#but deep down they seem to be aware that none of it is srs

[malaierba]

im probably wrong but im pretty sure Karamatsu is the sextuplet that interacts the most with totoko, AFTER OSOMATSU OFC no one is coming close to Oso's number 1 screentime shared with totoko

if we dont limit ourselves to the tv seasons, then they interact a little on the Takoyaki Party movie. They have the skit with taxi driver karamatsu. the CD Drama skit where Totty and Totoko get karamatsu drunk lol. and that one choukei skit with the riceballs.

those are all funny bcs the only one where u see karamatsu trying to pose as a casanova is in the drama cd, where he and totty are pretending to be host club guys anyway.

you'd think he'd be way more annoying around her? instead he treats her pretty normally, although he does do some bending backwards with the riceballs trying to prevent that they hurt her ego / trying to keep totoko from murdering the riceballs lol.

thinking back to the takoyaki party movie and a few PS Vita games interactions, I think Totoko is somehow aware that Karamatsu can treat her normally (against all odds) (normal for karamatsu ofc), but also that she can take advantage of his people pleasing tendencies pretty easily lol. i wanna see more of that... he's surprisingly aware that totoko is not as sweet as she appears, but he still likes to treat her like she's exactly that. ig in that way he's pretty similar to how osomatsu treats totoko.

[itsbebebrainrotting]

Analysis of qtubbo and qphils separate parenting flaws which might get me chased with pitchforks so im not tagging it:

(Long so under a cut)

Phils issue, when it comes to the other eggs, really boils down to his isolation. He only prioritises Chayanne and Tallulah (and he prioritises them by a lot) and only really knows Chayanne and Tallulah. And thats because he doesnt hang out with the other eggs often (and gets panicky when taking care of 3 eggs at once so never really gets to know them).

To him, dapper has cool shit, richas is just mischievous and sunny just likes money. This, as a start, just messes up his interactions with some eggs because he acts more familiar with them than he is and doesnt take a chance to know them better. This is worsened by how non serious and out of rp phil often is because when phil isnt rping the eggs still are. They will take his jokes srs. (And its especially bad with sunny cuz sunny is so defensive of tubbo, who qphil makes fun of a lot, and he also places that same relationship onto sunny, even if he doesnt know her well enough to have that relationship).

He also always prioritises his kids to the point of almost putting other kids down. It was RICHAS at fault in that argument over that painting he had with tallulah (cuz phil doesnt know richas enough to know he had an actual issue there). Phil didnt look for dapper when he was kidnapped and at risk of dying. Sunny and Leo fighting was none of his business. When sunny was sad their pa was gone phil compared it to his daughters loss and accidentally minimised their upset.

And the thing is, qphil isnt even perfect with chayanne and tallulah (enderking aside). He sees chayannes feeling of duty to everyone and encourages it rather than noticing how worrying it is. He also is seemingly unaware how deep it runs, considering how long it took him to notice chayannes hurt after tubbos death (and, may i add, chayannes egg bit with tubbo was way more heavily played into by phil than by tubbo). Hes seemingly a bit more attentive with tallulah (though notably i feel less knowledgeable on tallulahs woes nowadays than i used to - oh how the tides change). I know she struggles with loneliness and abandonment issues, and afaik hes very aware of that. But his own isolation therefore backfired a lot on her and he really doesnt notice. (Note: post reset i would also say qphil is probably less isolated but i cant really since i dont watch him and also most of the post reset phil has been enderking affected)

However, I wouldn't say qphil is a bad father to chayanne and tallulah. He just has one big flaw: He doesnt see the negative effects of some of his own actions and they suffer because of it.

Anyway, now to qtubbo, cuz im a tubbling and this analysis should be fair to both crows and tubblings.

Firstly, lets address post revival tubbo. Hes a lot more direct about his hurt and feelings, which manifests into him being mean and short tempered at times because qtubbo puts up with a lot of shit. This backfires at times onto his relationship with the eggs as he directs a lot of unnecessary anger onto them. He guilted both richas and chayanne for his death, for example.

That, however, isnt the only reasons he is a flawed egg caretaker.

See, qtubbo doesnt (always) have the same issues as phil. He babysits often and knows the eggs he regularly takes care of them really well, caring for them almost as much as he cares for sunny. The only egg id say he really didnt try to get to know at first was dapper (but he went out of his way to resolve the beef there). But, he also went to the end of the world and back for dapper so...

Tubbos issues with the eggs are more about his difficulty providing emotional comfort, than anything else.

