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bones-and-whatnot · 29 days

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Breakdowns of How I Characterize the Koopalings

Ludwig:

“Classy”, grandiose and insufferably smug. Unlike Larry, you cannot convince Ludwig he isn’t hot shit, no matter what you do. After Iggy, Ludwig is the best at plotting and since Iggy keeps his schemes to himself more often than not, Ludwig usually plays the mastermind in the Koopalings plans. (Ironically, Iggy is the one whose plots are generally built on self-interest. Ludwig is more likely to scheme for the goals of the Koopalings and Koopa Kingdom as a whole— just as long as everyone is clear it was HIS brilliant idea.)

Ludwig loves the classical arts, the sciences and anything else that will reinforce his belief of being smarter and more cultured than the other Koopalings. He sees himself as their leader and essentially he is— not because they respect him more, but because he is the one most interested in actual conquest and warfare, so when Bowser gives them an assignment Ludwig is usually the one who takes the initiative to make a plan and assign all the others different tasks. Ludwig can often be found sequestered away somewhere playing music, painting, tending to his Piranha Plant garden or otherwise looking pretentious and unbothered.

Lemmy:

Silly and fun-loving, not particularly evil. Pretty content to go along with whatever the objective of his family is. Of the Koopalings, he’s the most likely to be friendly with the Mario Brothers/not DIRECTLY injure them/defect from Bowser. However, this isn’t necessarily because he believes in the cause of GOOD, but just because he’s more concerned with his own entertainment than any particular ideology or group (not in like a “mwahaha you are all my toys” way, but in a way where he kinda treats everything like a fun little game and just doesn’t seem super concerned with the consequences of anything). Lemmy surrounds himself with games, toys and amusements. He’s something of a G-rated hedonist.

Roy:

Stereotypical bully. Gets a kick from violence, thinks he’s really cool, always seems to be in that bully mood where they’re wearing a mean smile because they’re at the top of the food chain but they also seem really angry.

Though he has the capacity to be high energy and DOES like beating people up, Roy’s also kinda lazy, preferring to intimidate others into doing the hard work for him while he kicks his feet up (unless his pride is on the line). He will not charge into battle like Morton or desperately try to prove himself like Larry. Forcibly enrolled in night school by Kamek to try and whip him into shape (but he’ll act like it was his own idea when it makes him look good).

Iggy:

Manic, sadistic, always giggling with the kind of laugh that makes it seem like he knows (or thinks he knows) something you don’t. Like something bad is going to happen, and you could avoid it if you knew about it, but Iggy is deliberately keeping it to himself. Very cunning, probably plotting at any given moment, but no one ever knows for sure (Lemmy is the only one who generally is party to Iggy’s plans, but he doesn’t tell anyone because it’s fun to watch the fallout after).

He and Ludwig both have a passion for mechanical engineering. Iggy is actually a BETTER, more innovative inventor than Ludwig, but (being generally more secretive and enigmatic) he’s not as much of a show-off about it, so Ludwig usually ends up presenting himself with a more blatant “technology” motif (although it’s mostly stuff he didn’t actually make, like Bob-ombs, Mechakoopas and airships). Iggy’s stuff often has more of a “scavenged” or “cobbled-together” look than Ludwig’s, but where Ludwig gets by on only innate affinity, Iggy has actual honed skill and study, meaning the machinery he creates is usually more diverse and technically impressive. He just tends to keep it to himself. (Iggy’s equivalent to Ludwig’s natural-but-unhoned talent for technology is his skill in taming animals— particularly Chain Chomps).

Iggy’s also just kinda weird. He wanted a “cheese hotel”.

Wendy:

Greedy. Also a bit vain, which partly contributes to the greed— she wants baubles and pretty, shiny things. Wendy has a taste for glitz, glamour, and secret hordes of gold and jewels. Her aesthetic ostentatiousness is similar to Ludwig’s, but Wendy usually goes for a more flashy, white-marble-sculptures, “art deco” or “fancy hotel/casino” vibe, while Ludwig leans towards “sprawling Gothic manor/castle”.

Wendy’s also somewhat short-tempered. “Angry” is not her default, but she does appear to get mad more easily than most of her brothers (save Morton). Seems constantly annoyed (at best) or infuriated (at worst) with the “fools” around her, thinks she knows better. Bit of a mean girl.

Morton:

Like Roy, Morton is kind of a brute. The difference is that Morton is more brash and temperamental/doesn’t “play it cool” as much as Roy. Roy always seems angry, but there’s also a hint of smugness. Like he’s not TOO concerned, because he already knows he’s better than you. Morton definitely comes off as a lot more invested in his battles/genuinely fully INFURIATED by his foes— Roy is violent because it’s fun, Morton is violent because he’s easily angered to the point of violence. He’s also more likely to charge into battle without thinking (it’s not exactly that Roy is more tactical, just more lazy). Not a big smiler or joker.

Although he is deeply devoted to his family (and NO ONE else), Morton is not SPINELESS. Matter of fact, he is incredibly stubborn and no stranger to arguments with his siblings (mostly Roy). Morton never backs down from anything— he may move slowly, but once he starts, he can’t be stopped. Not really STUPID… but not really smart, either. (Morton is a bit insecure about seeming dim-witted, and sometimes sits in on Roy’s night classes. He’s still only really of average intelligence and lets his temper lead him into situations without giving them as much thought as he perhaps ought to, but he CAN recite long passages of the textbooks and lectures from memory at breakneck speed. Roy uses it to cheat on tests and essays.)

Larry:

Like a snarky, annoying 90s protagonist who thinks he’s hot shit (very easily angered by the implication that he is not hot shit— he’s got something to prove). Into sports. Larry is deeply envious of anyone in the Koopa Troop who gets more respect or recognition than him, intensely desires Bowser’s approval and tries to scheme against his siblings to get it about as often as he schemes against the Mario Brothers. His siblings tolerate it because his machinations are always excruciatingly obvious and unsuccessful. Despite his rank-climbing ambitions, though, Larry is not a suck-up. He has JUST enough dignity to avoid that. Claims he is the leader of the Koopalings. All the rest either say Ludwig is or that they don’t have one. (Wendy says she SHOULD be the leader, but not that she IS.)

#roll the bones #super mario #super mario bros #koopalings #larry koopa #morton koopa jr #wendy o koopa #iggy koopa #roy koopa #lemmy koopa #ludwig von koopa #none of them are really supposed to be particularly likable #morton has his moments and lemmy is supposed to be unlikable in a way that’s not really his fault #he really does just act like he’s playing #but he acts like that when lives and other serious things are on the line and that’s what makes him disturbing/villainous #but in general they just love being mean

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focsle · 2 years

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Hi! I really enjoy your coming Going to Weather and your art style. You always do such a great job drawing scenes and backgrounds. Do you have any advice on how you do it? Especially rooms. Sincerely, someone who struggles with drawing backgrounds.

Thank you so much! I'm glad you're enjoying it. Long post ahead.

For technical advice I’m not a good resource because perspective is the bane of my existence and I eyeball it poorly or half-ass trace the base shape of a room because I hate straight lines and rulers so much lol. Some people draw floorplans from a birds eye view and then do crazy things with transform tools. Some people make 3d models of rooms to use. I don't have the energy to learn how to do that effectively but if I did...THAT'D HELP. Maybe someday. I remember I once had a professor who was like 'your perspective is wonky but you put so much detail into it that I don't think people will really notice or care that much' so I have RUN WITH THAT haha!

But I do have advice for how to get excited about backgrounds. Because I also struggle with backgrounds. I've found the two most helpful things to keep in mind are:

The background is a character too.

Reference reference reference! References will surprise you and make the world richer.

Backgrounds can tell a lot about the world your scene is set in, and thinking about them having personalities and also being part of the narrative can help you design them. For instance, I really wanted to show the difference of means between Ezra and Barzillai, that they're both career whalemen but that they're operating under quite different circumstances.

I used the backgrounds to tell that story without words. They have a purpose just as much as the characters do.

When building out my focsle, I liked thinking of what a space that was continually inhabited by a bunch of late-teens/early 20s lads for years at a time looked like, the mindsets people were in on those ships, and how their presence would be left behind. Also inspired by graffiti seen in the past and present.

I also always try to push my backgrounds just a LITTLE more each time, which is easier said than done. To make my streets a little more crowded, to make the focsle just a little more chaotic, to make the waters just a little rougher. You gotta find what makes it fun for you, and what makes it fun for me is thinking about what story the background tells. I like thinking of practical elements too like...where do they put their stuff, what's their daily routine and how does that show in the space, what sort of art do they like to have, etc.

But to build those backgrounds, reference is so important. I've got about 1500 reference pictures for GTW and counting. And it's important to gather all kinds of reference! Photos, objects, other illustrations, written descriptions, videos, physically going to a place, all of that can help build one's visual library to craft places that feel like characters. Think of yourself as a set designer and you’re going shopping for all the little things you want to tell that story.

For instance, here are reference photos I took in various mid 19th century houses, that I cobbled together to make the Captain's house:

I remember really liking this bed I saw in a historic house and wanting it for my own room. So I did the next best thing and put it in a fake room.

I love this reference of a focsle, too! I can't wait to draw the inside of a bunk where someone's hanging their hats or storing their pans. Little authenticating details like these that I wouldn't necessarily think of can be discovered in reference. It makes everything feel more real.

I remember when I made my pilgrimage to the Charles W. Morgan one of the many things that struck me was how much light deck prisms brought into the living spaces below. So that was something fun to keep in mind any time I was drawing a scene below deck during the day, how I could play with that lighting.

Which brings me to my last bit. I think if you can go to a place that embodies the settings you want to work in, that's so important too. Just spending time there. Taking in the vibe. Thinking about what it sounds like and feels like and smells like. Thinking about how the light falls. And to hold on to all those little things, and to keep them in mind as you draw those backgrounds. You can't exactly draw a smell or a sound, but when you think about those things, you can think about where they're coming from and draw that. A clock ticking, pipe smoke, water sloshing, fire crackling. It's all there. I personally don't strive to create the most technically-sound looking rooms, but I really do try to make rooms that get across a Vibe and that feel lived-in.

Hope that was helpful! And thank you for reading the comic!

#asks #tytofurcata #going to weather #my art #long post //#gtw kindnesses

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ishallbereleased · 2 months

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✨get to know your mutuals ✨ list 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box of the last 10 people who reblogged something from you!

awww thank you for this!! sorry for the late response, i had fun thinking about what my 5 things should be :)

1. my guinea pigs!! they are half-sisters named mango and pepper. they've been with me for four and a half years and lived with me in five different homes and three different provinces :') they bring me so much joy every day

2. my home! i can see the ocean out my window, something i always dreamed of. my province can be a really difficult place to live sometimes, especially in winter, but it rewards you for getting through the tough stuff with the most beautiful nature you've ever seen, right at your doorstep.

3. movement - i avoided exercising for many years after having negative experiences in gym class in childhood, but recently i've started trying to move quite a bit more, through yoga and dancing. still too shy to do it around anyone else lol but it's making me feel much more balanced and at home in my body, and it's really fun!

4. bruce springsteen - what can i say lol i've always liked him but something switched in my brain in january and now i'm deeeep in a bruce obsession - his music is exactly the kind of exhilarating, poetic, optimistic stuff i need right now, and i'm desperately trying to figure out how to cobble together enough money to fly home to see him live in fall 🙏

5. this card from my grandma that arrived yesterday with which she included a picture of my mom's new cat!! i'm going home soon and can't wait to see her and meet our new kitty but in the meantime this made me so happy :)

thank you again!!

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sophiegoose · 1 year

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A List of Times Dio Brando Has Appeared In My Dreams (a memoir)

Today marks the ???th occaision of Dio Brando from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure appearing in my dreams.

I should note that I haven't read Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, haven't watched the anime, and have no intention of doing either, yet this mf continues to appear in my dreams.

This has been going on for years now, and more than one of my friends has stated now that he is surprisingly "in-character" whilst in my dreams, so with him appearing yet again in my dreams I thought I'd finally share some of the saga of this random-ass anime character messing around in my dreams for the amusement of onlookers everywhere

Enjoy.

Dream 1, The Cosplay:

The first dream I ever had that featured Dio happened back at the height of quarantine in 2020. Had a dream about quarantining in a fancy apartment, alone in a big city. Tuned into a livestream where a bunch of folks were having a "stay-at-home convention," and at one point they had a little contest where the idea was to put together the best cosplay you could of an anime character from stuff around your home under a time limit.

That sounded like fun, so I waited for the timer to start, then began rifling through my closet for stuff. Admittedly I don't watch much anime at all, so I was struggling for a character to try and cosplay when a thought wormed its way into my head, almost forcibly: I had a few things that would work perfect for Dio Brando.

So, I rifled through my closet, grabbing a yellow jumpsuit, a black undershirt, some random green bits of cloth and makeup and proceeded to make the crappiest Dio cosplay you've ever fucking seen. Looking in the mirror once I was done cobbling stuff together and happy with what I had managed to scrounge together, I looked down to the counter to grab the final touch: some green lipstick.

As I looked into the mirror again, I noticed that something was wrong with my face: it already had the green lipstick on, and it seemed to be morphing and changing. As I touched and focused on my face, the changes rapidly took hold, and before I could really respond I WAS Dio Brando. I'd been transformed into him. Spent the rest of that dream just walking around my apartment as him, awkwardly standing around and bewildered.

