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kopykunoichi · 7 months ago

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Refresher for the people still confused about this...

In a galaxy far, far away, EVERYONE has midi-chlorians in their blood. The Force resides in all living things. It binds the whole galaxy together. Midi-chlorians are what allow beings to commune with the Force. The more midi-chlorians you have, the more potential you have to RESPOND TO and WIELD the Force. But notice that Asajj couches her statement with the line that those with a higher m-count were "believed" to be more capable of wielding the Force. There's a correlation, but it's not necessarily the only factor (see Sabine Wren).

This is the moment where the clones literally become stand-ins for the fans.

"What? If you can use the Force, you're a Jedi!"

No. If you can use the Force, you can use the Force. To use it as a Jedi uses it, you have to train as a Jedi. To use it as a Sith uses it, you have to train as a Sith. To use it like a Nightsister, you have to train as a Nightsister. Or you can get some rudimentary instruction and decide how you want to use it.

Jango Fett didn't have a high m-count, so his clones didn't either. But Omega and the rest of the Batch were special cases. As Cut said, the Kaminoans create with a purpose. Their deviations were intentional. Hunters abilities have always suggested he had a higher m-count than the others. But Omega's ability to perceive things before they happen (her bad feelings are nearly always spot on) and her affinity with animals have always been hints that her m-count is a little higher.

(Will update with screen grabs when I get them)

At the end of the episode, Omega asks Ventress if she has a high m-count.

Ventress: *looking at her nails* From what I've seen...no.

Omega: Then why is the Empire after me?

Ventress: Believe it or not, I don't know everything. But seeing as how a high m-count would make you a target, consider yourself lucky.

Omega: But I'm already a target.

Wrecker: Don't worry about it, kid. We'll figure it out. C'mon, let's get some chow.

Omega: *sigh* Thanks for trying.

Once they're out of earshot...

Crosshair: You're lying.

Ventress: About which part?

Hunter: You tell us.

Ventress: If Omega did have that potential, she'd have to be trained. Which would mean leaving you behind.

Hunter: That's not happening.

Ventress: What you want is irrelevant. The fact is, the Empire is after her, and they won't stop. If I were you, I'd leave this place. You're not as safe as you think you are. Our business is done.

Crosshair: I still can't figure out which side you're on.

Ventress: My own.

Okay, so Ventress is clearly not telling the truth about the m-count, which we know, because we've already seen Omega's charts. I really don't understand why people keep taking Ventress at her word here. We know better, and so do Crosshair and Hunter. My guess is that she's trying to protect Omega because she knows firsthand what it's like to be taken from your family and trained as a young girl.

We know that when Omega was at Tantiss, she was receiving transfusions of blood with midi-chlorians the same as all the other clones (harvested from the dead Jedi they're undoubtedly holding in the vault). They were taking her blood samples, but Nala Se kept throwing them away because she knew Omega would retain the higher midi-chlorian levels and she didn't want Hemlock to know that. The Emperor needs a clone that will maintain a high m-count so he can eventually get himself a new body. We know he does get that body, but not for decades - presumably because a) he never gets Omega, and b) the Batch is gonna take the fight to them at Tantiss and blow up their entire supply of midi-chlorian donors. Think about it - they're still working on Project Necromancer in The Mandalorian (24 years after The Bad Batch), but their resources are severely limited. The Empire has been all but wiped out, the Emperor is hiding out on Exegol, Dr. Pershing is clearly no Hemlock since he keeps killing his test subjects, and Grogu seems to be the only m-count donor they can get their hands on. The Emperor's cloned body is also deteriorating rapidly in TRoS, which suggests that even 25 years after The Mandalorian, he STILL hasn't figured out the right formula for cloning himself (which is good news for Grogu and Omega).

Which brings us back to the question, "Is Omega Force sensitive?"

The answer is, "yes", she is sensitive to the Force due to her elevated m-count. We've seen this all along. Hunter most likely is, too, and maybe some of the other Bad Batchers, to varying degrees. Tech could riot race, which takes incredible reflexes. Hemlock said that Crosshair didn't have a high m-count, and we don't know where Wrecker's abilities stem from. Omega can't wield the Force because she is untrained, but the potential is there. A person's aptitude to wield the Force seems to be strongly correlated to their m-count, but we've seen others with low aptitude eventually open the door to the Force with years of training and a decent dose of impending doom (we see this clearly with Sabine in Ahsoka, but it was also a topic in Legends).

Omega being Force sensitive doesn't mean that she has to leave her brothers. She can choose to pursue her training or not. She'd also have to find someone willing to train her. I'm not convinced Ventress is looking to take on any apprentices at the moment, but she could possibly connect Omega to Quinlan Voss (imagine the trouble those two would get up to).

But I don't think Omega will choose that path. One, it would just make her a bigger target. Two, I don't see her prioritizing power over family. She's a clone, and clones are ALL about family. They're Mando coded, not Jedi coded. Screw the space Buddhist lifestyle - clones parade their attachments around like trophies. Omega goes around collecting attachments like most kids collect rocks..."Hello, stranger trying to kill me, let's be besties."

#the bad batch #the bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #tbb omega #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb tech #asajj ventress #quinlan voss #nala se #tbb crosshair #the bad batch season 3 #the bad batch the harbinger #to be clear...i didn’t really want Omega to be force sensitive #but this is definitely the story they are telling #i just really don't want her to become trained in the force and i don't yet believe *that* is the story they are telling for her

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thevoidstaredback · 1 month ago

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Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

Damian Wayne, Dec. 24, 2011

Your forgiveness is more than I ever could’ve asked for. I still don’t think I deserve it, but I will take what you have given me, ahki.

You writing back was unexpected, but I’m so glad you did! Though, I guess this isn’t very secure, huh. Oh, well! As long as nothing incriminating is written down, we should be fine.

How’s father? And your siblings? I understand there are three kids father’s adopted. Also, what about your extracurriculars? Anything exciting going on that you can tell me about? It’s boring, crime wise, where I’m at. No murder mysteries or sex scandals or huge break-ins. Not that I want any of those to happen, but it’d be really fun to get to follow a case that isn’t twelve years old or four states over.

How are you adjusting at all, actually? It was a big culture shock for me for a while, especially because no one here speaks Arabic. Can you believe that? Some of the others still think I made up an entire language just to mess with them! I haven’t been able to speak with someone in our mother tongue in a while, but I’ve been trying not to forget any of it! Even if there’s an accent coming through.

Tell me about your life. Not what the media says. I want to know the real you. Do you have friends? Any pets? What about hobbies? Do you still have that dagger I made you that one time?

Anyway, I gotta go now. I hope to hear from you soon!

I don’t know what holiday(s) father and your siblings celebrate, so I’ll wish you a happy all of them!

سأسامحك دائماً يا أخي لقد وُضعت في أسوأ الاحتمالات وبذلت قصارى جهدك بما كان لديك من معرفة. كنت ستعرض نفسك للخطر فقط إذا عدت.

Danny Fenton

***

Danny had wasted no time in writing a response. Was he going to come off as eager? Probably, but he didn’t really care. His brother had responded to him! Granted, he thinks this is a trick, but there’s some part of Damian that believes Danny’s alive! He forgives him for not going home! It’s more than Danny could’ve ever allowed himself to hope for.

But, gods was he awkward! He hadn’t let Jazz read the letter at all. She didn’t know what he said the first time, she didn’t know what the response said, and she wasn’t ever going to read any of them if he had any say in the matter. Yes, they’re siblings and he loves her just as much as he loves Damian, but this was something she didn’t have any business poking her nose into. He liked to think that Damian would likewise keep this from his own siblings, though he’d totally understand if Dami shared purely because of the suspicious circumstances.

Anyway, Danny had read and re-read Damian’s letter for hours, trying to come up with the best response, only stopping when Jazz called him down for dinner. Sleep hadn’t come easily, either, because of the adrenaline from actually getting a response. He’d hoped he’d get one, but he was also sure that he wouldn’t get one.

But why did he have to be so awkward writing back? Damian’s his brother, not a total stranger! Damian probably wouldn’t care. Danny’s always been like that, awkward at all the wrong times. He’s just gotten used to not hiding it since he left, though it had taken a while.

He has to wonder, though, if Damian is with father, does this mean he’s left the Shadows? How had he done it? Obviously, he hadn’t faked his death. Father is a very public figure, so anything short of Damian leaving a massacre behind him as he left the Shadows would be unlikely. Unless he is still with the Shadows? In which case, Danny’s just doomed himself. Sure, the PO box was set up in the town over, and maybe he struck up a deal to have the letters sent from there to his house, but that wasn’t going to stop ninja assassins. Nothing short of death would stop ninja assassins!

No! Bad Danny! No use having second thoughts now; It’s too late. He just has to hope for the best. Gods, was he hoping, wishing on stars and everything! He wanted this to work out. He wanted to have a relationship with his older brother-

Damn, he’s still the younger sibling. He hadn’t thought much of it before, but both Jazz and Damian are older than him! If he counts father’s children, which he does only to prove his point this one time, then he’s the youngest of six kids! That’s not fair. Who decided that was a fair trade? Could be worse, he supposed. He could be stuck as a middle sibling. Shutter the thought.

“Danny?” Jazz opened the door with a knock, “You ready to send that letter?”

He groaned into his pillow. “I already did.”

“Really?” she wondered, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Yeah,” he rolled over to face her, “Finished it this morning and shipped it off.”

Jazz hummed. “I still don’t get why you won’t let me read them. I could totally help you with spelling and stuff!”

Danny sat up and stared at her with a dead look. “Jazz, I was taught by people who were the best of the best in their fields. There isn’t a single thing you could do to help me write or read those letters.”

“Why not?”

“Because they aren’t in English.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes you are! I saw the one you got! It was in English!” She paused. “Except for that last bit. That just looked like a bunch of squiggles.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “That wasn’t a bunch of squiggles, Jazz. It was Arabic, my mother tongue.”

“First,” she adjusted to sit criss-cross on the foot of his bed, “Never say ‘mother tongue’ again; it sounds weird. Second, the simple solution is to teach me Arabic.”

Danny had to pause for a second to let the words register in his head. “You-you want to learn Arabic?”

She shrugged. “Sure. I mean, it can’t be that hard, right?”

“Yes it can,” he sighed, “You’d have to learn a whole new alphabet of letters and sounds. It’s not a Latin based language like English or Spanish.”

“I can do it!”

“I don’t doubt that, but I think an easier language would be better.”

She huffed. “You just don’t wanna share.”

True, but, “I could teach you Romanian? It’s a Latin derived language, like English, so it’s got the same alphabet.”

“Fine,” she agreed after a moment, “Where do we start?”

“Kids!” their dad called from the kitchen, “We have something for you!”

Danny and Jazz shared a grimace. “Down stairs, apparently,” he said. Quickly, they left the room and made their way down the stairs and to the kitchen. Their parents probably didn’t have any actual gifts for them, so they weren’t going to get their hopes up.

They were right, of course. Jack and Maddie Fenton were creatures of habit and obsession; workaholics, in simpler terms.

The two kids joined their parents at the table. “Mom,” Jazz greeted, “Dad.”

“Jazzypants!” Jack smiled, his voice booming, “Dann-o!”

“What’s up?” Danny asked. He wanted to go back to his room and stew over what he’d just sent to his brother. Seriously? ‘I’ll wish you a happy all of them?’ That’s so stupid! Beyond stupid, actually! He wanted to curl up and die. Can people die of embarrassment?

Maddie smiled kindly at her children, somehow matching her husband’s energy but not his volume. “We had another breakthrough in our research.”

