator doll.” He said smugly.

I narrowed my eye and jumped back as he rushed towards me, his knife aiming for an opening as I blocked his attacks. I jumped back as he slashed downwards and quickly rushed at him and drew my blade across his shoulder. He continued trying to attack me and as I went for another attack-

PING

I looked down and my soul was blue.

“Son of a bi-”

I was suddenly sent flying backwards and landed roughly on the ground, immediately managing to use the momentum to jump back up into a fighting stance.

I whipped around and came face to face with Dust staring at me with an angry smile as he used his magic to turn my soul blue again.

“Nice shot Dusty!” I heard Killer shout from behind.

I growled and summoned my sickles, swinging so I nicked Dust’s cheek which surprised him so much he let my soul go. I turned around and slashed as I sensed the feeling of teleportation magic behind me, managing to get a clean hit over one of Killer’s eyes.

Before either skeletons could recover I disappeared into the ground and used my shadow-like form to reappear out of the ground a good few feet away.

I looked at Killer as we made eye contact, he smiled sadistically, his knife gleaming in his hand. I stared back and observed his movements, he’s relaxed so he most likely doesn’t think I’m a threat, seems to be treating this as a game more than anything.

After what felt like an eternity of this mock staring contest I felt someone grab my shoulder and shove me back, and before I could react a strong arm was around my neck in a headlock.

Cross stared back at me with a small glare before running off to help Killer. I tried to summon my sickles again, but my wrists were suddenly grabbed by an appendage and the pressure around my neck was suddenly gone.

I looked right into the cyan eye of Nightmare as he smiled at me.

“Oh no I don’t think so.” He said smugly.

I was suddenly grabbed by the ankle by one of his tentacles and held upside down in the air.

It was then I realized that Dream and the others must have retreated while I was healing Killer.

Unfortunate, but if I play my cards right I won’t die here.

“So what do you want to do with them boss?” Killer asked. “Kill em’?”

Nightmare hummed in thought before letting go of my ankle as I hit the ground with a thump.

“Not yet this one is… interesting.” Nightmare said.

I stood up from the ground and dusted the snow on my leather jacket off and shook my head to get the snow that built up on my fur off, flinging some on Killer in the process.

“Wh- Hey!” Killer exclaimed. “That’s just mean!” He said in mock hurt.

“Yeah well, shouldn’t have been in my way dumbass.” I responded coldly.

“Oh a bit of bite huh? Well let’s see if that’ll hold up in a fight huh?” He lifted his knife up as his soul twitched a bit more.

I looked down at his knife then back to his eye sockets. “No.”

Killer seemed a bit taken back by that and seemed to be ready to strike, before Nightmare grabbed his torso with a tentacle and lifted him up.

“As much as it would be fun to watch, I'm not going to let you get into an unnecessary fight when you’re injured.” Nightmare stated.

“Aw come on boss! It’ll be fun!” Killer smiled.

“No no let him, I wanna see him get his assed kicked.” Dust piped in with a smile.

Nightmare shot Dust a look as the latter seemed to falter just a little bit.

“Even still we need to heal Killer that crack along his eye looks pretty bad.” Cross said.

Nightmare looked at Killer’s eye before looking at me with a glare.

“Did you do that?” He hissed.

“I sensed teleportation magic behind me and attacked without thinking, so yes.” I sighed. “I should be able to heal it relatively easily, the wound should not be deep since I wasn’t aiming to kill.”

Nightmare’s eye widened in curiosity a bit before he put Killer down on the ground. “I’m surprised you’re able to show restraint in battle.”

I chuckled at that. “Oh no if I hit him with the sickle my robotic arm is holding it would’ve been far worse.”

I rolled up the sleeve on my right jacket to reveal a gray, metallic arm with a hard sharp, black material for the fingers.

I saw Cross’s eyes light up just a little bit upon looking at it.

“I don’t have as much control over my robotic arm so it’s easier for me to hurt people using it.” I said with a shrug.

Nightmare hummed in response. “You’re not scared are you?” He asked.

“I get if you wanna be perceived as such but honestly? I could care less if I die or not.” I shrugged.

Was- Was that a flash of concern in Nightmare’s eye? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it appeared with a thoughtful expression in its place.

“Your emotions and soul are quite interesting to me. Tell me would you mind making a deal?” He asked.

I cocked an eyebrow at that, my eyes dilating slightly. “Depends on the deal.”

Nightmare chuckled at that. “I’ll offer you protection, a place to sleep, food, and whatever else you may want. In exchange for helping me and my henchman spread negativity and chaos across the multiverse.”

I thought for a moment, at least it wouldn’t be a boring experience by any means. Besides this group seemed fun and I have been missing causing a bit of chaos. If it was boring he couldn’t exactly stop me from leaving either.

“No killing I’m assuming?” I asked.

“No.” Nightmare replied.

“Eh sure.” I shrugged. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to just let loose and cause some trouble.”

“You can’t be serious.” Dust said baffled while looking at Nightmare.

Nightmare smiled as he opened a portal to his castle. “Now what’s your name?”

I rolled my eye as I chuckled and followed my new co-workers through the portal. “Call me Snake.”

“Well then, Snake, I think you’ll enjoy it here.” Nightmare said as he closed the portal behind us.

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Little shitpost I like to add at the end of my chapters :)

Killer: Remember one time I liked you?

Snake: No

Killer: GOOD CAUSE IT NEVER HAPPENED

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•Just a bit of ranting down below you don’t have to read it•

Oh boy I am like extremely nervous to post this-

This is like I said gonna be a self-indulgent thing, something for me to write to relieve stress and not have to read over and over again to fix mistakes (though feel free to point any out I’m always glad to fix them).

I haven’t written for Snake in ages and this’ll also be a practice in writing some characters I’ve loved for a long time now.

Will this fic have romance? Eh maybe? The main focus right now is platonic relationships as we examine the relationships and emotions of this current cast it might evolve into a romantic poly relationship over time though.

Also I want to establish that I will be leaving some lore about Snake’s past up in the air so I’ll be very loose with it and try not to go into the relationships of characters from my own story to keep the flow of this fic focused on Snake and Nightmare’s Gang.

Snake’s story is extremely complicated and does not fit the tone of this fic like at all so the most you’ll get is passing mentions of other characters and the occasional explanations (significantly watered down for the sake of this fic of course) about why Snake has some past traumas that will be explored later down the line.

One day I’ll explain Snake’s past in depth but that’s not for this fic so just enjoy this dumbass’s interactions with the Bad Sanses and don’t think too hard about their lore.

Anyways uh thanks for reading this I guess? I hope you at least like it so far if you took time out of your day to read it :) /gen

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bilgisticallykosher · 3 years

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Don't Jump To Conclusions

TS g/t one-shots

I'm in a Sanders Sides g/t server, and sometimes we take scenarios and write on them. I've written a fair amount of stuff on there, myself, and I decided to collect my stuff, and clean it up. This was partially written by @borrowedblue and @andtheyreonfire

Happy birthday, Vel!

Masterpost | AO3

My Discord, not to be confused with the above g/t Sanders Sides one.

Word count: 3,300

Warnings: Spiders! Spider, anyway. Sentient beings sold as pets, attempting restriction of said beings, mentions of bites, implied past abuse/bad treatment.

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Virgil was out shopping. Not for groceries or clothing; he was at a pet store, shopping for supplies for his, let's say, pets. Okay, technically they weren't pets. They were research at the lab he worked at, but he still liked them, even when they did try to bite and attack and hiss at him. His descriptions of such had led people to believe that he worked with cats, but he didn't.

He worked with spiders.

Well, a lot of bugs, but he liked the spiders the best. His lab observed their behaviors both individually and in groups to catalog a variety of information. As part of their observations, they needed to keep the spiders in their ideal environment, which included as close to the exact blend of earth as they could get. Unfortunately, they'd run out of their supply today. Fortunately, that sort of stuff was widely available. Unfortunately, they used a very specific brand. Fortunately, they found some in a pet store pretty locally. Unfortunately, Virgil was the one who lived nearest to it, so he was stuck going in and getting it on his way home. What a drag, he had to actually interact with people.

When he got there, he could see why this was the store that had it. It was certainly… well-stocked. Which, really, was just another way to say "huge." It was like the Home Depot of pet stores; no employees in sight, and aisles in need of some serious maps. But whatever. He at least knew which sections to go past. When he finally got to the specialty mix of dirt, near the back of the store, he grabbed it with an 'Ah-hah!' Then, after his elation had faded, he took in his surroundings a bit more. He looked to his left, and noticed the rescue.

It wasn't odd for a pet store to have a rescue in it. And despite his surly exterior, well, Virgil wasn't immune to cute fluffy animals. Maybe he just so happened to need to walk back to the registers while passing it by. And maybe while he was walking that way, he'd take a little look. You know. While he was there.

So, path decided, nodding to himself, he strolled over, bag of soil in hand, and prepared to look at the puppies and kittens. Then he stopped and blinked. There were certainly puppies and kittens, and even a bird there, but there were also some different manner of pets.

He saw fairies, tiny mers, and all manner of little magical creatures. He walked through the display of cages and terrariums, when one in particular caught his eye. He stared at the sign plastered on the seemingly empty glass case.

CAUTION: I BITE!

"What the-" he squinted, leaning closer to see if there was anything actually in there. He thought he saw something moving underneath the front of the fake log, and then all of a sudden-

-there it was right in front of him.

He flinched and took a half step back on instinct, despite the fact that it's in a freaking terrarium, genius, and he took in the creature. It was partly human, but had multiple eyes, and its back half was an abdomen, black with dark blue bands, and had multiple legs.

A drider.

It was reared up on its back legs, and it was bearing its (he squinted closer to be certain, and sure enough its human half had freaking fangs), and was generally acting very aggressive.

He thought it- they were trying to puff themself up, emphasizing their eight (eight!!!) limbs, six on the bottom, plus their arms. Their multiple eyes were narrowed, directly at him. They were snarling.

And Virgil couldn't possibly help but to walk towards the terrarium, warning sign be damned. He sees the spider-person pause, some of the aggression draining out, before they rear back again, seemingly trying to be more intimidating than before. Virgil smirked, fascinated, and sank down into a crouch. He really took in the shape and look of their eyes, and his own eyes widened in response.

Jumping spider, he realizes, and then, Well, duh, they jumped at you, moron, of course they're a jumpy. He tilted his head a few times, trying to really see the details of the drider, while he had the chance.

"Woah," Virgil whispered. "You're so cool looking." He watched as they frowned and clicked their mouthparts (didn't look completely like typical chelicara) idly, running their pedipalps over them. They seemed to hesitate, lowering down, and stared at him in a more placated manner.

Honestly, they were pretty cute. "How far can you jump?" Virgil asked, taking in the size of the enclosure. The creature was watching his gaze like, well, someone who had plenty of eyes, then finally, they spoke up.

"Far beneath my limit in this facsimile of a proper environment," they crossed a pair of human arms and one set of spider legs. They seemed distrustful, gaze still not fully on him. As though they were apprehensive about his reaction, like it was going to be negative?

"I'll bet," Virgil responded instead, and he nodded a little as his smile fell into a grimace. "This thing has gotta really suck, huh?" He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, eyes still flitting over the spider creature's form every so often. They raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed." Yeah, there was no way they were used to having a normal conversation. They seemed less wary now, but they didn't seem to be holding back their speech at all. Virgil really admired that. He liked that attitude, and that he was the one getting it out of them, and, well, he liked a lot about them. He had...a dangerous thought.

"What if," Virgil bit his lip, "what if you got out?" The spider huffed, rolling their (well, some of their) eyes.

"Then I would be able to jump further," they replied, voice clearly dry despite their size difference.

"No, no," his smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "I mean. What if you," Virgil hesitated meaningfully, being sure to emphasize the words. "Got, out." The creature's limbs uncrossed. Virgil saw as comprehension dawned.

"I am," their words were chosen carefully, he noticed. They had been throughout this entire interaction. "Not allowed to leave my enclosure." Their eyes raked over the human's form.

"What if I got you out?" The spider person chittered, nervousness written on their face.

"Theft is not an encouraged activity," they eventually settled on. Virgil snorted and muttered 'be gay, do crime' under his breath. "No, I meant like. Maybe, I could, sort of." He paused, breathed in, breathed out, and tried to look as serious as possible. "Take you home? With an adoption fee and everything?"

"I," the drider swallowed visibly, and of course they didn't trust him, they just met him and he doesn't even know their name, or anything, and he didn't introduce himself- "I am unable to survive in the wild on my own," they finished succinctly.

Virgil hadn't meant that. They might be a drider, but they were clearly still human, especially after the conversation they'd been having, so, was it wrong that he wanted to take them home? He knew that everyone here was raised to live in a home, with a human taking care of them, just like the pets they adopted out beside them. So, maybe they wouldn't mind if he took them home? But, he guessed that their non-answer gave him his answer, then. That kinda sucked.

"My name's Virgil," he blurted out before he forgot again. "He/him." They stared at each other for a moment. "Uh, what's your name?" He saw them startle, "I mean, y'know, only if you don't mind."

"My name is Logan." They said, voice even, still, but maybe a little less cautious, he thinks? "I… am also male?" And Virgil couldn't help but smirk again at his confused tone. It was sort of adorably endearing. His eyes drifted towards the sign again.

"So," he smirked a little more. "You actually ever bite anyone before?" Logan rolled (all of) his eyes.

"Of course," he pointed to the sign. "Otherwise, it would not be stated on my tank." He sounded almost a little proud. He went on, clarifying despite not being asked to. Virgil was not complaining. "Two separate humans, not to mention the time a child opened my tank after wandering away from his parents." His pedipalps whisked over his face, "I jumped just under my potential that day, unfortunately." He didn't sound sorry at all. Virgil's mouth twitched dangerously. "I landed right on his head."

Virgil burst out laughing. Several people in the store turned around to see what the commotion was about. A volunteer in particular hesitated, before starting to come over to the pair. Logan looked smug, Virgil wiped a tear from his eye.

"Hello, sir, may I help you with anything?" The voice came suddenly from over his shoulder. He just barely suppressed a flinch.

"Ah!" Couldn't suppress the scream, though.

"You two seem to be getting along!" The volunteer said. "Do you have any questions about him?" The tone of the question was clearly an underlying 'Would you please take him?'

Virgil gave a look towards Logan's direction. He looked back at Virgil. Maybe, Virgil thought, not as hesitant as before.