For a start, both q and cc tubbo use humour as a coping mechanism. He will make poorly times jokes in dark situations because its his way of coping and dealing in those moments. That leaves eggs feeling hurt cuz he seems a lot less serious than they are.

Then theres the fact that while he lets the kids be kids, he also can struggle with telling the emotional age of the kids (he said sunny was 11 💀). This means he can sometimes act like the kids can handle a lot worse than they can.

Plus, his need for petty drama means he will accidentally upset the kids and not care that them fighting will upset them.

Not only that but he struggles at times to help sunny when she has issues (such as leo and tallulah disliking her at first) in part becayse he himself struggled with those issues irl. Of course he doesn't take the smart course of action there because he doesnt know how to fix it irl, let alone in rp.

Oh and all that also ignores the fact that tubbos suicidal tendencies are pushed onto sunny to the point where they literally have a suicide pact together

So, no, in short, qtubbo isnt perfect either. But that comes from struggling at times to be emotional support as well as his own poor mental health, which is entirely different to phils issues, which stem from his tendency to isolate (and a bit of a lack of self awareness).

[mwolf0epsilon]

((As kids)) the polks let Sammy live with them after being abandoned by his parents. At first he’s rude to them but then he gets straighten out. Maybe he helps around there farm/ work?

Reworked a few things here to fit the prompt considering Samuel Sr. wasn't the best person or parent, but he he wouldn't just abandon his child, and the fact my Norman is 20 years older than Sammy in the canon compliant verse.

Summary: Sammy was a weird kid. Norman thought he must have been a major brat to get thrown out, and the blond spitfire never tried to disprove it. Then he got wiser.

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Everyone in their area knew the Polks. They were a quaint little family that owned an equally quaint little farm out near New Orleans. Nothing too fancy, just a few sugar cane plantations, and a bit of cotton on the side. Enough to get food on the table, pay for studies, and even support a few hobbies . It was a comfy lifestyle for a tight-knit family.

Those who were aware of the Polks also knew what they tended to do when not tending to their crops.

Despite a few shady (and sadly true) rumours about dear old Poppop Polk, the military background of a few of the Polk men, and the sheer physically intimidating bulk that they often grew into (even the women) due to years of hard work, the only hardened part of them were the muscles. In truth the Polks were the kindest most soft-hearted folk in Louisiana. As such they were suckers for a sad tale, second chances and what not. This tended to lead into them bringging in strays...

The most recent, much to a young Norman's displeasure, being a bit of a sour crumb.

Sammy Lawrence was this pale tiny boy with a shock of curly blond hair and eyes that weren't a color Norman couldn't quite name. Something in between a soft brown and a flicker of green.

He was a skinny sort, no more intimidating than a little fuzzy newborn chick, with knees marked by bruises and scratches (from climbing trees and skinning his knees on gravel) and unevenly cut nails that looked like they'd been bitten until they were short (a nervous tick).

But, most notably, the kid was a snake. One with venom in his eyes, and words that bit into flesh like a snapping turtle out for the kill.

Now Norman's mama always told him never to judge a book by its cover, but surely the saying couldn't apply if he judged the contents, right?

The kid was just... Mean-spirited...

Yelled, had tantrums like the devil himself made him whacky, and honestly watching his mama fret over him and try to make him more comfortable staying at the farm was like watching a trip for biscuits. Completely pointless.

Sammy was a weird kid. And Norman thought he must have been a major brat (because obviously he was) to get thrown out by his parents.

To his credit the blond spitfire never tried to disprove it or give any logical reason to be there. Instead he resorted to verbally attacking him and his older siblings at every chance he got.

Norman didn't much care for those wordy insults of his. The kid thought he was smarter than him, so fine let him believe that. But the moment he told his sister she looked like a little ugly ape, Norman's composure snapped like a twig.

"Yous thinks yous plenty rugged uh? Spoutin' all them nonsense fancy words like ta rest o' us don't get what yous sayin'?" He'd spat out twice as venomously, with a hint of fury over little Jolene's tears cutting his heart deep. "What sorta wet sock goes 'round throwin' crust at little girls?!"

"None of your business you slobbering cyclops!" The little shit had his fists balled like he thought he could take on someone who brawled with two much larger siblings. He may not be able to beat Franny and Carol in a fight but damn, Phineas couldn't tear them off him either and he was 16!

At 12 Norman wasn't stocky but he put up a fight. This 10 year old egg would go down easily. "She started it!

"She's 5! I bet this why you ended up here. So dang mean not even your parents could love yous!"