“Oh?” Danny had been intrigued by the [now] Drs. Fenton’s research. It was all theoretical, of course, but they claimed to have proof of base for their research. He’d never seen it before, and they’d never offered to show him or Jazz, but they mentioned it in all of their papers. He’d never deemed it worth anything, so it had been pushed behind relevant information like literally anything else.

He still didn’t know how they’d gotten those papers published. They were the laughing stocks of the scientific and occult communities! An accomplishment in and of itself, really.

“Yes,” his mother nodded, “But that’s not what we called you two down to discuss.”

“It’s not? Jazz tilted her head to the side.

“Nope!” Jack’s smile somehow got bigger. “We’ve decided that the both of you are old enough-”

“-and responsible enough.” Maddie added.

“-do go down and see the lab!”

Jazz and Danny had two very different reactions to this statement. Danny was a bit excited to get to see whatever held his parents’ attention at all hours of the day. Jazz, on the other hand, was furious.

“What!” she demanded.

Jack and Maddie didn’t seem to even register her anger. “You two have both proven yourselves responsible in your school and house work, so we figured it was time to let you two in on the family business.”

“But, I don’t want to do lab work!” Jazz objected, now standing with her hands on the table and her chair pushed back aggressively.

“Nonsense,” Maddie waved her off easily, “You’ll love it. Besides, you’ve always wanted to help us in the lab, ever since you were a child.”

Jazz just screamed in outrage. “I’ve never said that!”

She was ignored. “Of course, we’ll have to go over the proper safety measures so that neither of you gets hurt.” Jack stated.

Throwing her hands up, Jazz stormed away from the table and stomped up to her room, the door slamming behind her. Danny has no doubts that she’s locked herself in.

“She must be tired,” Jack smiled fondly, “We’ve got some work to finish up down stairs, Dann-o, but we’ll be back up for dinner, alright?”

Danny nodded and the two left. Quietly, he whispered, “Liar.” to the empty main floor.

***

Danyal Fenton Dec. 27, 2011

Your definition of ‘incriminating’ must be wrong. You reaching out in the first place would’ve put us both in danger had your letter been intercepted. The same remains true for every letter we exchange, though I will not be the one to put a stop to the communication. It is nice to have physical evidence of your conversations, no matter how much time passes between each response.

I am still skeptical that you are my brother, but, as I said in my last letter, I will continue on with a shade pulled over my eyes, ahki.

I have done some research while living with father. My own experiences prove at least some of what they say is true. I never truly believed you had died. I always had a feeling that you were alive somewhere, safe, out of reach of Grandfather and Mother.

Father is well. In public, he is outgoing, drunk, clumsy, able to start a conversation from nothing and let it trail off into a slightly more useful nothing. In truth, he is standoffish, strong, able to talk circles around anyone. He is always ready for a fight and always prepared for the worst. He does not like surprises.

We have four siblings, and one honorary sibling. Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Timothy Drake, Cassandra Cain, and Stephanie Brown. Grayson is more outgoing than the others, though he has been with Father the longest, so he is just as skilled as him. Todd was dead and refuses to communicate with Father. Drake is smart, but that is all he has going for him. Cain was raised in the League like us, though not at any of the bases we ever visited. Brown was dating Drake, but has since become more of a sister to the Manor.

Alfred Pennyworth is the family butler. He raised Father and continues to stand by his side. He is a formidable foe, though I have yet to see him in actual combat. He, aside from Father and myself, is the most competent resident of Wayne Manor.

Again, you need to reassess your definition of ‘incriminating’. There is nothing I can share, without consequence, that hasn’t already been made public by the GCPD. I will say, however, that my position as the superior child remains unchallenged. Not that any of those bastards Father has taken in would ever pose any kind of challenge to me or you.

I must ask, you know where I am, so is it not fair that you tell me where you are? The return address you have used leads to a PO box in Elmerton, Illinois, but I doubt that’s where you really are. Your description of ‘boring’ in regards to the crime rate is fully expected of anywhere when compared to Gotham, though that goes nearly doubly so for the midwest.

It was a shock to me as well, though I have been handling it. None of the others have noticed any unease, so I will take it. It will not do to show weakness in the face of enemies. I can agree, however, that the lack of use of Arabic is disappointing. I do not fear that I will ever forget the language or our home, but I do regret to say that I have encountered similar problems you have.

Father insists that I go to school with others my age to ‘socialize’, though I do not see the point. It’s all thinly veiled insults from the adults we are placed in the charge of. I am much smarter than my peers, so I have not been able to have a single intelligent conversation with any of them. The exception, however, being Jon Kent. He is adequate company. Our Father and his father are friends.

I have a cat named Alfred, after the butler. I would like to get a dog, but Father has denied my request. I have, however, managed to hide Goliath in the cave. Father knows he is there, but the others remain oblivious.

As for hobbies, art is the only one worth mentioning. I have several sets of paints and colors and pencils, though I remain partial to charcoal. Paper is the easiest to use, but I prefer canvas.

Of course I still have that dagger, Danyal. I have many weapons, but that is the only one that has never left my person.

Father is Jewish, though he was raised Catholic, and is an atheist; Grayson is Christian; Todd was raised Catholic, but is atheist; Drake was born to a Christian mother, but he follows after his father as an atheist; Neither Cain nor Brown were born into religious families, so they don’t follow any religion, as far as I’m aware.

Pennyworth has decorated the Manor for all of the holidays, though the only tradition I’ve actually seen practiced is the gift exchange from Christmas.

Honestly, you must work on your formatting. You give almost no information in exchange for your questions getting answers. It makes your letters very short. So, I will turn all of your questions back on you. I expect them to be answered sufficiently.

أفضل ما لدي لم يكن جيداً بما فيه الكفاية كنت أعلم أنك لا تزال على قيد الحياة، ومع ذلك لم أفعل شيئًا سوى نشر كذبة وفاتك.

Damian Wayne

***

The letter was a surprise, especially considering it’s a page and a half, though he should’ve expected it. He found it hilarious that the first thing Dami had done this time was to insult him. At least he’d waited a few lines in the last letter! It hurt a bit that Damian still thought this was a trick, but Danny couldn’t find it in himself to blame him. He’d’ve acted the same way if their roles were reversed.

He liked hearing about Damian’s family. They’re so different compared to what the media says. Then again, he expected that. Most people are hardly ever exactly how they’re portrayed to bigger audiences. The Drs. Fenton being an exception.

And, yeah, he knew Dami was going to search the address, but did he really have to come out and say it like that? At least he knew the Shadows (League?) hadn’t gotten in the middle, otherwise he’d’ve been cut down by now. Small blessings.

Ah, Goliath the dragon bat. Danny remembers when they got Goliath. Hiding him was hard, but they managed. Though, he’s fairly certain that Mother knew they had him hidden in the caves of Nanda Parbat. That does beg the question, though, of how the hell Damian managed to get a - by now - fully grown dragon bat across continents and into a cave in New Jersey without being spotted? Did he even really want to know? Probably not.

Danny could remember the expression on Damian’s face when he realized that Goliath was getting bigger. They’d found him on their first mission for Grandfather after leaving the group that had been sent with them. They’d kept him moving between their rooms when they got back, never keeping him in one for more than a night before moving him to the other. Then suddenly, the creature they’d found that was no bigger than their forearms was as long as their arms from shoulder to fingertip! They had only been able to keep Goliath between their rooms for another month before having to hide him in the caves under Nanda Parbat.

And the food! Goliath, even as a baby dragon bat, could eat triple his body weight. It was a wonder no one found him! How does Damian keep him fed? And how have his siblings not noticed the dragon under their house? Thoughts for another time.

Danny closed his book as he finished it. It was the astrology one, clearly written for people new to the topic, but he wasn’t complaining. It was easy to understand and he found himself actually enjoying it more than he originally anticipated. He could see why the girls in his class liked it, too. He could see himself falling deeper into this rabbit hole, but he wasn’t upset about that.

He moved on to read the second book he’d gotten, the one about witchcraft. Briefly, he chuckled at the image that he was slowly coming to see as his future. “A witch,” he hummed with a smile, “Mother would be so disappointed.”

The book opened up with a brief history about the topic before going into a deep dive about different practices and how things had changed and improved throughout history. It also gave names to famous witches and witch hunters, one that he recognized.

Jack Fenton, about three years after Danny had been taken in by the family, had given Danny a full rundown of his and Maddie’s family histories. Fentonightingale had been the family name until Jack’s great-grandfather had changed it to Fenton when he married. John Fentonightingale was a well known witch hunter in Salem, Massachustes in 1600. He was best known for eating a slow acting poison in the form of - now extinct - flowers as evidence against an unnamed witch on trial. He died shortly thereafter, leaving his grieving wife and children.

The humor was not lost to Danny. “Looks like dad’ll be disappointed, too.”

“Knock, knock?” Jazz asked from the hallway, knocking her knuckle on his bedroom door.

“Yeah?” he called back, closing his book and putting it down.

Jazz opened the door. “Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been hiding out here all day. No plans with Sam or Tucker?”

Danny shook his head. “Nah. Tuck’s spending the break with his family and Sam’s been forced to go to a rich person party somewhere in Washington.”

“DC?”

“State.”

“She’s not too far.”

“Too far for an emergency extraction.”

“You sound like she’s gonna get killed or something.”

Danny snorted. “Don’t jinx it, Jazzercise.”

“I’m not gonna jinx it, Danimal.” She leaned against the door frame. “Besides, even if she did die, she’d come back as a ghost just to haunt you.”

He groaned and flopped over onto his side. “Don’t even joke about that!”

“Why, ‘cause I’m right?” He groaned again. She laughed. “Alright, Dannibal Lector, since you’re obviously bored out of your mind, you wanna come watch a movie with me?”

“And risk mom and dad dragging us down into the lab?” He sat up, “No thanks.”

“Come on,” she goaded, “It’ll be fun! I’ll even let you pick the movie!”

“Hmmmm. A documentary on ghost hunting or a mockumentary on ghost hunting? Such a hard decision.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “Come on, D! You can’t stay locked in here forever.”

“Actually, J, I think I can. I’ve got food, water, and entertainment. I’ll be fine.”

“What about when you have to pee or shower?”

“I’ll put a bucket in the corner and dump it out the window.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“And rainwater is clean enough.”

“It’s literally not, though.”

“Well, I won’t know unless I try.”

“You’re not gonna live in here by yourself!”

“Why? You wanna join me? Sorry, but there’s only enough pillows for a one person fort.”

She snorted and shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What’s hard to believe? Unless you’ve got pillows hidden up your-” He cut himself off with an exaggerated and mocking gasp. “Jazz! Do you have pillows hidden up your ass?”

“Danny!” she scolded, but her tone was fond, “Watch your language, brat!”

“What?” he giggled, “It’s a genuine question.”

Jazz rolled her eyes, “No, I do not have pillows shoved up my ass.”

“Language!” he mocked.

“Are you gonna come watch a movie with me or not?”

“Sure, sure,” he stood, “But if we get dragged down to the lab, I’m blaming you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Danny was right. He was right and he was never listening to Jazz ever again. He could live in his room until he turned eighteen! That was totally something he could do. It wasn’t like he’d been raised to survive off of less in less space.

Instead of watching a movie they’d seen a million times before, the siblings had decided to watch YouTube on the TV. Halfway into Episode 4 of Buzzfeed Unsolved, their parents came up and dragged them down to the lab to show them their breakthrough from the previous night.

Looking at it, it was much less a breakthrough and more of ‘getting closer to the final picture’. The Ghost Portal had been a project that Jack and Maddie had been working on since college. A friend of theirs had gotten sent to the hospital for this project and had yet to be released. What had given them the idea that this was safe to build in their basement, let alone show their children? Regardless, it was too late now, so Danny and Jazz were forced to roll with it.