"Well," Virgil pulled his gaze away, "maybe just a few."

~~~~~

Logan watched the human- Virgil- as the volunteer led him away, and he found himself repressing a pout. He'd been… nice. Pleasant. Tolerable.

Okay, so Logan had enjoyed his company, and his conversation. It had been quite some time since that had happened with a human. In fact, it had been quite some time since any conversation at all had happened with a human. They never spoke to him directly. Every human he'd ever known had spoken over him, both literally and figuratively. Especially here, where they spoke instead to the volunteers and his general caretakers.

He exhaled. Perhaps his standards for 'good conversation' had just slipped considerably. As well as his standards for 'acceptable human.' After all, there he was, discussing taking Logan into his home, with someone all-too-anxious to never see him again. Nice or not, he had to be cautious. He seemed like he cared about his opinion, but that was the thing about humans; they were good at seeming.

He gave up on trying to listen into their conversation. They were far away, and it only seemed to pertain to what supplies he would need if he took him. At the very least, the volunteer was doing their job of explaining his needs. He skittered into the fake log that was in his environment as he considered his future.

This was not the first time he'd met someone excited to see him, eager to adopt him. It had happened, once before. He'd been much younger then, much more innocent, much happier, much more eager to go into a home with a human family.

That eagerness and happiness had lasted about a week.

And, well, that's why he was with a rescue now.

He considered Virgil. He spoke to him, yes, was interested, but he was still larger; Logan surmised he could easily fit in his hands, probably even only one. He had more legs, and more eyes, and could jump, and had venomous fangs (barely, to a human), but he was still the one with the disadvantage. A severe one. He shuddered from memories he'd considered long in the past. Apparently, they were still with him in the present.

Likely, he would not get an opinion on who he went home with, anyway. It was why he made it a point to be so aggressive with everyone who came over to him. But Virgil… Well, he supposed he would see, and soon. The two humans were walking towards his enclosure again, this time Virgil had a large bag of items relevant to Logan’s care.

He poked his head back out, eyes roving over his figure. Virgil smiled at him, one corner of his mouth tugged further up than the other. He turned to the volunteer.

"Could you, I mean, if there's maybe…" he made a gesture with his empty hand, seemingly unable to finish his thought. "I kinda wanna," he lost his momentum again. He inhaled and exhaled a few times. "Could I just have a minute with him," he rushed out. The volunteer made some sort of face, but nodded, and left. Virgil took a step forward, and Logan met him (as much as he could from within his glass case) halfway, stepping out from his log. He was certainly more willing to be out in the open with only Virgil there. He returned a tiny, if uneasy smile of his own.

Virgil crouched down again. "Have you really been here for most of your life? Around humans?" Logan blinked. That took some time.

"Yes," he admitted. "I was abducted too young to learn any survival instincts." He couldn't say why he so willingly told him his past, but Virgil wanted to know, and Logan knew what that thirst for knowledge was like. "How did you know?" He wasn't accusatory, merely curious, undoubtedly as Virgil had been.

"Volunteer told me," Virgil made a slight face, and Logan wondered what else he'd been told about his past. He was about to ask, but Virgil continued. "Said you'd been waiting here for way too long." There was a look on his face that Logan had only seen on childrens' face moments before a tantrum.

He believed that Virgil was sad, but he couldn't figure out why. "That you'd been rescued from a bad situation." Ah. "Uh, listen." Virgil brought a hand up, and Logan flinched, but it was only to awkwardly scratch at his cheek.

He looked at Logan intensely. "I know we've only known each other for a bit, and I totally understand if your answer's no, but." He looked pained. "Um." Virgil coughed into his hand, likely a gesture to fill the silence rather than a violent expulsion of the contents in his throat. "Would you? Like me? To uh? Take you home? Er- fuck." Virgil groaned, clearly frustrated by his own ineloquence. "Would you like to live with me? I could offer you a bigger space than what you've got here, take care of you- that water looks too old to be healthy- and you can decline if you want. I just- yeah," he finished, slumping over with hunched shoulders from the effort.

Logan considered it. He considered it for a while. He considered the short time that he'd spent with the human, and made his decision. At the very least, Virgil wouldn’t be that cruel compared to his...other options. Logan nodded. The smallest of smiles flitted up onto his mouth, and that was apparently what Virgil was waiting for. He offered him a 'be right back', and went to grab an employee. Logan took in his cage one last time, hope was rapidly raising in him.

Meanwhile, Virgil was paying for his purchases as well as Logan's adoption fee. When he came back, it was with the volunteer, who was carrying a smaller containment box meant for transportation, and something else in the other hand.

Logan's habitat was opened, and suddenly, the volunteer's hand plunged into his tank, startling Logan out of his thoughts and immediately put him on the opposition, fangs bared and ready. It didn't matter, though. The volunteer was wearing thick rubber gloves, preventing any form of retaliation on the part of the drider, and he was grabbed roughly around the middle. He hated being held, nobody knew how to properly hold him; he wasn't a human infant, why did they insist on holding him that way? Unable to resist, Logan squirmed in the grip of the human, receiving a light squeeze and a pained look from Virgil for his efforts.

“Now, just to get him all ready for you,” the volunteer chirped, bringing a bundle of rope into view. Logan’s eyes widened, and he started struggling anew.

As if he hadn’t moved a muscle, Logan felt his arms being pinned and bound behind his back, knotted tightly. Logan couldn't move his upper arms. The volunteer had just grabbed a few of his legs between two fingers, Logan was kicking and still trying to bite, when-

“The hell are you doing?” Virgil asked in a tone that was, quite frankly, utterly terrifying. It made Logan shudder, before almost instinctively he stopped his efforts to escape. Was this Virgil's true nature, then?

"Oh, this is just standard procedure for all dangerous creatures," the volunteer responded. And Logan's head snapped up to the two. His internal organs seemed to quiver, as much as he knew that wasn't possible. Virgil had been upset at the volunteer? "Just for everybody's safety."

"Well then," his unending glare at purely the volunteer seemed to confirm who his ire was directed at. "I guess you'll have to untie him, because I don't think he's a danger to me at all." The volunteer stared back, and understandably backed down.

"Well, you're his new owner, so!" And Logan remained untied, minus his upper arms, and placed in the transportation carrier. Virgil paid the adoption fee, and took Logan by the handle, and he felt a thrill of freedom, combined with an atypical bout of anxiety.

"Hey," Virgil started, as they were walking out of the store. "There's some more stuff on the shelves that I could get you," Virgil rolled his shoulder. "It's not, like, required equipment or anything, but some of it looked like it could be kind of cool?" Logan squinted.

"Why would cold items be preferable to own?" Virgil smirked and then bit his lip.

"No, I mean, like." He mulled it over, tilting his head. "Nea- no." He exhaled some air out his nose. "Fun? Awesome?" Ah.

"I suppose, if you wanted to look, I would not be opposed." Virgil smiled, and for the next half hour, Logan was treated to a trip around some of the aisles. Virgil held up his cage, letting him look at some of the items made for a drider's physical and mental engagement. He let Logan decide entirely what he did and did not want to buy, even though he was sure it was difficult for him to keep lifting the transport box, in addition to being a tedious way to shop. His favorites were a little him-sized version of a 'Rubick's Cube,' as well as a better version of the log cave that he'd grown accustomed to in the store.

He paid when he got up front, and they made their way to his car, placing his other purchases in the back. He put Logan on the seat next to him, 'passenger seat,' Logan vaguely recalled. He was about to buckle him in.

"Alright, sit tight," Logan was about to ask what that meant when Virgil gasped. "Holy shit, I forgot about the rope." He dropped to the ground, crouched again, and opened the top of his carrier. He carefully took his fingers and untied the ropes, immediately freeing his arms. Logan rubbed around his wrists on instinct, "I'm sorry! Does it hurt? Are you okay?" Logan looked up at Virgil's earnest, open face, full of concern for Logan, and thought of how he'd treated him this entire time, how hopeful and excited he'd been.

"Yes," Logan smiled. "I think I will be."

-----

In my mind he kinda looks like this, and check out that cool size comparison chart at the bottom!

My favorite line from the original: I guess there's like normal things there like cats and dogs and birds and like maybe magical-y things like, winged cats and winged dogs and winged birds.

Taglist

@callboxkat @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @thefivecalls @awkwardjester @ollyollyoxinfree @intruxiety @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @just-your-typical-trans-guy @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun @demoniccheese83 @thatgaydemigodnerd @aceawkwardunicorn @lookingforaplacetosleep @mirinda03 @robinwritesshitposts @averykedavra @potatsanderssides @hekking-happy-nonsense @enby-ralsei @star-crossed-shipper @a-fandom-trashdump @thefluffyotter33 @somehow-i-got-an-account @cottonwoolsocks @idontcareaboutcanon @starlight-era @kieraelieson @snowdice @callboxkat @10moonymhrivertam @just-some-gt-trash @evoodo123 @idont-freaking-know

#sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #my stories #infinitesimal!sides #g/t sides #g/t!sides #analogical #spiders #sanders spides #andtheyreonfire 🧇#borrowedblue #velvets

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foone · 3 years

Text

Unbreathing Vacuum

I got an ADHD inspiration to write a short DS9 fic off a shitpost about Star Trek-but-all-the-computers-run-windows-98, so I wrote a thing about Odo and the crew's reaction to his seeming death. (This was written for twitter, so it's gonna have some weird paragraph breaks, sorry about that)

Odo is tracking down a Bolian weapons dealer with as many morals as hair follicles when he finally corners him in a cargo bay. It goes south, quickly, as it turns out weapons dealers have access to a lot of weapons.

His Bajoran security officer is laying down suppressing fire as Odo sneaks around behind the Bolian who is trying out a wide variety of strange weapons, colored beams shooting across the room like we're in a deadly disco of death.

Odo reforms into a grumpy humanoid behind the blue man group reject, shedding his Andorian Ice Fox form that let him cross the sea of crates without detection. Odo grumbles "I think that's enough, don't you?" as the Bolian turns and screams.

The football shaped object in his hands that was beeping increasingly frantic pitches drops to the floor, and he dives for it. Odo looks down in surprise, then recognizes what it is, but it's slightly too late, as timers on Klingon grenades are not known for their accuracy.

There's a flash of light and pressure as it detonates, and the cargo bay wall cracks, and the one sound no one wants to hear in a space station begins: the high pitched hissing of air rapidly leaving.

Odo gets to his feet in that uncanny way he sometimes does when he forgets to move like a being who has bones. He simply transitions from a body on the floor to a standing vaguely humanoid form. The Bolian, being closer to the blast, appears dead, or at least soon to be so.

He turns to his security officer to tell her to go call Chief O'Brien, when the hissing wall suddenly groans with the sound of bending metal, and the wall gives way completely. An entire semi-rectangular wall panel is ejected into the black, taking Odo and the dead Bolian with it

The security officer, nearer to the door, slams the access panel and dives through the door before it can finish opening, and rips off a barely attached wall panel to yank on the manual bulkhead release.

The door slams shut with typical Cardassian efficiency, not caring or bothering to check if there might be a limb or two in the way. The hurricane wind of all the station's air trying to escape is suddenly ended, and deafening white noise gives way to the low hum of the station.

Moments later, the crew up in Ops are reacting to the news of Odo's death in almost comically predictable ways.

Kira, the career soldier, is angry. She's seen many friends die in front of her, and she never let herself become numb to it. She's swearing at Odo in ways that the universal translator is so good at eliding, saying she always told him he was taking too many risks.

Just because he won't mind when someone stabs him doesn't mean he's invulnerable, she told him, and he, as always, almost-smiled in the way he only seems to do around her and grumbled about how he'd be careful.

The young doctor is barely holding it together. Kira's lashing out but it's a controlled sort of anger, a way she keeps a handle on the pain of losing people. Bashir, the eternal optimist to Odo's eternal pessimist, doesn't really believe in death, a strange trait for a doctor.

O'Brien is focusing himself on technical issues to avoid having to think about the emotional ones. What kind of weapon could have taken out a reinforced cargo bay wall? Had it been damaged before and incorrect repaired? He makes a note to do a full check of structural integrity

Dax has seemingly no reaction, but that's almost to be expected. You have a different outlook on death when you've died before, multiple times. As a near-immortal you see many people and make many friends, and nearly all of them will die long before you.

You have to learn to accept it, or it will kill you by inches. One of the downsides of seemingly endless life is there's a lot of time to mourn.

The commander is definitely feeling the impact of the loss, especially having had far too much experience with this particular kind of loss before. He flashes back to that time he always, in some way, still resides in...

When an alien force shows up and starts carving your ship into digestible chunks, you quickly become intimately familiar with the effects of sudden decompression on the humanoid body. It's not pretty, it's not as fast as you'd hope, and it's something you never forget.

He maintains his composure, leaning on his command training, and asks Kira to make a list of security officers she'd suggest promoting to Chief of Security. He thinks for a moment, realizes Odo had no family, and says he'll send a note to Dr. Pol

He turns back to go into his office when there's a dull thudding noise, and a sort of faint tink-tink-tink caused by the flexing of glass that happens with even the thickest of reinforced viewport.

He looks around in confusion, and Dax suddenly points at one of the high-up viewports. Floating outside the window, looking only slightly more annoyed than his resting "I hate life" face, is Odo.

It feels like something outside of a horror movie, a ghost floating silently outside a second story window, because humanoids don't just happily move around in the harsh void of space without needing a suit or a forcefield to keep them breathing.

But Odo isn't like most humanoids, after all. He's not a humanoid, for one. He's more a confounding self-propelled pile of goo that sometimes feels like pretending to be a humanoid shape.

This is made more obvious by the fact that he's only half there. His lower half is not legs, but a shimmering stretch of undifferentiated shapeshifter material, in order to hold onto an access handle tightly enough to give him the leverage to knock on a window.

Seeing he's got the attention of the crew, he pulls his hands from the window and starts attempting to sign to them. Kira's the only one with any experience in Bajoran sign language, and the best she can make out is something like "he broke his... Weasel? Columns him... Boat?"

He sighs, rolling his eyes, like only a shapeshifter really can. The sigh is silent of course, but if anyone could grumble in disappointment in the vacuum of space, it would be Odo.

His hands blur together as he shapeshifts them into a new form: a small flat panel, with Bajoran lettering in a large block font, perhaps a little too blocky as his aggravation is coming across even in typographical form.

COMBADGE DAMAGED BEAM ME ABOARD

Dax and O'Brien quickly confer, taking a painfully long moment to figure out how to lock onto something that is neither wearing a working combadge or reads as a life sign. Finally they figure out how to get a lock, and engage the transporter.

The grumpy-looking chief of security rematerializes on the Ops transporter pad, adjusting his "uniform" in an entirely unnecessarily maneuver he long ago picked up in his study of humanoids. He's naked, after all, he just looks like he's wearing clothes.

"Thank you for bringing me in", he grumbles, not saying the "finally" everyone can clearly hear in his tone. "It turns out that you can't open airlocks from the outside, so I wasn't able to come in the obvious way."

O'Brien, still slightly surprised by the sudden reappearance of his "dead" coworker, falls back on technical details as always. "That's a safety system we installed. The airlocks won't open unless they detect a ship is docked."

Kira chimes in with "Yeah, the Cardassians didn't have that restriction, as they wanted the freedom to just toss Bajorans out the airlocks when they felt like it." Odo responds with his usual grunt, a dismissive "pah, you solids and your weaknesses and your squabbles" noise.

Sisko replies "Regardless, it's good to see you alive and well, Odo."

Odo half-nods. "Commander, if you'll excuse me, I have reports to file and a safety lockout to implement. As tempting a prospect as it might seem, I wouldn't want Quark to end up to be sucked out the station's new orifice when he comes looking for his shipment of Yarmok sauce."

O'Brien jumps in with his typical urgency, half-covering up the feeling of "I should have fixed that already, damn" that he's seemingly always feeling around here. "I'll send a repair team down there right away."

Odo doesn't turn as he walks to the lift. "That would be appreciated, Chief. I'd rather not have to walk along the outside of the station again today." he says, punctuating it by activating the lift and descending out of view.

Sisko rubs his forehead. This is a strange place indeed, and despite all the headaches it gives him on a daily basis, he's beginning to feel almost at home in this remote alien place.

This place is strange, the people are strange, the situation is strange... But they're his strange.

Maybe someday they'll stop surprising him. But he doubts it, and he isn't sure he would want them to.

He sits down at his desk and pulls up another of the day's reports, thankful he doesn't need to write that letter to Doctor Mora Pol, for more than one reason.

It's never easy losing someone under your command, and writing that letter to their next-of-kin never gets easier either. But it's a good day when you don't have to do either.

#star trek deep space nine #ds9 #odo #star trek #fanfic

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silence-burns · 4 years

Text

Please Hate Me //part 33

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine

[Somewhere in a universe far, far away…]

There was a soft brush of fabric on the polished floor that accompanied the approaching steps of leather shoes. Frigga stopped a little to Heimdall's left.

"What do your golden eyes see, my friend?"

"They see many things, my queen."

Bifrost glimmered in the million colors under their feet. Lines and flashes passed faster than the human eye could see. The sword that was the key to every way, waited in Heimdall's hands.

"What do you see of my troubled sons?"

"They are both learning through new experiences."

Frigga sighed. "Which usually means they’ve gotten in even more trouble. Tell me, what is it this time?"

Heimdall stood tall on the dais, the armor forged in ancient times by the hands of legends half forgotten by time still impeccable. The worlds moved before his eyes, with no secrets hidden from the gaze of the All-Watcher.

"They are faring well, my queen. Even Loki."

"I had hoped that banishment to Earth would be a better choice than the dungeons." Frigga's hand clutched the gown over her heart. "What did he do this time?"

A smile ghosted on the lips of the All-Watcher. "It appears that he's made friends. Quite close ones, I dare say."

"Oh, dear," Freya repeated in a completely different tone. A wicked light played in her eyes. "Do tell, my friend."

[The same universe, a little closer]

Life in big cities bears a certain strain on everyone's minds. Despite what the newspapers, thirsty for anything and everything worthy and unworthy of filling the pages with, would like you to believe, life had always been difficult.

Time is always lacking, and money is never enough, and no matter how much you strain your brain, it just sometimes happens that you might not remember about the things stored at the very back of your tiny shop, tucked cozily into the corner of a very calm street.

"Well," the man said. "I had no idea that I still had those in the freezers. I could've sworn that I have cleaned them before the winter and left nothing except for the packed broccoli. It must be your lucky day, my boy."

The boy indeed felt very lucky. It was not everyday that one could be sent out to fetch ice cream for a living god in the middle of winter.

"Have a nice day, sir!" he called on his way out.

The chilly breeze bit into his cheeks, warmed up in the comforting interior of the grocery. Snow shined on the few surfaces not yet stamped on. The sidewalk Peter chose was a slippery trap that only his spider senses got him through unscathed.