Dream 2, Shenanigans Against Our Will:

This was either the second or third time Dio showed up in my dreams, can't quite remember which. Either way, it involved me hanging out with a friend of mine when Dio and some lackeys showed up. They were destroying stuff and causing all sorts of chaos around town, and before either me nor my friend could run for it, Dio roped me and my friend (along with about a half dozen other unfortunate souls) into going along with his shenanigans and helping him and his lackeys destroy stuff, under the threat of death if we disobeyed.

We went from door to door in town, with Dio fucking up each house in a different way. One of them he changed into a jagged mess of spiky, non-euclidian shapes, like a glitch in a videogame, with the residents still inside. Another house he killed everyone inside of in increasingly whackier and cartoony ways, having a good laugh about it all. And then another house he just stole some stuff from.

At one point, me and my friend tired to bail, only for Dio and his lackeys to catch back up with us and drag us back into causing mayhem. Dio apparently found this hilarious, cackling the whole time he forced us back into the group to partake in committing arson and the like.

Not a great time, tbh.

Dream 3, Dio Goes Full Karen:

Had another dream once where I was at mall with some friends and family.

It was one of those weird malls that only occur in dreams, too big/weirdly structured to exist IRL, but in the dream it's perfectly normal and accepted.

Anyway, I was walking down into this weird wavy, tiled pit that the food court was in with my friend when all the sudden I hear some loud yelling. I turn my head towards the little coffeeshop kiosk nearby and wouldn't you fuckin' know it's Dio FUCKIN' Brando again, loudly arguing with the barista.

Me and my friend pass by as we're heading to a different kiosk and overhear a bit of what's going on. Apparently the barista messed up his order, some sort of big fancy drink he ordered, in several ways and he's demanding blood because of it, livid as can be. He's pulling out all the stops: he wants to see the manager, how did this person even get hired, such incompetence, the usual guff you'll recognize if you've ever worked retail ever, etc.

He continues ranting and raving and we try to pass by, only for him to recognize us, apparently (this was a different friend than the one I had in the last dream, FYI). He proceeds to try and call us over to back him up, acting as if we know him and would assist him, and we both book it away from that mess as fast as we can.

Hope that poor barista got a raise.

Dreams ?-???, Random Encounters:

Ever since I had my first dream featuring him, Dio has shown up off and on, even when not the main focus of a dream/moment in a dream.

Over the years I've noted a few times he's been in crowds, sitting around at a location I'm at in a dream, etc.

One time he was one of the lackeys of a different Big Bad in one of my nightmares, and another time he was just casually standing in the same line as me at a store in a different dream.

Dude's been hanging around for a while, but I haven't had another dream with him as a focus in quite some time...until last night.

Dream 4, The Ruined Vacation:

So, last night.

Slept deep, had a vivid dream.

I was on vacation in a cozy town in the French countryside with my family. We decided to stay in a hotel room whose balcony overlooked the town's small marketplace, all very quaint and cozy.

The hotel itself was strange, way taller on the inside than it was on the outside, and gave off eerily liminal and abandoned vibes. Anyway, we got our room and we climbed up the satirs, and the whole time a creeping sense of dread continued to gnaw at me.

We get to our room, and, finally, here he comes, the mf of the hour.

Turns out Dio and some pals of his had rented the suite next to ours, and how better to celebrate than to be loud and obnoxious, break shit, and ruin our vacation as best he can.

Starting off, he trapped two of my family members' souls into a basketball, which he then dribbled down the street as I chased him. He played a professional level game of keep-away with it the whole damn time, with me yelling and swinging at him and the ball to no avail. This mf.

Later on in the dream I met up with some friends, and one of them went missing. Dio heavily implied that he'd stuffed said friend's body into the air ducts above one of the hotel rooms, which me and a couple of pals tore up looking for it, only to realize that Dio had tricked us into digging a huge hole between two floors of the hotel, with no air ducts, body, or friend in sight. Thissssss bastard.

Finally confrontation involved me coming to kick his ass whilst he casually floated in midair, spinning the basketball atop his finger, monologing as I approached, completely unbothered...

And then I woke up.

Didn't even get a chance to punch him.

In conclusion:

Whoever sent this motherfucker to my subconscious take him back, I do not want him. Thank you.

#goosechatter #dream diary #dreamdiary #jojos bizarre adventure #jojosbizzareadventure #dio brando #diobrando #@ the SCP come pick up your infohazard i dont want him

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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ok. karin vs anakin's genome being 50% the Force. go

Jesus fuck, okay. Uh, fair warning, I know very little about this subject, so it’s 90% bullshit. I am in no way qualified to talk about biology past the high school level.

Anakin's sixteen. He's part of a set of Jedi assigned to a weird mission regarding making contact with an isolated planet of near-humans with superpowers but no space travel. He doesn’t really have a Job here and now, he’s just there as Obi-Wan’s plus-one. There's an underlying plot about Sidious trying to acquire people from Ninja Land, but none of the Jedi are fully aware of it. Mostly they're distracted by all the ninjas and their bitching.

They call it the Shinobi Planet, because nobody can agree on a name for the planet when they ask and the last major international alliance was named after the shinobi profession, right? Good enough, you can change it later when you idiots can agree on literally anything, oh my god. The Samurai are very offended and it's a whole thing.

Anakin wanders a lot. He runs into various strange people and is mostly polite because, listen, half his friends are distinctly not human. When your immediate circle includes nautolans and besalisks and twi’leks and whatever the fuck Yoda is, you’re not gonna blink at a Hoshigaki or... uh... okay that kid just turned into a giant fox, is anybody gonna--no? That’s normal? Just him? Cool, cool, cool.

There’s a kage summit involved in the negotiations going on. IDK what’s being negotiated, probably something to get the ninjas to set up a singular spaceport so there’s somewhere to land WITHOUT ships being regularly shot down by village defense systems powered by that massive flaming purple skeleton warrior or the girl who punched down a mountain or the.. the literal desert? There’s a guy that can control the desert? Is there any way of keeping him away from Anakin?

(Gaara’s tickled pink that the reason someone wants to stay away from him has nothing to do with fear or respect for authority, and everything to do with ‘he is also from the desert and fucking hates it, so he’s staying away from the sand powers,’ because it’s very novel and kind of funny.)

ANYWAY where was I. Uh. Right, kage summit, lots of villages, they invite smaller villages to pitch in, but nobody ever ever ever wants Orochimaru anywhere near this situation, for hopefully obvious reasons, so Otogakure sends Karin.

Really, who else was it gonna be? Suigetsu? You want Suigetsu representing you on an interstellar political field? You want Juugo before he’s stabilized? You want Sasuke, master of ruining kage summits? You want these idiots representing you at the big kids’ table?

They send Karin. She’s a bitch with a temper, but at least she’s not as big of a political risk as... literally anyone else from the snakepit.

Anyway, Anakin wanders around, meeting people, trying foods, showing off when asked for demonstrations. He doesn’t have an Entire Protocol Droid, but he did cobble together a little floating helper that can do translations for him. Assume all translations are accurate and being done by the little helper bot. Bot’s name is G1-0T. Anakin calls it Glot.

He runs into Karin at one point, who’s not super into the whole situation, but at least Anakin’s interesting. She’s not interested in him, because he’s sixteen and she’s like... mid-twenties. And his hair is stupid. But! All these force-sensitive people feel weird to her, because sensor stuff, and it’s not chakra but it’s... something. Anakin is, of course, the weirdest.

(There are non-sensitives in the envoy, so she knows it’s not just a space thing.)

She strikes up a conversation about it, because hey, she hasn’t made it this far to not lean into... you know, being the kind of person who barges ahead with Weird Questions that might lead into fun science stuff.

Anakin is like. Well. This woman’s very strange, but it’s not like there’s anything against talking about midichlorians to random people. It’s easy enough to look up in the core. Not everyone knows about them, but it’s not a secret or anything.

“Wow,” Karin says, though not in so many words, “that sounds incredibly strange, and actually a lot like it functions completely differently from chakra, though maybe it intersects with nature chakra somehow. Can I take a blood sample?”

Anakin doesn’t want to give a blood sample to a stranger. Karin isn’t stupid enough to try to steal one. She’s seen what this Force Stuff can do, and this kid’s got a lot of it. She hasn’t got enough information on hand about it to know if he’d notice.

“How about I let you look at the blood of a guy that can turn into water?” Karin asks, because she’s not going to let him look at her blood. “I’ve got it with me.”

“...why?” Anakin asks, reasonably disturbed.

“He owes me,” she says, and does not elaborate.

“What, there’s nothing weird about your blood to share?” Anakin demands, like the ornery little bastard he is.

“People took my blood against my will for over a decade,” Karin says, with the kind of smile that threatens a stabbing. This is not secret information. Her healing factor is in the bingo book. Plenty of people still want her dead. “Nobody gets my blood except me.”

Anakin has no idea what to do with that answer. Most people wouldn’t know what to do with that answer. It’s not exactly a standard answer.

“So there is something weird about your--e chu ta what the fuck are those scars?”

Karin looks at her arm. She looks back at him. She raises an eyebrow.

“What do you think they are?”

He stares a little longer, and then very carefully does not say anything as she pushes her sleeve back down.

“So can I look at your blood?” she asks again.

“Uh--”

“You can look at mine under a microscope,” she wheedles. “You can’t take any, though.”

Anakin... does eventually agree. Eventually.

-----------

There is a very angry redhead yelling at a machine, and Anakin does not know what to do.

“Is something wr--”

“What the fuck is your blood?” she demands. “It’s glowing in ultraviolet. It burned the dye up. I tried to sequence your genome--”

“Woah, I did not agree to that.”

“--and look at this. Look at this!”

“I don’t know how to read your graphs. None of this is a language I know.”

“It’s garbage,” she hisses at him. Glot takes a few moments to process it. “Look at this. This is supposed to--fuck, where’s the Jiraiya file, he’s standard--this is what it’s supposed to look like for most humans with chakra. And this is a civilian, and a few bloodline users--”

“Do you just carry these around with you?”

“Shut up, you don’t exist. You have--you have more in common with summons than people. I ran a blood test on one of your human diplomats, the ones that aren’t monks--”

“When did they agree to that?”

“They didn’t, I’m just sneaky.”

“I should tell Obi-W--”

“STAY THERE, I’M NOT DONE YELLING YET. Do you see this? Do you see this shit? This is the one and only time I’ve managed to perform any kind of analysis on a bijuu. They don’t usually have blood. Shukaku is sand. Matatabi is literally just fire. This was almost impossible to make happen, but I did it because I’m a dedicated biomedical resea--”

“Because you’re unhinged.”

“--rcher, and you know what? You know what I’ve found?”

“What?”

“Your blood looks like you’re half demon,” she says, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking, a little wild-eyed and clearly pissed at him. “Half of it’s human! Half of it looks like the non-physical chakra manifestations that were torn-apart remnants of a godlike demon. The fuckers can’t die. They also can’t breed. They don’t have reproductive organs! This isn’t just demon-tainted like a jinchuuriki, I’ve got that analyzed--”

“Why?”

“Because my cousin’s a moron, don’t change the subject. You--you shouldn’t exist. Your blood is stupid. Fuck, is this what I’d find if I analyzed the Sage of the Six Paths?”

“The what?”

She ignores him, frowning at papers. “Is--I need to call Haruno, she might still have some of Kaguya’s blood dried on her old gloves from the war, I know she kept those as a souvenir from the whole ‘punched a god’ thing.”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“There was a thing a few years back, godlike alien demon princess who got sealed into a moon by her sons a thousand years ago, but her immortal sentient goo child brought her back with a giant tree that consumed all the tailed beasts-the flaming fox you saw earlier is one of them--and then used a giant eyeball to reflect off the moon to put everyone in a hallucination at the same time so she could eat our life-forces,” Karin dismisses. “It’s not important.”

“There is--what?”

Jedi see many things. Many of those things are very strange.

This is a little much even for Anakin.

“It’s over, if you want the actual details, talk to my idiot cousin,” she huffs. “But now I need to run comparisons between the actual nonsense that is your entire existence and the actual nonsense that is my cousin’s existence, and maybe Sasuke’s... fuck this is going to be a mess, I’m going to have to cross-reference all the clans with bloodlines we know are derived from Kaguya, she’s the only angle we have on gods like that, unless... maybe there’s still some black Zetsu goo somewhere... Orochimaru must have kept a sample...”

“Uh, can I--can I go? I’m not comfortable here.”

“I need to find Naruto so he can call the Sage of the Six Paths out of the afterlife so I can see if I can get blood from a ghost to compare to yours.”

#Anakin Skywalker #Uzumaki Karin #Karin #Karin Uzumaki #Naruto #star wars #mini fic #Phoenix Posts #Phoenix Answers Asks #this is so stupid and I have no idea what I'm talking about #bijuu don't even have blood but Anakin's has more in common with THEM than with humans

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votederpycausemufins · 3 years

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All my knowledge is of hermitcraft and the stuff people have written for the Hermit!Tommy Au but I kept having this idea and needed to write it. I also think i got a bit out of character halfway through because it was supposed to be short, but i vibed with it too much so now it’s long and maybe not 100% accurate but it’s still angst followed by fluff.

also @petrichormeraki wanted me to tag them when i posted this.