“We’re almost done with it!” Jack looked like a proud parent when he was looking at the thing.

The Ghost Portal, as it was now, was built directly into the furthermost wall of the basement. It wasn’t load bearing, thank the gods. The portal was ten feet deep, seven and a half feet tall, octagonal in shape. The paneling that covered the walls and ceiling was black with electric blue circuitry cutting through them. The blank spots where the paneling was not put up were gray, matching the cement floor of the lab. There were some work lights inside, white LED strips that lined the bottom seams where the floor met the walls. The floor itself was made of black tile and nearly completely covered in loose cables and unfinished paneling. There was a red button in place of one of the missing side panels that screamed ‘accident waiting to happen’.

“What is it?” Jazz asked, not daring to go closer than the stair doorway. Danny didn’t blame her.

“It’s the Ghost Portal, Jazzy!” Maddie’s grin was huge, taking up nearly her whole face. “We’ve nearly got it finished.”

“Yep!” Jack nodded excitedly, “All we’ve got left to do is finish the inside paneling, build the outer frame, and turn her on!”

“What about powering it?” Danny wondered just as Jazz said, “‘Her’?”

Jack still hadn’t taken his eyes off of the thing. “She’s already connected to the power grid; That’s why the circuitry in the paneling is glowing, see?”

Danny picked his way through the papers cluttering the table next to him, finding the portal’s blueprints on the very bottom. The handwriting in the margins was messy, obviously from two people and taking up almost every inch of the paper. The schematics of the portal itself was done in white and much neater than the black ink from his parents’ handwriting. A third person, probably their college friend, had been the one to draw the thing with the first basic formuli. Overall, it was messy and a hazard to look at.

“Are, uh, you guys sure that this won’t blow up our house?” Danny asked, unable to keep from scrunching his nose up at the sight of the blueprints.

“Positive.” Maddie sounded so serious, like it was the absolute truth.

“You wanna check out the inside?” Jack asked, practically bouncing like an excited puppy.

Jazz was quick to shake her head, going so far as to take a step back into the landing at the bottom of the stairs. Before Danny could follow her lead, though, Jack grabbed Danny and pulled him forwards.

“Go on,” the giant man urged.

Gulping, Danny complied. He was so going to lock himself in his room now. He didn’t plan on leaving until Sam and Tucker were both back in town! “Alright.” He hoped his hesitation was obvious enough for his parents to get the cue that he did not want to be doing this. Unfortunately, neither picked up on it. Jazz did, but she wasn’t about to risk moving closer in case Jack or Maddie got the idea of shoving her towards the thing, too.

Danny had a bad feeling about this.

Stepping into the tunnel that was the portal was like walking into a different world. Somehow, even though he was only half a foot in and there was light on all sides, it was dark in there. The blue from the paneling was nearly nonexistent, and the white LEDs lining the floor were so dim that they were useless. Was this a purposeful thing? How was this possible?

The cables and cords that had been visible from the outside were almost invisible in the somehow lower lighting of the portal tunnel, same with the unfinished wall panels on the floor. And, as a result of the hazardous mess on the floor and the near pitch dark, Danny tripped halfway through. His training didn’t let him fall, but his inability to keep up the rigorous schedule he’d been raised on made him reach out to steady himself on the wall.

Millimeters before his fingers so much as grazed the button he’d not been able to see after crossing the threshold, Danny heard the barely there whisper of “Time Out.” followed almost immediately by “Time in.” at the same volume.

Catching himself on the cold, softly glowing paneling of the wall, Danny was quick to straighten out and turn around. That thing gave him the creeps and he would much rather go back to reading his book, thank you.

“So, Dann-o?” Jack clapped his shoulder when he got back to them, “What’d ya think?”

Unable to disappoint the people he’d come to see as his parents, Danny plastered a smile on his face and said, “It’s pretty cool. I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s finished!”

Maddie cheered. “Right? As soon as it’s done, those assholes at Harvard will have to take us seriously!”

Danny seriously doubted they would. In fact, he doubted the portal would even work at all. It’s a hypothetical experiment that had the potential and huge likelihood of going catastrophically wrong. How much power would it take to even turn the thing on? Several city blocks at least, right? If that blows up, it'll take out not only their house, but probably half the city and everyone within the blast radius.

Danny should report this to somebody.

“That’s not even the best part!” Jack exclaimed, hurting over to what looked like an electrical box that had been set into the unfinished walls of the basement lab. Opening the small metal door revealed a hand scanner that Jack quickly placed his hand on. After five seconds, a small compartment just above the scanner opened up. Inside was a small glass phial of thick, glowing green liquid. Liquid that Danny recognised.

Shit.

“This is what’s gonna power the portal after the initial launch,” Jack explained, his voice reverent as he cradled the phial in his large hands, “Ectoplasm.”

Ecto-what? Danny knew that glowing liquid. He’d only seen it once, but he knew what it was. He could say, with full confidence and a puffed chest, that what his dad was currently holding was a phial of Lazarus Water. The color and consistency were the same as the Pits. The stuff even glowed like the Pit Water! It was terrifying that Danny had encountered any of the stuff this far from the Shadows, and he found himself taking several steps back toward Jazz.

“That’s, um, that’s-”

“Awesome, dad!” Jazz said for him, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pulling him back. He was so glad she had because he was sure he was seconds away from freezing in place. “Danny’s getting tired, though, and I’m a bit hungry, so we’re gonna head back upstairs now. Is that alright?”

“Sounds great, sweetie,” Maddie waved the two off in a clear dismissal, “We’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Danny rushed up the stairs, waiting for Jazz in the kitchen. When she joined him she muttered, “Liar.” under her breath before closing the door. “So,” she said to Danny.

“So.” he repeated.

“What made you so freak out down there?” she asked, “Not that I blame you. That portal thing freaked me out, too.”

Danny shrugged. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“It’s not healthy to bottle things up, Danny.”

“I know, I just don’t want to talk about it right now,” Or ever. “Bad memories.”

Jazz’s expression softened. “Alright,” she nodded, “Do you want some chips?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m gonna go to my room.”

“You can’t hide in there forever!”

He was halfway up the stairs. “I can try!”

Translation 1 - Arabic :: I will always forgive you, brother. You were put in the worst possible situation and you did the best you could with the knowledge you had. You would have only jeopardized yourself if you went back.

Translation 2 - Arabic :: My best wasn't good enough. I knew you were still alive, yet I did nothing but spread the lie of your death.

Part 1 Part 3

#Tales of Conquest. Warnings of Fools #Letters Between Brothers #part 2 #word count: just over 5k #my writing #ao3 #ao3 writer #fanfic #dc x dp #ghouls and gang writing event 2024 #dpxdcbang2024 #g&g24

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northwest-cryptid · 7 months ago

Text

This may only be my opinion on the matter, and I know a few Natives myself who all have their own ideas about this. However; to me if you want to make a Native character, be they for a game, as an OC; whatever doesn't matter. All you need to do in order to make sure you're not being offensive? Just do like, the bare minimum research.

Step 1. Pick a location for your character.

If your character exists within some fantasy world or whatever then it can be a bit harder to pinpoint something like this. At this point skip to step 2.

If your character is of Earth, or is of our known universe (yes this includes sci fi settings), then trace their bloodline back to where they originally are from.

I say this because it will help you with step 2.

You need to know where, or at least roughly where your character is from.

Step 2. Pick a tribe from that location that makes sense for the character.

Again, even a basic level of research goes a long ways here, I know fanfic writers who would get put on a list looking up the ins and outs of some criminal shit just to accurately write a character, I know you have the ability to research shit so I trust you can do this here.

Figure out based on the location you picked for your character, what tribe they would reasonably be a part of. If you find that you'd rather have them in a specific tribe; perhaps one that's important to you or something; you can do Step 1 and Step 2 in reverse order.

The important thing here is that: If you have to make up a tribe, I'm going to understand you don't actually care about them being Native. If you have to give them a specific tribe but you don't bother to give that tribe the basic respect of knowing where they're from I am once again going to understand you just don't actually give two shits about Natives.

Okay so now that we have an understanding of what tribe our character is from, we can begin looking into that tribe's culture. This may be a bit difficult in some cases since not everything is going to just be out there on the internet, and you may also not have a fundamental understanding of the culture and how it's changed over the years. Guess what, that's fine! I'd rather see a character who's specifically said to be Lakota, and who knows about our deities and teachings even if they're the sort of thing most modern Natives don't believe in or care about. Accurate depiction of culture is not a stereotype!

Once we know what sort of things might be important to this character culturally, we can begin to weave small noticeable traits into them, or you can even make those traits a much larger part of the character. As a quick example, for my Vtuber's design I included not only the colors of the Four Directions but often depict them with a braid and use owl feathers as a sort of symbol of them. This all comes directly from the fact my Life Shield uses owl feathers to represent my family, includes the Four Directions, and I literally grew up with a braid and continue to grow out my hair as to have another; it's all part of the culture I was raised in, even if I amplified the importance of some aspects to sort of make them a trait for a character. Again, accuracy isn't a stereotype.

I also want to briefly mention that when you're naming your character I urge you to look up how people in the tribe are actually named, please don't just do the old "color + animal" thing or whatever and think it's fine. Just again, do the bare minimum research to figure out how people in that tribe are named and go from there. I once joked with my partner that "the only thing about the Natives in Twilight that's remotely accurate is that they have the most generic white American names"

If you want an actually pretty good example of what I'm talking about, look no further than Prey. No not the movie, no not the modern remake; but the game from like 2006.

Our main character here is a Native man named Tommy, or rather Domasi "Tommy" Tawodi and he's actually said to be Cherokee. Now you can say what you will about his spirit powers and such, I get it.

But from a sheer design perspective?

Yea that's not bad at all! Everything from the facial features to his name to his general aesthetic is spot on for the Cherokee I've met out at the reservation. This is what I mean when I say accurate depiction of a culture isn't some harmful stereotype.

I'd love to see more Natives in things, I'd love to see Native OCs; but I feel like people are so scared to make Natives a thing because doing so could be racist if you misrepresent us or something. Like okay let me tell you right now you're not gonna do it worse than people who have made millions off selling books and movies whether it's westerns that depict us all as uncivilized killers or whatever the hell was going on in twilight; you're gonna be fine so long as you TRY.

And yes it's actually as easy as a 3 step process, the same sort of thing you'd do for any character really.

I mean think about it, let's say I was some weeb who really wanted to make a Japanese character but I didn't want to do any research. I could make the mistake of putting them in these overly traditional outfits and settings and maybe at least some of the details would be accurate but overall it'd be pretty bad rep, or I could go the polar opposite direction and just make them look like they're some British street punk with their whole aesthetic being way off from the sort of actual street fashion of places like Tokyo; again misrepresenting a whole subculture there. Or maybe I could do what everyone does to Natives and deem them to be some fantasy race who must have super powers and make them into essentially just an anime character; obviously that would be some severely bad rep. All of which could be fixed if I just bothered to go "okay where do I want this person to be from? What sort of culture do people from there abide by in their day to day life? How could I reflect that in a character?"

Honestly that's just good practice for making any sort of character based on a real world group.

And going back to a point I stated in Step 1. If you want to include a Native character in a fantasy world where ya know, America doesn't exist and therefore we couldn't logically have Native Americans; pick a tribe and go off that. As long as it's accurate I don't believe it would be seen as disrespectful.

At the end of the day there will always be people who get up in arms about anything; like it's their job to twist anything into being racist. You will never make those people happy, don't bother trying.