Loki sensed his coming, and looked over his shoulder at the approaching boy. His other arm was currently wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you closer into him. Peter tried his best not to stare too openly, but couldn't stop the grin from splitting his face. He sat on the other side of the god, the bench icy cold.

"Thank you, my boy." The god took the ice cream with obvious delight. It had been your idea to spend the few hours before Peter's totally-not-a-date trying out the goods New York had to offer. At first, Loki had snickered at the suggestion of trying out whatever ice cream was available in the middle of winter, but after a few interesting flavors were discovered, Loki apologized. There was an almost disturbing variety of flavors Loki couldn't even imagine existing.

"You're welcome, Mr. Mischief. I'm sure there would be a bigger choice if it was summer. I always go to that one vendor two streets away from my house, because he has this special recipe that absolutely blows my taste buds away every time."

"Sounds intriguing." Loki's mind conjured the last time his taste buds had been blown away. If he recalled that unfortunate event correctly, it had something to do with pizza and a bet. "But I think I'll pass for now."

The look of pure adoration in the boy's eyes hadn’t perished.

"I still can't believe you won't get sick after having so many," you said, and watched Loki devour the caramel.

"It must be nice to be a god," Peter sighed. "You have awesome superpowers, get to do what you want and they even make action figures of you…"

Loki frowned. "The what?"

Peter blanched. He started fumbling with his jacket and 'accidentally' looked at his watch. "Oh, I think I’ve gotta go, it's getting so late and I don't want to make MJ wait—"

Loki reached out and fixed the hair Peter had been nervously fighting with for the past few hours they'd all spent outside. "Don't forget the ring, boy."

"Thank you!"

The boy was beaming on his way out of the park.

"I'm never washing my hair again."

The totally-not-a-date that was steadily approaching was something Peter wasn't sure he was ready for. So many things could go wrong—and he had already imagined most of them. It wasn't as if he couldn't sleep all night thinking about it, he just… Was busy. Thinking.

Peter straightened the jacket that was in absolutely no need of straightening. His hand moved to his hair, but he stopped it halfway with a smile. It'd been touched by the hand of god, so it was as good as it could ever get.

On his way out of the park the three of you had been resting in for a while, Peter's mind was in a strange disarray of thoughts. However, he was still capable of noticing the interesting new graffiti decorating the Avengers' statues set up in the middle of the park. Whoever decided to redecorate them this time, certainly had a pair of skillful hands. The wild mustache covering half of Iron Man's face looked almost lifelike.

Loki and you watched the boy leave, nervousness apparent in his every too-stiff step.

"They grow up so fast," you sighed, leaning further into Loki.

He nodded. His finger circled lazily around your shoulder, drawing spiralling patterns. Loki turned his head toward the memorial statues raised in the central part of the park. People took pictures in front of them, posing and smiling as they milled around. Those were the heroes, after all. Saviors of the day.

Loki added a mustache to another statue.

You noticed and eased a giggle. "They're going to be so pissed."

"My very soul aches at that thought. What a terrible crime."

The patterns changed as you shifted slightly. The presence on his shoulder was warm and softened by the fabric of clothes that kept the winter frost from you.

"I thought using magic in this world was difficult."

"It is.There's a lot more focus required to make it work than I'm used to. It's nothing dramatic, though. I've heard of worlds where the trickle of magic is even more strained, to the point where it barely exists at all."

"Do you miss them? The other worlds, I mean. Like Asgard."

The patterns changed again. They slowed down, became more deliberate.

"Sometimes," was the honest answer and the one he gave after careful consideration.

"Will you leave, then?"

Loki looked down at his wrist, where a thin band of metal used to reside, blocking every and all effort he might take against leaving Earth or using magic in any form. It was no longer there, which meant, although it would be extremely difficult to conduct, Loki could technically leave.

The only obstacle was that it was no longer his priority.

"I've never been one to sit aimlessly on my ass for too long, and especially not when and where I had been forced to do so. I think I could name more than a few places I'd like to pay a visit," he admitted, putting his cheek on the top of your head. His throat bobbed slightly. "The only problem is that I just recently found out how terribly boring touring alone might be. It's a real wonder why anyone bothers to do so anymore, and," he swallowed, "I think I could use some company."

Loki cursed himself for putting his head on top of yours, and blocking the view of your face. Especially as he still didn't get any answer. His heart jumped into his throat, making it difficult to breathe.

"...I mean, I know it's still so early, and that's okay if you feel overwhelmed or unsure and I won't force you into anything more than you're willing to do—”

Loki's rumbles were cut short when you finally moved to look up at him. The wild gleam in your eyes and a wicked smile so similar to his struck him dumb.

"You'd never be able to leave this planet without me."

A choked breath, so similar to a whispered name ghosted over his lips. "Of course I wouldn't. What would be the fun in that?"

[The galaxy, elsewhere]

"Oh, dear," the queen broke the biscuit in half with perfect manners. Barely any crumbs dared to ruin the fragile dessert. "I guess he really is experiencing something new."

Heimdall sipped the tea. Servants at the queen's quarters left them with a small table full of goods of the highest sort. The warm breeze played with the curtains with the subtle shimmer of gold. The trees rustled on the wind, losing old leaves to it.

"He's also plotting an escape," Heimdall added. His helmet laid on his knee.

Frigga waved the biscuit in a gesture that had very little to do with manners. "That sounds more like him."

The softest hint of a smile graced her features.

"I wonder what will become of him. Maybe it's in my nature as a mother, but no matter how much I try, I can't help but continue to worry about him, even after all these years."

"I swore to keep an eye on him, and I will." Heimdall put a hand to his heart. There was no smile on his face, only seriousness as he recalled an oath he'd never break.

"Thank you, my friend."

#Please Hate Me #loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki #loki laufeyson #i love loki #marvel #loki marvel #loki mcu #loki fanfiction #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine

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marixx · 4 years

Text

Title: have a bouquet made from my love

Words: 1177

Fluff!! Flower shop/Book shop Au + Modern Au

Warning: swearing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's so fucking noisy out there, that construction has been going on for almost a week. Can't a guy just get some peace and quiet?"Ranpo whined, roughly placing down the arrangement of flowers and leaning on the counter, his emerald eyes glaring at the construction just across the street. His friend/coworker sighed at him, rolling her eyes.

Yosano places down the small vase on the display window. "Language, Ranpo,"She scolded. Fixing the curtains of his flower shop. Then leaving towards the back storage/hangout room.

The flower shop he owned—or well technically his fathers but he inherited the business about two years ago, was called Bouquet Agency, the shop itself was fairly small but not too much. It had a very homey vibe to it. The shop was like a small cottage, with nicely trimmed bushes on the side of the windows accompanied with arranged bouquet of flowers, some pots on the shelves that had small trees and cactuses on them, hanging flower pots filled with a wide variety of sinewy plants, a gentle scent always somehow filled the air, and soft Lofi music playing in the background. The color scheme of a few exposed brick and white accompanied with dark brown always made Ranpo feel so much at home, it made the shop have a small vintage look to it. Once in a while, the original owner, was named Fukuzawa Yukichi, would visit from time to time. Just to stay for maybe about twenty minutes or more to greet everyone, ask them about their day, and how the shop was doing then he would leave with a small smile on his face.

The workers there were, Yosano who was the one the customers would seek help to, Atsushi took charge in taking care of the plants, Kunikida was the one who kept the delivery's and their schedules in line, Ranpo on the counter, kenji would carry the heavy load to the back (once in awhile he would take the counter), and Dazai who....didn't really do much, but he helped out from time to time. Their frequent customers were the Tanizaki siblings, who owned a bakery just a few blocks down, they had heard about the flower shop from Atsushi (Ranpo made sure to have given him chazuke that day) and returned once or twice a week.

Dazai who always lounged on the small couch in the corner, putted away his favorite 'guide to suicide' book on the in table next to it. "Hey, did ya hear that construction site out there was gonna be a new shop?"Dazai grinned.

Ranpo looked at him appalled. "Where'd you hear that information?"He asked. Dazai simply shrugged, replying with 'chuuya' in a small voice. Of course. Chuuya, who was a worker at the tattoo shop next door (and was also the brunette's boyfriend) had always been one for gossip. Ranpo hummed, through the years he had been here, he hadn't seen a new shop open since the place they were in wasn't that crowded.

"A new shop, huh?"Ranpo grinned.

"Apparently it's gonna be a book store,"

"Hey look, it seems that their opening,"Dazai pointed out. Staring at the building from across the street.

The black haired male's grin only widened. "Hopefully they don't steal our customers,"he laughed. Suddenly, Yosano Imerged, pushing away the curtains that hung on the arched doorway. "Shouldn't you two be working instead of gossiping like two high-schoolers?"She glared.

The two males flinched. Muttering an apology, turning back to the flowers he was working on. He thought of an idea, his eyes trailed back outside, eyes squinting at the new shop from across the street. Seeing two people talking to each other.

"Ranpo, put these geranium and meadowsweets on that bouquet will you?"Yosano called out.

"Ah, figured it was missing something important,"Ranpo smiled. Taking the flowers from Yosano, and carefully started placing them in. "What's the bouquets for anyways?"Dazai asked. Sitting up from the couch, and leaning forward.

"Some girl wanted to send a bouquet to her best friend and ex,"Ranpo shrugged. "Don't geraniums mean stupidity, and don't meadowsweets mean uselessness?"Dazai tilted his head.

"The best friend hooked up with her ex,"

"Ah,"

Humming, Ranpo gazed at the two. "Hey, how about we give a welcome to the newly opened shopped across the street?"He suggested. Carefully placing down the bouquet of flowers.

Yosano scrunched up her nose, hands placed her hips. "Ranpo, if you want to give the newcomers a warm welcome. You should go over there and do it,"She shrugged, the black haired male gasped. "Moi? Why should I do it?"he huffed.

"You're the one who suggested it, Ranpo,"

"But I have to man the cashier,—,"He babbled. "Don't worry, we'll handle the rest!"Dazai smirked, a proud look on his face. "You hired us for a reason, Ranpo-san,"Yosano laughed.

Rolling his eyes. Ranpo went and got a pair of gardening scissors to make another bouquet. Roaming around the store, trying to find a good set of flowers, his emerald eyes fell on the forsythia in the corner, beaming he immediately strolled his way over there. Grabbing the flowers and cutting them one by one.

Yosano gave him an unpleasant look, "fine! I'll do it,"He groaned. Snatching papers and ribbons from a box, and stomping over to the counter. "Perfect, you can give that bouquet your working at for them!"She beamed. Clapping her hands together.

Despite the fact that Ranpo was the one who owned the flower shop, Yosano did most of the work, she was practically considered as the owner of Bouquet Agency as well. Which was the reason why she got away with bossing everyone around (and because she scared everyone). Snipping away the stems, Atsushi suddenly made an appearance from the front door, holding what seems to be the newly ordered soil.

"Atsushi, perfect timing, were just about to open—"Ranpo said but cut himself off mid-sentence. "Shouldn't kenji be the one doing the heavy load?"He questioned, his eyes trailing up and down the younger boy. "Ah, kenji's apparently sick! So I offered to take up his job for the day....I-If that doesn't bother you, Ranpo-san,"He relied, sheepishly.

Waving his hand. "Nah, it's fine. Just don't overwork yourself, kid,"He said. Adding daffodils to the bouquet in his hand, "there we go! All done!"He exclaimed, quite proud of his work.

Dazai came in, with a piece of paper. Placing it inside, it said 'we warmly welcome you to this small part of Yokohama! We hope you enjoy your time here, Bouquet Agency.'

"Now go, our dear Ranpo-san!"the brunette grinned, yanking the older male out and pushing him towards the front door.

Sulking, Ranpo begrudgingly walking towards the new shop. As he got closer, it seems that the bookstore was just as big as his flower store was, the outside color was black, and was accompanied a big window that gave off a good view of the inside. Opening the door and hearing the small bell jingle, he took a good look at it.

From the inside, the bookstore was a little larger than it looked outside. It didn't have many lamps but there were some (the big window gave the store a lot more natural light), the walls were decorated with shelves that had labels on them and small amounts of books. In the middle were more shelvings but unlike the ones on the walls, they were empty, in the left corner were some couches and a small coffee table. To his right had a little display section of notebooks with pens, then at the front was a counter and a back door. A coffee like aroma filled up his nostrils, the smell was very calming. Everything about the store was calming either way, it reminded him of his own store, but with a more cozy vibe to it.

"Um, excuse me....we, uh, were not open for business yet..."

A soft voice called out to him, suddenly a tall man came into his view.

And holy shit.

Ranpo felt like he descended to heaven. The taller male was adorable, handsome even. Though his hair was indeed a mess, and it did cover half of his face, though one eye was visible. Ranpo could stare at them for the rest of his life. They were a shade of dark violet, amethyst eyes glowing so brightly. eye-bags were underneath them, and they had such a soft look in them. It made him feel so warm inside, they had a sense of kindness in them. The guy's physical physique was tall and lanky, in his arms was a small box, and he wondered if he could perfectly fit in them if he were to just straight up run into him. Gosh how much he wanted to test that theory out. He was wearing a large gray sweater that went up his knees, black pants, and brown shoes.

"O-Oh! Sorry, I.....uh, I own the flower shop across the street. Me and my coworkers wanted to welcome you guys,"Ranpo stuttered. Still staring at the other man's eyes. "Uh...here! Take these,"He exclaimed, offering the bouquet in his hands.

"Oh thank you!"The other said, smiling brightly. Taking the flowers in his hands.

Holy fuck!! Ranpo screamed mentally. He was so adorable, and so pretty! He felt as if his heart had ran a marathon from how hard it was thumping.

"U-Uh, would you look at the time, it's almost nine already! I have to get back to my shop,"Ranpo stammered. Looking at his watch.

"Oh I see....."The other said, clearly disappointed. "But uh....if you don't mind,"He then said quickly.

"Yes....?"

"W-Would you like to go out f-for coffee sometime, maybe? As a thank you for the f-flowers?"The taller male mumbled, playing with his fingers. Suddenly, Ranpo's face turned red

"That sounds wonderful!"He said, happily. "By the way, my names Edogawa Ranpo,"He introduced himself. "Ah, my names Edgar Allan Poe.....y-you can just call me Poe,"Poe said. Sheepishly.

"Well then Poe, I'll pick you up this weekend, if your free?"

"Uh, sure! I'm free then,"Poe blushed. Giving a small smile.

"I'm looking forward to it then,"Ranpo smiled at him. Poe wasn't expecting to see such a beautiful smile. He was glad he had worked up the courage to ask him out. He absolutely could not wait for this weekend.

#mar says #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #ranpoe #anime #bsd fanfic #bsd ranpo #bsd poe

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greencharisard · 4 years

Photo

I wasn't planning on shading this one, but The Arcana characters without shading just look wrong. Anyway, here we have Shade and his two dumb himbo boyfriends, finding their old anatomy/work notebook, probably somewhere in the underground dungeons. They apparently also used it to write down and doodle during work breaks and trips.. to Vlastomil's estate most likely. Julian recalls that yes, Shade would indeed spend a lot of time with the courtiers when not working or studying magic/medicine; Lucio on the other hand is not exactly thrilled about this (I tried really hard to make is expression a mix of concerned, miffed and a bit angry, not 100% rage, cuz... he's not really angry, just shocked). For funsies, if it's hard to read the notes on the doodles: - Near the portrait of Valdemar: "Note: they saw me draw". - "Wiggler" near... well, the doodle of Wiggler. - "Vulgora flipped another table..." near the bottom left doodle of Vulgora. - "Wine bitch wasn't around today :)" Near the bad doole of Valerius. Valerius is the only one Shade wasn't close to, and almost never showed up at the tea parties, Shade and Vulgora probably pranked him when he was around too. Now, addressing the obvious; if the courtiers knew Shade before they died... why do they interact with them the way they do in the game? Well, there's a variety of reasons: - All 5 in general not recognizing the MC: this is already canon (especially Valdemar, it's canon that you worked with them alongside Julian so... they just don't aknowledge that). In my case: all 5 aren't quite sure on their first meeting that it was Shade, because they changed so much (and went under a different name may I add, Asra had them change it because just their old name would trigger an headache). - Valerius is kind of a bitch and the wine spilling happens like in the old prologue (full on spill on purpose), because even tho he isn't sure they're the same person, he's a petty bitch that holds a grudge. - Volta takes until after the end of the story to recognize Shade, and is the one they reconnect with the fastest, once they find the notebook they go talk with her and even free her from the Devil's chains; she's the only demon that goes back to being human, purely because she wants to and Shade is happy to help (yes I'm still salty that (for now) she only gets an happy ending in Nadia's route, so in my HC she always gets freed post-ending.) - Vulgora doesn't interact with the MC much so they really only figure it out later on; idk what happens to them, they fall in a frozen lake in my main route and it's unknown what happens afterwards, so for now they're stuck in the arcana realms. - Vlastomil is,,, an interesting case, he's the one that was the closest with them, so he was really put off when he realized (I'd say midway trough the story?) that Shade was his old friend... but with none of the memories. Especially in Lucio's route (my main one) Shade wouldn't be too thrilled about the notion, but since Lucio isn't bound to any of his old contracts anymore (so technically there's no reason for Vlastomil to attack him), they make an attemt at talking to him again and reconnect only after quite a bit of time has passed, to be safe (they also have a new familiar they found during an exploration they went on with Lucio; let's just say it's not Ginger but Lucio is still definetly not fond of him... while Vlasty might be). Due to all of this I have to retcon and say Shade definetly doesn't get Ginger for a long time (I also plan on redesigning her so, there's that). - Valdemar is the one that I probably need to explain the most lol. Obviously they have no moral compass, and what little consideration they had for Shade before was thrown out the window after they were brought back without memory. They actually meet once before Nadia introduces them; this is early and brief enough that Valdemar actually doesn't recognize them, but they're the one that catches up on it the fastest. They have of course no regard for them and absolutely would have no problem vivisecting them (again, Lucio's route problems lmao), Shade gets lucky that they're interrupted. Shade had absolutley zero plans on reconnecting with them, but after talking with Julian, and asking Vlastomil about how they used to hang out, they decide to at least try and talk to Valdemar, if anything because having them as friend is better than being enemies. It takes trial and error, Shade starts out by going to meet them in the old dungeon in secret and talk, Valdemar couldn't care less at first, to them it wasn't even the same person; if anything they could be a good test subject. Then Shade starts bringing dead animals for them to dissect, then follow along with the experiments and studies, then starts to help by using magic to make certain organs or limbs move ecc. Eventually they get Valdemar to talk a bit more and fill in Julian's blanks (He could only recall the interaction he'd seen; Shade would often stay behind to work with them overtime), they start being more comfortable around them, addressing them as "doctor" again and not getting goosebumps every time they got close or touched them. The others find out about this waaaay into the process, all of them range from weirded out, to worried, to extreme concern/fear (Lucio); Julian is the one that comes around an accepts it the fastest, he's seen it before after all, but for the others it takes a bit more time. In the end the group may or may not have reformed, with tea parties and reunions happening every time Shade comes back from an expedition with Lucio, he's invited as well of course, but almost never comes along at first (after the first few times he bonds with Vulgora over fighting/sparring and over who can throw chairs the furthest, they get along well enough). So yeah, more the arcana stuff, I was planning on drawing more courtiers stuff, but honestly I don't have the energy and there's still two books left of Lucio's route that may change stuff again so I'm gonna wait. I have to update my MC's outfit and fams tho.