Tommy had been with the Hermits for a while now. He hadn’t really kept track of when he first arrived, but it had at least been a few months. Otherwise, time was a mess. The Hermits has all but legally adopted him and all the joy that came from them caring for him made time seem to fly by.

Doc was fun to be around because while Tommy was perfectly fine never going back to the SMP, the way the man acted gave Tommy a small bit of familiarity in a good way to his past life.

He likes hanging out with False, mainly for sparring. Never anything deadly, but even if there wasn’t a need for Tommy to constantly look over his shoulder, it was good to keep from getting too rusty.

He doesn’t really hang out with Zedaph as much as Zedaph hangs out with him. Normally the Hermit would come out of the blue with something new for Tommy to try. Flicking levers over and over for something that would normally be as simple as using a furnace just became fun for Tommy, especially if he had energy pent up.

Xisuma is someone Tommy doesn’t run into much, but the fact that he doesn’t is something Tommy finds comfort in. Even as the server admin, the man is very down to Earth. Nothing like Dream ever was.

And then there’s Grian. Tommy got along with all the Hermits fine and of course there were some he preferred over others, but Grian took the cake for him. When he first showed up, Grian was the one to give him a place to stay at his old hobbit hole. Professor Beaks had been left there and still used to the SMP and scared for his life, Tommy hid the pet bird as leverage for his own safety. When Grian found out, he mostly shrugged it off, but the tens of chickens in the hobbit hole the next day was proof of retaliation.

Tommy didn’t understand the underwhelming response at first, but responded in kind, using the eggs from the chickens Grian had left to egg the Hermit’s base. When the builder nearly broke the door to the hobbit hole, Tommy grabbed his axe, ready to fight for his life, but was taken aback by the cheerful look on Grian’s face.

After that, Grian had practically taken Tommy under his wing. He showed Tommy how to build more effectively with cobble, eventually managing to get the teen to have some variety. Grian also brought Tommy along on his various chaotic endeavors, leaving behind chickens, mycelium, and possibly some missing doors.

The two chaotic red wearing Brits got along so well that they sometimes spent entire weeks together. Because of that, Tommy was all too aware that the Hermits participated in MCC as well.

It made sense. A few of the Hermits vaguely recognised him when he showed up in Hermitcraft and a few of them looked familiar to Tommy. That had made him feel a little safer since now these people weren’t complete strangers, but it did complicate things. Every so often, the portal to MCC would open and the Hermits participating would go through. The closest Tommy would get to the portal was just before the Hermits left, occasionally giving a ‘Good luck Grine!’ or something similar to Grian as he went through. But after that Tommy stayed as far away as he could manage.

The portal there led to MCC. And from there, there was a portal that led to the SMP. If Tommy could get to Hermitcraft, others could too. And that idea was terrifying, no matter who it was. Dream was a worst case scenario, but even if it was Tubbo. Tubbo had exiled him, and even if they were still on good terms after that, Tommy could have visited at some other MCC, but he didn’t, and that idea likely wouldn’t go over well, especially since otherwise, people probably thought he was dead and Tommy didn’t care to correct them.

But compared to all those other times, today was very different. Today Tommy wasn’t at the sidelines to help send off the other Hermits, he was one of the ones being sent off. They had taken every precaution. Mumbo had rebuilt his Spookification chamber for Tommy with some alterations, specifically removing the firework method of alteration. The teen was also dressed for being on a team with Grian as the Cyan Creepers, so his familiar red and white shirt was missing. But under Tommy’s costume, he still kept the chain necklace holding his compass. He refused to part with it, though made sure he would be hard to access to keep from glancing, knowing at the championships, it wouldn’t be spinning wildly anymore.

With a comforting pat on the back from Grian, he and the other Hermits walked through the portal. The crowd of people that were on the side almost immediately overwhelmed Tommy, making him think that it was a bad idea all over again, but the sight of the two other team members for the Cyan Creepers reassured them, especially as they lined up for the cameras for some fun and silly times. Then once the games began, he was too focused on winning to think of much else.

Before long, the championships were over. They had come in fifth, which was a bit disappointing at first, but on the other hand, it was still pretty good and kept the spotlight off of him. When dodgebolt began, Tommy stood next to Grian, but with a crowd of people, a good game, and no perfect place to sit, the both of them wandered for a better vantage point.

At one point, Tommy managed to push his way right up to the edge of the viewing ledge. It was the perfect place for a while until the action moved, causing everyone to decide it was the perfect place. Enough people moved nearby that Tommy was worried about falling into the pit below, and he almost did before someone pulled him back.

Tommy was ready to thank whichever Hermit or even other player helped him but the words died in his throat when he faced the person who grabbed him. He knew that mask and neon green color. And there was no reason for him to help Tommy unless-

“I finally found you!” Dream spoke. He raised his voice to be heard over the crowd, but not too much to draw the attention of others. Tommy froze as he definitely heard the words. But there was no way for Dream to know, he didn’t look at all like normal.

“I-I’m sorry.” Tommy tried not to stutter, hoping just the situation of being grabbed would excuse it. “But I don’t think I’m who you’re looking for. I’m new here. Unless you’re greeting me for being new.” It was something he prepared before in his mind after Grian brought up the possibility, but it felt sloppy putting it to use.

“Oh don’t lie Tommy. I know it’s you. I guess you got lost, but it’s okay, you can come back now. I got rid of the exile for you. Aren’t you glad?”

Tommy was glad for the mask that covered Dream’s face. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see Dream’s actual expression. “How did you-” He started to speak, but Dream cut him off, poking Tommy’s chest, right where the compass was.

“Weren’t you paying attention to the teams? Tubbo got put with me. And between games he just happened to glance at his own compass. And wouldn’t you know it, it led me right here.” Dream held up the compass that belonged to Tubbo. It looked damaged, and it was recent. Tubbo likely didn’t want to give the tyrant admin the compass, but lost it to Dream anyway.

“Give that back to Tubbo!” Tommy shouted at Dream, trying to snatch it from him.

“Feisty now, aren’t you? We can take care of that when you come back. I’ll also give it back to him if you come with me.”

Tommy froze. There was no way he was going back, but what could he do? Everyone was focused on dodgebolt, and he didn’t want his appearance to have caused more trouble for Tubbo.

Tommy glanced at the crowd one last time before reluctantly nodding. Dream grabbed his hand in a painful clench and dragged him out of the crowd towards the SMP’s portal to leave. However, just before reaching it, Dream stopped. Tommy, who had been looking back at the crowd, hoping someone would see what was going on, turned towards the portal to see Grian standing in front of it.

“Heya, where do you think you’re going. MCC isn’t over yet. Dodgebolt it still going on.”

Tommy expected Dream to just push past Grian or even give some sort of retort, but the actual reply was shocking. “Uh, n-no, just… have to head back early. Th-the game delays made things run over. A-and we’ve got to get b-back for… something else. Don’t w-want to be late for that.”

Dream’s words made Tommy so shocked he forgot to breathe. Dream was scared, no he was terrified. And he was terrified… of Grian. Tommy looked back at the Hermit who stood unflinching in front of them.

“Really? I could have sworn that you were here when I arrived, and that kid wasn’t. And he definitely came from a different portal. I know since I was keeping my eye out for my teammates. So why’s he going with you?”

“I uh…” Dream struggled, struggled, to give an answer, letting Grian continue. “That’s what I thought. C’mon kid, let’s go back to the crowd. You can stay with me until it’s over then I’ll help you find your portal back.”

And Grian took Tommy away without any retaliation from Dream. Tommy was left in awe. Grian wasn’t even an admin in Hermitcraft but Dream was terrified of him. It was amazing! But at the same time, it made Tommy spiral a bit.

When everyone returned, Grian had made sure Dream left before the Hermits and Tommy did so Dream couldn’t watch Tommy leave. Tommy stuck to False’s side as they walked through the portal, Grian being the last to come through as he continued to act as a guard. When he tried to comfort Tommy after his run-in with Dream, he understood when the teen responded he just wanted to go home. The championships were exhausting enough without a scare like that.

The next day, Tommy hung out with False. And then Zedaph, and then Doc. Grian noticed immediately, but didn’t pay much mind to it. He noticed since Tommy had spent a full week only hanging out with him, so the sudden absence of the boy was noticeable, but it made sense that he would want to hang out with the others.

After that, Grian didn’t pay too much attention to the lack of Tommy until he ran into him while stocking the barge. Tommy had been buying something at the store when Grian flew in. He nearly dropped his diamonds in trying to leave in such a hurry that it finally concerned Grian. The builder started visiting other Hermits Tommy tended to visit and ask about him. No one really noticed much other than Tommy dodging any questions about him possibly going to hang out with Grian.

Grian decided to leave it alone, and he was definitely going to, but after another run in with Tommy, he threw that decision out the window. Grian normally wouldn’t have done this, but after trying multiple times to just talk to Tommy and being unsuccessful, the builder had to essentially corner the teen.

Immediately, Grian regretted it. Tommy was trembling, obviously scared, holding a sword in his hand. He carefully tried to point out that Tommy didn’t need to have his sword out, but instead of just putting it away, Tommy just threw it on the ground, also throwing down his other gear. Grian had heard of Tommy doing this before with the other Hermits, so he immediately recognised what was going on and dived to grab the gear. It scared Tommy more, but Grian wanted to make sure nothing ended up destroyed.

“Tommy, calm down, I just want to talk. Did I do something wrong? I mean, obviously I must have, you look scared out of your mind every time I’m around you. But I can’t think or anything I did and I don’t want this to keep happening. So can I know what’s going on?”

Tommy didn’t speak for a while. He just looked defeated and terrified. Grian called in some of the other Hermits to come help Tommy calm down, though at first it didn’t help. But over time, Tommy finally did stop looking so terrified and they moved to somewhere he would feel less cornered. It took more coaxing after that, but finally, Tommy explained himself.

“He’s scared of you. Dream is… actually scared of you.”

“Yeah, I’ve killed him once or twice. Plus my full name is Lord Grian Dreamslayer, so it’s kind of in the name.” The builder tried to say it as a joke, but it didn’t seem to lighten the mood.”

“He’s the admin and he’s scared of you. And you… I’ve been hanging out with you.”

Grian nodded. “Well yeah, we do fit together well. ...Did he say something at MCC to make you think I didn’t like you?”

Tommy shook his head. “N-No. You’re right, you’re fun to be around. But dream likes… liked messing with me. And tried to train me. And I hang out with you more than I had with him, and I’m more like you. I-If you’re somehow more powerful than him-!” The rest of the words stopped in Tommy’s throat, choking him up. Stress was nearby and gave Tommy a careful hug for comfort, which helped him a little.

Grian waited a little bit for the tension to calm slightly before he spoke. “I don’t know exactly what Dream has done to you. You’ve told us a lot, but you obviously haven’t told us everything, and telling us isn’t the same as experiencing it. But let me tell you that I’m not going to do what he’s done to you. I remember how you were the first day we found you. And I see how you are now- well, how you were a few weeks ago- and I’m happy. Happy because you’ve been happy. You’ve been safe and cared for here and it shows. I don’t want to force you to be anything, I want you to be you. Sure, I’m powerful enough to kill Dream, but I’m not going to use that power on you. I’m only going to use it around you if it’s to keep him away from you.

“And! And! It’s just because of how your server is. Here we can go to the end. We don’t have a set amount of lives. We build massive structures and sell totems for a single diamond each. We fight Withers for fun and make farms with them. We farm just about anything you can think of. And Tommy.” Grian paused, making sure Tommy was paying attention. “You may be from somewhere far off that none of us old Hermits have seen, but now you’re here. And new home or not, that makes you a Hermit too. Sure you can be like me. Or you can be like False or Doc or Scar or Mumbo. But so far, you’ve been pretty you. And that you is a Hermit.”

Tommy took a few moments to process it, but the message seemed to get through to him. With that, Grian stood up with a smile. “Now I get that you probably don’t want to hang around me much right now. It makes sense. Maybe hang out with some other Hermits and learn some new stuff to get your mind off of things. Plus, I also did some talking around looking for you, and got you this.”

Tommy’s eyes practically sparkled as Grian placed down some music discs. He greedily grabbed the treasures and stuffed them in his inventory, looking up just to see Grian flying off. Taking on Grian’s idea, Tommy decided to go with Cleo and try to wrap his head around those armor stands again. While he wasn’t a pro, he did manage to make one scene of the hermits all holding weapons and surrounding an armor stand in lime leather armor. Grian was right. He was a Hermit. And he wasn’t going back. At least, not permanently, he thought, clutching his compass. Maybe, there would even be another Hermit like him.

#hermit!tommy au #hermitcraft #hermitblr #dreamsmp #tommyinnit #grian #mcc #docm77 #falsesymmetry #zedaph #xisuma #dreamwastaken #stressmonster101 #angst and fluff #still not a fan of how dream's persona eminates someone... problematic

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banshee1013 · 2 years

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Goal-Oriented vs Purpose-Driven

Or, How Shower Thoughts Cleared Up A Major Creative Block

I’ve always considered myself a goal-oriented person — I’ve never been able to do something “for the hell of it”. Even when it seemed like a spontaneous action, there was always an objective — to impress someone, experience something I’ve always wanted to do, etc. But when the idea of setting a goal comes to mind (usually at the beginning of the year when everyone is analyzing these things) and I think about goals I want to accomplish, my brain staggers to a halt. I force myself to think of a goal or two anyway - finish that story I was writing. Start another one. Exercise more.