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anon-e-miss · 7 days ago

Text

Reformation - 9

“Barricade?” Prowl asked when Jazz mentioned a cousin looking for him.

“I dunno,” Jazz replied. “He didn’t give Trailbreaker a designation. Beta?”

“It would have to be Barricade,” Prowl said. “My other cousins are Alphas. Barricade is the only one who would embarrass himself claiming me, in any case.”

Jazz did not feel good leaving Prowl. The news that a cousin was looking for him visibly disturbed him. At least Ori had arrived and would do his best to distract Prowl was Jazz was gone. The Beta cousin claimed Prowl, which was a point in his favour. At the same time, Prowl had never mentioned him, there was no next of kin listed in his file, Jazz had looked, he was a spy after all. He knew the ins and outs of every officer’s personal file. Some had secret families and unknown to them, Jazz had put reservist operatives in their neighbours to serve a first line of defence if Decepticons figured a hostage was in order. His job was not just to sniff out Decepticon secrets, that was not even the most important part of his job, his most important job was preserving the Autobot’s own.

When Jazz had pictured Prowl’s cousin, he had imagined a mech who looked like him. The mech he saw standing on the Autobot Provost guard’s back did not look like Prowl beyond his doorwings. Maybe Jazz should have asked what Barricade looked like. This Praxian had overall dark colouring. His plating was black and gold, safe for stripes of white that sported the Praxian enforcer decals. His face was gold and his optics red. Jazz supposed mecha would think the same of him as his twin thought their features were all identical save for their colouring. Trailbreaker smiled and gave Jazz an awkward wave. The Praxian looked turned to watch him come, never stepping off the Alpha’s back. His arms were crossed under his chassis. The other Provost guards were standing at their posts, unwilling to interfere, leading Jazz to believe this one had asked for it.

“Barricade?” Jazz asked.

“That’s right,” the Praxian said.

“Great,” Jazz replied. “Mind steppin’ off’m?”

“Where is Prowl?” Barricade asked. He did as Jazz asked and stepped off the guard like he was a stepping stool.

“Home,” Jazz replied. “What’s... this about?”

“He asked for a demonstration,” Barricade replied.

“Well...” Jazz said. He made a gesture for the guards watching from their posts. “I think they learned.”

“Mm.” Barricade hummed, reminiscent of Prowl.

“Pretty impressive, takin’ down a warbuild ‘bout twice your size,” Jazz said.

“I know how to bring an Alpha down to my level,” Barricade replied, ever so slightly primly. Ironhide would like him.

“Enforcer?” Jazz asked.

“Yes,” Barricade replied.

“Ya serve wit Prowl?” Jazz asked.

“Until he resigned,” Barricade replied. Jazz nodded. Then Barricade knew about the worst of what Prowl had gone through. He was the only cousin to still claim Prowl.

“Any chance y’ll tell me what brought ya here?” Jazz asked.

“If Prowl wants you around when I tell him,” Barricade replied.

“See that he gets to Ratchet,” Jazz ordered Trailbreaker. “Come wit me. We’re off pace.”

“We?” Barricade asked.

“We,” Jazz said. They were we, for now at least, but Jazz thought better of adding that part. He transformed and Barricade followed after him. The Beta Praxian shared his cousin’s altmode. “Why not comm him?”

“Because he deserves better than a comm call,” Barricade replied. “He wasn’t going to get one anyways.”

“Somethin’ happen wit his ‘genitor?” Jazz asked.

“I wouldn’t trouble him with that aft’s ashes,” Barricade replied.

“Really ain’t gonna tell me,” Jazz said.

“Prowl gets to decide how much you know,” Barricade replied.

“Yer protective o’m,” Jazz noted.

“He was always decent,” Barricade replied. “I can’t say the same for my brothers.”

“Had a lot o’ experience puttin’ Alphas in line then?” Jazz guessed.

“Its my favourite hobby,” Barricade replied.

Jazz laughed, though he suspected it was the truth. Barricade was a brasher version of Prowl but the more he spoke the more Jazz found a resemblance. Just like Barricade insisted on Prowl decided if Jazz got to hear whatever he had to say, Jazz thought Prowl ought to decide if his cousin should hear he was carrying. They were at an impasse and the Alpha was not thrilled. He had no doubt whatever news Barricade had was going to hurt Prowl and Prowl did not deserve any more pain. But for Barricade to have travelled to Iacon, it was something important. At least Ori was also going to be there and he would be able to knock some sense into Jazz if he overreacted at all.

“Why not live on base?” Barricade asked once they stopped outside Jazz’s building.

“Better digs,” Jazz replied. “Me ‘n my twin each got our own space ‘n room for Ori when he visits. “Bachelor habs ain’t roomie.”

“Fair enough,” Barricade replied. “Prowl’s would be drab.”

“Medic Ratchet says it looks like a prison cell,” Jazz replied.

“He’s afraid to express himself,” Barricade replied. “Having an opinion or taste not identical to his progenitor’s was never well received.”

***

The door opened and Prowl stood up. It was Barricade. He smiled, it was strained but Prowl smiled because when no one else in the world cared for him, Barricade had. His cousin walked over and brushed his crest against Prowl’s. Barricade was exactly the same as he had been when Prowl had left Praxus, the same looks, the same rank. Prowl gestured his helm towards Barricade’s doorwings while lifting and twitching his own and Barricade just shrugged irreverently. A Beta stood a better chance at promotion in the enforcers than an Omega but it was not great. They would need to play politics and Alpha dynamics especially well and Barricade did not. He played with Alphas as Alphas played with each other, which usually left the Alpha humiliated and Barricade smugly satisfied.

“You should sit down,” Barricade said, soberly. Jazz took Prowl’s arm and sat with him on the couch.

“What is it?” Prowl asked.

“Lockdown was paroled,” Barricade explained. “Two quartexes ago.”

“No!” Prowl gasped. His helm spun. Jazz took him in his arms. Behind them, Punch growled.

“I’m sorry,” Barricade replied. “I got a warrant put out on him for what he did to you.”

“Do they even wanna prosecute?” Jazz asked. “Seems, just from what Prowl’s told me, they don’t care.”

“I threatened to publish an tell-all,” Barricade replied. “I can at least use the warrant to get optics on him. After he left Garrus-9, he’s effectively disappeared.”

“Ya think Prowl’s in danger?” Jazz asked. “That’s why ya came.”

“Barricade is in danger,” Prowl said.

“I’m fine,” Barricade replied, waving Prowl off with servo and doorwing.

“He was explicit about what he would do to you,” Prowl replied, staring up at his cousin.

“Tedious scrap Alphas of his type say,” Barricade replied. “It’s grandstanding.”

“You threatened to unmech him, repeatedly,” Prowl sighed. “I believe he will have taken that personally.”

“A’ight, I think I like ya,” Jazz declared. Prowl sighed.

“Please don’t encourage him,” the Omega said. “You humiliated him, Barricade. Lockdown has an ego like no other.”

“Like I told him, from a distance, I shoot him through the panel,” Barricade replied. “Up close, a knife. I would relish the opportunity, Prowl.”

“Oh I definitely like ya,” Punch declared.

“I’ll gets my optics on the ground lookin’ for’m,” Jazz said. “Since I don’t need a warrant ‘n don’t worry ‘bout little technicalities like trials.”

“This I like,” Barricade replied.

“In the meantime, ‘til we get optics on’m, ya might as well stay for a visit,” Jazz suggested. “Ori can use Rico’s berth, leavin’ the guest berth to ya. The two o’ ya can catch up.”

“I would look like an aft if I said no,” Barricade replied.

“Please,” Prowl said.

“You don’t need to beg,” Barricade sighed. “I have an orn’s leave. I wasn’t about to drop this on you and roll out.”

“Thank you.”

#anon-e-miss writes #valveplug #maccadams #mechpreg #a/b/o dynamics #reformation #tf prowl #tf jazz #tf barricade #tf punch #tw noncon #tw nonconsensual body modification #nonconsensual body modification

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 11 months ago

Text

Eddie Munson's family dinner

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 23

Prompt: Uncle Wayne adopts Steve

Rated: M

CW: nudity

Tags: Modern AU; Rockstar Eddie; Royal Steve; Established relationship

Notes: Continued from days 11 and 14. I can't get this AU outta my head, halp!

Eddie can't recall the first time he saw Steve.

In all likelihood, he was two years old and Steve a tiny, wrinkly baby. His face was all over the news in the days and weeks following his birth, after all. Cradled in his mother's arms, staring bleary-eyed into the world as newborns tend to do - only that in his case, the entire world was staring back. The birth of the King's and Queen's first child had been long-awaited after all, a once-in-a-generation event.

In the years that followed, Steve was always just … kind of there. A strange-but-familiar boy who kept popping up on TV and the front pages of magazines, living a life so different they may as well have been from different planets.

Eddie still remembers fixing dinner in the trailer's tiny kitchen one night, news droning in the background.

"Poor kid," Wayne grumbled.

Eddie, sixteen and a giant shithead at the time, paused in putting the plates down on the table and glanced up to follow his uncle's gaze to the TV.

"Oh yeah, woe is him. Must be so fucking hard, living in a palace. Having an army of servants to wipe your ass and shit."

On the TV, the Prince sat between his parents at some sports event or other, a tiny carbon copy of his father with his Italian suit and carefully styled hair. Clapping at all the right times, face a polite, empty mask of a smile.

Wayne huffed. "Ain't no kid deserve that kinda shit. Always under scrutiny, paraded around like some trained dog."

Eddie rolled his eyes and changed the topic and they didn't talk about it any further.

Wayne's plates are still the same ones that Eddie was putting on the table all those years ago. Eddie has offered time and again to buy something new, but the stubborn old shit won't have it. Insists that Eddie already bought him a whole-ass house with the money from that first record deal, a car after the second, he won't die of a chipped plate or ten, thank you very much. He'll just have to get him new ones for Christmas, he guesses.

"This is delicious, Mr Munson," Steve is saying. He's sitting next to Eddie, back ramrod straight, elbows at a perfect angle, dissecting the meatloaf with careful precision.

Like some trained dog.

"My mom's recipe," Wayne hums, but then he sets down his own cutlery, expression serious. "Now … what are your intentions with my nephew?"

Eddie flushes about twenty shades of crimson. Incidentally, so does Steve.

"I …" he sputters, all traces of composure suddenly gone. "Well, I like Eddie a lot."

"I figured …" Behind Wayne's beard, his mouth twitches. "Seeing how you're wearing his clothes and all."

Steve blinks down at himself. They make sure to keep it low-profile when they're together. The paparazzi never sleep, after all, and they've both had their fair share of run-ins with the fuckers in the past. Which is why he's wearing a red-and-black flannel he stole from Eddie, faded and soft from too many cycles in the wash. Eddie wants to burn all the Italian suits in the world, wrap him up in soft and comfy clothes always.

"Um …" Steve says.

Wayne smiles.

"Relax, son, I'm pulling your leg." If he notices how Steve tenses at the word son, he graciously ignores it. "Now are ya gonna take my boy's hand, or what?"

Steve gapes.

"Might as well," Eddie winks, takes the knife from Steve’s limp fingers and entwines their hands. "He'll just keep nagging until he gets what he wants."

Their gazes lock and Steve smiles. Not a mask. The real one. The one where his eyes light up and he looks five years younger. The one that Eddie is rapidly becoming addicted to.

He turns back to eating his dinner one-handed and remembers another boy, a boy from a very different planet, getting coaxed out of his shell over the same plates, the same meatloaf.

Fuck the plates, he decides. Wayne is getting a whole damn kitchen for Christmas, whether he likes it or not.