#Fanart #the arcana #the arcana mc #the arcana fanart #the arcana lucio #the arcana julian #julian devorak #count lucio #the arcana courtiers #my art #MY OCs

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

Text

The Girl I Met on the Internet (Holy, Part 1.)

Series description: Your bestie Kim was a free-spirited person who wasn’t exactly concentrated on finding herself a partner. Yet one day, she recieves a phone number and this time, you didn’t want to keep the person on the other end hanging. And so, you text them, no matter who they are.

Part summary: A party was something unseen in Brownsville, for at least five years. You and your friends go there - and you get a hold on an unknown person’s number sent to your bestie by Stanley Barber.

A/N: I know that I’ve done this with Whatsapp series already but... This just seemed like a super-sweet idea for a closeted queer Sydney is.

Tagging: x

Sydney’s tape: go fuck yourself

Series masterlist: H E R E

It was a wild evening. The kind of wild you knew you'll remember until the day you die. That was clear as day. Well, in the end, something like this happened once in every five years in Brownsville. What was happening, you might ask?

People puking on the toilets - some of them proceeded to do quite a variety of sexual activities in the said cabins. Drunk dudes were undressing, girls throwing their bras and/or panties (in the worse case) onto the stage. Everyone was dancing, yelling, laughing, and drinking more than they drank beforehand. Oh. And it was a concert. An indie band underground concert. Which naturally caught the attention of many youngsters living in the small town.

Naturally, everyone, there was drunk as fuck and when these said people weren't drunk, they were as high as a kite. Don't be silly - almost no-one there was over the age of 21. No, we're talking about high schoolers. Said reason was the main one for most of the parents not knowing that their children were out there, partying. The whole school was there in the underground club.

Your friend, Kim, managed to assemble the full party - you were there, your gay friend Aaron came, and on top, he brought his boyfriend with him. They disappeared for a while, leaving you and Kim and the bar to buy some beer. Naturally, you had a very vivid idea about what they were doing, but you just let the boys handle their business.

"So..." - You started quietly, looking around at all the young people. Not only your schoolmates were there, but also youngsters from the nearby towns had come there. - "You see some lucky person you like?" - At this question, Kim grinned and took another sip of her beer.

Kim was someone who didn't care about gender or relationships. She was mostly focused on having one night stands and God, she could afford it. She was, indeed, gorgeous in her way. And you were as pretty as she was, yet it wasn't in your nature to just... Approach people. For the most part, you were sure that you're into boys.

But many instances had shown you to never say never. For example, there was this so-called lesbian... Well, now, she was pregnant with a dude who was working in local 7/11, so she couldn't be such a lesbian she proclaimed to be just half a year ago, could she?

"What about you?" - Kim asked back without answering the initial question, sipping from her cup of beer while intensely looking at one chick on the dance floor who was breaking her pelvis while attempting to twerk. Or whatever she was doing.

"Nah. I'm far behind dudes for a while now. We don't wanna repeat the David thing which ended what... A month ago?" - Yeah. As you were shaking your head, there was a grin on your face. David was portraying the role of Mr. Perfect, to put it somehow. Well, in the end, he wasn't as perfect as he wanted you to believe. And when you realized how much of a fraud that person was, you brought the hell on him.

Yet as soon as Kim smirked, even more, you knew she's about to say something borderline controversial. - "Maybe you're searching in the wrong crowd? But who am I to judge." - You watched how her shoulders shrug as you rolled your eyes.

Kim wasn't as much help in the relationship advice department as you'd expect your best friend to be. Every time you've been whining about the escapades with boys, she looked you dead in the eyes, telling you to find yourself a girlfriend. To which, you usually rolled your eyes even harder, telling her that this side of things is her domain more than yours.

And again, she had a response to that - when you meet the person, there doesn't exist a thing like a gender. Sure, she was probably right, but you decided not to jump to conclusions. If you were about to live through some sort of a queer awakening, you wanted it to strike you just like that. You never talked to a girl to ask her out or whatever.

If it was about to happen, who would you be to stop it, right? But you weren't the person who would walk to meet it. So, for the last couple of years, it was Kim's mission to find you a girlfriend. And when you asked her why, she just answered that for a reason, she gets the queer vibes from you.

"Here are my favorite boys!" - Kim cried out as you both saw Aaron and his boyfriend making their way to you. They both looked relaxed as fuck, so that made you more or less sure about what these two were up to on the restrooms. Either they were doing the mentioned sexual activities or they were doing some drugs - and then doing something sexual. Aaron rose his hands above his head, straightening the football jacket on his shoulder just before he hugged one of your shoulders and one of Kim's shoulder. Kim sighed, leaning the back of her head into Aaron's broad shoulder.

"I have... This for you, miss Possible." - His fingers suddenly pulled a small paper from somewhere on his palm, handing Kim a piece of paper with a number written on it. This occurred rather frequently. For an unknown reason, guys neither girls never thought that Kim is an insufferable asshat. She was receiving numbers on pieces of paper now and then - well, she could decorate her whole room with the numbers. As usual, Kim took the paper and looked at Aaron, waiting for the story of this particular number. In the meantime, Aaron's boyfriend left you standing there, going for a cig outside. - "You won't believe this." - Aaron rose his eyebrow, shaking both of you with a childish smile. - "Stanley Barber gave me this number."

"Stan the Man is here? Why didn't you tell me earlier? He sure as hell has some good weed." - Kim widened her eyes, ready to go on a search for Stanley immediately. But Aaron was still holding her in one place, having a dead stare in his eyes. - "Hold your horses. To answer your question, yes, he has his joints with him. But this number belongs to one of his friends who was too shy to approach you. And in exchange for the weed, he wants you to text her." - Aaron explained simply.

Stanley Barber... How would you describe Stanley? You couldn't describe the boy. He was something completely out of this word. No, he and your group of friends weren't friends, but you weren't enemies either. You had more or less a neutral relationship. Sometimes you hung out around each other, sometimes you hadn't seen the boy in weeks. Well... At least you tried not to see him. Stanley himself was unmissable. This boy sometimes came stoned to school, wearing sunglasses and banging his head into walls left and right. His clothes were unmissable as well. Stan was just... Unmissable.

Yet, honestly, you never saw him with anyone who could be seen as a friend figure. Never fucking ever. There was a high probability that Stan was high once again. First and foremost - was this friend real? Second of all - was it a girl or a boy? As soon as you saw Kim's face, you knew she's not texting anyone - but for the first time, it struck you as wrong. Stanley was a cool dude for the most part. You could say that you technically liked the boy. When you realized how much weed he had already invested to keep the relationship on neutral, this was the smallest thing Kim could do.

"Not happening." - "Don't be a bitch." - Aaron rolled his eyes, sighing. - "Stanley gave you as much weed as a cow eats per month. This is nothing to repay him, huh? And... It can end in something fun for you." - The boy proposed and for once, you had to say that Aaron was right. - "Not happening, babe. Stanley's friend is just as weird as he is and I don't wanna do anything in common with that. But let's smoke some fucking pot!" - Kim put both her palms up the air, crying out cheerfully.

"You should text that person. Stan's cool for the most part." - You took Aaron's side in this not-even-an-argument. At that, Kim turned at you and put the small piece of paper into your palm. - "If you can't beat them, join them. I think I know how this would play out, so, now's your turn to try texting a stranger." - Her fingers gently patted your cheek before she turned on her heels, dragging Aaron along. You wanted to go home anyway. And as you watched Kim and the big quarterback disappearing in the distance, you turned on your heels to leave the place as well.

It was a nice evening. You had seen someone gulping down a whole fucking cup of beer under one minute without throwing it out, you saw a dude undressing in front of the stage, a shit ton of people making out, and a few of them throwing up. Sometimes doing these things simultaneously. Which was as impressive as scary. But honestly, you were fucking tired.

Silently, you snuck through the house, closing the door behind. Just when you wanted to call the whole operation a success, you almost stumbled over Mr. Skittles, your super-extra-old tomcat. Even when you almost screamed and Mr. Skittles almost hissed at you pretty loudly to put you back into your place, you both stayed silent and looked at each other. Not too long after that, you were already laying in your bed, trying to fall to sleep.

The next morning, Kim rolled to your house in her old, falling apart Beetle. She was looking worse than you - there were sunglasses on her eyes, she sure as hell hasn't done her make-up in the morning, she didn't even comb her hair, she just put a baseball cap over it. - "You look fucking disgusting." - Was the first thing you told her when you opened up the door. Kim leaned closer to you, pulling her sunglasses down for a minute to look you in the eyes. - "You. Have. No. Idea." - And with that, you set on your way to school.

There still was a mysterious number which was given to Kim. You didn't throw it away but you weren't exactly overhyped to text them. You didn't want to lose the small piece of paper, but you didn't keep it on your field of vision. But there was a day when you gladly took the gamble. It was a few days before one of the shorter holidays, so naturally, there was a big test coming your way. Kim and Aaron were shopping for your stay at your grandma's small cabin just a few minutes down the road.

You, in the meantime, were trying to study. But even the leaves falling on the ground were more interesting than the subject you were trying to study for. So, as you tried to build a small tower from your pens and markers and as it had fallen again, your eyes slowly traveled to the drawer where you stored the small piece of paper for the last few days. Well, you could try it, right? It won't hurt anyone. You didn't even know who's number that was. It would be just like snapping or texting on Omegle, huh?

Slowly, you stood up from your desk and walked to the drawer, taking it out. You were weirdly on edge. It was more than two weeks since the whole concert thingy - the person probably accepted that Kim fucked them over. So you didn't have to stress about this whole situation. You could maybe just make something up in case they would ask where you got the number? This was nonsense. You shouldn't be nervous about such bullshit. So all you had to do was that you had to text the first text. And so you went for it.

You: Is someone there?

That was a tragic first text, that had to be said. And as soon as your phone marked it as delivered, you threw the device away on your bed, turning to your table with your heart in your throat. Why were you feeling so sick? Were you about to pass out? Most likely yeah. And it got worse - because the person had responded.

(Unknown number): Yea, there is. And you are? Where did you get this number?

#i am not okay with this #i am not okay with this netflix #sydney novak #stanley barber #stan barber #stanley and sydney #reader x sydney novak #reader x sydney #sydney novak x fem!reader #sydney novak x y/n #lgbt #lgbtq #queers will rule the world one day #ianokwt #i am not okay with i am not okay getting cancelled

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skeletorific · 4 years

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How do you think the Beforus Ancestors(Aradia, Tavros, Sollux, Karkat, Nepeta, Kanaya, Terezi, Vriska, Equius, Gamzee, Eridan and Feferi)were like? I love your Alternian Ancestors stuff so far and was curious what you Interpretation of the Beforus ancestors were.

oh HELL yes I am about this.

Aradia Megido, the Tombkeep: I see Aradia as being born a bit later than the others, while the coddling laws are at their strongest. Rather than put up with that, as quickly as she can she removes herself from Beforan society to the very outskirts. Like their Alternian counterparts, Beforan’s are often avoidant of the notion of death. However, in their case, it is not because death is a failure of the dying, but a failure of those around them. It is not seen as a natural cycle but something to be abhorred and feared at all costs. As such, tombs are kept, but they are far away from the rest of civilization and usually talked about in hushed tones. Aradia grows up among these tombs, befriending the local ghosts and considers them her own coddling charge. She guards the tombs from any who get too curious, or more often, from well-meaning government officials looking to tear down monuments to such “nastiness”. What they find instead is an angry little girl with powerful psiionics. She becomes something of a bedtime story for young grubs, even long after her passing. They say she still haunts the halls.

Tavros Nitram, the Menager: In parallel to his obsession with Fiduspawn, I see Beforan Tavros as being some variety of animal handler, using his fully fledged wings (and his bronzeblood bankroll) to travel the world and collect rare and exotic creatures to his own plot of land, to tend to and train. Some know him as a kindly soul, treating all beasts with the utmost love and dedication. He seems like some kind of fairy tale figure, surrounded on all sides by animal companions who he communes with. To others, this is reckless ecosystem mixing, but then, what do scientists know anyways. He prefers the hero title a bit more, as it aligns more with his intentions anyways. Eventually one of his expeditions ends poorly, with him being confined to a wheelchair for the remainder of his life. Outwardly he dies content to let his coddler and his animal friends care for him for the rest of his life, but there’s a restless spirit that he passes down to his descendant.

Sollux Captor, The Dronebee: Completely and utterly unremarkable in every way. Sollux contented himself with working his function as a goldblood. His technical ability was fostered at every turn by a Beforan education system eager to see a lowblood embrace their “natural talents”, but while he made minor waves in the programming circles in which he moved with his often unique approach to coding, to most he was just one worker among thousands, very valuable of course! Every worker is valuable :) But ultimately.....not worthy of notice. Which is fine: that’s how Sollux likes it, and more than that if left him time to pursue more personal projects, such as a little game later known as sgrub. Just because he’s not vocally complaining doesn’t mean he’s not compiling a list. From his perspective, Beforan civilization is a ticking timebomb anyways. Why shouldn’t he be the one to start the countdown?

Karkat Vantas, the Advocate: Look, I know we all love revolutionary Karkat, but I think something we forget is that Karkat was pretty pro-system even as late in the game as Act 6. So, for the Beforan model.....well, every system needs its bootlickers. Karkat Vantas becomes a mouthpiece for some lowblood lobbying groups, acting in vocal support of the Empress’s coddling plan. Its not all love of power: legitimately there is a part of Karkat that tries to see how this is good. Healthy. The needs of his friends are being met, they’re safe, and attended to. Surely all of that is worth a little......infantilization, right? He deals with a lot of criticism from other lowbloods for being a sellout, and though he does his best to cultivate a calm unflappable demeanor so craved by Beforans, I guarantee Beforus has more than a few Grubtube compiliations of Vantas meltdowns that Kankri watches when he needs a good cringe. As he got older he slowly began to question the system he’d spent his whole life building, but ultimately lowbloods don’t live long enough for those kinds of regrets.

Nepeta Leijon, the Believer: What, you think clowns have the monopoly on weird religious communes? Nah. To be fair to Nepeta, her commune’s status as a “cult” is probably more indicative of Beforan prudery than anything else. Her sect, the Righteous Assembly of Withdrawn Renegades (or RAWR for short), is dedicated to the principles of free love and a return to the natural. Within the massive tunnel and cave system in which they live, trolls are free to strip themselves of signifiers like caste and clan and live as the gods intended: covered in dirt, chasing something furry, and flirting furrociously :33. While Nepeta in life insisted there was no leader it was her effect on people that kept them coming back for more, and while the commune purrsisted after her eventual death, ultimately its membership dwindled. Meulin was brought up among some of the last vestiges of it, and some of their old hideouts have been inherited by the Lost Weeaboos.

Kanaya Maryam, The Prioress: Literally, the prior. One of the earliest trolls, widely considered the Matriarch of Trolls in some sense. In her time she revolutionized many of the practices of auxiliatrices, ensuring greater safety for the grubs and greater care for the mother grubs. Many of the norms now in place for jadebloods are in large part due to her own influence. Despite her farreaching influence (and the fact that she left behind a journal of her practices), not much is known about her personal temperament. Quick readers may catch a certain dry sarcasm behind her words, and the especially studious scholar may note slight reference to a few great lovers (and a few great disappearances, *cough* rainbowdrinker *cough*. Her greatest secret is her brief and tumultuous kismesis with Vriska Serket, notorious Mafiosa, but only a very few historians have ever uncovered it. In part, her long shadow may have contributed to her descendant’s eventual anxiety regarding her prescribed role,

Terezi Pyrope, the Gumshoe: Beforan justice is tricky. As opposed to Alternia, there are in fact actual laws in place that aren’t just “don’t fuck with highbloods”, but in many ways its almost more corrupt. More often than not the courts are more concerned with petty infractions than it is with actual injustice, and furthermore, inter-caste tension remains a huge concern that bubbles up in violence. After a few years badgering olives for traffic tickets while watching actual fully fledged crime families get off scott free, well....Terezi had had enough. She took her pursuit of justice into the real world, working as a private detective for hire. She’s notorious for her, erm....quirks, but she’s a fastidious hunter and a careful investigator when she wants to be. She brings em back alive. USU4LLY >:).

Vriska Serket, the Mafiosa/Mapm8ker: Let’s be clear, a lot of Vriska’s society was laid on top of her and it was abuse from which she struggled to free herself. However, what does one do when freed from society, but seek to shake things up a bit. She’s still a thief of Light, make mistake, and she slowly works up the ranks from card shark working the tables to in charge of a small army of foot soldiers, smuggling mindhoney to goldbloods (who have been restricted “for their own good”) and sopor slime to clowns. She’s the flamboyant head of her own criminal empire, with the code of only stealing from those she deems worthy and a reckless approach to life

However, most of that isn’t generally known. And to the outside world, she’s just a simple cartographer, travelling the world to assemble some nice, safe, boring maps. Indeed, when her journal was finally unearthed by her descendant, she couldn’t help but wonder if these exploits were true, or simply a story her ancestor liked to imagine herself into on her off days. Tough to say.

Equius Zahhak, the Showpony: Alright, y’all knew I couldn’t stay away from that one. Equius was something of a puzzle to his descendent when Horuss actually went back through his (meticulously kept) caste records. By all accounts, he was an intelligent, capable, hardworking man. A tinkerer in his off hours, he was a pioneer in the field of robotics, and by all accounts not romantically unsuccessful. And yet, the man never seemed concerned with making a name for himself. Instead, over the course of his long life, you could perpetually find him at the shoulder of someone more powerful and important than he was. Was he....a bodyguard? Trophy husband? Butler? Hard to say, but there he was. Trotted out like the loyal steed he was.