And then when I try to execute those goals - my brain refuses to cooperate. It shuts down. The Muse runs for the hills. It almost feels like a panic response.

I’m quite familiar with the goal-setting process — my work makes me set goals every three months, whether I want to or not. They even call them WIGs - Wildly Important Goals. And every trimester I think “I’m sorry, company — the only ‘wildly important goal’ to me is continuing to exist, with the secondary goal of happiness.” But I can’t make a company goal for ‘continue to exist’ or ‘do things that make you happy’”. The company goals, of course, have to be job-related, but also can’t be ‘continue to do my job’. I have to improve myself. So I get around this by trying to figure out something new I want to learn or do that is somehow related to my job, and I manage to cobble something together that passes the company muster.

It’s somewhat depressing and frustrating having to do this every three months. It’s a good thing I really like my job, and my company (other than this one small thing).

But the personal goal thing came up this week, it being the new year, and there really are things I want to do. I do want to write more, create more art, be more creative and active. I do want to declutter the house, purge a good portion of my stuff, move out of my condo to a new part of town. But when trying to set down the goals to accomplish this, the same thing happens — my brain cries “NO I DON’T WANNA” and stomps its feet like a petulant toddler.

Then today, in the shower (where all my best ideas come from), I had an epiphany (and on the day after the Epiphany, no less :D ): I’m not goal-oriented - I’m PURPOSE-DRIVEN.

These may sound the same at first, but there is a big difference.

A goal is something you need or want to accomplish.

A purpose is a REASON to accomplish something.

I need to have a reason — a purpose — for the things I do.

A lot of writing advice says “write for yourself”. And I get that — but I don’t see a PURPOSE in it, so my Muse says “nah, not gonna”. I mean, I “write for myself” all the time — I have all kinds of fun little stories I play out in my head that are for me and make me happy. But actually writing them down, putting those self-stories into words, doesn’t have a PURPOSE. I’m just as happy playing them in my head.

But there are other stories that my brain conjures up that don’t feel like they’re just for me — prompts or story ideas that come up in conversation, for example �� and these are the ones I want to put into words; the PURPOSE of putting those words out into the world is the hope that it makes someone else happy. The same goes for art — I have beautiful works of art in my head that I don’t feel the need to actually create, but there are others that I absolutely want to draw for the purpose of publishing and bringing joy to someone else.

Of course, this can often be a cause of creative block - “will anyone actually like this? Am I good enough, is this art good enough, who the hell wants to read/look at my crap anyway?” But the PURPOSE is still there — the POSSIBILITY that someone else WILL.

I also realized that this might clear up my goal-setting issue as well — as long as a goal has a purpose, my brain is happy to do it. A past example: I set a goal for myself in October 2018 that I would lose 30 lbs before my first Supernatural convention in Las Vegas the following March. I was highly motivated to do this goal because I am notoriously camera-shy and wanted to look good for all the photo ops I’d purchased — I mean, if I’m gonna spend $300 on a picture, I’d better look DAMNED GOOD in it. And you know what? I did it! I lost almost 35 lbs and yeah, I think I DID look damned good in those ops :D I was so pleased with the results that I extended the goal to keeping the weight off until the next VegasCon in March 2020. I did that too! As long as the goal had a purpose that was important to me, my brain got with the program and I was able to accomplish it.

This enlightenment has lead me to re-thinking my personal goals, both creative and “adulting” — I need to define the purpose for doing these things. Why do I want to write more? Why do I want to create more art? Why do I want to move out of the condo? etc etc.

So now I’m going to be doing some navel-gazing to come up with purposes for desired actions. I mean, it’s easy to say “I want to write more to make other people happy” but honestly, how do you judge that? And it’s often discussed in my writer’s circles that chasing “likes” or “kudos” is not necessarily healthy. But if your PURPOSE is to create happiness — and you’re unhappy unless you’re attempting to make others happy — then the purpose can be the POSSIBILITY of making someone else happy, and you can’t do that unless you put the words out there. Yeah, that might work!

Anyway, I have some thinking to do, and it’s gonna be exciting.

So, you may ask, what was my PURPOSE for this lengthy post? The reason is two-fold.

First, writing things down is a fabulous way to get things to stick in the brain. It’s also here to re-read whenever I feel my sense of purpose waning or faltering. So I wrote it for me, and Future (probably despondent, depressed, down-on-herself) Me.

Secondly, there is the POSSIBILITY someone else who might stumble upon this post (I have no illusions that this will be widely read, I’m not Tumblr-famous or anything :D ) who also struggles with goals and needs to hear this. If there is even ONE PERSON this helps, then it has served it’s PURPOSE.

So, to Future Me and that one person… Hi! Have a great, purpose-driven day! Now go set a goal, find it’s purpose, and GET IT DONE.

#Goals vs Purpose #Shower Thoughts #goal advice #writing #creativity #possibly also a diatribe #but hopefully helpful

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dingodad · 3 years

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act 2 is... not fun! i can basically go down the reasons i didn’t enjoy the game without spoiling anything about the game’s actual plot.

like i’ve said already pretty much the entire charm factor of the first act is gone. act 1 laughed in the face of trial-and-error point-and-clicks that acted like you were stupid for putting the wrong two items together by giving completely unique flavour for every combination of items. even if you knew two items didn’t go together, there was incentive for you to try! act 2 has none of this. 90% of object interactions are the same almost verbatim “these items probably won’t work together” text. there’s no incentive to try out different items, which makes a majority of the game’s objectives into just “click on the one right thing and then walk to the end of the room”.

the rooms themselves are totally empty! most have between one and three interactive objects in them; any other setpieces, no matter how intriguing they might be to the player and/or the viewpoint character joey, serve no plot purpose and are therefore purely background. the few objects that can be observed have only short, dry descriptions; any object description longer than a single sentence is a RARITY. even extremely obvious and again, interesting to the player combinations yield zero returns. there’s a huge ant lusus in one scene. applying the lusus handbook to this lusus returns the message... there’s nothing in this book about giant ants.

there are entire rooms full of CHARACTERS who can’t even be OBSERVED... 4 characters in a room of maybe two dozen can be clicked on, and no real reason is given for this. i suppose the player is just expected to “recognise” who the “main characters” are because they already saw the troll call... how many years ago?

not only are the rooms empty but they are huge. they are way too large for the miniscule amount of content in them and this is ONLY compounded by the backtracking fetch quests you start being put through in the second half of the act. a character literally makes fun of you for going back and forth through the game over and over again but no remedy is provided. one of the ultimate objectives of the game involves backtracking all the way back to the START of the game... only to be told you have no reason to be there, and should walk right back to the end again.

the entire inventory system is basically a joke in this act. most of your items will not get used. when you do get a new item, you will almost invariably get rid of it again by the time you leave that same room. again, almost no item combinations result in anything funny. one of the only act 1 items that gets used in this act is - if you’ll allow me to spoil one thing - xefros’ microphone, which he gives away to another character at almost the beginning of the act. xefros’ entire "rapping about random objects” shtick from the first game is completely discarded! it literally almost feels like an excuse for the writers not to have to write any more witty flavour than they absolutely have to. joey gets a new abilitech in this act which she uses exactly once. the rest of her abilitechs are basically dead space in her inventory like everything else.

instead of the actually charming... you know... pointing and clicking aspects of the first act, the developers seem to have taken on board how popular the friendship simulators were, and tried to make act 2 a dialogue-driven character game? which would be fine if... the characters were interesting. the fact is that most of the stuff they might have wanted to explore in act 2 has ALREADY BEEN DONE, in the friendsims. let it be said that the ace attorney minigame we all knew was coming takes up about half of the game. anyone who told you hiveswap act 2 was about 8 hours of playtime obviously milked as much out of this courtroom sequence as they could, which, if you don’t care about hiveswap’s small cult cast of jadebloods and tealbloods, is very little. most of the game’s dialog was obviously written for this scene. unlike the rest of the game, almost every little combination of choices has its own unique text in this part of the game: but if you’ve never played an ace attorney game before, you will have a hard time finding any of the right or even interesting combinations. to put it bluntly, unless you were already really invested in some of the elements involved, this part of the game will be a long, boring slog.

the game isn’t even particularly funny. act 1 got laughs out of me. act 2′s jokes either fall flat or quickly beat themselves to death. the cultural references serve no purpose. ace attorney “because lawyers!” is funny as a sight gag (like terezi’s OBJECTION!s in the original homestuck) but it serves no purpose as an extended, hour-long part of gameplay. and why does an ongoing gag about KPOP of all things take up so much of this scene, in a game that’s been patting itself on the back over its appeal to 90s nostalgia? (this to me is one of the most damning examples of the what pumpkin team putting out stuff that they personally find hilarious without once stopping to wonder if it’s a product that will actually have appeal). why is the “highblood statue” used in a single scene actually an anime figurine? because anime is funny, i guess?

the game DOES look beautiful, with little exception (the game’s minimalist philosophy makes most of the rooms like pretty empty, after the immediate “wow we’re on an alien planet!” magic wears off), but i struggle to say it’s even a serviceable bit of software. the gui is practically inscrutable. every door says something different on it. “exit”? “open”? “use”? some doors just have a pair of feet hovering above them, which means “walk through door” (just like in act 1, which worked fine). except sometimes the feet just mean “walk on this floor”. it depends entirely on which room you’re standing in.

the actual gameplay is hardly any better. let’s ignore the ace attorney minigame for once. any puzzle that isn’t “bring item from character a to character b” is literally indecipherable. they’ve graciously allowed us to finally use the hint button, which is completely necessary for some of the more arcane ““puzzles”“ (which are really just more of the same trial and error click-and-clicks), but for some reason... only joey can get hints? you’re free to switch between joey and xefros at any time, but only for xefros does the button say “hints currently unavailable”. if you want hints you have to switch to joey. this has no other bearing on the gameplay.

music is fine, but not “we’ve been sitting on this soundtrack for years!” or “we got the undertale guy to compose for us!” levels of blow-your-mind incredible. it’s obvious that the soundtrack composed years ago is not reflective of a game that was clearly cobbled together within the last 15 months. did i mention that out of the 38 troll call characters who were literally advertised as “the cast of hiveswap act 2″, zebede and charun are just entirely absent without cause or explanation?

#hiveswap

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the-antiapocalyptic-man · 3 years

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Nothing can truly contain the power of THE SWORD OF THE MIGHTY ATOM

Skipping ahead to Ryan Choi because I just like him more, but Ray’s Sword era is interesting to me because it was very much DC trying to chase trends while having a character they didn’t really know what to do with. I don’t know what it is, but it seems like every superhero with some kind of shrinking power (or anything that’s not lasers, punching good, or having a bunch of money) is a target for derision, despite having a longer shelf life than most of the people making fun of them. I think part of it is the nature of the American market versus say, Manga, where stuff like One Piece and BNHA utilize weird, off-beat powersets to great effect. But, I digress.

As far as headverse meta, got a couple extras in here with Bug-Eyed Bandit and Chronos. Bug-Eyed is Brie Larvan in the Bertram Larvan costume and Chronos is the David Clinton version, though I want to work in Mick Rory down the line. Heatwave as a time traveler is immensely funny to me for completely inexplicable reasons.

Ryan himself is pretty in line with the Rebirth era take: one of Ray Palmer’s grad students who picks up his equipment and becomes a superhero. The timeline’s a little different, so his peers are Doris Zuel, Adam Cray, and child prodigy Karen Beecher. From a story perspective, I’m inclined to even condense all their origins down to “same lab accident” or something, but I don’t want to flatten the whole universe out too much. I want to give Doris a connection to Golden Age Giganta eventually.

The lightsaber was Ryan’s own invention and Ray was quite excited about it, to say the least. His costume is supposed to look a little cobbled together, being Ray’s shrinking rig amended with Ryan’s own additions and whatever protective gear he could throw together. Originally I had his eyes visible, but I kinda dig the effect of the opaque goggles, so went with that.

#headverse #the atom #ryan choi #bug-eyed bandit #brie larvan #chronos #david clinton #dc #fanart

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saturnsorbits · 2 years

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ahhhh Saturn~~ o/ ♥

I have been meaning to send this for so long, but every time I feel horrible about just word vomitting in your ask box, but like. If I don't tell you you will never know, and it's a crime if I don't at least let you have an inkling of just how much I fucking love your stuff. I have been trying to leave comments in the tags when I reblog but I'm terrible at really going at it there. At the end of the day, I'm more of a 'send an ask and bury 'em in nonsense' kinda gal.

Apologies if this is more disjointed than usual, as they have been written at different times and saved for whenever I had the energy and emotional intelligence required to cobble them together into something intelligible (I have given up on that and am settling for having the energy to make them readable enough, enjoy lol).