"He's a great guy, your uncle," Steve mutters into Eddie’s chest later that night. They're all curled up in Eddie’s bed and he's naked except for the flannel. He claims it's to ward off the cold air seeping in through the open window, and Eddie isn't about to argue. Not when the sight does things to him.

"Sort of thought he was gonna hate me," Steve continues, and Eddie hums quizzically.

"Why's that?"

"Hm, let's see …" Steve's brow crinkles in mock-thought. "He raised the guy who wrote two top-ten songs about how much the monarchy sucks, that could've been a hint."

"Nah," Eddie chuckles. "Guy would've adopted you as a kid, if he could've. He's always loved you, way-"

Large hazel eyes blink up at him and the words get stuck in his throat.

Because he hasn't said it yet, even though he's rapidly coming to accept that it's true.

Way before I did.

"And apart from that," he says instead, "if you marry me, I'll be a princess. What parent doesn't want that for their kid?"

"Hold your horses," Steve grumbles, but his eyes are sparkling again. "We can't get married if your uncle adopts me."

"Shame," Eddie quips and presses him down into the pillows. "Would've loved to wear a tiara on stage, that sounds like a killer look."

Eddie doesn’t recall the first time he saw Steve, but he doesn’t really think it matters. Not when he gets to see the real him now, with no-one else watching. Blushing and naked, lips kissed pink, glowing with happiness.

It's an image he's sure he won't forget.

Part 4

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles #the rock star and the royal

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harmonysanreads · 1 year ago

Note

i keep on thinking about yan!neuvillette lately ever since i saw those posts you reblogged 😭🙏

yan!neuvillette who has you arrested and tried in fontaine’s supreme court. having secretly worked with the prosecutors to make sure that the odds are against you, he rules that you are guilty of a crime which you, in reality, didn’t commit — but the evidence was stacked against you, and the defence certainly had no chance in winning the trial.

after all, neuvillette was the chief justice of the supreme court. the highest position one could have in this nation, second only to the hydro archon herself. who wouldn’t trust his judgement, especially when it appeared that you truly were guilty of the crimes you were accused of?

yan!neuvillette, expected by society to uphold the law and help maintain peace and order within the nation as their reliable chief justice, but neuvillette knew how to keep his position and reputation secure while using his vast knowledge of all the ins and outs of the laws, and what loopholes there are and aren’t in order to bend things to his will — namely, your circumstances. nobody knew fontaine’s legal system better than he did; and you’re the only thing he’d bend the rules for.

the majestic ornate walls of gold within the opera epiclese have never felt so suffocating before.

and, as she always did with every trial, the hydro archon oversaw yours; but it appeared that all she cared for was excitement, seeking thrills and theatrical twists that belonged to the stage. it was made clear rather quickly that the last thing she would do was interfere with neuvillette’s verdict, evidently having long lost her interest in your case.

there’s nothing else to turn to. no one else to turn to. neuvillette had the highest form of authority that a citizen of the land of justice could hold, so even if you were highly dissatisfied with the result of your trial, there was no higher court you could appeal to. the decision of the supreme court was final.

yan!neuvillette who even gave periodical visits to you down in the prisons, much to your surprise and apparent confusion — you would’ve thought that any business with this man was over the moment the gavel was struck and the court adjourned. but whatever matters a man as important as neuvillette had to tend to in the prison, he certainly spent a good portion of that time speaking to you. even the prison guards were momentarily dismissed while he stood before the bars of your cell to hold brief talks with you.

yan!neuvillette who one day quite nonchalantly revealed that he was actually fully aware of your innocence during the trial.

does he truly hold the right to judge the crimes of others if he, too, is guilty of committing such injustices behind the scenes?

the sudden spark of realisation and anger in your eyes, that shift in expression that was a fire that burned so strongly, caused the slightest change in his otherwise neutral conduct. it’s something that made you so interesting to him. however, venomous insults began to spill out of your lips, ruining that momentary image. you should remember your current circumstances, he reminded you. you were in no position to be uttering such expletives towards him, of all people. and to think he was about to offer you a way out, a way to clear your name, perhaps..

but you only deserve such a mercy if you hold your tongue and cooperate with him.

the conversation continued no further that day — he walked off without another word, leaving you to your own thoughts.

- 🕯️

Mmmmmm, delectable as always nonnie! I love how we all agree that Yandere!Neuvillette is so unfair in all the ironic ways. Not only are you unable to oppose his unjust verdicts but also you cannot reason with his logic. Since we're still yet to see more of him, you know what would make him absolutely terrifying? If he had not even a shred of guilt for what he was doing. And seeing as how Focalors never really intervenes in the trials, we can guess who gives him all this power and self-assurance. All speculations thus far, of course.

Neuvillette seems like someone who values etiquette. That being said, I don't think he's someone who'd opt for physical punishments rather, he'd probably make you memorize all the ridiculous court etiquette of Fontaine. Especially if you misbehave, the tomes of Fontaine's constitution are waiting for you.

#i fear the woman i'll become once we get his first in-game appearance u_u #the more i think about his yan potential the more he terrifies me #neuvillette brainrot #yandere #yandere genshin impact #yandere neuvillette x reader #yandere neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x you #──⚝🕯️anon #yandere x reader #fontaine #neuvillette #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact

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sociopathicartist · 6 months ago

Text

SANS X READER

city run-ins

Sans hadn’t really paid much attention to the people around him. The city where he lived with his friends had a large population, so what was the point of paying mind to anyone when there was a good chance he’d never see them again? His brother was happy and he got to see his friends pretty often. That’s what mattered to him, not the people walking past him on the street.

He didn’t pay attention to you when he first met you either. Why would he?

You had bumped into him when you were crossing the street. You both stumbled, and when Sans fell back and hit the ground you worriedly held out your hand for him to grab.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” You apologized, waiting for him to accept your help.

Sans took your hand and let you pull him up off the ground. “don’t worry about it. we all have places to be in a hurry, don’t we?”

You watched him as he made sure his jacket and shorts didn’t get nicked during his fall. “I guess so.”

He listened to your nervous laugh before you hurried off the road and went to the sidewalk, almost forgetting about the incident already as he shoved his hands back into the pockets of his jacket and continued on his way.

Sans had pretty much forgotten about you after that. There was nothing remarkable about you- not that he could derive from one short meeting anyway. There was no reason for you to stick in his memory. But when he was standing in the grocery aisle at the store debating what pasta to buy for his brother, he couldn’t help but think you were familiar when you spoke to him.

“The stelline is the best one.” You spoke to him, looking ahead at the pasta just like he was.

Sans looked over at you, squinting slightly when he tried to place his finger on where he met you before. He looked back to the pasta, his pinpricks scanning across the boxes until he found the stelline. The pasta looked like little tiny stars. Papyrus would probably like that, Sans sure did. Who didn’t love stars?

“oh, thanks. i was picking out some for my brother.” He grabbed a few boxes of it and put it into his basket, getting extra just in case his brother messed up a batch or two.

Papyrus’ cooking was improving significantly ever since Mettaton had been helping him cook instead of Undyne. He still flunked here and there with a recipe, but who didn’t? Mistakes are the easiest path to success after all.

You laughed softly for no particular reason. Maybe you had just been in a good mood that day? He probably would have asked you if he knew you better.

“It’s really good in soups, but I personally like to use it for mac n’ cheese.” You grabbed a box and put it in your basket.

He finally realized who you were when you looked down at him, a small smile curved on your lips. You seemed to recognize him too, because your eyes widened once you saw him.

Your voice upped an octave, probably due to nerves. “Oh!”

Sans chuckled, finding your reaction amusing. “hey again. nice to meet you again without running into each other.”

You rubbed your hand on the back of your neck, clearly still feeling guilty about that. “Yeahhh, I guess it is.”

“i’m sans, by the way.” He held out his free hand for you to shake, neatly gloved with a mitten.

Taking his hand and shaking it in a greeting, you introduced yourself back to him. “Y/N.”

Your hands fell to your sides and you gave an awkward look to him. “Well… I guess I’ll run into you later.”

Sans watched you as you turned around and scurried off down the aisle, most likely forgetting whatever you were looking for in that aisle. He didn’t pay much mind to you then, simply just going back to his leisurely shopping.

When he came back home and showed the pasta to Papyrus, his brother was thrilled about the little star shapes. Sans ended up having to put it on their weekly restock list for groceries.

The idea of you didn’t run across his thoughts anymore.

Well… Not until you ran into him again at a coffee shop.

He saw you from behind staring up at the menu, contemplating what to get from the menu. He didn’t recognize you at first, so he had no problem walking up behind you and leaning a bit past your side to tell you the suggestion of what he ordered.

“try the crème brûlée latte. it’s my favorite.” Sans spoke quietly to you, his voice low like it usually was.

You whipped your head to the side to look at the stranger. “Really? Thank y-“

Your voice fell quiet as you both stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, realizing the coincidence that you met again. “Is it… Wait- I’ve got this.”

Sans tilted his skull a bit to the side as you retraced through your thoughts before coming to what you wanted. It was amusing to see you struggle to think over the words.

“Sans, Right?” You asked, a bit hesitant about if you got it right or not.

Sans chuckled, looking off to the side before glancing back at you. “yep. that’s me. y/n, right? i can’t remember very well.”

He wasn’t lying. He didn’t think of you at all other than the two times you ran into each other in the past.

“That’s right! Funny seeing you around again.” You brushed some hair out of your face while you talked to him before looking back at the menu, the barista who was behind the register looking a bit annoyed at the hold-up.

Sans nodded, looking up to the menu as well. “yeah, funny.”

“Two creme brûlée lattes please.” You ordered, paying for it with your card before the barista hurried off to tell you the order.

Huh? Were you ordering a drink for him? You didn’t need to do that.

Sans held up his hands to give a small protest. “you don’t gotta do that.”

You had already paid, so it was no use to protest.

You looked down at him again, giving a small shrug. “It’s no biggie, really. I didn’t know what to order anyways. I’ve ran into you three times now, the least I can do is get you a coffee.”

He sighed, his mind a bit distracted by all the beeping from registers and talking from people going on in the background. “i guess so. thanks.”

You smiled, taking the coffees that were in little to-go cups and handing one to Sans. “Wanna sit?”

So, you both sat down. He felt like it was a bit weird. Back in Snowdin, he didn’t mind introducing himself to anyone new and getting them some food, nobody new usually came to Snowdin so it was always a welcome surprise. In the city however, there were always thousands of people, many faces he’d never recognize. There wasn’t much point in trying to make friends whenever he already had good ones anyways.

But, here he was, sitting at a table with you drinking a coffee that you bought him.

“This is a really good favorite to have. Thanks for suggesting it!” You set your cup down on the table, tracing your pointer finger around the bumps on the plastic lid.

For once, Sans was a bit unsure of what to say, so he went with the best option he knew. “hey, wanna hear a coffee joke?”

Your eyes seemed to light up. “Sure!”

He didn’t have to take much time to think over the joke. “whaddya call a sad cup of coffee?”

“Hmmm…” You looked off to the side while you thought. “I don’t know.”

“a depresso.” Sure, it wasn’t the best joke he’s ever told, but it had the reward of making you laugh.

You set your hands down on your lap, looking across the table at Sans. “Do you have any more jokes?”

That had to be some of the best words Sans has ever heard in his life. Of course he had more jokes, it seemed like he could never tell enough of them.

“why did it take the coffee bean so long to get his homework done?” He asked, his tone with you lighter and a bit more expressive.

“Hmmm, why?”

“it was procaffenating.”