Gamzee Makara, the Borrower: A peculiar legend of clownery regards a strange “hobo looking motherfucker what will wander into your hive and be all and snatching up your most secretous things for the messiah’s wider purposes”. So far as is known, he is not malignant, although its not unknown for a troll to occasionally disappear while running after him to retrieve their stolen items. Even without that possible threat, its usually not worth it to chase after him: the things he takes have a way of ending up back in your hands, one miraculous way or another. Gamzee is an itinerant monk, wandering the countrysides. Some passerby he’ll occasionally offer aid to, or proverbs. Which might be helpful if anyone could decipher what they mean. Ultimately he’s a happy man, if prone to fits of temper and bouts of melancholy. Still, as he notes, he’s got motherfucking friends all over these globes :o) what’s a motherfucker gotta be lonely for?

Eridan Ampora, the Magician: Well.....the Empress doesn’t exactly need Orphaners. As such, the violets are largely left to their own devices. Given they’re often prone to creative endeavours, Eridan found his own outlet. He became renowned as an illusionist, and at one point his shows were capable of drawing large and massive crowds, who would gasp in awe at his tricks and wonder if the violet really did have a trace of magic in his blood. He seemed to like the idea, eventually penning a popular grubling children’s series about a boy with those very abilities (which eventually found its way into the young hands of his descendent). However, celebrity wasn’t necessarily the best mix with Eridan’s temperament. He was prone to some truly disastrous quadrant outings, as well as developing several more addictive habits to drown out the oddly oppressive loneliness that permeated him. These bad habits were only worsened by the worst thing to ever happen to Eridan Ampora: the internet. With access to videos of his performance, most were pretty easily able to spot the trick of it, and hell hath no fury like a cyberbullying teen going after a b list internet celebrity. He took it as a sign to swear off the craft forever and lived the rest of his life on book residuals, alone, drunk, and miserable

Feferi Peixes, Her Highness: Not as much to say about this one, as Feferi is the one we have the most information about. Like it says on the tine, she instituted the coddling system on Beforus. This was widely considered a Bad Idea by those victimized by it, but you couldn’t pay anyone in Feferi’s court to tell her that. The Empress is sweet tempered and excitable, it’d be like telling a child 12 perigree night is cancelled. Perhaps the great irony is that as Feferi gets older, the thing that frustrates her most is that it feels like no one takes her seriously as a person. Merely as a figurehead. Still, she lives her life on Beforus ultimately convinced this is what’s best for the greater good.

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little-purple-thundercloud · 4 years

Text

A bit about L’yhta Mahre

PLACE IN SOCIETY

✖ FINANCIAL – wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty

L’yhta is quite well-off thanks to her inheritance from her mentors, the sale of items she finds during adventures, and the rewards from levequests. That said, she has essentially no control over her finances, which are handled by the Tower’s majordomo, Volkido, nor does she particularly desire grand luxury. As such, she doesn’t typically have access to, nor employs, these assets, and instead lives a lifestyle of moderate means.

✖ MEDICAL – fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged / deceased

L’yhta naturally has a very fast metabolism, and she’s also a professional adventurer; as such, she gets a lot of exercise that keeps her quite fit. She also tends to run around a lot, even when she could just as easily walk.

✖ CLASS OR CASTE – upper / lower / middle / working / unsure

“I’m used to being feared and. Having people keep away from me.” Powerful practicing thaumaturges can parley their status into considerable class if they want to do; she has no interest in such things (and indeed tends to find class structures abhorrent due to what they’ve done to people she cares about), so in practice, she ends up being an anomaly that those who care about social class aren’t quite sure what to do about.

✖ EDUCATION – qualified / unqualified / studying

An arguably abusive training regimen, followed by the fact that magic is effectively her entire life, has given this woman broad-spanning knowledge across a variety of topics.

FAMILY

✖ MARITAL STATUS – married, happily / married, unhappily / engaged / partnered / divorced / widow or widower / separated / single / it’s complicated

"My personal life is a, what do they call it? A trash fire, you know?” L’yhta’s current romantic situation is as a member of a poly pod, though she isn’t romantically involved with everyone in it. However, she also holds a flame for the auri girlfriend she rarely sees and the miqo’te bard that she’s not entirely sure how she feels about (and never has been). She was also briefly married, but that relationship fell apart due to disputes over her polyamorous inclinations.

✖ CHILDREN – has children / no children / wants children / adopted children

L’yhta doesn’t currently want children. Beyond the fact that she feels awkward around them, she feels children are incompatible with the life of an adventurer. She is also increasingly of the opinion that she’s incapable of having children at all, due to an ill-advised experiment in magic years ago.

✖ FAMILY – close with sibling / not close with siblings / has no siblings / siblings are deceased / it’s complicated

As she came from a tribal background, she has several siblings -- five sisters and a brother. Her brother is currently the nunh of that tribe; her sisters view her with anything from naked contempt for abandoning the tribe to benign distaste for "not being useful.” That her skill in magic obviates the need to be skilled at hunting with a bow or chopping down trees is lost on them, or perhaps they’re just jealous.

✖ AFFILIATION – orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by both parents / other

L’yhta was raised within a tribe, and she looked up her father with considerable hero worship. Unfortunately, he died shortly after the Calamity (at the hands of her older brother, no less), and her mother perished a few years later. She’s collected father figures since then -- most notably her mentor in magic, Robert Fletcher, and the Voice of the Tower, Eamont Desormaux.

TRAITS & TENDENCIES

✖ disorganized / organised / in between

Her lab area and notes, and indeed anything involving magic, are meticulously organized. As for the rest of her world -- well, there’s a reason Volkido has a maid clean her apartment daily, and as of yet her partners have yet to complain too vociferously about smallclothes and plates lying in random places around the house.

✖ close-minded / open-minded / in between

L’yhta can be extremely close-minded about certain things (religious zealotry, nobility, class structures, and harming others), but outside of those areas, she’s quite open-minded and accepting of other approaches and ways of life.

✖ cautious / reckless / in between

If there’s a ruin to be scaled or a cave to be plumbed, she’ll already be up or down it before anyone can voice opposition. She does show caution in some instances, in which case you know she’s pretty scared.

✖ patient / impatient / in between

The longer she has to wait for people to plan a course of action, the more fidgety she gets. This is a mage who thrives on action and doesn’t want to wait! She can be patient when it comes to things that require patience (such as alchemy), but she’ll be jumping to something else to stay occupied while the time passes.

✖ outspoken / reserved / in between

While she’s gotten better at holding her tongue over the years, L’yhta is a Big, Open Personality who largely isn’t afraid to speak her mind (unless she’s afraid it’ll wreck one of her relationships).

✖ leader / follower / in between

As much as she proclaims that she’s a terrible leader and she should never be followed, her knowledge combined with her personality put her at the forefront of most situations, and she’s always ready to take charge.

✖ sympathetic / unsympathetic / in between

“Ever since I have known you, you have never lived for yourself.” One could say that L’yhta suffers the Curse of Empathy -- she cares deeply about everyone’s feelings, even that of the world as a whole, and will readily shove any issues she has aside to take care of others.

✖ optimistic / pessimistic / in between

L’yhta is optimistic about the world as a whole; she truly believes that Good will ultimately triumph over Evil, that there will always be Lights in the Darkness, and that Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and Love will win the day. That said, she’s deeply pessimistic about herself and her life, largely feeling like she’s a walking disaster that ruins everything she’s near and that she’s never strong enough, never smart enough, never fast enough, and never wise enough to be a positive in others’ lives.

✖ hardworking / lazy / in between

Throwing herself into her work is one of L’yhta’s primary coping mechanisms for stress and her constant depression and inferiority complex, but even outside of that, she’s driven to improve the state of the Art.

✖ cultured / uncultured / in between

"Oh! And I’m her uncultured ijin girlfriend, you know? It’s great to meet you!” L’yhta has never found much value in “high culture.” This is not the miqo’te to ask about which spoon to use or how best to greet a Hingan noble.

✖ loyal / disloyal / in between

When she feels she has let someone down, L’yhta beats herself up about it. She’s tremendously loyal to everyone she knows, or at least tries to be; when she fails to live up to that ideal in any way, she tends to spiral into self-hatred.

✖ faithful / unfaithful / in between

Romantically, L’yhta has been unfaithful before, and it’s a sore spot that she flagellates herself now and then. She takes great pains now to be exceedingly careful about anything that might even be perceived as being unfaithful, to the extent that her partners sometimes think she’s too cautious.

Religiously, she has a deep devotion to her conception of the Mothercrystal, which to her represents the source of the Lifestream and all aether in the world. For her, protecting the children of the Crystal is a duty -- one she takes on gladly.

SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION

✖ SEXUALITY – heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / omnisexual / demisexual

L’yhta identifies as bisexual, but in reality, she’s closer to polysexual.

✖ SEX – sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable

✖ ROMANCE – romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable

✖ SEXUALLY – sexually adventurous / sex experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / uninterested

L’yhta really enjoys sex, yes, but she also heavily compartmentalizes. As such, if her mind isn’t on fooling around, she typically will appear entirely uninterested and not even pick up on innuendo. More than once she’s been talking about magic theory and entirely ignoring the obvious Fuck Me Eyes she’s getting.

ABILITIES

✖ COMBAT SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

While she’s not especially dangerous in melee, L’yhta is an extremely talented and experienced combat mage and adventurer with a keen eye for small group tactics.

✖ LITERACY SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

L’yhta will be the first to say that she’s not especially talented at linguistics, despite being conversationally capable in Hingan, Doman, Belah’dian, and Mhachi; being able to read Nymian and Amdaporian; and being marginally skilled at translating Allagan. It’s probably more fair to say that outside of learning languages well enough to be able to use them for magic or singing, her linguistic skills are iffy at best, and that’s mostly because she’s easily distracted from exercising them.

✖ ARTISTIC SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

L’yhta can sing and dance (ballet and ballroom) with reasonable amateur competency. She can also draw circles and other arcane geometries freehand, though she doesn’t consider this an artistic skill so much as a magickal one that every arcanist or esoterica researcher must be able to do.

✖ TECHNICAL SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Within the area of magic, L’yhta has incredibly advanced technical skills that enable her to create new spells and cheat reality (and the Reaper). Outside of that area, her skills are laughably poor. She can barely turn on magitek devices, can only cook a few simple dishes, and doesn’t really understand the principles of teknology.

Tagged by: @mercermachines, thank you! :)

Tagging: Anyone who wants to do it! I’m late to this particular party, I know.

#ooc #meme #character bio

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jasonfersman · 4 years

Text

Everlasting Life: A Tale

Silence. A boon to have when working, but a bane when you’re all alone. Granted, most individuals have moments in their day filled with meaningful interactions between themselves and other people. There’s never a full day when you’re not completely alone with nothing but your thoughts to accompany you.

Except, of course, if you’re me.

Today was just another day at the lab. Testing some animals, looking at the molecular structure of different compounds, all that stuff. I guess if you count the animals in, I’m technically not alone, but frogs don’t really provide the best companionship. They just hop around and croak occasionally. Not exactly the lively conversational atmosphere-providers I needed.

Pouring some extract into a test tube filled with a transparent liquid, I watched as it turned a dark purple, becoming opaque – a negative result. A sigh escaped my parted lips as I removed my goggles and gloves and collapsed onto the chair behind me. It had been 14 days since I’d begun my stay here and nothing. Each test yielded nothing, one after another. As a consequence, an array of test tubes, coloured purple to blue, decorated the laboratory bench. None with the light-yellow result I was looking for.

It was a long shot, to look for evidence indirectly related to what I was seeking. But it was better than nothing.

By the time I rose from my chair, the sun had moved across half the sky, now nearing the horizon, which had turned the colour of fire. I cleared out of the lab, making sure to switch all the main lights off while leaving the ones in the enclosures to cycle through their normal day-night cycle programming. The night was approaching quickly and I would do well to hurry back to my place. Sealing the lab doors, I walked through the tunnels of the complex until I reached my living quarters. The comforting scent of home hit my nose once I passed through the set of double doors, relief flooding my veins after a long day. Tossing my jacket on the coat stand, I sat down on one of the few armchairs I had brought with me, breathing out a long sigh.

I was tired. So tired. And after two thousand years of being alive, I was beginning to get tired of living.

Various pictures were scattered across the walls of my small temporary apartment, each depicting something different. In one, a painting of a young man dressed in 18th century garments stared out through the canvas, a confident expression on his face. In another, a few decayed scraps of cloth were pasted in the centre of the frame, accompanied by a small tag which read “Remains of a tunic from ~8 A.D., preserved in ash.” The others held a variety of surprises, some of which not an insignificant amount of people would have considered intriguing.

I gazed at the one closest to me, which held an artwork done in my likeness from a street artist I had met in 1988. One of the few kind strangers I had met when travelling through the cities that lined the west shoreline, his skill captured a part of me that some others had failed to notice. I later learned that the area which I had passed through had been demolished to make way for a mall and the inhabitants of the previous street driven away. At the time, I had thought nothing of it, but looking back a painful twang within my chest reminded me of how much beauty each life could bring into the world.

Recollections of each of the most recent centuries swam through my mind as I lazed on the chair. A stint with pirates that I had in the 8th century, a time when I had a rebellious streak during the 17th and the wars along the Gulf which I had all witnessed. I had never been in two places at once, but I had had the means to travel and that had been more than enough.

Still, none of these memories or experiences would explain my earliest. Digging into the last place in my mind where neurons fired signals to encode a memory two millennia ago, I closed my eyes and let it overtake me from within.

Coldness. Darkness. Then a sudden heat. Light shining on me, filtering through my eyelids to blare into my retinas. A sudden comprehension of my surroundings and the fact that I was lying on rough ground. A look around that led me to establish I was in a cave, exposed to the elements yet somewhat sheltered from them. And the morning sun had just reached deep enough into it to wake me.

I stumbled out of it groggily, clad in nothing but a loincloth. The sunlight felt hot on my skin, different from the gentle warmth I had experienced the last time I had come down here. There was nobody about, the few paths visible empty. Following them only seemed to lead me to dead ends, though one eventually brought me to a village which had a few inhabitants. Quick conversation with them revealed something far more shocking: the place where I had last died was gone, as if it never existed. Everything had been wiped clean, like the universe had randomised a new slate into existence and placed it over the old one without a care.

Suddenly I was the mistake, the one that was out of place. Wherever I went, no one seemed to recognise me. Maybe it was the sudden lack of my abilities, or maybe it was the fact that I suddenly looked vastly different from before. There was a noticeable lack of…well, any knowledge of what had existed prior. Everything wiped clean and replaced with something or someone new.

That is, except me.

What went wrong?

The memory fizzled into thin air as I opened my eyes once more. There wasn’t much after that I did remember. As the years turned into decades and centuries, more and more of the first days was lost to the passage of time. Not only that, the precious few memories that I had had slipped away gradually, leaving me with less and less of my past. I couldn’t keep track of how many times I had escaped death, only to end up somewhere else again with even less to work with. Only two things stayed with me: the very first memory of the first days and a burning desire to find out what had happened.

The only problem was that as I got further and further away from that point in time, it became more difficult to pinpoint what exactly had happened.

There was a knock on the door.

I looked at the door, puzzled. I hadn’t been expecting anyone. More than that, who would know how to make their way to this island in the middle of nowhere? Thoughts rushed through my mind, flashing from a serial killer to someone several ranks above me. Was I going to get fired? I hoped not.

“Who is it?” I called out, before smacking myself in the head. No way they could hear me through a set of double doors.

But a man’s voice rang loud and clear as if there was nothing that separated us. “It’s Michael.”

“I don’t know any Michael.” I replied. A chill crawled up my spine as I watched the figure behind the set of doors shuffle.

“Trust me, you do.” There was a tone in which voice which rang within my skull in a peculiar way. “It’s been a while since we last met, but if you open the doors, I’m sure everything will come back to you.”

I sat frozen in my seat for a few moments. Then, slowly, I got up from my seat and made my way over to the panel next to the door. Hesitating for a few moments, I pushed the button. The doors began opening with a quiet hiss, revealing the person standing behind them. I steeled myself for whomever had arrived, preparing for it to be an old acquaintance that I had conveniently forgotten about.

Instead, a familiar face stood in front of me, a pair of kind eyes meeting my gaze. A smartly dressed man clad in a grey business suit, tie and all, with both hands in his pockets and an apologetic smile on his face,

There was a moment where I felt like the truth was staring me in the face. Where the weight of the world was about to crash down upon me, suspended by a spider-thin thread. And then the memories returned.

Michael grabbed my arm, steadying me as my legs turned to jelly and my knees faltered. “Here. Let’s get you over to the chair.”

“W-what…who are you? And how do you…how did you…” The words spilled from my mouth in incoherent babbles. “How…”

“I’m Michael. You remember me.” Michael gave me a warm smile. “Is the rest back?”

“Um…kind of.” I struggled not to slur my words. My head was still spinning slightly, centuries of memories back in a second.

“Here.” Michael laid a palm on my wrist. A gentle glow appeared, casting a warmth across my skin, then disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. My dizziness disappeared soon after, leaving me feeling as if I had just woken up from a good nap.

“Glad the healing powers still exist.” Michael got up, walking around the room slowly. “Do you remember everything now?”

“Not really.” My mind was still piecing everything together. “The First Days – oh wait, you probably don’t know that…”

“You haven’t remembered those for the last 150 cycles.” Michael interjected, to a surprised expression from me. “I know. I remember.”

I stared at him with an uncomprehending look. I was not even close to understanding.

“Surely I don’t look that different?” He chuckled. “I know I used to have wings, but in this day and age, it’s a bit of stretch.”

“Wings?” My eyes widened. “Wait. I…I remember.”

“Yes.” That same smile again, only now much more familiar. “It’s been a while, My Lord.”

“How long has it been?” I asked him.

Michael was flipping through different tabs on his phone while conversing with me seamlessly. “Not less than 380 years, I think. It’s hard to keep track. Sometimes they print the calendars wrongly. Sometimes a temporal anomaly crops up.”

“But I’m unaffected, right?”

“Yes. As I am. Sadly, the other angels were not immune.” Michael paused for a moment. Sadness filled the air around us for a brief moment. “As were the archangels.”