Study Date - So, after Born to Bail, I knew I wanted more of your Sero. So I saved this one to read when I was in the headspace for some good threesome fun and man, did it deliver. I loved how you set the scene. The easy conversation and banter between the three really conveyed the type of relationship they have, how close they truly are. It all felt so natural and so right, made it easy to imagine being there, talking to them. I laughed at them taking digs at Bakugo and Kirishima, and just as casually moving from there to "let's bang". How easily Sero takes control of the situation and initiates everything is HOT AS FUCK. And Kaminari being all shy and submissive was SO FUCKING GOOD. Kaminari coming too soon? Inside of reader? From being fucked in the ass by Sero? You pulled all the fucking stops, Saturn. And I loved it.

Blue Lines - So, I'm not one for pregnancy fics. So I was gonna skip this one. But it was yours and I saw the first line and was like, "that sounds like Bakugo alright." And like. I'm so glad I did? I loved it. It was so… I don't know how to put it. As someone who doesn't want children, and who has her own history with the whole thing… The way you went about this felt so real, so relatable. I can hear not just Bakugo in your fic, but also a version of myself, and that's a very special feeling. So thank you for this one. Also, love the idea of older Bakugo doing an impression of his mom to mock her lmao.

Hand Prints - I don't know if by the time I send this you will still have this one up or not. But I just want you to know, I read it at the time and I felt it. It made me think and cry, but not in a necessarily bad way, I think. I just wanted you to know that. I didn't reblog it at the time because it felt invasive to do so -- like it was a private thing I was lucky enough to get to read, but I had no right to spread around. I don't know if that was the right thing to do or not, but I wanted you to know.

Bouquet - jsdfkljsklfdjflksdjsfdkljsdklfjfsdkljsdklajflkjfkljsdklfjnlsdff. SATURN WHAT. THIS. I FUCKING LOVED THIS. Like. The way Bakugo talks to us. So familiar and loving right off the bat. IDK what it is about how you writing, but I can feel his affection-- And now I want to reread it. So I am gonna save the commentary until I am done because I feel like I want to say so much about this and this message is already long enough. (will group it with Union, for the same reasons, which, btw, I ALSO FUCKING LOVED ♥)

Ahhhhhhhh. I'm sorry this is so long. /)_(\ Once again, Saturn, thank you so much for writing such wonderful stories and sharing them with us. ♥

Hope you have a lovely day and rest of the week~

Tiph, I have been staring at this since I noticed it this morning bc honestly, this has made my entire month. I really can’t thank you enough 💕

I adore that you like my Sero. Honestly, he’s one of my favourite people to write and I love that he’s kind of taken on his own persona through everything I write for him now!

I’m not one for pregnancy fics either! I’m very ‘breed no baby’, but I also have some very complicated feelings that I feel Bakugo would share? Which is how Blue Lines came about. I’m glad it resonated with you though! That fic seemed to resonate with a lot of people and it was really nice to see that there are lot of us who relate to this kind of liminal grey-space when it comes to that kind of stuff… Also: Bakugo’s Mitsuki impression is flawless. Mitsuki hates it. He does it at family functions when she’s pissing him off, bc it makes him less likely to shout. Kirishima can do the impression too (but it’s cute when he does it according to Mitsuki - much to Bakugo’s annoyance).

Hand Prints. Yeah - that was a very raw piece. Honestly, just knowing you read it and felt it means more than anything 💕 Makes me feel less alone. If that makes a lick of sense? Either way, thank you.

Ah! Bouquet - I had so much fun writing the dynamic for that. I also think it’s the most British I’ve ever written Bakugo, but I don’t think it comes off too strong 🤣 I usually throw the poor guy into so much angst, it was nice to just write a really big fluff piece for him, the man deserves it!

This really did make my day. Honestly, I can not thank you enough. Not only for sharing in my writing, but for leaving messages like this. You’re an absolute gem - words don’t do justice to how much this means to me 🥰

I hope you have the best day ever! And that Bakugo gives you all of the smooches bc you deserve them! 💕

#saturnspeaks #Did Tiph just single-handedly save my motivation? Yes.#I feel so pumped to write; right now.#Tiph I adore the ground you walk on; dearest.

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

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Prompt where the 212 gets together to paint Obi-Wan’s armor so he would wear it more but at some point our fool gets captured and his captor wears the armor to piss Kenobi off so when the 212 comes in Cody goes absolutely feral when he sees someone else where his general’s armor and Kenobi gets absolutely railed by Cody after.

(i don’t do smut, but i love this idea so so much, i really don’t know why i haven’t come across more painted armour Obi stuff, and y’all have probably realised i’m all about Obi angst, sooo this one was a lot of fun. thank you so much for prompting, lovely! threw in some headcanon mandalorian family and courting culture just for you)

Jedi were not made to wear armour, they were not soldiers, at least not before. Cody knows his general picked up clone culture better than most, from the little bits of Mando’a to the importance of Vode An, and he should perhaps be thankful that General Kenobi wears any armour at all, but what good are simple pauldrons and vambraces when Kenobi throws himself against hundreds of clankers without backup on a weekly basis?

It’s Wupi that suggests it, drunk on Waxer’s rotgut and going grey with how often he has to patch up their general after missions. Boil is mostly amused by Kenobi’s apparent death wish, but he isn’t like their medic, or Cody: he doesn't have to deal with the fallout when Kenobi comes back to the Negotiator so much worse off than his men.

“Why don’t we give him one o’ yours armours?” Wupi had slurred, half out of his blacks and staring into his cup like it would relieve him of his duty. “S’General’s too nice to lose someone else’s.”

Wooley had jerked his attention from his own cup and stared at Cody because that... that wasn’t a bad idea.

And because Wupi is too hungover the next day to do anything about it himself, it’s Wooley that starts the task of finding and retrofitting pieces of clone armour to fit their general (their “wonderfully tiny" general, as Wupi had put before passing out in his chair). It takes a few days, bouncing between three different quartermasters and Commander Tano for input on how to wear it over more traditional Jedi clothes, but Wooley finally amasses something close to a full set that they might convince Kenobi to wear, and then goes around giving each member of the Ghost Company a few pieces to paint.

Cody tries not to think about why Wooley gives him the chestplate. He tries really hard.

There’s something to be said about family giving each other armour, of course, Cody doesn’t think Wooley or Boil or Wupi or Waxer are trying to woo their general, and it shows in the pieces of armour they choose to paint, but the breastplate is... forward, when not given in a familial sense, and Cody can’t pretend that he is. Giving it in a familial sense. Kriff.

Ghost Company all sit together in the empty mess one night, Cody having strategically made sure their sleeping shifts line up, and they paint the pieces while drinking more of Waxer’s rotgut and pretending they don’t have a battle tomorrow that they might not win. Cody’s men paint each piece to match their own, so that Kenobi’s set is a mix of bits of each of them. They aren’t quite sure how it works for natborn Mandalorians, there were limits on what the Kaminoins let the Cuy’val Dar teach them, but this is as close as they can get to claiming Ken— Obi-Wan as one of the vode. The meaning won’t be lost on him.

Cody carefully paints his sun rays onto Obi-Wan’s chestplate, the orange crisp and shiny-bright, and he wonders if Obi-Wan knows the meaning of colours on beskar’gam. He seems to know a lot about Mandalorian culture that even the clones don’t, but Cody has never pushed to know more about why, not when it makes Obi-Wan clam up like that.

Boil finishes quickly, and just as quickly gets completely smashed to the point he’s singing the last raunchy jig they’d picked up planet-side, and it’s almost calming to see him so relaxed. Waxer smiles fondly at his brother and switches his cup for one of water instead, shaking his head at Wooley’s disapproving glare.

Cody waits until the others have gone to bed to ask for the medic’s steady hand, to help him stencil a beskar’ta right above the sternum. He isn’t sure if he’s ever seen another vode with a beskar’ta, and perhaps it’s a little presumptuous for Cody to give Obi-Wan one without discussing it with him first, but he can offer no greater protection to his general. The way Wupi doesn’t say anything when Cody carefully paints in the lines says more about his relationship with Obi-Wan than he’d really like to admit.

Cody isn’t there when Wooley presents the armour to him, but when Obi-Wan joins them in the hangar before descent planet-side, he wears every piece as if it were the regalia of some ancient royal, and not a cobbled-together attempt to keep him alive. The rest of the 212th hide their stares inside their buckets, and Obi-Wan still wears his outer robe over it all, but Ghost Company all preen at the sight of their general not only protected, but in their colour and crests.

Obi-Wan smiles at Cody as they load into the shuttles, tapping a closed fist over the beskar’ta in all-too-knowing thanks. So he knows at least the familial connotations, which doesn’t bode well for Cody’s half hope that that’s all he knows.

Crys claps Cody on the shoulder with an eyebrow wiggle, and Cody wishes Jango hadn’t taught them a damn thing.

Day three without water, even with the Force sustaining him, leaves Obi-Wan more than a little delirious. The Nikto bounty hunter that thought they could somehow convince Count Dooku that they’d captured the famed Negotiator grows increasingly agitated as the hours roll by, and Obi-Wan wishes he had better presence of mind to appreciate it.

They have him on his knees and strung up in chains like a barbarian, and stick him with a needle every three hours with some sort of Force suppressor that makes him even more incoherent — Obi-Wan is fairly sure they’re over-drugging him. Actually, perhaps the Force isn’t sustaining him properly; that would certainly explain a lot.

The morning of day four in the brig of a ship Obi-Wan can’t remember the make of, the Nikto starts picking through his removed armour, with scathing comments about the colour and fact that it had come from “cannon-fodder slaves that are better put-down than eating up the galaxy’s resources”, and oh, Obi-Wan wishes he could rend them limb from limb.

“A bastardisation of Mando armour, you know,” the Nikto grumbles, sending Obi-Wan a pitying look when all he can do is grunt angrily. “Look, this even has an iron heart; what poor kriffing fool told you you were allowed to wear such a mark?” Scoffing, the Nikto discards their cloak to slip on Obi-Wan’s chestplate; every last scrap of energy in Obi-Wan screams at the wrongness, and he jerks in his chains.

The Nikto startles and doesn’t get to fastening the sides as they stare at their prisoner. “You shouldn’t have any mobility left,” they say in part surprise, part anger, getting back to their feet to drag the small medical crate of suppressors back across the room. They kick it open and pull out an almost-empty vial, but don’t get to the needles before a proximity alarm goes off.

They drop the vial and grab the blaster from their hip, and barely get it up in time for the single door to explode inwards, Ghost Company forcing their way into the room before the smoke has even cleared. And Obi-Wan trusts his men, his family, with every Force-forsaken bit of him, which means he promptly passes out at the sight of them.

He doesn’t wake in safety, rather with a vibroblade pressed to his throat and a hand twisting cruelly in his hair. His vision is filled with white and orange and warmth, before his brain catches up to what he’s actually seeing, and he focuses on the blank helmets of his men. The suppressors in his system do nothing to hide the molten metal anger that leaks into the Force all around them, and Obi-Wan must look worse than he thought, if Cody’s hand is trembling on his blaster.

‘Easy,’ Obi-Wan whispers without moving his lips, Cody giving the smallest of jerks so Obi-Wan knows the message is received.

‘Sir?’ Cody shifts on his feet, the Nikto saying something from behind Obi-Wan that’s surely full of gloating and threat, but Cody’s helmet is tilted towards Obi-Wan, his presence fluttering in the Force like a lamp in the dark.

‘I’m not quite sure how you’re managing this,’ Obi-Wan admits, with half a thought to the cosmic implication of Cody giving him a beskar’ta, which has meaning even outside Mandalore, outside even the Force. ‘But my lovely captor is weak on their left side, an old injury, I think.’

‘He’s wearing your armour,’ Cody all but growls and raises his blaster properly, and the Nikto must sense the change as they nervously fumble the vibroblade and cut through the collar of Obi-Wan’s tunic.

And Obi-Wan is tired, he’s been in chains for four days with drugs he’s never encountered burning the ends of his nerves and cutting off an entire sense he has never been without, so he looks up until he meets Cody’s eyes squarely. ‘Then relieve them of it.’

‘With pleasure, sir.’

Mando’a: Vode An — "Brothers All" (a Mando’a war chant taught to the clones by Jango and the Cuy’val Dar) Cuy’val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones beskar’gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy beskar’ta — “Iron heart”, the elongated hex-shape common in Mandalorian armour designs (great post here comparing them to katana tsuba). also called ka’rta beskar or “heart of the iron”

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yodawgiherd · 3 years

Text

Incantation of Incineration

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Ok so this work is inspired by an INCREDIBLE fanart I've been blessed to see, do yourself a favor and check it out too - > https://twitter.com/NxngOna/status/1386048795595743239 Mwah, perfection Anyway, rating is M, so beware.

(It's also quickly cobbled together because its a heat-of-the-moment thing, so forgive me if you find mistakes :> I'm far from perfect.)

This had to work.

No, who was she kidding, this wouldn’t work.

It never did, no matter how hard Mikasa tried, how deeply she dug in the library, how much she searched on the internet. Magic was a myth, and it would never work, which saddened the goth girl to no end.

She was fascinated by the supernatural ever since she could remember, devouring magazines, tv-shows or books dedicated to the topic with unhealthy speed. Maybe she was a tiny bit obsessed, but that was okay. Her parents didn’t mind, as long as she kept her grades up, and because Mikasa was very bright that was not hard to achieve. In her free time she kept experimenting, she kept trying, she kept searching for a way to make it work.