And there your laugh was again. Your lips curved up into a big smile and you looked down at the table when you laughed, your eyes crinkling up in the corners a bit. It was genuine. It was real.

Sans grabbed onto his to-go cup, taking a small sip of it before suddenly vanishing from his seat and then appearing next to the table standing up. It startled you slightly, but you didn’t ask any questions about it and chalked it up to monster magic.

“well, its bean a good time, but i got a latte to do.” Sans rolled the puns out from his voice, looking up at you when you also followed suit to stand.

You brushed off your outfit with your freehand while talking to him. “Me too, I guess I’ll run into you later?”

“i guess you will.”

And with that, you both split ways.

For once, Sans was starting to think about his encounters with you. The small idea of your name would pop into his head when he ordered his coffee at the same place, but he’d just find the encounter a bit funny and then brush it off, not thinking much of it afterwards. It was just a silly encounter, merely accquanticces that he’d wave ‘hello’ to if he saw you in the store or something and then move on with his life.

That’s what he believed until he heard your laughter while he was out at a restaurant with his friends. He didn’t know why, but amongst the several people sitting at tables talking and having a good time, his attention was torn from his friends when he heard your laughter nearby. He took the time to look around the restaurant, observing the tables nearby until he spotted you having a nice dinner with someone. Were they a family member? A friend? They seemed to be making jokes to you, because you laughed at everything they said.

He barely knew you. He had ran into you only three times before and chatted with you a bit during the third encounter, so why did he feel a weird twinge watching you laugh at someone else’s jokes?

You looked around the tables nearby whenever the person got up, presumeably to go to the restroom, and your eyes landed on Sans just a few tables nearby.

Sans typically would have looked away and pretended like he never saw you. He had a hard time making eye contact with people and wasn’t a big fan of awkward confrontations since he didn’t know you very well. If he spotted Undyne or Toriel out at dinner with someone he probably would have made a silly face or something before going back to minding his own buisness, but he didn’t know you like that.

Instead of you looking away and pretending like you didn’t see him, you just simply grinned and waved to him. Naturally, he waved back.

Undyne noticed. She reached behind Papyrus who was sitting besides Sans and gave him a shove.

“Sans! Who’s that? You didn’t tell us you had a social life outside our little group!” Undyne was making fun of him just a bit, but she was also genuine with the excitement of her friend suddenly having a new friend.

Sans shrugged and looked down at his plate. It was pasta that Papyrus suggested he ordered, but Sans had smothered it in ketchup.

“dunno. i just run into them sometimes in the city.” It wasn’t a lie.

You two weren’t really friends, right? You had only met once or twice. So why couldn’t he get you off his mind right now?

He looked back up, seeing that Toriel and Asgore were currently joking over something that made Frisk laugh, who was sitting between them. Undyne, Alphys, and Papyrus had begun talking about their jobs, and when their free time was so that they could all have a sleepover. Nobody was paying attention to him right now, which he didn’t mind, but if they had then they probably would have warned him that you were walking up to their table.

“You having a good time out with your friends?” You asked, standing next to Sans and looking down on him as he was sitting in the booth.

His attention snapped up to you, a bit shocked by your sudden appearance. “uhm… yeah, we all decided to finally get out. it was about time, heh.”

You were smiling like you usually were with him, and your attention diverted down to his plate.

Sans slightly regretted soaking his food in ketchup now.

“That your food? I take it you’re a big fan of ketchup.” You remarked.

“somedays.” Sans tried to quickly brush the subject of his eating habits away. “what about your date over there? i hope you didn’t leave them to come over here and comment on my food.”

“No…” You pursed your lips, looking a bit discontented. “They left already. It was a really awkward date, I met them online. I was laughing at their funny story in hopes that they’d leave…”

Oh. He knew it shouldn’t make him feel good, but hearing that you weren’t actually having a good time on your date made him feel a bit better.

Sans wasn’t sure what just happened when he finally looked back to you after staring down at his plate for so long, but it was like he actually noticed you after just brushing you off the past three encounters. You were wearing a nicer outfit for your date, one that fit you extremely well. Your hair looked good, it was nice and done well, and he couldn’t help but bask in just how good you actually looked right now. It made him feel weird, almost wrong for looking at anyone like this.

“Hey,” You started again, taking a few seconds to think over your words. “I know it’s a weird thing to ask right now, but I’m not doing anything tomorrow night if you’d want to go somewhere?”

By now, most of his friends had stopped their conversation and were exchanging looks as they tried to subtly ease drop in your conversation with Sans.

“like a date?” He wanted to make sure he wasn’t getting the wrong idea.

You nodded, a pink blush heating up on your face. “Yeah, like a date.”

Sans was quiet for a few seconds before immediately taking out his phone from his pocket. “here, let me get your phone number real quick so that we can work out a time and place.”

What the hell was he doing? He wasn’t interested in romantic relations, or atleast not before tonight he wasn’t. He had turned down several people who offered him a date. Why were his hands a bit shaky as you rattled off your phone number to him?

“So tomorrow.” You confirmed with him, taking a deep breath and smoothing your outfit out.

“tomorrow.” He nodded, turning his phone off after sending you a short text to your number to make sure the contact was saved.

You grinned. “Cool. Well, I’ll run into you then, Sans.”

Your hand gave him a soft push on his shoulder before you walked off out of the restaurant since you had no need to be there right now.

It was only now that Sans realized all his friends were dead silent.

“BROTHER, I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!” Papyurs weeped and wrapped his arms around Sans, pulling him into a tight hug.

Ah. His friends started to give him silly words of congratulations for their friend, excited that he finally had a date. Sans simply laughed and tried to brush it off, but for the rest of the night even after he went home, he couldn’t take his mind off you. He had never had a date before, and he had never really been interested in anybody else- not like this at least.

It made him a bit crazy thinking about all of it.

He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking when he picked you up- driving in his brothers nice car that he let him borrow for the night.

You rushed out of the house, wearing a nicer but more casual outfit for your date. He told you to not dress too nice since he was taking you to his favorite spot, Grillby’s, but he couldn’t help but ogle a bit at how great you looked.

He kept one of his hands on the steering wheel as he watched you get into the passengers seat, buckling up your seatbelt and tucking some hair behind your ear when you looked at him.

“Hey, Sans! You ready?” You asked.

Sans nodded, admiring how you looked for a few seconds. “yeah, lets go…”

#undertale #undertale au #undertale alternate universe #sans #sans undertale #sans x reader #classic sans #sans x you #sap #sans headcanons

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marlynnofmany · 2 years ago

Text

How I Became the Token Human

The sign said “Earthling Wanted” in large print, and I, a perfectly eligible Earthling, said “Heck yeah.” Busy space station life bustled around me as I stepped close to read the details on the holoboard. Other ads were for the usual range of odd jobs and social events, but this one was specific.

And it couldn’t have been more perfect for me. A courier ship was contracted to deliver someone’s pet cat to them in deep space (I guessed that a breakup had happened while the owner was away, or their temporary job had turned into a permanent one) and while the couriers were perfectly capable of getting the cat there, this was several days of travel, and they hadn’t the first idea of how to care for an Earth animal.

Well, I thought with no small amount of smugness, They just got themselves an expert. I copied the holo ad onto my phone, then found a vaguely-private corner of a public seating area and activated the call. I stood up straight and professional, as if I was meeting a wealthy new client with an ailing Samoyed. Would they want a detailed resume? A rundown of the places I’d worked and trained, my range of expertise on animals big and small? Or perhaps a description of what I would do in various unexpected scenarios?

Nope. The octopuslike alien who popped into view — deep green, harried, and female unless I missed my guess — only had two questions for me.

“Great, you look like an Earthling,” she said. “How experienced are you in caring for cats?”

“Very,” I said, ready to add more.

“Good. Can you leave immediately?”

“Yes,” I decided, thinking quickly. “I just have to grab my things. Where’s your ship?”

“Meet us at the semiaquatic spaceport before the shadow covers it.” She glanced at something offscreen. “We leave before the solar sails have to fold. Be quick.” With that, the call ended.

I blinked once, then shoved the phone into my pocket and sprinted down the corridor. Passersby stepped aside and gave me disapproving looks, especially the group of red-pink bugfolk who chattered after me in their own language, but I dodged through the loose crowd without hitting anyone. Nearly tripped over a smaller-than-average Waterwill, which could have been disastrous given their “column of jello” consistency, but I hopped on by with a quick apology.

Are Waterwills really that fragile? I wondered as I ran. My biological studies had all been Earth-based. I knew the best way to hold a chameleon, pet a cat, and catch a chicken, but I hadn’t the foggiest idea how the friendly blobmonsters worked.

Well, maybe I’d find out.

I skidded into my small room and threw things into the suitcase. There wasn’t much to pack, since this was a temporary stop. Five minutes ago I’d been planning to trudge back to Earth and look for a new job. My old workplace was under new management and doing a reshuffling that made for a perfect time to take a quick lap around the galaxy, something I’d always wanted to do. It had been a great vacation. But there wasn’t much call for a veterinarian in space. Or so I’d thought.

One more jaunt, I told myself. It pays well enough to be worth it. And they clearly need my help. With a look about the room for anything I’d missed, I zipped the suitcase and shouldered my backpack, then cancelled the rest of my reservation at the control panel by the door.

A few more button presses, and the door wooshed open to let me dash off through the residential area, towing my suitcase on its repulsor plate behind me. That bag was much better than my old wheelie-case, which was always tipping over when I turned quickly. This one did have a tendency to slide around like a toddler on ice, but I was an old hand now at pulling the strap just right to keep it from taking anybody out at the knees. And honestly, I usually walked at a more reasonable pace than this. But time was short.

I glanced at a multiclock as I passed an elevator hub; sunset was coming for this side of the station. I wondered who had decided to make the station rotate in orbit instead of keeping one side facing the sun, but that was beyond my pay grade. Maybe it got too hot otherwise.

Long lines at the food court made me slow down, edging past a variety of body types before I reached a clear area and picked up speed again.

Success, I thought. Didn’t even bump into a scaly tail. This door? That door!

I found the dry-air-breather’s access port and hurried into the airlocks where steeply angled sunlight was streaming in. I only stopped once, to swipe my ID in exchange for a cheapo force-field exo suit. Just in case the separation of dry air, wet air, and water left anything to be desired. I’d made that mistake once. One experience of scrambling for the emergency cutoff switch in an airlock rapidly filling with water was enough.

Those octopeople breathe dry air, right? I fretted while I retrieved the exo disk. I think so. They just like more baths and moisturizers than I do. I’ll be fine on a ship made for them. Assuming the one I talked to doesn’t live in a scuba suit while onboard. But surely they would have said. Probably.

With my ID back in my pocket and the control disk stuck to my chest (using technology that was basically the inverse of my suitcase), I shoved out into the spaceport in a cloud of my own air. I was greeted by more air, rows of parked ships under a glittering force field between us and the stars, and an impatient-looking green tentacle alien waiting in view of the airlocks. She waved me toward her ship as soon as she saw me.

Strongarms, that’s what they’re called, I remembered. I guess I’ll get a name for this one once we’re on the way. With golden solar sails spread wide, the little round ship looked like a cartoon bat, or maybe a lemon that wanted to be a pirate ship when it grew up. The epitome of dignity either way. I made a note to say nothing about that either.

“Right this way; stand back while the door shuts; the animal is in the cargo bay with more food and junk than any sane creature could eat in the time we’ve got; I’ll introduce you after takeoff.” The green Strongarm didn’t give me a chance to do more than nod as she spoke. “For now, come grab a crash seat in the cabin. I’ll introduce you to the crew after takeoff too.” She sped down the narrow corridor with a quiet slapping of tentacles on the shiny blue floor.