“You miss them.” I said.

“Yes.” His eyes seemed watery. “But those are matters past. What matters is now.”

“Indeed.” I cleared my throat, turning to face him. “So, I take it this is your…tricentennial check-up on me, then?”

“Not quite.” Michael locked his phone, shoving it in his pocket. “This time, there’s been a complication.”

“What sort of complication?”

Michael shifted uncomfortably. His expression darkened. “Your father is gone.”

“My father?” The words sounded familiar, but I couldn’t recall anything associated with them.

“God. The Lord himself. His Great…have you forgotten?”

“I might have.” Try as I might, my internal searching returned no results.

“Okay. Start from the most recent one and work your way backwards. The last time we met…”

A train rushing by, papers scattering all over the floor, flustered passengers picking up their items. One man that stood out through the crowd, smiling at me before giving a friendly wave. “Britain.”

“That’s right. And the time before…”

This time, it came faster. A hodgepodge of bushes, houses made of logs clobbered together with rusty nails, a town that hosted less than 80 people, dust storms. “The American Midwest.”

“Correct. Your memory seems good so far. Now, try to reach back all the way, to the first time we met.”

Silence. For a moment, there was nothing. Then…

A man wrapped in robes approaches me as I give the horse its daily feed. “My Lord,” he says. “How have you been?”

“Michael?” My eyes widen as I demand of him, “What happened? Why does no one remember us?”

“I’m afraid I may not have the answer to that, My Lord. Only more questions await you in my stead.” He speaks with calmness, yet I sense urgency in his voice.

“Your father has disappeared. Heaven and Hell, gone as if they never existed. What remains of the heavenly realm is merely a remnant of its previous glory. When the tremor occurred, I was on Earth tending to an old lady’s prayer. As soon as I returned, there was nothing, only greyness, a small table and a note on it. Inside, it was written that your father had departed for a purpose as of yet unknown. There was nothing else there.”

“Did he give you any further details? My father would surely not leave one of his most trusted angels in the dark.”

“None. I have tried, but nothing remains of Heaven other than that space. I cannot connect with Raphael or Gabriel either. I fear for them, for they might have been caught up in the tremors.”

It is the first time I have heard emotion from Michael. His voice wavers when he speaks about his brothers and tears come to his eyes. His jaw trembles slightly as he speaks their names and his demeanour changes. He knows something has gone wrong, as do I. What we do not know is what and how.

“What are our options then, Michael?” I ask him.

“Simply to wait and see, My Lord.” The archangel bows. “I will venture out into the corners of the universe to see what can be gleamed from them, but I am afraid nothing may come of my journey. In the meantime, perhaps you should stay here and tend to your people.”

“I have no powers. I cannot do anything out of the ordinary.” I tell Michael, to his surprise. His expression is one of shock. “I am stuck here, as mortal as the rest of them.”

“Yet I still sense divinity within you.” He replies after a moment. “Perhaps it would be prudent to try and investigate anything that can be.”

“Very well.” I say. “Be on your way then. We shall meet again, I hope?”

“Indeed, although it may be out of necessity.” Michael stoops to place something at my feet, a small parcel wrapped in cloth. “Till next time, My Lord.”

“Safe travels, my friend.” I watch as he turns to walk away, his silhouette disappearing into the haze of the heat. Reaching down, I pick up the parcel, removing it from its cloth packaging.

I may be mistaken. But it looks a lot like a chunk of the sky.

I gasp as my bearings return. Michael’s concerned eyes peer into mine as I take deep breaths, regaining my composure. Outside, the stars of the night sky shine, though not outshone by the moon.

“I remember.” I said after catching my breath. “Is it true? Everyone’s gone?”

“Yes. Except your father, whose fate has remained undetermined all this while.” Michael removed a piece of paper from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of me. “Until now.”

I stared at the paper. Suddenly surprises didn’t feel so fun.

Gently, I reached out and took it, opening it with two fingers. Inside, the letters, ‘h’, ‘e’ and ‘l’ were scrawled across it in a scribble, like someone had written it down in a hurry. The fourth letter was partially obscured by what seemed like…blood?

“Is this…his blood?” I looked at Michael. Worry creased his brow.

“I cannot be certain, but we have to assume the worst.” His words, although spoken with a gentle tone, cut through the atmosphere like ice with their gravity. “I don’t want to think about it either, but I have no choice.”

“What are our options then?” An instant of déjà vu. For a moment, I was back in Jerusalem, tending to the horses as Michael stood in front of me, wrapped in cotton robes.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Michael looked directly into my eyes. As I watched, six wings phased through the back of his suit, expanding to about two metres in length. Michael glanced back, flexing them once. A uniform, cream-coloured glow came to them, along with a light shower of angelic feathers.

He looked back at me, this time with conviction. “It’s time to go, my Lord.”

#writer #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing #fantasy #religious

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lhs3020b · 4 years

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Some notes on recent polling developments (long, fairly depressing)...

The YouGov MRP figures came out last night. This is notable because in 2017, the multilevel-regression approach was the sole one that spotted the possibility of a hung parliament. We all ridiculed it at the time - I'll confess that I side-eyed it too. And then - well, we all know what happened to Theresa May, don't we? So, the MRP thing deserves to be taken seriously. And unfortunately, this year, it's looking grim for us. Briefly, the MRP is forecasting a Tory majority. They're also predicting that all opposition parties (bar the SNP, who only stand in Scotland) will lose seats. Labour in particular look in the danger-zone for a collapse, and contrary to their bullish predictions, the Liberal Democrats are also forecast to lose seats. (Note that this is with respect to their current strength - technically, the MRP result gives them a gain of 2 seats on where they were on the 9th of June. They currently have 19, due to defections from various other parties.)

I'll admit that I don't want to believe the MRP results, but this has never been a data-denialist blog, and I don't intend to start on that road today.

One caveat is that the reporting on the MRP results has ben remarkably-bad. The actual YouGov page is here: https://yougov.co.uk/topics/politics/articles-reports/2019/11/27/yougov-mrp-conservatives-359-labour-211-snp-43-ld- Buried a long way down the page, they say this: "Taking into account the margins of error, our model puts the number of Conservative seats at between 328 and 385, meaning that while we can be confident that the Conservatives would currently get a majority, it could range from a modest one to a landslide." As far as I can tell, the "majority of 68" figure is derived by treating 317 as a working majority and assuming that the Tory vote lands right at the upper end of their confidence-interval. This is poor statistical practice for a variety of reasons. It's also a bit questionable in terms of parliamentary arithmetic - the "working majority" thing depends on how many Sinn Fein MPs Northern Ireland elects (they don't take their seats, so count toward neither Government nor Opposition tallies). And we won't necessarily know how many that is until, well, December the 13th.

(Also, a further health-warning is that apparently the model isn't able to fully-represent some local phenomena, such as independent candidates, and the effect of the Brexit Party's partial stand-down is also apparently somewhat-unclear. The last caveat is that the analysis assumes data that has already been collected - that is, if public opinion changes between now and polling day, then obviously existing projections could become obsolete. This will still be a possible source of error even if the MRP sample is statistically-unbiased and the underlying theory/analysis is all sound.)

However, even the best-case scenario for us gives the Tories 328 seats, which is both a working and a (very small) absolute majority.

Obviously, this is not a good situation for us.

While not quite a landslide, nonetheless an inflated Tory majority will be devastating for this country. The stuff they'll do will be awful. Brexit will happen. There'll be a bus crash late next year, when the transition period ends. (No, they will have no plan for this - they won't feel they need one, as they'll be secure in power until 2024.) There'll be a Windrush for resident EU citizens. They'll trash the economy. They'll probably crash the NHS - the only question there is whether they do it through accidental negligence or through deliberate malice (say, an ideologically-driven trade "deal" that gives President Trump everything he wants on a silver platter). Nothing will be done about the country’s escalating housing crisis. They'll double down on all the maddest of the madcap "law-n-order" stuff - expect an explosion in jailable offences, accompanied by lengthy minimum-sentence tariffs and further restrictions on legal aid. They'll also resuscitate their plans to manipulate the parliamentary boundaries, and change electoral laws in their favour. The media? Expect no surprises from them. The newspapers are largely already Conservative Pravdas. The BBC - nervous about its precious Royal Charter - seems to be in the process of declaring itself for the Tories too.

Bluntly, if the Tories get re-elected this year, they'll gerrymander things so you have little chance of getting rid of them in 2024.

Perhaps this is the key thing to understand about Boris Johnson: really, he's less Britain's Trump, and more Britain's Victor Orban. He'll leave just enough vestigial democracy intact to make what he's doing plausibly-deniable, but he'll busily rearrange the furniture to favour himself and his friends. If he gets re-elected this December, you can expect to be seeing his face into the 2030s. The only reason I put the cut-off as early as that is that I expect the coming climate-crisis will wreak havoc with the Tories' internal coalition. (Oh you've built all your luxury millionaire mansions by the seaside? How nice for you, especially now that the sea is literally in your parlour. Umm, whoops.)

What can be done? Well, the first thing is to reiterate some discussions I've seen on Twitter recently. The TL;DR of them is that hope doesn't have to be something you feel - it can be something you do. (And that's just as well, because I'll admit that 2019 has destroyed what traces of social optimism I was clinging to. I'm dreading the bad end that's coming to us next month, but I also fully-expect it.)

So, my advice remains as it has been: on December the 12th, turn up, and vote for whoever you judge most likely to beat the Tory.

Remember, the MRP approach is fallible. "Mortal, finite, temporary" is absolutely in play here; no model is any better than the data that went into it. Or, indeed, the date when it was calculated. And at the end of the day, the only poll that genuinely-matters is the one on December the 12th, and that hasn't actually happened yet. (Though admittedly, given the storm-surge of pre-emptive grief that's flooding Twitter today, you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise.)

As for the horrible mess that are our opposition parties, I'll repeat what I said in 2017: it's OK to vote for a least-worst option. You're not perjuring yourself or committing any moral sin, rather you're trying to be a grown-up. Part of the package of being an adult is making the best of bad situations.

It absolutely does suck - believe me, this is one of the most soul-destroying election campaigns I've ever seen. Every single party has clown-show'd itself. All of them have done things that are ridiculous, inept or otherwise ghastly. (Well, maybe not the Greens - I haven't heard of any specific scandals surrounding them - but their cardinal sin is that they have no plausible prospect of winning the election.) But even then, the barrel we're going to have to stare down is going and voting for them anyway.

(As a related case-in-point, one factor that seems to have helped the Tories win their unexpected 2015 majority was that a contingent of left-wing voters simply stayed at home on the day. While it's hard to find concrete statistics on, nonetheless anecdotally, this absolutely was a thing. A lot of people were demotivated by Labour's confused and incoherent campaign, left cold by all the bothering about fiscal rules, and alienated by things like the mug with "controls on immigration" on it. All of those are 100% valid criticisms. Except, except, except ... it helped an even worse party back into office. The theory of "if the choices are bad, sit it out" has been tested to destruction. It turns out that looking the other way is also a choice, and not necessarily the best one.)

I would add that there are also real questions to be asked about the utter vacuum of political strategy of people nominally on the anti-Tory side - it seems the Opposition spent the summer fixated on the minutiae of House procedures, while never stopping to ask why they were on this battlefield to begin with. Meanwhile the Tories largely-ignored Commons process, and instead sent a political appeal straight to Leave voters. It lost them a lot of individual legislative battles (and I'm not minimising their defeats - they were important!), but it put them in a good strategic place to win an election. And in the long run, it turns out that was what mattered.

It's hard not to feel bitter while thinking about the events of spring and summer. Perhaps if Jo Swinson had been less blinkered about Jeremy Corbyn, perhaps if Labour could have had the minimum sense to call a Vote of No Confidence when BoJo was vulnerable, perhaps if the collective Opposition had been able to recognise the huge wave of unharnessed political energy washing through the country during the petition back in March, perhaps if Change UK had managed to be something other than an unfunny joke, maybe if Corbyn had taken the anti-semitism problem seriously in 2018 and had actually done something instead of sitting on his hands and letting it metastasize to the point where it derailed his election campaign ... but, no. That's for some other, better timeline, not the one we live in. We seem to live in the world that resolutely and firmly chooses the wrong fork in every road. I don't know whether our timeline quite qualifies as the Bad Place, but it's certainly a place full of bad choices.

In a weird sort of way, though, this brings us back to the key theme. Whatever you might think of what's happening in this election - and goodness knows I'm as appalled as anyone else - nonetheless, your vote matters. Use it. As we're seeing, this is the ultimate limitation on their power, and the one chance we have of stopping them.

So once more, let me reiterate: turn up. Vote against the Tory. Do it as a hopeful action, even if you don't feel hopeful. If nothing else, do it so that when the bad things happen, at least you can say you tried to stop it. I wish I had something less bleak to offer here, but this is where we are.

#UK internal politics #diary of a disaster #needed to get that wail of despair out of my system really #still feeling quite despairing though

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secret-diary-of-an-fa · 5 years

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“Another Life” Review: Another Hour of Mine I Won’t Get Back

One of the good things about Netlix (particularly compared to traditional TV channels) is that its ability to deliver a wide variety of content simultaneously allows it to experiment with things that might not have wider appeal. This is particularly important where genre fiction is concerned, because you can’t rely on formula to develop something genuinely good in that area. Who’d have thought that a ‘cursed object’ story set exclusively in the art world where everyone talks like they’re delivering a devastating Gustav Klimt review would turn out to be one of the best horror movies of recent years? And yet Velvet Buzzsaw blew me away and gave me a reason not to give up on western culture completely. Likewise, who expected a revenge saga about classical music with (at most) one or two truly graphic scenes to be the most gut-wrenching and powerful psychological thrillers of recent years? Yet The Perfection was one of the only truly transcendent films I’ve ever had the privilege of watching. The same goes for series- it’s hard to imagine that an overwhelming blend of surreal and dystopian imagery, hard-to-grasp technological concepts, semi-obscure literary references, needlessly brutal violence, gleeful depravity, whip-smart humour and a borderline-sociopath with a Hello Kitty rucksack would ever be aired on a proper channel. Altered Carbon, however, turned out to be one of the best sci-fi series of the last decade, missing the top spot only thanks to the existence of Rick and Morty.

The reason I’ve started with all this gushing praise, however, is merely to provide context and a necessary counterbalance to the excoriating review that follows. For you see, an ability to deliver niche or experimental content can lead to abject failures as well as shining successes. For every underrated gem, there must be a meticulously-polished turd waiting to ambush the unsuspecting connoisseur. Ladies and gentlemen, Another Life is that turd.

On paper, Another Life sounds like good, solid sci-fi. A starship captain has to travel across the universe to ascertain whether an alien race that recently dropped probes on Earth is hostile or just curious. Along the way, her journey will be complicated by a crew who’s used to working under a different captain with a radically different style of leadership and all the usual, real-life-plausible dangers of travel through uncharted space (along with a few blatantly made-up ones). It’s not a terrible idea, but every bad creative decision that could be made is made and so the whole things collapses like a poorly-made soufle before the end of episode one.

For a start, let’s talk about the show’s aesthetics and visual decisions. the CG budget clearly wasn’t huge (which is fine), but the show tries to realise as many of its effects as possible using CG anyway, which stretches that minimal budget far too thin and draws attention to how artificial and contrived everything looks. For example, the decision to make the alien probes on Earth giant shimmering walls of crystal that can only be realised through CG is particularly baffling, given that they could just have been big fuck-off metal things that could have been physically built as a set. Meanwhile, the show‘s overall look is... well, bland. If you’ve seen literally any space sci-fi before, you’ve seen the individual elements of the tech in Another Life. I think it’s aiming for Archetypal, but it just looks lazy. It doesn’t help that they liberally borrow terminology from other sci-fi. I know that ‘Impulse Engine’ is technically (probably) the correct name for a slower-than-light engine that works in a particular way, but calling your space engines that just invites comparisons to Star Trek, which won’t be favourable. Back to the point, though: in addition to cribbing heavily from superior shows, Another Life also makes everything look far too smooth and clean. A spaceship is a working vehicle filled with people doing dangerous, difficult, often dirty jobs. Its interior shouldn’t look like an iPhone fucked a trendy west-end bar. Seriously, the ‘future’ set in fucking Crystal Maze looks more convincing.

The problem of everything seeming too smooth and clean extends beyond the visuals and into the casting. Practically everyone in the core cast is in their early twenties. They’re not bad actors, necessarily, but they clearly need older, more experienced hands around them to guide their performances and the absence of these more seasoned actors is felt acutely. There’s a reason why mature sci-fi shows usually cast across a broad age range- you’re asking your cast to deal with conceptual and scientific abstractions that can be challenging for people who don’t have a few performances under their belt. It also feels wildly implausible that a dangerous space-mission would feature a bunch of hormonal twenty-somethings who’s personal drama might get in the way of them making clever decisions. The main lass (whose name I’ve already forgotten), is played by a noticeably older woman. Indeed, that age difference is a big part of her character: can she win the trust and respect of the young hotheads? Unfortunately, one older actress does not a seasoned cast make. Besides, the character she’s playing just isn’t worth rooting for. It’s not that she’s a terrible person- she’s coldly aloof, but so was Picard and everyone loves that dude. It’s just that she has no depth. She has a family back on Earth, and we’re told that she’s missing them and trying to ensure the mission’s success so she can see them again, but the supposed internal conflict has no effect on her behaviour. She just goes about robotically calculating and minimising risk, even though doing so ensures that she’s going to be in space, away from her loved ones, for much, much longer. Within the narrative of the show, she’s making the correct, mature decisions, but shouldn’t they be causing her some introspective strife? No? Yes? Does this fucking show care one way or the other?