To no avail.

No ritual worked. No spell changed anything. No incantation had any effect. Still, she wouldn’t give up. It carried her through high school and it stuck with her in college too. To Mikasa it didn’t matter that goth went out of style, that magic was a forgotten thing for all of her classmates. It was an ethereal thing, bigger than life, something that enhanced the mundane and boring existence.

And today, her faith was rewarded.

Mikasa was studying in a library by herself, having an exam coming up, when her session was interrupted. A small girl appeared, hair shadowing her eyes and an enigmatic smile on the youthful face.

“Hello,”, she said, “Do you like black magic?”

“I.. Uh…”, nervous, the goth pushed an unruly bang that escaped her pigtails behind one pierced ear, “Why do you ask?”

A frown entered her features when Mikasa realized that this was a college library, no place for a small girl.

“Wait, who are you? Where are your parents?”

The girl ignored all this, rudely.

“If you do like magic…”, she leaned closer, “Check the “Worlds Religions” section, the third row.”

“What are you talking about? H-hey!”

Not answering, the girl turned and walked away, disappearing between the bookshelves. Completely dumbfounded, Mikasa sat for a while, wondering what kind of strange experience this was. Honestly, she should ignore that. It was a child, probably making fun of her because of the way Mikasa dressed. It meant nothing.

Maybe.

Most likely.

But what if…

“Screw it.”, two words that fell from between the goth’s lips and she was putting her stuff back in the bag, throwing it over her shoulder, and walking towards the religion section.

Deftly, her fingers ran along the covers as she searched, taking care that none of her rings scratched the books. Third row, was it? Eyes sliding over one book and then the next, Mikasa felt an uneasiness in her stomach upon finding nothing. It was a joke then. The girl….

Here.

This book didn’t belong here. Sure, it had a cross on the front, but that was the only marking. No title, no text, no explanation, only black leather and silver cross imprinted into it. Looking left and right, Mikasa made sure that she’s alone before grabbing the book and opening it, eyes widening immediately.

There were spells scribbled on the pages, strange words that made sense to her only because of the life-long obsession with the occult. Not that Mikasa didn’t see books like these before, but none of the spells in those worked. Yet this one – it appeared so suddenly, and the girl was so mysterious…..

Biting her bottom lip, Mikasa quickly stuffed the book in her bag, leaving the library right after. Studying could wait, her pursuit of magic could not. Nobody noticed her little thievery, nobody called out for her, and when she was walking home, a new hope was blooming in Mikasa’s chest.

Turning the key in its lock, she wasn’t surprised to see that her parents weren’t home. They worked long hours, days sometimes, and Mikasa was used to being alone. Kicking off her heavy leather boots she beelined towards the bedroom, shutting the door after herself. Bag dumped at the foot of the bed, Mikasa pulled out the book and sat cross-legged on the floor, truly studying it.

There were so many spells in the book, so many rituals, it made her head swim. Some were amazing, some terrible, some made her shiver, and other gasp in excitement.

“No point in getting worked up over nothing.”, she calmed herself, “If none of these work….”

A test then, a trial run of one of these, to see if this was real or yet another hoax. Randomly opening the book, her grey eyes slid over the text, taking in the chosen pages.

“A demon summoning ritual.”, she read out loud.

Okay, fine.

It was a fairly basic spell, and Mikasa had everything required. Chalk to draw a pentagram on the floor. Candles in each corner of the star. In the middle, a small bowl waited for her offering. Mikasa kneeled above it, as described in the book, a knife in one hand. Going by the instructions, she was supposed to cut herself, deep enough to bleed. That was fine, but the placement of the required cut was strange. Not a hand, as she usually did, this one had to be on her face beneath the right eye.

Well, Mikasa was determined.

Reading from the book, she began the ritual. The strange words made no sense to her, but it wasn’t the first time that she chanted something without understanding what. The spell was long and tedious to pronounce, luckily she had plenty of experience with speaking tongue-twisting words. Higher and higher her voice climbed until it was the time for the climax of the ritual. Gritting her teeth, Mikasa dragged the knife over her face, catching a few drops of blood into the bowl. Planting it back in the middle of the pentagram, she waited with bated breath, waited and….

Nothing happened.

Satan damn it.

A wave of sadness washed over her as Mikasa sat back on her heels, clutching the book to her chest. This was her best shot by far, and it didn’t do anything. Maybe it was finally time to accept that black magic simply didn’t ex…

A sudden explosion followed by black and red smoke threw her and Mikasa landed on her back, knocking her head against the floor. Her vision was swimming, but she could see that someone was standing in the middle of the pentagram now, a tall figure that angled its head back, a breathy chuckle coming.

“Damn, it's good to breathe air again.”

That voice. That damn voice. So deep, it rumbled through her entire being, tingled some parts that Mikasa didn’t even know existed. Pushing herself up on the elbows, Mikasa was about to ask what is going on when the being looked straight at her.

And she was lost.

Those green eyes pierced her, went right through any sort of mental strength, and dug into the deepest parts of her being. Not even giving her time to think the being moved, fast as a shadow, and suddenly her body was covered by someone. Falling back from the sudden assault with a yelp, Mikasa turned on her hip, still clutching that stupid book to her chest. Fearfully, she raised her eyes and finally saw what the hell did she just summon.

It was a demon all right. A man no doubt, naked from the waist up but (luckily) wearing black pants with multiple leather belts. Nothing strange on his body, at least from what Mikasa saw, but his head was quite a different story. There were horns on the top of his head, black and curved. Strange markings ran down from his emerald eyes, a bit like cuts, heading down the cheeks. Studying it, studying him, Mikasa realized one thing.

Their faces were damn close.

“So you are the one who summoned me?”, the demon asked, a smug smile crossing his admittedly very handsome features, “A girl?”

Mikasa’s throat was dry, so dry that she couldn’t even answer, but the demon didn’t seem to mind. He was looking at her too, eyes roaming all over her face and a certain satisfaction appearing. A strange ringing sound to her left, and suddenly there was a hand touching her, sweeping away hair that fell into her eyes.

He had claws, she realized, claws and torn shackles at his wrists. And while the claws did look sharp his touch was gentle, not hurting her in the slightest.

“A pretty girl at that.”, the demon continued his monologue, “Very pretty…. Beautiful …”

There was hunger in his words now, a primal one that made Mikasa shiver. She had to do something, otherwise this demon would devour her. Gathering all her mental strength, she clutched the book tighter and spoke.

More like squeaked.

“I-I am y-your master now! You c-came because of my c-calling, that ma-makes you mine!”

“Is that so?”, the demon wasn’t bothered by these words in the slightest, more like pleased if she read his face correctly, “Tell me, beautiful…”

Closer, closer he moved and now their faces were practically touching.

“Do you feel in power?”

Unable to speak, Mikasa shook her head as her lips trembled in fear. A single tear rolled from her eye, realizing that while she may have conducted the ritual, she had no idea how to control the demon. Yet before the tear could splash against the floor the demon caught it, a gentle claw swiping across her slightly bleeding cheek.

“There is no need to cry, pretty girl, I have no intention of hurting you.”

“Y-You don’t?”

“No, you are way too beautiful for that, I wouldn’t dream of tainting that. And…”, his nostrils flared as he took a lungful, “you smell wonderful.”

His head dipped low and suddenly it was on Mikasa’s neck. Lips parted and sharp teeth grazed the skin, making her think that despite the earlier words he might still hurt her. Instead of pain a soft kiss was planted on her neck, forcing a gasp from her throat. That sound pleased the demon.

“W-What are you doing?”, Mikasa choked out.

“I’m not going to hurt you, but you can’t expect me to come all this way from hell and want nothing in return….”, claws appeared again, this time on her upper thighs, dancing around the lace of her stockings, “There is an ocean of pleasure I could drown you in, my beauty, and I’m feeling generous tonight…”

Retreating from her neck the demon faced her again, the green eyes scorching with intensity.

“What do you say, mortal, want a taste?”

No! – her rational half screamed.

But…

He was so beautiful, so unreal, he was everything Mikasa dreamed about. Dark magic was real, it summoned a demon for her, one that was offering her pleasure. Those damn claws on her sensitive skin, the aftertaste of his lips on her neck, the delicious heat his body produced, pressed so close to her….

“Y-Yes.”, Mikasa found herself saying, unable to stop it, “I do.”

The smile that appeared on the demon’s lips, that was the epitome of smugness.

“Good.”

Without further ado, he crashed his lips into hers, finally kissing her. Mikasa was taken aback by this, head lolling back and jaw wrenched helplessly open. The demon’s tongue slipped into her mouth, abnormally long and dexterous, wrapping around her own in one slick motion. At the same time the claws moved, repositioning from her thighs to between them, pressing against her heat. Overcome at several places, Mikasa moaned out loud.

Black panties nudged aside, now the tip of the claw was teasing her wetness directly, building her frustration up. She couldn’t do anything, hands uselessly hanging on the side, the book cluttering on the floor. His tongue was everywhere in her mouth, taking it as its own home, even brushing against Mikasa’s throat. How long was that damn thing?

By the time he finally allowed her to breathe Mikasa was panting, eyes wide and cheeks boiling red. Observing the fruits of his labor, the demon noticed the blood still trickling down, his tongue sweeping out to lick at it.

“Delicious…”, he purred, gently caressing the tiny cut that was already healing, thanks to his tongue, “You taste wonderfully too.”

“P-Please…”, was all Mikasa could say, begging with her eyes more than with her words.

“Oh? Is there something you want?”, the rubbing grew even faster, forcing her to arch her hips and moan again.

“Please!”, she practically screamed, tilting her hips for a better angle.

Deciding that he had tortured her enough, the demon slipped a single finger inside her, exploring the fluttering walls. The penetration made her gasp wonderfully, eyes sliding shut from the intensity. She was tight, tighter than he expected, making him frown.

“I don’t think that I can go all the way with you tonight, my beauty.”, he sighed, “It would hurt you too much.”

Summoning a single braincell to work, Mikasa cracked an eye open.

“W-What?”

The demon’s answer was a grin.

“Not to worry, I have many more weapons at my disposal.”

A second claw joined the first one, scissoring her open, and Mikasa lost control of her voice. With her mouth occupied by frantic breathing, the demon attacked the neck again, biting into the skin. She was so pale and colored beautifully beneath his teeth, and he chuckled inwardly imagining all the bruises that were sure to bloom on her.

There were wet sounds in the room, squelching as he fingered her, her body being such an amazingly reacting toy. Pulling his fingers out, the demon admired the trail of wetness that connected them to her twitching womanhood. Mikasa’s blood tasted wonderful, so how about….

The long tongue was back in action, she realized, watching as the demon licked his fingers clean from her essence, an expression of pure joy appearing on his features.

“Now this… This is something else.”, his eyes found hers, a wicked grin on the demon’s face, “I need to taste you properly.”

Faster than a snake he was gone, head appearing between her stockinged legs. With a quick swipe of his claw the demon snapped the waistband of her panties open, throwing the ruined underwear away. Grabbing Mikasa’s asscheeks he spread her open for him, planting his face exactly where she wanted it to be. Right against her throbbing sex.

If the abnormal demon tongue felt amazing in her mouth, having it down there was indescribable. Licking at her glistening outer lips first, he glided everywhere on the wet skin, cleaning it. And then he was inside. The long muscle slid into her, writhing around and Mikasa clasped her hands over her mouth just in time before a loud scream ripped its way from her throat. This was incredible.

Nothing ever came close to how the demon’s tongue made her feel. Never in her life did Mikasa experience this much pleasure because the tongue reached everywhere stimulating the entirety of her sex in long strokes and vibrations that she had no idea how he produced. Her eyes rolled back, her chest contracted, her legs clenched around his head. Relentless in his pursuit of Mikasa’s sweetness, the demon kept tongue-fucking her with a clear purpose in mind. To speed it up, to reach his feast faster, a single claw dragged over her swollen clit, pressing and rubbing and….

Mikasa lost it.

Complete whiteness washed over her vision as she came, her inner walls contracting wildly around the demonic tongue. She pulsed and pulsed and produced more of that delicious nectar that he eagerly drank in, not letting even a drop go to waste. Mikasa’s blood was delicious but this was beyond delicious, it was the best thing that he ever tasted and the demon couldn’t get enough.

When her body began to calm, a frown entered his handsome features.

“Oh no, this won’t do, I need more.”

Mikasa didn’t even get a chance to talk before the tongue slid inside her again and she screamed, eyes shutting and features contorting. Apparently once was not enough, and the demon was intent on making her come on his face again.

This was going to be a long night.

In the end, Mikasa lost count on how many times the demon made her cum. Not tiring, not needing a break, he kept pleasuring her, toying with her clit and abusing her sex. She was lost in an unending stream of happy hormones, drowning in that ocean of pleasure the demon promised her. His grip on her was firm and Mikasa’s hips were grounded, the demon didn’t allow her to move away from him, holding his prize close. Only when she was truly done and couldn’t do it anymore, when she whined in discomfort instead of pleasure did he pull back, sated.

For now.

Completely done and spent Mikasa was practically passed out, body unresponsive and eyes closed. Hands circled her, easily picking her up and carrying her a short distance. She was gently deposited in the bed and someone pulled the covers over her before a kiss was planted on her forehead. And then a heated whisper entered her ears, pushing its way into the brain even through the curtain of absolute exhaustion.