I did my best to keep up, despite having to bend over as I walked. This ship was not designed for a tall species. At least the walls and ceiling were a clean white, not one of those squishy organic ships that made my skin crawl.

“Got the human,” she announced as the door to the cabin spiraled open. She waved several tentacles back at me, one pointing at a chair near the wall that had a fighting chance of fitting me. “Quick-quick.”

I ducked through the sphincter-door (also gross, but less so), waved at the dozen or so random aliens, then shoved my suitcase behind the chair and sat. The chair was cup-shaped and way too small, but at least the back was flexible. I could feel a localized gravity field in place of a seat belt.

These folks have a lot of faith in their ship’s power source, I thought as I lifted my backpack to where it would give me neck support. Here’s hoping we don’t crash. For lots of reasons.

The crew were mostly ignoring me, though in a polite way. Strongarms, Frillians, and a few Heatseekers. Octopeople, colorful fin-covered bipeds who looked like tropical fish that had learned to walk, and little lizardy folks. All air breathers, though two out of three had aquatic origins. As the engine hummed to life, I shut off my exo field.

Damp air caressed my face like someone breathing on me from uncomfortably close. Great. But it was breathable and wouldn’t damage my stuff, and we were already in space, judging by the viewscreen that had just registered some very quick movement. Only stars and a few distant ships were in front of us now.

“All right, introductions!” announced the green Strongarm. “You can call me Kamm. What’s your name, human?”

“Robin Bennett,” I said, sitting up straight. “Earth animal expert at your service.”

Kamm accepted that and rattled off the names of everyone else in the room, then gave a quick rundown of the journey we could expect. Three standard days, no wormholes planned, no asteroid showers or other hoo-ha expected.

And now that we were clear of the space station’s shipping lanes, we could make good time and move about the ship.

Kamm hopped out of her seat and hit the floor with a wet smack. “This way, animal expert. Let’s show you to your charge and your room.”

I grabbed my suitcase and followed, trying to be graceful while simultaneously ducking and high-stepping through the door. It was like walking around in a kids’ playhouse.

At least the cargo bay had a properly high ceiling. It also had many boxes of cargo, and one metal cage with a very distressed cat. The I-don’t-want-to-be-here yodel echoed off every wall.

“Well, there it is,” said Kamm with a wince. “It’s been this loud the whole time. I hope that’s not a cause for alarm?”

“Not the sound alone, no,” I said. “Let me take a quick look. Hey, kitty.” I approached with a gentle voice and quiet footsteps.

The tone of the cat’s yowling changed when it saw me, aiming for pity over volume. Poor little gray tabby sounded very lonely. A nameplate with paragraphs of contact information said “PICKLE” in all caps.

“Hello, Pickle. There there, kitty; it’s okay.” I greeted the cat with a soothing babble of syllables, letting it sniff my fingers through the bars, only noticing once it quieted that Kamm had stayed by the door.

“Oh good,” the alien said. “It likes you. Will you want the whole crate in your quarters, I hope? There’s enough room.”

“Yes, definitely,” I said, standing back up. The cat mewed in protest.

“Great. All the food and whatever should fit too. Grab a sled.”

At Kamm’s directions, I helped maneuver a hoversled under the cage, then down the hall. She led the way with a different sled full of airtight cases covered in labels. Her cart was the more rattletrap of the two, which I appreciated; the supplies wouldn’t be bothered by any jolts in height, but an anxious cat sure would.

Pickle yowled all the way to my quarters. Our quarters, rather. Kamm was eager to rush off once I said I had everything in hand, and I couldn’t blame her. But the noise stopped as soon as the door shut.

“Mew?”

“All right, kitty,” I said as I took off my backpack. “That door seems solid, so you probably won’t run off and get stuck under the brake pedal, or however they fly this ship. Do you want to come out?”

Pickle didn’t, when I opened the door, but I made myself comfortable on the floor by the cage and read through the info packet that had popped up on my phone. Pickle was a girl cat, five years old, spayed, fond of cheese and toys that crinkled.

Eventually she crept out to accept some gentle scritches and a warm lap. I was considering moving to the giant squishy cushion that passed for a bed when the door chimed.

“Ow!” Those claws were sharp when Pickle launched off me to hide in the carrier. I got to my feet painfully, shut the small door, then opened the big one. The ceiling was low in here too.

A maroon-and-teal Frillian stood there, just barely short enough to stand normally in the hallway. “Did you bring food, or would you like to join us for a meal?”

I looked back at the quiet cat. “I do have some ration bars, but I wouldn’t mind meeting everyone properly. Let me dig out some food for my charge here, then I’ll be there. Which way…?”

The Frillian gave me directions, then scooted off. I turned to the multiple boxes labeled “food,” and checked the info packet. Pickle had preferences.

But of course she was too scared to eat. I left the tray of high-quality wet food inside the cage alongside a dish of water and a well-chewed toy mouse that promised to have familiar smells. Then I gave her some quiet time.

And I got some fun time! The crew turned out to be outgoing and friendly, with many a joke ready about the types of food that my species was known to eat. They were mostly a carnivorous set, of one kind or another (fish, bugs, rodents; not a T-bone steak among the lot). They weren’t phased by any kind of plant food, but the existence of dairy products as a whole was soundly denounced as vile weirdness.

“Honestly, it makes sense,” I laughed. “Milk is the first food we eat when we’re born, then we found ways to make it into a bunch of other fancy things.”

“Yes, but why?” asked a bright red Heatseeker, his lizardy face intent. “Organic drippings sound like the absolute last choice of edible foods.”

“Spoken by someone who has never tasted ice cream,” I told him. “Or pizza! Those are some of the best foods out there.”

“I’ve heard humans mention pizza before,” said a large gray Strongarm. He gestured with something that looked like an uncut sushi roll. “What actually is it?”

I happily explained, then had to go on a tangent about bread, since that was apparently a weird human thing too.

“Really? None of you folks have food made of processed grains?” I asked, to a row of blank stares. “Guess not, but okay: it’s crushed grain and water with yeast — those are little microscopic creatures that help turn it into proper food — as I understand it, the air bubbles in the finished bread are their farts — I’m not doing a good job of selling this, am I? I swear it tastes good!”

The big Strongarm laughed loudest. “No, but keep going! You were going to circle back to ‘cheese’ and why it’s not rotten.”

I did my best, eventually giving up while insisting that they would probably like at least some of my species’ barbaric dishes if they ever got a chance to try them. It was a fun conversation. And the food was all right too. A bit fishy, but I’d had worse.

I was sad to see the meal end, with everyone scattering off to their various tasks, some of which might have been fun to help with: untangling cords or organizing cases or deciphering random space messages. But my duty was with the cat.

Pickle was caterwauling loud enough to be heard from the end of the hallway. I hurried in and comforted her again, opening the cage and settling in to rest on the cushion-bed with her snuggled next to me.

With nothing else to do, I drifted off into a nap that was more restful than expected, given the alien bed. I woke, braved the alien bathroom, then went back to sleep. Even after the vacation I’d been taking, it was a bizarre luxury to have no demands on my time. I didn’t even know what kind of day/night cycle this ship was on.

And it didn’t matter. I slept as much as I needed to, ate a couple ration bars, fed and played with Pickle, and I read a book I’d been meaning to get around to. It was nice.

Crew members showed up occasionally to invite me to meals, but otherwise I spent the whole trip in my quarters. And as much as I enjoyed the camaraderie of dinnertime, the guilt I felt every time I returned to piteous meows kept me from staying out longer.

I really would have liked to, though. They even had a music night with instruments I’d never heard of. There were spares that I was welcome to try.

But Pickle had been scratching at the cage the last time I returned, and if she tore a claw because I wanted to know what an alien trumpet sounded like, then I would have failed in my duty.

So I stayed with the cat who purred like an outboard motor, and I did some more reading. It was still nice. Peaceful. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to take a turn at the radio station, listening for gossip and distress calls and triple-encoded secret messages.

The end of the trip caught me off guard. Kamm showed up with a ten-minute warning before the time we needed to have the crate stowed in the cargo bay, and me seated in the cabin.

“Already?” I blurted. “Right, I’ll be packed up in a jiff. Got the sleds?”

In the rush of gathering things, ushering Pickle back into the carrier, and hurrying to the cargo bay, I didn’t really have time to Feel Things about the trip ending.

But I felt them anyway. I’d miss my little snuggle buddy. I hoped she had a good life ahead of her.

The man waiting at the spaceport a few minutes later, as close to the landing pad as he was allowed, was a grizzled old space marine type. Stereotypes said he would have been more at home with some vicious beast as a pet, but I’d seen enough mismatched owners in my time to just smile at how eagerly he waited. And the way his face lit up at the sight of his cat was heartwarming.

Pickle’s distressed meows turned to welcoming mews when her human scritched her through the bars. I didn’t have to remind him that he owed money before he could take her away; he was on top of that. Though I’m sure Kamm would have made sure if necessary. The two of them handled the transaction with speed. Then to my surprise, he opened the cage there on the landing pad.

Pickle clawed her way up his thick jacket to settle purring onto his shoulders, like this was where she was meant to be. Maybe it was.

“Thanks so much for bringing her to me,” the man said to Kamm, with a nod to me as well. “Gonna introduce her to the new family; now everyone I love is in one place.”

Kamm said a polite goodbye while I gave him a warm smile and wiggled my fingers at Pickle. The cat gave me a slow blink, purring hard and nuzzling his chin. Then the pair of them walked off to the rest of their lives.

“Come grab your stuff,” Kamm told me. “He left a big tip, which I’ll pass over to you. No way we could have done a thing to calm that creature ourselves.”

“Thank you,” I said. “It was my pleasure.” It really had been; going home seemed anticlimactic now. It was just a pity I hadn’t been able to socialize with the crew more. They were good people.

I followed Kamm back into the ship for the last time — or so I thought, until a pair of crew members called from the radio station about a message from their sister ship.

“They had a fuel leak, and only managed to coast into orbit of a moon four days out,” said the small Frillian. “They need fuel, repair supplies, and extra food for their cargo.” He looked from Kamm to me. “I don’t know what planet the cargo is from, but if you don’t have to be anywhere just yet…?”

I grinned. “I don’t, as a matter of fact. I’ll happily come along if you’ll have me.”

Kamm flipped a tentacle in what was probably a shrug. “Why not? It worked out well just now. And I want to see if you can play a flange horn.”

“Me too!” I said. “Let me just grab some provisions before we go. At least one of you folks has to try pizza.”

This was years ago now. I never did get a regular job back on Earth, and I don’t regret it one bit.