Of course, janky characters and budget set designs are kind of par for the cause with sci-fi of a certain type. Sometimes it can be endearing (the fact that the sets literally wobbled sometimes in early Doctor Who was part of its charm, for example). A much bigger problem is Another Life’s total lack of narrative logic. The main character (no I still can’t remember her name, nor be bothered to check) managed to get ten people killed the last time she was in charge of a starship. Surely that’s the point at which you politely ask someone to retire? Even if there were mitigating circumstances (which there probably were because showing fallibility in its lead is not something this show feels comfortable with), why on Earth would anyone put her in charge of a crew of emotional 20-somethings she’s never met before while their previous, trusted captain is still on the fucking ship and clearly feeling mutinous? That’s just bad management on behalf of planet Earth’s top brass. I can only hope that someone in HR got the sack for that one. Or, better yet, that a giant hammer will spontaneously fall out of the sky and hit this show’s script-writer so hard in the head that he loses control of his motor functions and bowels and is forced to retire to a convalescent home for the incontinent.

The captain’s own decision making processes are just as baffling as her bosses. There’s a bit where the crew figures out that they can get back on course and cut down on journey time by slingshotting around a slightly temperamental star using the same shielding they use when traveling at FTL (yeah- FTL space travel is a common thing in this universe, yet humans have somehow never met another alien race before- make of that what you will). They already tried to slingshot round the star once and were forced to abort and break orbit because of the strain on the ship. The plan has an 89% chance of success. The 11% chance of failure doesn’t equate to instant death or anything- logically, it just means the shield would fail and they’d have to break orbit again (because that’s what happened before: remember that we’ve already established that slingshotting around the star doesn’t do anything worse than rattle the ship and give everyone plenty of time to back off). For some reason, Captain Caution decides that the high chance of success, negligible risk of serious repercussions and massive potential benefits just aren’t good enough and vetoes the plan, thereby adding months to the voyage. Isn’t establishing whether the new, technologically superior alien neighbours are friendly or not something of a time-critical op, by the way? Naturally, the crew mutiny (under the leadership of the previous captain), try their plan and it fails miserable.

And there’s the final nail in the coffin for Another Life. It doesn’t play by its own rules. Its established that the FTL shields can’t use much power, because they’re on all the fucking time during FTL. It’s established that nothing particularly terrible happens when you try to slingshot round a star and have to abort. It’s established that combining those two facts to get a speed boost has an 89% chance of success. And yet, when the crew try it without the Captain’s express permission, bits of the ship start to explode, everything goes to shit and the vessel ends up in a decaying orbit around the sun, somehow drained of power. The show’s in such a hurry to show that it’s main character is right and correct and noble in everything she does that it forgets rules it laid down literally five minutes earlier.

The whole shoddy shebang has a weirdly patronising and conservative ethos. “Listen to your elders and official superiors”, it whispers smugly. “They always know best, even when they’re responsible for the deaths of ten or more people in the quite recent past. Don’t think for yourself. Don’t try to improve your situation. The old, safe ways of doing things are always best, even when they seem neurotic or unworkable.” It’s weird, because it’s the exact opposite problem that sci-fi normally has. Normally, sci-fi tries so hard to be forward-looking that you end up with a bunch of wide-eyed fuckwits trusting the power of friendship and love over a more measured, carefully-planned approach. Both sides of the coin are equally annoying since they involve sacrificing the internal logic of the fictional universe on the alter of Some Hack’s personal ethos. However, Another Life earns my full, unmitigated disapprobation, not just a mild slap on the wrist, because it doesn’t even bother to be a good sci-fi show before jumping into the message-mongering bullshit. Remember, all this shit is from episode one. My advice to those of you craving some hard space sci-fi is to re-watch Nightflyers instead. It’s weird as balls, well-scripted, has a properly-established set of hard sci-fi rules and there’s even a romantic subplot involving the hologramatic projection of a hideous mutant. Yeah. Go watch that instead. I think I might, too, come to think of it.

#Secret Diary of a Fat Admirer #Another Life #Another Life review #Netflix #Nightflyers #sci-fi #science fiction #TV #hard sci-fi

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kusunogatari · 5 years

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[ ObiRyū October | Day Sixteen: Alcohol ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Uchiha Madara, Orochimaru, Hoshigaki Kisame ] [ Alcohol ] [ Verse: Of Monsters and Men ] [ Previous || Next ]

Another night...another job. Finished retrieving Madara’s designed documents, Obito makes his way back to his employer. The night is still young - as per usual, his rather...unique set of skills means getting in and out easy.

He wasn’t even spotted.

So now, he’s walking the last leg of his journey, not wanting to overdo in his ability to blink from one place to another. Hand stuffed in his trenchcoat’s pockets, he stalks down the sidewalk, barren of anyone else. Humans are rarely up at this time...and fewer still dare to walk about in the dark. All the more convenient for moving about. While Obito might look human, and he’s more than capable of acting human...he’s anything but.

Soon enough, he turns off the sidewalk and instead enters a rather imposing looking building. While many around it are dark, most of the windows are alight, those within busy...and all to serve one man.

Bypassing the other coven members, Obito instead heads straight up to Madara’s office, a knock seeing him given permission to enter. The Senator is on the phone behind his desk, one leg drawn up over the other knee. Expression almost bored, he sits and listens to the other end of the conversation.

“...of course, I understand. No, no...that should suit us both perfectly well. I can meet you in an hour, if you’re ready. Mhm. Tell you what...I have a venue rather...off the beaten path if that would suit you. I’ll send you the address, and...you can tell me what you think.”

Still on his landline, Madara then flickers a thumb over a mobile screen, awaiting a response.

“...yes, it’s modeled after one of those American places. When there’s something to capture attention, you can work without much risk of being overheard. Precisely. I’ll bring one of mine, and you one of yours. It’s Nightwalker, yes - one of my more...eclectic collection pieces. It’s best to have a little variety in one’s portfolio, after all.” He smirks against the phone. “...an hour, then. Splendid. We’ll look forward to seeing you...yes. Goodbye.” Letting the phone rest back in its cradle, Madara then lifts eyes to his underling. “You’re back rather early.”

“It was simple enough.”

“You found what I wanted?”

Rather than answer, Obito draws a fat manila envelope from his coat and hands it over. Immediately, he sees the typical flash of greed in Madara’s eyes as he takes it, flickering through a few of the papers within.

“...yes, this is perfect. Good. I’ll wait a few days and then...put these to use. Well done, Obito. As usual, your talents are a godsend.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Though...with you here early, I think I’d like to take you with me on my next excursion. I have a business meeting and need a second. Sound agreeable? Or would you rather have the night off?”

Obito weighs his options. There’s plenty of night left, and...he might as well have something to do. “Got any details you can spare?”

“It’s a little tit-for-tat arrangement. I’ll supply a crucial vote for another Senator who needs it. In return, he’s going to aid me with a little...side project of mine. Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Itachi will be handling it.”

At the mention of his cousin, Obito can’t help a small furrow of his brow.

“Oh, come now - you’ll have plenty of work to do besides. And I think you’ll enjoy our destination...I don’t think you’ve been there quite yet.” Standing and taking up his coat, Madara offers, “I acquired a curious little place a few months ago in the entertainment district. It’s called, as I’ve come to understand it, a burlesque lounge...they were quite popular in America several decades ago.”

“Burlesque…?”

“Think strip club, but...classier. No poles, just live music and performers with...well, shrinking outfits,” the coven leader replies with a sly grin.

Obito’s nose wrinkles just a hair, a hint of color in his face. “...you bought a strip club?”

“As I was telling the nagan Senator, it’s good to diversify. I like to keep my hands in as many pots as I can. And it makes for a nice place to conduct business without being overheard...but technically still public. That way it’s a bit of a neutral place, but also secluded enough to be secure. Come along.”

Sighing a bit, Obito follows, the pair entering a prepared car off the curb. With a purr of the engine, they leave this one of many of Madara’s headquarters, taking a route to the part of the city that never sleeps. Obito watches the lights fly by until the reach the proper building. A large neon sign in English simply reads Burlesque.

“...so how do you keep humans out?”

“It’s by membership or reservation only. We do background checks, and only Nightwalkers are allowed in. Quite rudimentary, really...as it typically is with any high-class establishment run by our kinds. Now, come along - I need to speak to the security staff and ensure we won’t be...interrupted.”

Abandoning the vehicle, Obito gives a skeptical glance to the building in question. Madara is instantly recognized and waved through, giving Obito a pass beside him. The sounds of jazzy, live music soon reach sensitive ears, and his curiosity can’t help but be piqued.

From the entrance, they make their way into a large lounge. A bar rests along one wall, the belly of the place filled with tables. There’s even a second floor with balconies and private boxes. It’s decently crowded for a Nightwalker place, but...well, Madara’s one hell of a businessman.

“We’ll be in box four, if you’d like to go settle in,” Madara offers, nodding to the story above them. “I’ll join you once security is arranged.”

“If you say so.”

“And for now, avoid the alcohol, if you would. I want you sharp in case something goes...awry. Once we’re done, you can do whatever you want. Just put it on my tab - consider if a reward for being a good boy and accompanying me, hm?”

Flattening a bit at the diminutive language, Obito just nods. He’s hardly the only one Madara makes a show of age over - a right he has as one of the oldest vampires in the islands, if not the oldest. “Thanks…”

Heading upstairs, he has to dodge many a waitress dressed rather...well, provocatively. Corsets and lingerie run rampant, and by the time he makes it to the box, he’s red in the face. Trying to distract himself, he takes in the view from the upper story. They have a clear view of the stage, sitting on the right hand side. There’s currently an act going on involving several scantily-clad Nightwalkers. Most, from what he can tell, are simply succubi and incubi. And tucked off to the side is the band, playing for the performers to dance along. He has to admit...they’re talented. Leaning on the balcony and watching for a time, Obito only straightens when Madara joins him.

“So? What do you think?”

“...it is what it is.”

“Such a prude,” Madara shoots back, taking a seat. Though he warned Obito off the spirits, he pours himself a cup of sake. Of course...for someone like the Senator, it takes quite a bit to begin to dull his senses. “One of my favorites is coming up. Be sure to pay attention. We still have about twenty minutes.”

Withholding his reaction as best he can, Obito turns back around at his employer’s behest, watching as the previous act comes to an end. Applause and whistles follow them back behind the curtain. The murmur of the crowd pervades for several minutes...and then the band begins to play a slow, jazzy tune.

Slowly, the curtain rises. But rather than a group, a single figure stands front and center. Head bowed, it lifts slowly as the curtain does, eyes opening to reveal startling silvers. Shrouded by a white cloak, she almost looks stripped of color. The waves of her hair, her brows, her lashes...it’s all white. With her pale skin, she almost looks more like a ghost than a woman.

...and then she opens her mouth.

Like silk, a smooth, sensual melody falls from her lips. And as it builds, she lets the cape fall from her form with a flare of her arms. Beneath is an ensemble of a white corset, thigh-high stockings, garters, and knee-high heeled boots. Joints and limbs begin moving in a number just as sleek and alluring as her voice. Both graceful and yet bordering on profane, her dance soon has every eye in the room entranced, the room silent save for her song and the accompanying instrumental.

Even Obito stares. The way she’s singing...a siren, perhaps? He’s never seen - or, maybe a better term is heard - one before now.

...but then she surprises him.

Lifting from a lowered pose, she makes to hide behind splayed hands. But with a blur too quick for even his eyes to see, her hands vanish...and instead, a pair of sooty-splotched white wings hide her face and torso. Eyes stare over the feathers with heavy lids, her song never stopping even as the audience gasps.

Wait...she’s a harpy? But...he could have sworn…

...could she be…?

There’s another minute of song and dance before she lowers to her knees, once again hiding shyly behind her Shifted limbs as the curtain falls. As silence blooms and her spell is broken, the crowd bursts into thunderous applause. Blinking to clear his mind, Obito straightens and does the same.

“Entrancing little thing, isn’t she?”

“...is she a hybrid?”

“Indeed. I found her quite by accident, and quickly moved to collect her. With you, I now have two in my clutches. We’ve been...working on arranging a deal with her for a part-time reconnaissance position. Harpies are hard to find in the city, and it would be useful to have some eyes in the sky for the occasion assignment. Otherwise, she works here for me. Once our guests arrive, she’ll be back on stage to help keep the rest of the patrons...engaged.” Madara gives a hint of a smirk. “Did you like her song?”

“I had a feeling she was a siren. Her Shifting caught me off guard.”

“As it does many, but few ever seem to piece it together. They simply assume she’s that good of a singer, I suppose. What with how rare you hybrids are.”

Something about his boss’s tone irks Obito, but he doesn’t mention it as a security officer announces their guests’ arrival.

“Ah, perfect. A bit early, but better than being late. Show them in, please.”

From there, they have the typical exchange. The two Senators give their pleasantries, each of their seconds watching the other warily. The nagan representative’s guard is likely ready to Shift and strike at a moment’s notice.

Obito, on the other hand, is prepared to teleport himself and his employer even faster.

The actual dialogue, however, doesn’t interest him much. Madara’s playing at politics is his favorite pastime, and by now Obito’s more than used to all of his back alley deals and alliances. All he cares about is that it goes smoothly. He’d rather not work any harder than he has to.

“I think we have a deal, then,” Madara eventually purrs. “I’ll speak to my contacts and arrange for a vote in your favor. And whenever I need a favor in return...I’ll get my half of the bargain.”

“Of course,” the other Senator agrees. Obito isn’t quite sure if they’re a man or a woman, heavy purple eyeshadow making an already gaunt, pale face harder to distinguish. “Your help is much appreciated, Madara-sama.”

“And yours, Orochimaru. Will you stay and enjoy the show?”

The serpent’s toxic green eyes flicker to the stage where the hybrid is singing once more. “...I think not. I have other matters to attend to this evening, but I appreciate your hospitality. Until next time. Come, Kabuto...we must be going.”

As the pair take their leave, Madara seems to sit and muse for a time. “...I think it’s best I move, too. I have a few threatening phone calls to make, and that’s best done at home. What about you, Obito? Staying or going?”

“...I’ll stay a bit. Want to have a drink.”

“You’ll have to find your own way back, then. Try to be responsible,” Madara quips in reply, standing at taking his leave as the audience cheers again downstairs. Obito follows, but parts ways to head toward the bar. He starts with a shot of whiskey, knocking it back and turning to observe the club again. It really is impressive...even if maybe not quite his taste.

“Hey...mind making me another cup of tea, Kisame? My chords are getting a little tired...”

Hearing a feminine voice behind him, Obito turns and quickly balks. Still in her stage gear, the harpy hybrid sits on the stool beside him, speaking to the barkeep behind the counter.

“Another one?” the man replies, perking a brow.

“I had to do a few extra songs...apparently there was business upstairs,” she replies softly. “I don’t want to wear out before closing.”

“Sure, sure...gimme just a few minutes.”

Finding himself a little bit starstruck, Obito flounders for a moment. Should he...say something? Would she even want to be spoken to?

But before he can make a decision, she turns to behold him, and something lightens in her gaze. “...you’re Uchiha, aren’t you?”

“Er...yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Were you with Madara-sama upstairs?”

He nods, signaling for another shot.

“...is he still here?”

“No, he just left.”

“Oh...good,” she replies, looking a little sheepish. “Was starting to get a little tired...been a while since I’ve had to go that long.”

“So...you’re a siren?”

That earns him a suspicious look.

“Madara told me. And your secret’s safe with me...I happen to be hybrid too.”

“...really?”

“Mm…” He downs the second cup of whiskey, but doesn’t explain beyond that. “You probably already hear this a lot, and maybe it doesn’t mean much, but...you have a beautiful voice.”

She snorts. “...thank you.” Perking up as the barkeep hands her a mug, she murmurs more gratitude and takes a sip, humming in relief.

“So I take it I can’t get you a drink.”

Smiling against her cup, she swallows before replying, “Afraid not...I’m still on the clock. And I don’t drink.”

“What?!”

Shoulders shrug.

“Bah…”

“...I’m Ryū, by the way. Suigin Ryū.”

“Obito. You already know the Uchiha part.” He can feel her eyes on him, but he remains facing forward for a time.

“...so...are you one of his Enforcers? Madara, I mean?”

“Mhm...one of the top officers.”

“Is it...very difficult? What you do?”

“...depends. Thinking of joining?”

“He wants me to, but...I don’t know. I’m not some kind of...secret agent. I’m just...a person. Sure, I can fly...but I’m not sure if I could do whatever else he’s expecting of me.”

Obito considers that. If she did join...odds are he’d end up working with her sometimes. “...well, I don’t think there’s much more he expects. You’d just be doing recon - reporting what you see to help agents on the ground to navigate.”

Ryū takes another sip of her tea. “...I guess. Just not sure I want that kind of responsibility, you know?”

“Fair enough. I didn’t really want it either, but...when you have a talent Madara wants, he’ll do his best to get it.”

“...so I’ve come to realize. Is he...very difficult to work for?”

“...well...he and I have a bit of a strained relationship. Not sure I’m the one to ask. But he’s been the coven leader and Senator for a hell of a long time. Must be doing something right.”

“...I guess that’s true. Well...I’ll think about it.” A few more swallows empty her cup, and she hands it back over the bar. “I might come bug you again, Kisame.”

“Any time.”

She then hops off her stool, and Obito can’t help a blushing glance at her outfit from behind before she turns around. “Well...maybe I’ll see you around, then, Obito-san. Either here, or...maybe on an assignment sometime.”

“Looking forward to it,” he replies, watching her go. She really is pretty cute...a rounded frame and seemingly sweet disposition. And he’s never really known a harpy before...curiosity makes him wonder what her feathers feel like...

“Hey buddy, you gonna have another drink?”

“...nah, that’s all for tonight. Madara said to put it on his tab.”

“Will do.”

Deciding to cut his losses, Obito heads back outside, idling on the sidewalk for a time. He’s still got several hours of night left...and nothing really planned. He could see if there’s any more work, but...mostly he just feels like taking the rest of the night off. Go home, wind down...and wonder if he’ll have a harpy in his arsenal one of these days.

I've wanted to do this verse for AGES xD So this is my own original universe I call Nightwalkers, which is basically monsters, politics, and drama! We've got Uchiha vampires because...well, of course we do, lol - Obito, however, is only half vampire. The other half is...not :3c Ryū is typically half harpy, half succubus in this verse, but I thought I'd try something a lil different this time just for funsies! I think she made a good first impression x3 Maybe I'll do more if a prompt allows. I have so many WIPs for these two already kfdghgh But yes, that's it for today! Thanks for reading~

#obiryū october #abyssaldespair #uchiha obito #suigin ryū #uchiha madara #orochimaru #hoshigaki kisame #alcohol //#of monsters and men [ au ]

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dreamersscape · 5 years

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Note: This ask is from ages upon ages ago, and I’d like to offer my deepest apologies to whoever requested this. It was very important to me that I answer thoroughly and in as articulate a manner as possible, and I’m embarrassed how slow accomplishing that took me. I hope that somehow you’re able to see this post, and you’re able to get something out of my rambling.

Thank you again for your patience in awaiting my answer, nonnie! I’m excited to put this headcanon of mine into words. It’s not often I have really specific and/or detailed HCs, I’ll admit; usually I stick to extrapolating off of canon. And while that’s sort of what I’ve done here, it seems to have happened mostly on a subconscious level, stewing until I realized a pattern forming within nearly all my fic plot bunnies.