“If you want more, my beauty, you know where to find me.”, another kiss, this time on her lips, “I’ll be waiting.”

Finally, the darkness overcame her completely.

When Mikasa woke up, hours later, she thought that it all must have been a dream. That delusion lasted for only about a second before the rest of her body woke up, the ache in her lower regions demanding that she accepts the reality. Lifting the covers, Mikasa’s eyes shot open.

Her body was still fully clothed, as the demon didn’t bother with disrobing her, only her panties were gone. There were bruises, so many bruises on her upper thighs, the small part left uncovered by the stockings littered with bites. Her neck received a similar treatment, judging from the ache.

The pentagram was there, albeit the candles were snuffed out, the book lying innocently in the middle. Mikasa tried standing up to get it, only to realize that her legs refused to carry her and she fell back into the bed. Despite all this ache, despite all the unknown, Mikasa’s lips spread into a smile as she eyed the book.

The goth girl and her green-eyed demon are going to have so much fun together.

#fanart inspired #snk #eremika #fanfic

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trickster-tabby · 3 years

Text

What's your favorite idea? Mine is being creative. How do you get the idea? I just try to think creatively. Now when you look at this orange, tell me please, what do you see? It's just a boring old orange. Maybe to you, but not to me. I see a silly face! Wow! Walking along and smiling at me. I don't see what you mean. Cause you're not thinking creatively! So take a look at my hair! Cool! I use my hair to express myself. That sounds really boring. I use my hair to express myself. Now, when you stare at the clouds in the sky, don't you find it exciting? No. Come on, take another look. Oh, wait! I can see a hat! I can see a cat! I can see a man with a baseball bat! I can see a dog! I can see a frog! I can see a ladder, leaning on a log! Think you're getting the hang of it now, using your minds to have a good time. I might paint a picture of a clown. Whoa there friend, you might need to slow down. Here's another good tip. Yeah? Of how to be a creative wiz kid. Go and collect some leaves and sticks and arrange them into your favorite color. Blue. Red! Green! Green is not a creative color. Oh... There's one more thing that you need to know, before you let your creativity flow. Listen to your heart, listen to the rain, listen to the voices in your brain. Come on guys, let's get creative! Now let's all agree to never be creative again.

Come on guys, stop mucking around. We only have five minutes until our show's on. That's not enough time. There's always time for a song. What? Who is that? Time is a tool you can put on the wall or wear it on your wrist. The past is far behind us, the future doesn't exist. Oh... What's the time? It's quarter to nine! Time to have a bath. What do you mean? We're already clean. Scrub scrub scrub, 'til the water's brown. Time is a ruler to measure the day. It doesn't go backwards, only one way. Watch it go round like a merry-go-round. Going so fast like a merry-go-round. Let's go on a journey, a journey through all time. The time that's changing all the time, it's time to go to time! But we don't really want to, we're going to miss our show. Don't be stupid, friends! Come on, it's time to go! Time is old, like Victorian times. Like cobbles, and playing, and speaking in rhymes. With cobbles, and chimneys, a simpler times. With cobbles, and sawdust, and batteries, and slime! This tree that is old has circles inside. This tree that is older has shriveled and died. The apple that's fresh is ripe to the core! And I rot over time and I'm not anymore. Time can be told by the moon or the sun, but time flies fast when you're having fun. There's a time and a place for mucking around! Like birthdays! And camping. I'm friends with my dad! And then what happened after the olden days? Time went new and got old like history. Stuff from the past went into a mystery. An old man died. But look, a computer. Everything's cool, it's the future! Time is now, the future anew! And look at all the wonderful things you can do! With gadgets and gizmos, and email addresses! My dad is a computer! Look at the time! It's quarter to eight, there's fish on my plate! It's twenty past day, there's fish on my tray! It's eleven to twelve, there's fish in the bath! It's nine thirty, there's fish everywhere. Fish everywhere. Now you can see the importance of time. It helps us make pizza, it keeps things in line. But when did it start? And when will it stop? Time is important, and I am a clock. If we run out of time, where does it go? Is time even real, does anyone know? Maybe time's just a construct of human perception, an illusion created by- meh meh meh meh MEH MEH MEH MEH MEH MEH MEH MEH MEH MEH- Sunrise, sunset, night and day. The changing seasons, the smell of hay. Look at your hair grow, isn't it strange how time makes your appearance change? Ugh! Make it stop! It's out of my hands, I'm only a clock. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be fine. But eventually, everyone runs out of time.

Isn't it nice to finally be outside on such a beautiful day? Yes, and I've packed us a delicious chicken picnic. Huh? Heh, hehehe! Ugh! Pesky bee! Hmm, he seems upset about something. I wonder what will happen. It makes you sad, doesn't it? That there's so much hatred in the world. I hope you don't mind if I ask you a question. A little baby pigeon! Have you ever wondered why we're here? What's it all about, you've no idea. And everywhere you look, all you see is hatred, and darkness, death, and fear. But, you know, it doesn't have to be that I hate you, and you hate me. Cause even though we're different, it doesn't make a difference, and we can live in harmony. I know you don't know who I am, but maybe I could hold your hand, and together we could understand about love. Huh? I feel tingly! Yes, that's love, my friend! And it's time for you to learn all about it. Hehehehe! Love is a place, love is a thing, love is a place, love is a thing, love is a place, love is a thing, love is a place, love is a thing. And do you ever feel like life's unfair? Cause everybody hates you, and no one cares! But if you follow me, maybe you will see that love is everywhere! But what is love? Is it in the sky? No, it's a feeling, deep inside! Because I'm hungry. No, you're lonely! I can see it in your eyes. I don't understand. Don't worry, you will soon! Come and meet some of my friends they know all about love! Come on, just over the rainbow! Oh look, there he goes, flying through the sky! Maybe we should follow him, or we'll get left behind. Yes, but there's lots of chicken left, and I'd like to eat the chicken. I'd also like to eat the chicken, let's do that instead. So here we are with all my friends, and they love you, all of them! Yes we do! It is true! We love you! And you love us too! Heh, I love you too, furry boy! Hehe, harder. Now we've eaten the chicken, I don't know what to do. Maybe we should look for our friend, isn't that what friends do? And we have finished the chicken picnic. To love each other is to care, to be kind. And to share! I love my friends so I get my hug! I made this for you, cause I love you so much. I love my pet, cause he's a crab. I love this tree, and I love this stick, and I love this mud. No no, that's not how it's done, you must save your love for your Special One. My Special One? Everyone has a Special One. Even me? But I am lonely. Yes, it's true! But do not worry. You're confused, but that's okay. Let me put it another way... This is the story of Michael, the loneliest boy in town. This is the story of Michael, the ugliest boy in town. Ugly and weak, they called him a freak, so he lived on his own underground. He lived on his own underground. He lived on his own underground. You see? Everyone has a Special One! Even Michael! Your heart beats hard like a big love drum, calling for your Special One. So be patient, cause just maybe, your Special One will come! He's made for her, and she's made for him. That's the way it's always been. And it's perfect, and it's pure. And it's protected with a ring. That's the way that all love goes. And like a flower, it grows and grows! And it's forever, and forever! And now we all worship our king, our king, our king, our king. His name is Malcolm. He is the king of love. We must feed him. We must feed him gravel. Or he becomes angry. Mmm, gravel. And this is your chance to start anew, and all we're asking you to do is change your name, clean your brain, and forget about anything you ever knew. And your heart will find its home. And our love will never go! Now wear this ring, and join the king! And you will never be alone. Aah! Oh, there you are. We've been looking for you all afternoon. We're sorry we upset you. But look, we've brought you the last boiled egg to cheer you up! For me? Father! Ugh! Pesky bee!

Oh, I guess it's my turn to choose a card. Let's see. Hmm! What is the biggest thing in the world? Hmm, that's a tricky one. A mountains? A sky. A windmill! No. If only there was a way to learn more about the world. Yes, if only there was some way to learn more information about this. Wow, look! I'm a computer. I'm a computery guy. Everything made out of buttons and wires. I'd like to show you inside my digital life. Inside my mind there is a digital mind. Oh, maybe you could help us answer this question. What is the bigg- Clever. I'm very clevery guy. Count to a fifty in the blink of my eye. And print a picture. And then I'll tell you the time. Time? Help you to find something you're wanting to find. Know it's easy to be a clever, smart boy like me if you just do it all digitally. Wow. I'd like to be as smart as a computer. Actually, we already have a computer. Great! Great news! Now, before we begin our journey, I just need to get some information from you. What's your name? Where do you live? What do you like to eat? I live in my house. Spaghetti! Well, my name is Dr- Great news! Now, just a few more questions, and we'll be on our way! Wait a second. What's your favorite color? Stop talking. Do you like cow's or goat's milk? Be quiet. Do you have brown hair? What is your blood type? Are you allergic to- Shut up! Don't touch me! What? Welcome to my digital home! Everything made out of numbers and code. Huh? Wow, we're all computery! Oh yeah, wow- wow- wow, this is a computer. I don't get it. How can it be? If I'm sitting at home, but I'm inside the screen? But you're not you. You're your digital you! Virtually real, but controlled by real you. But if he's not quite real, then I'm not real too! And you not real you, he's inside your real you. Oh wow, how amazing, and interesting too, but in this digital world, what can we do? What can we- Hey, good question! Well, it's up to you! In the digital world, there's over three things to do. Wow, look, a pie chart. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Wow, look, a bar graph. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Wow, look a line graph. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Wow, look, an oblong. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Wow, look, nothing. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Nothing. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Nothing. Digital style! Do a digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! Digital dancing! Hey, this is fun! I am a stupid one. I am going to paint a picture of a clown. My dad has a computer. You are not invited to the party. Wait, wha-

Hmm. Something's different. Hmm. Something's... Missing. Hmm. Is it this guy? Fish and chips. Steak and beef, chuckitachow. Grapes and eggs. Steak. Eggs. Are you hungry? You look to be a bit hungry. No. Doo doo doo doo, lots of people get hungry. That's your body. Hungry comes from your body. Get off me. But your body, it musta have to be healthy. What's that? A tasty snack. You don't wanna go and eat a snack like that. Greedy to eat all that. You'll end up with your teeth all grey. Doo doo, da doo doo. Doo doo, da doo doo, do it healthy. Haha. Food is talking. Let's get healthy now! Hello? You need to know. What's right from wrong. You see, the body is like a special house, with blood, hair, and organs in the different rooms. Oh look, there's Mr Bladder in the basement! Hahaha! What? Now, food comes in through the chimney, mouth, and goes from room to room greeting the different organs. Hello! Now, the good, healthy food is very nice and polite to the organs, and so is invited to stay for a party! Yay! But the bad, not healthy foods are very rude and must leave through the catflap. Rude! That doesn't make sense. Doo doo, da doo doo! A doo doo, da doo doo, do be healthy! Hello? What's that? A tasty snack. You don't wanna go and eat a snack like that. Greedy to eat all that. You'll end up with your gums all grey. Yeah, but... Something's... Wrong. Exactly! How do we know which ones are the healthy foods to eat? Well, that's easy! The food groups can easily be sorted using the simple health shape. Choosing normal, plain looking foods, such as bread, cream, white sauce, and aspic keep the body ticking over just nicely. Isn't that right? Eh, I need to go. But wait! What's this? Fancy, show-offy foods like cooked meat, fruit salad, soil foods, and yolk. Ugh! These foods will clog up the body with unnecessary details. Oh no, look, it's all broken and on the floor! Everything tastes great! But maybe we should wait before we put in on the plate! Enough! Or it could be too late! I don't wanna do this anymore! For my snack, I choose a pizza slice! Bread and cheese, and tastes of nice! What's that? A pizza slice? But you're better off with plain white sauce. What's that? Plain white sauce? Plain white sauce makes your teeth go grey! Does it matter? Just throw it away! Why not try something else on your tray? Oh, what's that? A lovely pie? But you're gonna end up sad inside. Ugh, sad inside, you're gonna make me sick! I choose some ice cream beef! I've cream beef makes your teeth go grey. What's that? A kidney bean? Kidney bean makes your teeth go grey. But everyone has their teeth go grey, just eat yeast and it'll go away! But how much have you had today? Too much yeast makes your teeth go grey. How bout some onion paste? Looks like fun, have a taste. Ugh! That wasn't onion paste! You shouldn't eat food from a stranger's plate! A stranger's plate! A stranger's plate!