"Nomie!" Jolene protested, but the damage was done.

The little blond stared wide eyed with his mouth hanging open, before his face went red with rage. Like the devil possessed him.

Shrieking loudly the brat lunged and both he and Norman went rolling downhill into the creak.

On Jolene's account, both of them were in trouble for saying and doing bad things (his one regret was not biting the kid harder when he tried to go for his neck). She also got a light spanking for something she'd said.

Much to Norman's embarrassment, matters parteining his behavior were taken up to his Great Nanna. And boy did she look angry...

"Bárbara told me yous went and said some evil things to that poor boy." The burn of her gaze made his cheeks hot with shame. But also a little bit of resentment.

"Not like he a saint Nanna! He called Jolene a monkey, she was just playin'!"

"She also insulted him to his face, cuzz you boys drilled it into her head that it's fine ta go around making fun o' people you don't know as long as you ain't caught doin' so." Nanna pointed out. "Now why'd ya go an' tell him what yous did?"

"Ain't it obvious? Kids out here for SOME reason... And his attitude sure makes it seem like he gots thrown out with the rest o' the trash."

"NORMAN ELIAS POLK!"

Norman yelped in fright as his great grandmother pointed her long crooked finger at him and began laying down the law. You did NOT piss off Nanna.

"You do NOT get to say such evil things in this household! You don't know nothin' 'bout why that poor boy is out here, and goin' bout saying such booshwash will get your hide tanner than a leather belt!" She spat as she went, her toothless sneer a great sign of her displeasure. "That boy just 'bout went and lost his poor mother, and his father is in hospital sick as a dog, so you best go out and 'pologize to that frightened child before I get half a mind to drag you there by the ear and spank your butt in front o' the whole family 'til the only words comin' out that crude mouth a'yours are words a regret!"

"Y-yes Nanna!"

"Go on then! Git!" She pushed him out the door. "Apologize!"

His Nanna was crazy scary when she wanted to be. Her promises were also always kept.

He shakily apologized as soon as he caught sight of Sammy, and he must have well and truly looked shaken up because the kid took it without so much as putting up a fuss.

At dinner things simmered down, and the little blond didn't put up a fight about staying or eating "slop" like he'd his memaw's cooking before.

According to Phineas, their pops had sat the kid down and layed it out just as hard as Nanna had done to Norman.

Either behave or risk getting sent somewhere less friendly. His pops also called in for extra drills the next morning, as punishment for their bad influence on Jolene. Sammy would participate, as his father thought such exercise routines were good for later on in life.

You never know.

Through following the same routine as everyone else, Sammy seemed to overall mellow out. He was less aggressive towards everyone else, actually did a decent job, wasn't too bothered about the farm work (apparently his dad owned a cattle ranch), and he actually started playing with the other kids as well. It took time for him to get comfortable, but heck if he wasn't fun to brawl with! Least now Norman had a chance to win!

Sammy Lawrence's stay wasn't a long one though. A month and a half.

As soon as Mr. Lawrence got out of the hospital he'd practically floored it all the way down to their farm to get his boy as far away from the black folk (no wonder the kid was such a ball of bad manners, his old man was one of THOSE people) as quickly as possible.

Must of thought they'd tainted the kid or something...

No skin off Norman's nose. He may have been in the wrong about why Sammy lashed out the way he did, or about the kid being a crumb, but that didn't stop the little shit from being a weirdo.

Hopefully he'd grow out of the superiority complex.

[miceenscene]

N7 Month - Day 14

Name

Everything hurt, that was the first thing Shepard registered. Everything really really really hurt. She could only recall being in this much pain once before, and it took eight billion credits, two years, and a deal with the devil to come back from that one. Her every nerve ending was burning, searing. Blood roared in her ears. Stop stop STOP, make it stop!

And then it did.

The abrupt return to something like normality was so jarring Shepard’s eyes shot open and she sucked in a breath, coughing and hacking at she sat up. For a few minutes she let the world spin around her, eyes shut again as she focused on her breathing. In and out, steady, centered. Then she opened her eyes to survey her surroundings.

She was in a building, or a space station perhaps, or maybe even a ship. The room was so nondescript it was difficult to tell. Just a large room with crates and boxes scattered around in a haphazard pattern. The much more concerning revelation was herself. She’d glanced down at her hands and did a double take, holding them up to stare at them in something like horror.