It’s also possibly a key to how I understand Allan as a character, so… that’s kinda cool.

Okay, so Allan doesn’t really present as an overly anxious person, does he? At least, not in comparison to some of the other characters, like Much, who is utterly incapable of suppressing his anxiety. If Much is feeling apprehensive about something, you’re going to know it. So why then did I begin to notice my habit of, once he’s been stressed past a certain point, characterizing Allan’s emotional breaking points almost always as him tailspinning into a state of profound anxiety/panic? Well, partly because Allan just really REALLY sucks at dealing with negative experiences/emotions. His preferred method of coping with anything is to internalize the heck out of it, stuff it deep down inside, and then hope he never has to think about it ever again i.e. avoidance at all costs. And that appears to work… for awhile. He’s good at living in the present, ignoring past events and future repercussions. (Side note: a big reason why I also think substance abuse or other similar escapes could be quite alluring to him.) Eventually though, because it’s never been dealt with or even confronted, something triggers the release of all that pent up stress and negativity. He basically builds this towering pile of Bad Things, and so when it gets knocked over, it manages to completely overwhelm him. But until he’s thrown off-kilter and the pile loses balance and tips over, he’s mostly able to coast along, maintaining a relatively calm exterior while mired in turbulent inner seas.

Now, I realize I haven’t given much in the way of evidence for this yet, or explained why I think this all happens within the framework of a very anxious mindset. Hopefully I’m getting there. But that preceding paragraph is there to show how I find I characterize Allan as a result. (I probably wouldn’t have figured out this pattern of sorts if I could ever resist making things the Absolute Worst Imaginable Confluence of Events for Allan in my fic ideas, but that’s a “problem” for another day.)

What I’ve found is the key for me to get in Allan’s head and see things from his perspective is this: fear is his #1 motivator and it constantly feeds into his #1 priority, which is self-preservation. That goal of personal safety develops and eventually changes over the course of the show, but certainly for the greater part of the first two seasons, that is what primarily drives him. (For what I believe drives him from the end of 2x12 onwards, see here.)

For the most part, I’d say it’s pretty safe to say self-preservation-as-priority-number-one in regards to Allan’s character is generally widely accepted by the fans of the show. But opinions on why and how that came to be might vary more. I don’t know, maybe proposing that fear is the major driving force behind Allan’s decisions and behavior is not very revolutionary, but that is what I’d like to posit and explore in this post.

So, why do I think Allan is constantly consumed by his own personal well being above all else, to the point where its essentially become an automatic filter overlaying the way he interacts with the world? (I’m not intending to dramatically overstate things here, BTW; this is just how deeply ingrained I believe it is.) To me, this indicates at some point early on in his life something or a series of events convinced Allan that the world was an inherently dangerous place and you needed to always be on your guard for the next threat around any corner. This trauma could have taken a variety of forms depending on your headcanon, but IMO it’s clear from Allan’s canonical behavior that it happened. Things that could point to this include, but are not limited to, the sparse background information we do learn about (Tom abandoning him and simultaneously stealing all his belongings, his apparent total lack of vocation despite his father being a blacksmith) as well as how he interacts with his brother (his over-identification with Tom–”I was like him once”–mixed in with the understandable trust issues, Tom’s borderline antisocial behavior in general, and I also wrote here about how their dynamic possibly alludes to a dysfunctional home life). With that as a fundamental part of your worldview, it’s easy to understand why you and your anxiety might have become good friends. He has no base level understanding or measure of being/feeling safe. Or maybe he once did, but there isn’t a way to go back or recapture that.

Another component of Allan’s anxiety I’d like to highlight is his personal locus of control. Locus of control is a psychology term that evaluates ‘the degree to which people believe that they have control over the outcome of events in their lives, as opposed to external forces beyond their control.’ It’s usually described in terms of being internal (belief that one can control one’s own life) or external (belief that life is controlled by outside factors which the person cannot influence, or that chance or fate controls their lives). ‘Individuals with a strong internal locus of control believe events in their life derive primarily from their own actions: for example, when receiving exam results, people with an internal locus of control tend to praise or blame themselves and their abilities. People with a strong external locus of control tend to praise or blame external factors such as the teacher or the exam.’ I definitely believe Allan has an external-based locus of control, and I think we see this in how reactive and defensive he is to his environment and in his tendency to shift the blame or not take personal responsibility for his actions. As opposed to Marian’s and Robin’s “everything is a choice” mantra, Allan often feels he has/had “no choice”, or feels “stuck”. Consequently, this lack of perceived ability to dictate and be accountable for one’s actions can make you feel very powerless. And if you believe the world is a unpredictable, dangerous place and there’s little you can do to affect or change that, you’d likely feel pretty fearful and anxious. Indeed, there has been research that concludes that people with an external locus of control tend to be more stressed and are more prone to clinical depression.

Now, I realize the preceding two paragraphs are either relying heavily on speculation or pretty technical terminology, so I’d like to conclude by referring directly to Allan’s behavior as evidence of his frequent anxiety. It is still in production, but I am working on a comprehensive gifset of every time Allan outwardly demonstrates anxiety. I’ll link it here once it’s finished. (Spoiler warning: it’s going to be a whopper of a gifset.) But until then, I think it’s notable that Allan exhibits a wide range of behaviors that typically denote anxiety. Licking his lips, swallowing/gulping, sweaty palms, fidgeting with something in his hands (could also be a sign of excess energy, but there are three instances of this in the first two episodes of the show alone, and this often seems to happen when it’s implied Allan has excess nervous energy), shifty eyes or a gaze that is unable to meet anyone else’s, hands on head in dismay, etc. It’s subtle because Allan’s doing his best to suppress it–he doesn’t want it to show because that would mean looking vulnerable/weak, which is not safe and a terrifying prospect when you live in a unpredictable, dangerous world–but if you’re looking for it, it’s there.

In summary, on the outside Allan projects a calm, self-assured, doesn’t-take-anything-too-seriously, cheerful, amiable image. And that is a legitimate part of who he is. He’s cultivated that facade for so long that it has taken on a life of its own. However, on the inside, he is ALSO a lot of the time an unsure, self-doubting, self-destructive, fearful, angst-ridden bundle of nerves. So that’s why when I read a story where Allan is ONLY portrayed as the former with none of the latter, it just doesn’t feel like Allan to me. In those cases, it’s as though I’m reading about a vaguely Allan-shaped empty shell. And I get it–it’s hard to always show all those sides of Allan when he’s not one of the main characters or he’s not the primary focus of the fic. Or the author might not be at all inclined to have Allan’s role be more than a surface level portrayal, and that’s okay. Not everything should be about Allan! But I also think there is often room for hints; Allan’s facade does have cracks. All this to say, Allan’s layers and contradictions are an intrinsic part of his character’s essence for me, including his anxieties/insecurities/fears, and his life has largely been built on that apprehensive foundation.

TL;DR Allan’s anxiety not only exists, it dictates much of what he thinks, says, and does, and the poor guy needs a ton of therapy.

sources for the locus of control info:

Rotter, Julian B (1966). “Generalized expectancies for internal versus external control of reinforcement”. Psychological Monographs: General and Applied. 80: 1–28. Carlson, N.R., et al. (2007). Psychology: The Science of Behaviour - 4th Canadian ed.. Toronto, ON: Pearson Education Canada. Benassi, Victor A; Sweeney, Paul D; Dufour, Charles L (1988). “Is there a relation between locus of control orientation and depression?”. Journal of Abnormal Psychology. 97 (3): 357–367.

#ask dreamersscape a question #anonymous #answered ask #allan a dale #robin hood bbc #bbc robin hood #robin hood meta #my stuff #as happy as i am that this is finally finished #i'm also high-key terrified about posting it #this is absolutely how i see allan but i like group consensus so much and it makes me super uncomfortable to stick out like a sore thumb #and i don't want it to sound like my seeing allan as deeply traumatized and #having such a messed up mindset excuses his poor/harmful/dunderheaded decisions #my intention is not to woobify him #(although i must admit i'm not sure if i fully understand the term?)#but i am /deeply/ curious about everyone's thoughts on what i've postulated here #does this all make sense?#because it's so integral to how i view allan...#please come talk to me about allan it's been so looonnnggg #oh also #*dons cap*#this is my amateur psychologist's hat #my mom was a school psychologist though #so i come by my fascination with the subject naturally :)#my gang to me day will never be over in our hearts queue

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strrne · 6 years

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Just a Bliss

for @celebrate-the-clone-wars ‘s ”Red-Handed” prompt!

Also on AO3

Title: Just a bliss

Word count: 1849

Premise: You know what is an underrated and interesting Anidala moment? It's the moment during ”Hostage Crisis” when Anakin wakes up, asks Padmé why she looks sad, and tries to caress her face, only for Padmé to gently pull down his hand because they kind of have an audience. It always got me wondering what would have happened if he had been zapped just a little harder earlier, woken up a little more lightheaded, and if the whole thing had been written by someone who just wanted to have some fun.

Anakin Skywalker was used to waking up to a great variety of sights and sounds. The pale light peeking from between the blinds in his temple quarters, Ahsoka tapping on the door, whispering with an awkward chuckle, ”Masterrr… theyre waiting...” Flashes of faraway explosions, Rex's faraway voice, calling, ”You alright there, General?” Five different brands of needles, pointed directly at him, a droid with glowing red eyes spouting tired threats and demands into his ear. He'd seen it all, a million times, rinse and repeat. And in the end, they all meant the same thing: it was time to get up and fight. Some more.

”Ani… wake up.”

Indeed, it was a rare luxury to instead wake up to the otherwordly vision that was Padmé Amidala: his wife, his heart. Far away from the battlefield… home. She always meant home. Home was the sight of her angelically beautiful face, the sound of her soft, soothing voice. Home was the sight of her large, mesmeric eyes like amber kyber crystals, the ring of her bell-like laught…

Wait, that wasn't right. What was she looking so sad about? Ever the worrier… Anakin grinned dreamily to himself. He knew just the thing to put a smile on those stress-tightened lips, still the most exquisite in the galaxy. Oh boy, did he ever know the thing.

He gently lifted up a hand (which felt oddly heavy), which she just as gently tried to take in hers – sweet, but he had other plans. Softly yet firmly he planted the hand on the nape of her neck, pulling her into a passionate, if very dizzy kiss. Deep and full and perfect.

For maybe half a second.

”A-Anakin!” he half-heard, half-felt her mumble into his mouth. And that was not the only thing he heard: the other sounded suspiciously like about half a dozen senators, gasping in unison before starting to exchange sharp whispers. But that didn't feel right either.

Anakin jolted to sit up, still barely registering the background chatter. The world was spinning, and Padmé seemed oddly out of sorts, now fidgeting and covering her mouth with her sleeve. Anakin instinctively offered a comforting hand, before looking down on his strangely leaden wrists, and finding them to be cuffed together.

”Wait, did we…” Anakin still struggled to make sense of the situation or indeed or the room altogether, but quickly found he had strong opinions about it. He held out his bound wrists accusingly. ”Why is it always me, Padmé?”

His wife's perfect features were starting to gain more definition, and her expression was a whole lot more on the side of ”mortified” instead of ”playful”. Had it not been good for her? Of course it wasn't, they were on the floor. When had she ever liked it on the floor, he reprimanded himself, not completely sure if he was saying this out loud or not.

”They zapped you again, didn't they?” she guessed, sounding testy with a trace of worry. ”Look around, An-- General Skywalker. Do you remember what happened?”

Suddenly, as though struck by lightning – again – he did.

And around did Anakin look, now finally in possession of his full Force-heightened vision and hearing. What had sounded like half a dozen murmuring senators a minute ago indeed turned out to be half a dozen murmuring senators, each observing the pair with varying reactions, and each in varying stages of reacting. Senator Robb had her mouth open, looking curious and embarrassed about it, like she couldn't decide whether she was looking at something scandalous or romantic. Senator Roohd was pretty firmly settled on "scandalous", Senator Chuchi (whose lap he had apparently mistaken for one of those sand-filled pillows Padmé for some reason favored) was clapping her hands together, clearly decided on "romantic". Senator Organa seemed to have gotten past the initial surprise and was now carefully arranging his face into a half neutral, half appropriately uncomfortable expression. A slight twitch in his eyebrow also seemed to indicate a readiness to forcibly separate the two at the slightest signal from Padmé, an inclination no doubt shared by Senator Farr.

”The… the hostages!” Anakin cried. ”Cad Bane!” He gestured to Padmé to help him stand, which she did, if a little half-heartedly, and apparently far more interested in the floor.

”That is correct, Master Jedi,” Senator Paulness said. ”But by all means...” He waved a hand at the two of them, apparently encouraging them to finish any unfinished conversation. ”We'll wait.”

”Well, waiting really isn't the best idea,” Anakin stated simply, before his wife could start protesting. He shot an apologetic look at Padmé, who returned a forgiving one. They'd have to sort this out later. ”My lightsaber…” he quickly added, reaching with his bound hands to an empty belt.

Padmé sighed, beet red in the face as she delved into her sleeve and produced a long, heavy… suddenly very suggestively shaped instrument.

”You… you dropped it, Master Jedi,” she spluttered, holding out the weapon, waiting for Anakin to take it.

”Oh, he dropped his lightsaber on you alright,” murmured an unfamiliar senator in the back, who to Padmé, judging by the look on her face, was not quite so unfamiliar. Stifled chuckles were heard.

Anakin wiggled his still-restrained wrists at Padmé, indicating that he needed someone else to hold and, uh, ignite his lightsaber. Yeah…

”Padm… Senator Amidala, um… please.”

More chuckles were heard, less effort made to stifle them, more amicable work relationships compromised.

Having walked from the explosion unscatled, the cluster of shaken senators shuffled along the long corridors of the inconveniently massive Semate building (which seemed to have been evacuated of all non-hostage personnel), making their way to safety and fresh air. After his daring rescue of the politicians, Anakin had been summoned outside by his comlink and been obliged to abandon his slower but apparently now safe companions.

”Uh, Padmé,” Bail Organa began awkwardly as he placed a gentle, almost fatherly hand on her shoulder. ”I know we just survived a very dangerous situation, and the obviously lacking safety measures in this building warrant a whole discussion of their own… but we need to talk about what happened back there with General Skywalker.”

”Oh,” Padmé uttered, making a small nod, ”O-oh course.”

”Is he… bothering you?”

”Oh, um, no…”

”Of course, I respect him. And I know he's a Jedi, so I know he'd… ” Bail stopped to think for a moment. ”Actually, I don't know. Would he be expelled from the order or get away with a fine? The Jedi can be very confusing sometimes.”

”Oh, you're telling me...” Padmé began to keenly agree, before catching herself. ”That is to say… yes. So confusing… wait, slow down, a fine? For what offense?”

”Uh, harassment,” Bail stated plainly, looking concerned. ”Technically, what he did would qualify as…”

”No, no no, no,” Padmé protested. ”No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.” She let out a sharp laughter.

”Wait, are you two…”

”No!”

”Then…”

Bail raised an eyebrow, evidently not at all happy with the very single-track turn this conversation was taking. Still, he ventured one last guess.

”What are the kids calling it these days… friends with--”

”No!” Padmé stopped in her tracks, intending to let all the other senators walk past them, but they all froze in place instead. It was not until Padmé shot them an icy look that they set off again, disgruntled.

”Padmé, it's me,” Bail reminder her warmly. ”You can tell me.”

Padmé knew she could. But that wasn't just her decision to make. She just wished part of that decision had not already been made by her electro-compromised, groggy and confused secret husband.

”He was confused,” she explained, quickly latching onto one of her mental keywords. ”Those electro-shocks are getting to his brain. He probably thought he was kissing… Artoo. He just loves that droid. Last week, he--”

”Padmé…”

”And I've been confused,” she quickly added, desperately and probably tardily trying to figure out a way to make Anakin sound like less a harasser and more a… she didn't like what the opposite of a harasser was. ”I've… flirted him. Mercilessly. Have you seen some of my dresses? I've given him… signals. Inappropriately long hugs…”

”Oh, we know that,” Bail interrupted her, although he immediately seemed to regret this spontaneous confession. Padmé gaped at him for a moment.

”And so has Artoo, by the way,” she then insisted.

By the time Senators Amidala and Organa reached the Senate courtyard, they had successfully established that 1. it was just a kiss, 2. the kiss had not necessarily been disagreeable, out of the left field, or even meant for Padmé in the first place.

”Or some combination of the three,” she added off-handedly as she hurried to join Anakin, Threepio, the suddenly materialized matching set of Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, and a pair of her least favorite senators at the top of the stairs, currently being interviewed by a swarm of HoloNet reporters. Surely they were discussing the hostage situation, the forced liberation of Ziro the Hutt, heck, General Skywalker's rescue of them, even…

”Ah, and here comes the lucky lady… or unlucky? We'll have to wait for comment--”

Great. Ever the media. The blabber turned out to be Threepio, whom she had completely forgotten was even there. Of course the protocol droid would give a completely accurate, detailed, yet rambly and unfocused recount of the attack. Which simply had to include what was effectively a harmless drunken mistake in the middle of an actual emergency.

Yet, even without the Force, she was already sensing a shift in the conversation.

”For the last time, I was barely conscious, brain fried, I thought it was my… uh, droid… whom I needed to clean… in a specific spot… stupid oil leaks… I apologized to Senator Amidala many times over before I was summoned here!”

The reporters were starting to look bored. They were also starting to pick up on the seriousness of the circumstances surrounding the undeniably juicy bit of gossip they had on their hands. The two senators had turned to a serious news outlet, giving teary-eyes statements regarding their terrifying experience and last-minute rescue. The trauma of it all was starting to kick in. They were nearly killed by a bomb, and this stupid war was only getting longer and uglier, what did it even matter if Skywalker had unorthodox methods of cleaning his astromech?

And even without the Force, Padmé could have sworn that Obi-Wan wasn't shooting accusing glances at his former Padawan for hiding something, or for lying about it, but instead… for having been careless. And Ahsoka was just shaking her head, with frustration and fondness. There was not a trace of surprise on her face, or for that matter, a hint of concern for Padmé's personal space or her ability to defend it. And apparently Bail was only surprised that Skywalker was responding so eagerly to Padmé's ”merciless flirting”.

Wait, did everybody already…

”So it really was…” one of the reporters still wanted to confirm.

”Such a kiss!”

”Just a bliss!”

#anidala #anidala fanfiction #Anakin Skywalker #padmé amidala #sw prequels #the clone wars #woop woop my first published sw fanfic #i must have gotten like 5645 things wrong #you have to start somewhere #i didn't even watch the episode beforehand #only skimmed through wookieepedia #i had comments but i forgot #but yeah this is meant to be silly #and sort of crack... ish #i want my anidala to be funny #am i doing this ao3 thing right #someone pls click on that link and tell me #star wars #fanfic

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