Goodnight, guys. I miss you. Ooh, somebody's sleepy! Huh? Hehe hehehe, but that's silly! No! How can you be sleepy if you don't know how to have dreams? No, I don't want to know. I don't want to know how to have dreams! No! No! Dreams are movies that live in your head! Stop! Every night when you sleep in your bed! And you can have a dream about riding a horse! No! Or you can have a dream about drowning in oil! No! No! No! No more songs! Aah! Oh, looks like someone's having a bad dream! A bad dream! Can you file these files please? Uh, yeah. Sure. But hey, um. Wouldn't it be funny if one of these files came alive? Yeah. I am a file and you put documents in me. And, and... A doo doo doo, a file. Funny, silly file. Doo doo doo. You know, it did like a song. No. That sounds really boring. But I was like yeah, that's not even the same bucket. Hahaha. I am the cool guy, I guess. Laid back and sad. Nowadays, I hurt my leg today. Huh? Well, that's rude. No clothes. What's your favorite idea? Mine is being creative. How do you get the idea? I just try to think creatively. When you look at this orange, tell me please, what do you see? It's just a boring old orange. Maybe to you, but not to me. I see a silly face. Boo. Walking along and smiling at me. Boo. I don't see what you mean. Cause you're not thinking creatively. I don't like it. It's really not good. Now take a look at my hair. Boo. I use my hair to express myself. It's not very good at all. Not good. Boo. Not good. Rubbish. Boo. Boo. Boo. Not good. Go away. Don't stop now, friend. Your voice is music to my face. Huh? Geh? Or you can have a dream about eating a treat. Or you can have a dream about buying a hat. Or you can have a dream about losing your friends. No... Or you can have a dream about burning your friends. Time is a tool you can put on the wall or wear it on your wrist. Huh? The past is far behind us. You? The future doesn't exist. Time went new and got old like history, stuff from the past went into a mystery. You made me die! But look, a computer. I'm a computery guy. Aah! Everything made out of buttons and wires. I'd like to show you why we're here? What's it all about, you've no idea. And everywhere you look- Nooo!- all you see is hatred, and darkness, death, and ice cream beef? Ice cream beef makes your teeth go grey! Does it matter? Just throw it away! Why not try some fish on my tray! What? Where am I? We are in the universe, planets live inside the moon! A rocket ship can go to the moon! Sports ball! Let's play sports! Cricket ball! Red card! Magnet, and I'm friends with metal, I attract it! And it's my best friend! Let's dig a hole at the bottom of- Make it stop! Bee bop, ba doo bop, I teach you how to buy a canoe! I am a file and you put documents in me. Green is for go, but red is for not go. You can be crushed by a bus. Let's learn about gel! I know about gel! Stinky mouth! Music is your favorite thing. Uh... I wonder what will happen.

What's your favorite idea-

#Don't hug me I'm scared #Dhmis #long post #ask to tag

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zargsnake · 3 years

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Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 9: Crix Spartak

Word Count: 2309 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

* * *

Two Years Ago

Shmi sits at a desk by the windowsill in Watto’s shop, composing fake documentation for a shipment to a more legitimate planet. She used to do this kind of thing all the time for Gardulla on Nal Hutta, and she's very good at it. Forging and faking are probably her best skills. She knows legal-speak and formatting; she has a knack for coming up with random numbers and convincing names. When she has a sample of handwriting or writing style from a real person, she can imitate it flawlessly, which she has done for business leaders, crime lords, and even Senators. When she doesn't have anything from anyone real, she invents someone. She has no honest idea what the closest Senator's name really is, but she's invented a self-serious personality and a squiggly autograph that has tricked docking-receivers as far away as Rodia.

Watto has little use of this power of hers for his day-to-day needs, but he sometimes comes up with plots to trick his neighbors using Shmi’s forgeries. And, sometimes, like now, he needs her tricks to get rid of stuff, like these ten tons of toxic waste he ended up with from a bad bet, and that he now wants to pass off as fertilizer and sell to a gullible offworld farmer who won't be able to trace it back to him.

Writing isn't bad work. It’s challenging, and, malicious as it is, she knows she could enjoy it, if she let herself: getting into people's heads, living other lives, for just a short while. It is like solving a puzzle, to figure out how to make other people believe something that isn’t true. The cruel intention of the trickery is not her own, it never is, so she doesn't let that aspect of her work bother her, not anymore.

The only bad part, from her point of view, is the knowledge that her words get to go somewhere that she does not.

And the only good part, really, is that she gets to look at her little boy as she writes. He sits on the desk, next to her cobbled-together, whirring word-processor. He is carefully cleaning a fragile hyper-carburetor with a rag, putrid green gear-soap, and a very serious expression.

Suddenly Crix Spartak pokes head through the window: “Skywalkers!”

“Crix!!” Anakin nearly drops the carb, but of course his reflexes are too fast. He spins around on the desk and grins at the gladiator.

Crix leans on the windowsill -- then lifts his arm quickly from the heated clay, and leans just one calloused elbow on the sill. “Good morning, Ani.” He reaches across and tussles his hair. The boy nearly glows with happiness.

Shmi raises her eyebrows at the man her son admires so much. “Good morning, Crix. Can we help you?”

“D’you wanna go for a spin on the old speeder?”

“YES,” answers Anakin.

“We have a lot of work to do. Not all of us have 6 free days out of 7,” answers Shmi.

“I don't have any work, Mom!”

“I can think of one or two things for you,” she tells him.

“Just a loop round the block, Shmi? You'll be back in a minute.” Crix rests his head on his hand and smiles at her, looking just like a puppy.

She looks at him with a very deliberate expression. “I can't.”

“Take me!” says Anakin, heedlessly.

“Ani! You need to stay with me while I work. I don't want you zooming around, testing the limit on your tracker-bomb.”

“I've calculated for that,” says Crix. “Your tracker-bombs are the same as mine. The loop I planned wouldn't go anywhere near the limit.”

“Please, Mom? I'll work twice as hard.”

“No need for that.”

“I'll bring him back in ten minutes.” Shmi does not look convinced. “Five minutes.”

“Please?” Anakin begs again.

“Ten minutes,” she concedes.

Anakin sets the half-cleaned carb down, crawls off the desk, moves the carb onto a shelf, and climbs back onto the desk and over the word-processor into Crix’s arms.

“I'll bring him right back to you,” says Crix.

“If you don't, I will kill you,” says Shmi.

“I'm more afraid of you than any gladiator alive!” he tells her, laughing.

“Good! You should be!”

“Is that YOUR speeder?!” Anakin interrupts them.

“Yup! -- Well. Not really. But I won it, anyway.”

“It's BEAUTIFUL!”

“Ani!” Her son looks at her. “Keep it down.”

“Sorry!”

“Have fun.”

“I will!”

Crix grins at her, drops a big yellow flower on her desk, and points at it. She rolls her eyes and he blushes and carries Anakin to the speeder to drive him around. Shmi can't compose at all without her little muse at her side. She sits there, worrying, as they drive somewhere out of sight. A minute passes, and she picks up the flower. She doesn't recognize it. It must be an import. He must have won this, too.

They return in just eight minutes.

* * *

One Year Ago

Anakin is not supposed to be in the audience of the death match. No one wants him here, not his master, not his mother, not even Crix himself.

But he just had to come. Everyone is talking about it. He’s never known anyone so talked-about, so famous. He feels so proud. Crix is like family. And everyone, all over town, is raving about him, how unstoppable he is, what a bloody, powerful killer he is. And now Crix’s master has rounded up a spectacular squad from faraway worlds, incredible people who are paying huge amounts for the chance to fight him, to fight Crix, to fight his mom’s cool boyfriend.

They say there’s monster-men, like Wookiees, and there’s even a Mando, whatever that means. Everyone is saying they’re crazy. Everyone is saying all his opponents are gonna die, shot by Crix’s bespoke mega-blaster or crushed in Crix’s bare fists. Anakin can picture it, but he can’t really believe it; he has only ever seen those hands used for good. It'll be Crix’s grandest fight yet, maybe even the grandest fight that's ever happened in the universe. No one can keep Anakin away from such a prospect!

He has an average amount of chores, but he sets his droids on them. His newest and, by far, most ambitious droid, C-3PO, isn't much for cleaning or repairing, yet, but he can speak, a little, and write, a little more. His mom bought Anakin a fairy-tale book and assigned him to copy out the letters to improve his handwriting. Anakin sets Threepio on the task instead, and hopes that his mom won't be able to tell.

He does feel guilty, but he's too excited to feel that guilty. He sneaks out without telling her. There was a sandstorm this morning; fortunately it has passed, but the leftover wind keeps kicking sand into the air.

The arena is in a different neighborhood than the slave houses. Anakin lifts up the tarp of a delivery truck and hides in there to hitch a ride. To his surprise, the truck is full of gross little creatures called gizka. They crowd around him and rub their big faces on his legs. He pulls one onto his lap and pets its soft horns and noses.

“I wonder why they're taking you to the arena? ... Oh, I bet the gladiators are gonna slaughter you.”

He finds it kind of funny, in a sad way, that these little animals are so cheerful; that their doom is close, and they have no idea. He pretends his hand is a sword and chops it on their heads, making them coo and squawk. He laughs.

Once he hears a crowd outside, he sneaks out of the truck and hides among the people. He is far from the only urchin running around, but he does not pick pockets. His mom forbids it, and they wouldn't be allowed to keep the money, anyway.

He follows the other children and soon finds the hole in the arena’s wall which they use to sneak in and out. He fits inside the thin crack without too much difficulty, and flits around the dirty, dark area behind the stadium seating. He finds a spot with a good view, between the legs of some pink-skinned person. He leans on the bench and rests his head on his arms, and watches the battles with wide eyes.

He almost doesn't recognize Crix, in a ridiculous helmet with a big feather, but the nasty red scar across his shirtless torso gives his identity away. He's touched that scar; it feels rough and scratchy.

Crix is more than just a killer; he is a performer. He yells and growls and taunts; he makes obscene gestures and even takes bites out of his opponents, both animals and people. Anakin feels shocked and uncomfortable to see him this way, but it does not lessen his affection for him. It only increases his amazement, that one person could contain two such different personalities.

Just as the pilots and farmers had predicted, Crix wins every battle with ease. His main strategy involves shooting to stun, weaken, and disarm his opponents, and then taking them down with glamorous, bloodthirsty wrestling moves. Anakin has never seen such gratuitous and extended violence before, though he has seen plenty of people die, from podrace explosions to mechanical accidents. Until today, the bloodiest thing he ever saw was someone's tracker-bomb explode their head, but some of these deaths far surpass that one. When he starts to feel dizzy, he looks away and takes deep breaths, but he is too invested to look away for long.

Something about all this murder makes him feel cold. But it isn't a real cold. And it isn't nearly as bothersome as this heat or this wind. He rests his sweaty forehead on his arms and swallows his own spit, but it is a weak comfort. The bench shakes under his arms as the audience bangs their feet on it. Anakin marvels at their energy. He wishes he was having as much fun as they are. He really is trying to enjoy himself, and he sort of is. The thrill of it all is similar to podracing, and the triumphs are satisfying. He supposes he will grow into liking it.

After forty minutes of this action, the host announces the next opponent -- the Mando, Chahlee Tiango. Anakin watches the helmeted warrior posture and pose as the audience frantically cheers and boos.

The little boy is starting to feel bored. This would be much more exciting if they were flying around on fast ships, not shooting and punching each other. The only real difference anymore is the color of the blood. But Chahlee looks like a human, meaning he'll just bleed red, which isn't anything new.

Anakin looks at Crix, whose helmet cracked in half in the last battle. Now that his face is visible, Anakin can enjoy his confident smile. He wishes his mom were here to see her boyfriend winning so much. He supposes she would hate it.

As Anakin's thoughts wander, the audience jumps to its feet and screams uproariously. Anakin fastens his eyes back on the battle.

Crix was shot right in the chest. He crumples. A wave of sand lifts from the ground and nearly covers him, like a blanket, hiding him, as if he were never there. Tiango takes a gleeful lap around the arena.

The audience is screaming far too loudly to hear anything from the announcer. The bench is shaking too much to remain a suitable armrest. Anakin stands up straight and stares ahead.

The pink legs that had framed Anakin's view now jump and move around with everyone else, obscuring the arena with cloaks and pants and boots. The other children in this hideaway start moving around, their own views also disrupted, trying to find better spots. Some of them move in front of Anakin. He lets them. He backs off further into the shade.

“Crix…” His initial shock starts to wear away, and he feels tears cross his parched face. “You were supposed to win! They all said you would!”

He had to lose eventually. No one can win every time. Mom told me he would lose, sooner or later. Everyone dies. It's okay.

It really doesn't feel okay. But this feels like podracing, too. Failing. Losing the game. He has been close to death himself a few times, especially when Sebulba is in the match.

He wipes his eyes and holds his fingers in his ears, which are popping from the terrifying decibel level of this audience. He squints his eyes and waits for the volume to settle and the people to sit back down.

What am I waiting for, though? They'll just continue with Tiango as the new champion. I don't want to watch that.

He makes a half-hearted attempt to get another good view, but one of the other children accidentally brushes up against him, and the feeling of being touched makes him deeply angry. He doesn’t trust these other kids. He doesn’t like them. They can’t understand. That wasn’t their friend who just died. It’s too loud here. And it isn’t going to get quiet. Not for a long time.

He worms out the crack in the arena wall and sees a truck that looks similar to the one he used to get here. He hides under the tarp again -- it is now empty inside. The truck jostles along, though it doesn't take exactly the same route back. It takes Anakin a little closer to home, but then it makes a turn he did not expect. He wonders if the truck will eventually come back around to the slave houses. He has no way of knowing. He fears it will wander out of range of his tracker-bomb. He jumps off the cart and walks the rest of the way home.

Chapter 10: Gafia Chumpi

#my story #my art #star wars #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #shmi skywalker #anakin skywalker #crix spartak #chahlee tiango #scifi #action #cw violence #cw gore

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