(A couple crewmates did regret the pizza, but at least it was funny.)

~~~

This is official backstory connecting these comics with this novel. Robin has had a lot of adventures, and is about to have more!

#the Token Human #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #earth is a deathworld #haso #hfy #earth is space australia #eiad #writeblr #my writing #humans #aliens #cats #in spaaace #Robin Bennett #the spacefaring veterinarian and human-at-large #once again explaining cheese to nonhumans #always a fun conversation

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keikiri-kitten · 1 year ago

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Thinking about Leon who gets you a personalized birthday cake and has it waiting for you when you come home. It’s set in the fridge just in case you make it back home before he does. You typically do make it back before he does — even on your birthday, but he leaves a little not on the top of it. As you shuffle deeper into your dimly lit place and reach for the cake inside the fridge you read the note on top of it:

I’m trying to think of something mushy that will make you feel all good inside, but I can’t right now. By the time you read this I’m picking us up something for dinner because I would never make you want to suffer on your birthday, haha. I hope your day was wonderful and I can’t wait to spend tonight with you, beautiful. xoxo

As you read the note you get all fluffy anyways, smiling wide and taking the cake out of the fridge to place it on the kitchen island to get a proper look at it.

It’s a small cake with all the fix-ins frosting can offer with a cute little sarcastic message that sounds exactly like Leon. Rolling your eyes, you open the top of it and try to sneak a lick off of the frosting. That was until Leon opened the door to your shared apartment.

“Looked so good that you couldn’t wait for me?” He jokes, a hefty bag in his hand that smells like your favorite food. “I told the woman behind the counter extreme whipped cream frosting but the words are in white chocolate— you’re welcome.”

As you watch him come in, you smile. “You know I think this is the sweetest thing you have ever done for me.”

“Guess I’m no Romeo.”

“No,” you confirm, making him roll his eyes and scoff. “What did you bring home?” By the smell, you know what it is and he tells you exactly what you were thinking. “The gesture is cute but I was thinking of just plain Italian.”

Leon is no dummy, picking up on what you mean before he smirks, placing dinner down on the counter before wrapping an arm around your waist and flipping you over his shoulder. “I guess we can save that for extra energy then?”

Laughing to yourself, you sing a small ‘happy birthday to me,’ as he shuffles you off the bedroom.

#residentbirdie #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon fluff #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil x reader #re4 leon #re6 leon #vendetta leon #infinite darkness leon

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ohtobeleah · 1 year ago

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Battle Scars // Bob Floyd

-> An Official Flight Deck Blurb

Summary: Robert Floyd doesn’t take his shirt off at the beach. But when the shirt stays on during sex? You start to wonder what he’s hiding.

Warnings: Mentions of parental Abuse. Mentions of Child Neglect. Foster Care Systems. Mentions of family trauma. Bob Floyd x Female!reader.

Word Count: 2.1k

Author Note: Day Nine of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: ‘Scar reveal’ Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

People have secrets they keep close to their chest. Some are small enough to not cause a ripple effect onto others, and some are big enough to destroy lives, crush dreams, alter realities.

Bob Floyd wore his secrets across his chest. Scars that made his torso look like the Rocky Mountains. Littered with small to medium size scars that healed wrong, healed over, or healed with anger.

They weren’t pretty. If anything he wore a roadmap of abuse on his body that was hard to face in the mirror every morning. He never wanted to subject anyone to the sight of his scars, some red and raised, others faded but turned a deep purple in the cold.

“Mornin’ gorgeous—“ Bob's morning voice was something you’d never get tired of hearing. Those lazy Sunday mornings where you’d wake up to find the Naval Aviator already awake and reading whatever book he brought with him in his overnight bag were starting to become your favourite thing. “How’d you sleep mama?”

“Like a log.” You yawned, creeping closer and closer to where Bob sat on the opposite side of your bed. His T-shirt clad back pressed up against the headboard while his legs stayed covered by the sheets and covers of your warm, inviting bed. “I thought I had an early body clock.” Being a single mum and small business owner left little to no time for sleep-ins, which usually meant you were up before the sun got a chance to kiss the horizon good morning. “But here you are, Mr Military Man with your internalised alarm system.”

Bob couldn’t help but to chuckle as he closed his book and placed it on the bedside table you cleared just for him. Whatever this was between you and Robert Floyd you really liked it. He was the first man you’d ever paid attention to since your fiancé died. Bob was like a breath of fresh air and so was North Island. No one knew you, no one judged you, no one cared about the demons that haunted you.

“Force of habit I guess.” He shrugged before he sunk lower and lower, meeting your eyeline once again as you both settled in under the warmth of the covers. “How long do you think we have before Oliver wakes up?”

“Hmmm—“ You tried to hide your eagerness through a hum that kept your lips pressed together in a fine line. “He knows Sundays are bacon and egg roll mornings.” You began as your arms wrapped around Bob's shoulders.

His lips were hot against the supple skin of the juncture of your neck, in response your body ignited, sending waves of energy through your body that only Bob could create. He was just different.

“So like, five? Ten minutes maybe?” Bob looked up from where he’d been leaving small

but affectionate kisses against your collarbone and met you with a lust filled gaze. He was falling head over heels in love with you. “Because I only need like two—“

“Oh well in that case we have time for two rounds.” You teased before rolling yourself up and over to straddle Bob's waist. He let you easily. If he wanted to, he could have fought back. The thing with Robert Floyd was that he had a sleeper build. He wasn’t as buff as some of the other Naval Aviators that frequently stopped by the Flight Deck for their morning or mid afternoon caffeine hit. With the amount of sugar and caramel syrup you dosed Hangman with on a regular basis you weren’t entirely sure how he managed to maintain his muscle density.

But for as much as Bob was a gentle soul, he was strong and fast. He enjoyed a long run every now and again. But for all intents and purposes—he let you be on top. He liked the view. After all, he was just a simple man. Boobs were pretty cool. Especially your boobs.

“Can I ask you a question?” You cooed all the while Bob's hands trailed up your hips. You wore nothing but one of those silk nightgowns that made you look like an angel. The bed hair was cute, Bob liked you first thing in the morning. It was a side of you only he got to see. The side before the makeup, before being put together– he liked it. The authenticity. For what it was worth, Bob just really liked you.

“Depends what the question is?” Bob replied as his hands squeezed at your hips, rolling you gently back and forth over his boxer brief clad length. “I’m kidding, ask away.”

He had been expecting the question sooner rather than later. And with how things were going between the two of you Bob knew he would have to come clean. He was just afraid of what you might say. What you might think, and if his scars would be a deal breaker. They were, after all, a part of him that he couldn’t get rid of.

But even expecting the question to come didn’t make it any less hard to hear.

“How come you never take your shirt off?” You wanted to approach the question as politely as possible. “You don’t have to tell me, if you aren’t comfortable, I just—I’ve just noticed.” You saw the hesitation in Bob's baby blue eyes as he searched your face for any kind or fear. “Again, you don’t have to tell me.” You reminded the man lying beneath you as his hands stilled on your hips. “But I want you to know that if you’re hiding some sort of third nipple under there—I’m all for it.” You tried to make the conversation a little more lighthearted, Bob could appreciate that. He smiled softly at you while his hands needed at your hips like dough.

Bob didn’t say much after that, he simply laid beneath you stroking his hands up and down your exposed thighs as his mind ran rampant with memories. He hated his scars, but most of all he hated the people who gave them to him.

“You’re a waste of space!” The memories were all too prominent even after all these years. “I wish I never gave birth to you!” His mothers words were as cruel as she was violent and unpredictable.

“You’re the abortion I wish I fucking had.” The abuse Bob endured went with him everywhere, even well into his adult life. He learned not to complain, to cause a scene. “Stop crying for fucks sake kid.” He learned not to show emotion when it wasn’t asked or needed.

“You did this to yourself, if you had stayed out of the way, none of this would be happening.” But most importantly he blamed himself, for hiding his scars that clearly showed how strong he really was.

Bob sat up to meet your eyeline. For a man haunted by so many scars he certainly had the softest of eyes. He gently tucked your hair behind your ear and placed a fleeting kiss against your forehead, all before he reached up and over to take his shirt off over his head.

What you saw rendered you speechless for a few moments as you took in the terrain that was your, well, you wanted to say boyfriend but Bob wasn’t even officially that, torso—littered with scars he surely would have called ugly on the best of days.

“It’s a lot.” Bob whispered just barely above an audible level as he chucked his shirt off to the side. “But they’re not going away, ever.” It was almost as if Bob had struggled with that notion himself. He wished he could have them removed—expunge from his record. The tales of parental abuse he suffered before collecting more in the foster care system.

“Oh Bob—“ You tentatively reach out to glide your fingers over one of the many scars that were angry, red and what seemed to be risen. “You don’t have to hide these from me, ever.” Bob's heart was racing a million miles inside his chest, no one had ever touched him the way you were now. With so much love, with kindness, with understanding. “What happened here?” Your fingers gently glided across the scar down near the waistband of Bob's boxers. Right above his hip bone.

“One of the kids in one of the foster homes I was in.” Bob began, you could tell he was uncomfortable talking about it, but you didn’t stop him. You knew if anything he would stop if he didn’t want to talk about it. “I think his name was Ryan, had an old bow with those barbed edges on it.” You knew where the story was going. “It got wedged in there deep when we were playing around, but our foster parents didn’t have insurance, so they weren’t gonna take me to get it removed—so they ripped it out and poured bourbon over it.” Your heart sank into your stomach. “I was nine.”

“That must have hurt a lot.” You replied gently as Bob laid back down in your bed with his hands resting behind his head. His roadmap of scars on full display. “What happened here?” You moved your hand to the longer scar across his left peck. It seemed less angry, more healed, but the story attached was just as heartbreaking.

“When I was eighteen I went back to see my parents.” Bob's eyes were tearing up. He hadn’t ever spoken about this to anyone. Not even the people he trusted with his life. You were the only one. “It was a mistake, I shouldn’t have, but I needed some closure.” Your fingers gently ran the expanse of the scar that had never been touched but another person. Bob wanted to stop you out of fear you’d leave—but he willed you to continue because it felt comforting to be touched with such warmth. “My dad ran at me with a knife the second he saw me—I remember he was rambling on about how I broke my mum's heart when I went with CPS. I’m lucky it was only a graze, he still got me good enough to leave a scar though.”

“Bob, honey, I don’t even know what to say.” You were a mother yourself. You couldn’t ever imagine doing anything of the sort to your son. Bob reached up to guide your hand across his torso to his wrist—you’d seen those small circle cluster scars time and time again but never bothered to ask what they were from.

“These are from where my mum and my foster mum would put their cigarettes out on me.” Again, it made your heart sink, but Bob never faulted as he guided your hand around his body, back up to his stomach just above his belly button. Ridged abs peaked through the softness of his skin. “This one is from when I had to have surgery after I got an infection. Doctor said I could have died if my friend and I didn’t walk ourselves to the emergency room.”

Bob wanted you to touch every last scar that littered his body, he wanted your gentle touch to heal his old wounds. So you let him guide you as your straddled his waist and looked down at the roadmap of torture.

“These smaller ones are from when my dad swung the whipper snipper at me, I was in his way, I shouldn’t have been there, I remember they wouldn’t stop bleeding and ruined a bunch of my shirts.”

“None of these are your fault.” All his life, until he joined the Navy and ran as far away as he could, Bob had been told every scar he collected was his fault. The abuse he suffered as a child, from his parents and in foster homes, was his fault. “Someone who loves you doesn’t do this to you.” You reminded the man who laid beneath you. He could hardly breathe with how hard his heart was hammering in his chest as your hands trailed over the expanse of his torso. “Bob I don’t know your history, but from what I can gather about you in the present you are all but the problem.” You were the first person to ever tell him he didn’t deserve the scars he wore, the scars he hid.

“You’re a really good person, you know that right?” Flashes of your own war blinded your vision for a moment. The lies and haunting rumours that had you running as far away as possible could came flooding back to you in a blur as Bob sat up to kiss your lips softly, tenderly, and all so lovingly. “You don’t know how much you mean to me baby.” The term of endearment sent a shiver down your spine you weren’t expecting. But you welcomed it nevertheless. Bob was a dream, your new beginning.

“I reckon you’ve got about three minutes to show me.” You teased, deciding now was not the time to bring up your dead fiancé. “With the shirt off—“

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

#ailesswhumptober2023 #leahs whumptober masterlist #bob floyd x female reader #flight deck // bob floyd #bob fliyd angst #Bob floyd whump #bob floyd x reader #top gun bob #top gun imagine #top gun fan fic #tw: parental abuse #tw: mental health #tw: scars

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