Before the waking up here and the hurt, half her armor had been melted away by a direct hit from Harbinger. She’d been bleeding out up on the Citadel turned Crucible, Anderson at her side with the best seats in the house. Now her suit was spotless, gleaming and ready for action. She pressed to where she’d had a wound on her stomach, but there was no pain now. She staggered up to her feet, the sheer lack of agony making her unsteady for a few moments.

Had she died? Was the afterlife just some room that looked like a thousand others she’d once ran missions through? Garrus was going to be disappointed about the lack of a bar, she thought automatically before grimacing. Forgive the insubordination… No, no she wasn’t dead. She had orders, she had a retirement to enjoy, some utterly impossible children to raise. She wouldn’t have let herself die and that’s all there was to it. Clinging to that thread of stubborn determination, she finished her self-census. She had all her usual weapons and her omnitool even seemed to work.

“Shepard to Normandy. Come in, Normandy,” she said, opening her comm channels. There wasn’t a response. “Joker, this is Shepard. Come in, Normandy. Alliance, Hackett, anybody.” More silence. “Dammit,” she muttered, shutting the omnitool.  

Maybe if she got outside, or found a control room she could get better signal. She pulled out her trusted assault rifle and headed for the only door she saw. Listening for a moment, all she heard was the quiet air circulator cycle on. So she hacked the door open and stepped out into the hall, checking both ways for any sign of movement. Seeing none, she picked a direction and walked silently down the hall.

Stopping at the corner, she listened again, very aware that she was without back up in an unknown environment. If she hadn’t been standing completely still and focused she would have missed it. But she heard very quiet footsteps and the slight creak of body armor. Someone was near.

She waited, listening, as the footsteps drew nearer. Before they got too close, she leaned out just enough to glimpse around the corner. The hall was short and ended in another corner. She didn’t have to wait long as a rifle barrel started appearing from around the corner and then a moment later a person stepped around as well.

Relief flooded her system, making her almost drop her rifle. “Garrus,” she sighed, tears welling in her eyes as she stepped around the corner and ran towards him. “Garrus, honey. Oh thank god.”

Garrus froze as soon as she appeared and stared at her with wide eyes. She didn’t wait, just immediately wrapped her arms around his torso in a hug that wasn’t nearly close enough thanks to their armor.

“God, I was so worried,” she blubbered and sniffled a little. The tension release of him being here, him being safe had overwhelmed her control for the moment. She looked up at him and cupped his scarred mandible with her hand. “How’s your leg? Where are we? I can’t reach the Normandy. What happened with the Crucible?”

He didn’t reply, just stared down at her. Obviously in shock--not surprising given how distraught he’d been last he saw her.

“I followed orders,” she added with a slight smile in a whispery voice. “Somewhere warm and tropical, right?” God, she wanted to kiss him. Right here, any possible danger be damned. “Maybe even a few of those turian-human--”

“Vakarian,” a new voice called from further up the hall.

Shepard turned and a smile broke out on her face. “Vega,” she said, stepping back from Garrus for the moment. That was fine, there’d be plenty of time for a proper reunion back in her cabin. Vega sauntered down the hall, shotgun in hand. “Knew the reapers couldn’t keep you down.”

She reached out to shake his hand, but Vega just gave her a strange look for a moment before looking at Garrus.

“You want to introduce me to your friend?” he asked him.

“She’s not my friend,” Garrus replied in a frosty tone. Shepard’s head snapped over to look at him. What? Were they kidding right now?

“You two really think right now is the time for jokes?” she bit out, feeling deeply hurt that they would choose this moment to be idiots. Fine, if they wanted to be children then she would treat them like children. Garrus, she would have a talk with later. But Vega… “Lieutenant, status report,” she ordered, leaning into every bit of authority she possessed.

Instinctively, Vega snapped to attention for a breath. But then he seemed to realize what he’d done and brazenly relaxed. Oh, he was in for the dressing down of a lifetime.

Then all three of their comms crackled to life. “Lieutenant, status report,” a masculine voice ordered over her comm. Shepard frowned down at her omnitool--she didn’t recognize the voice at all.

Vega was still staring at her in bewilderment, but lifted his hand to activate his mic. “We found the source of that voice, Commander,” he replied. “Armed, but not… entirely hostile. Human. N7. Female.”

“On my way,” the voice replied.

Shepard looked between the two of them. “What the hell are you two playing at right now?” she demanded, patience worn completely through. Her hand curled instinctively around the handle of her rifle.

Garrus swiftly lifted his rifle and pointed it straight at her head. “Put the gun down, ma’am,” he warned in a low fierce tone. Her mouth dropped open in stinging betrayal for a heated second and then a thread of tension unspooled in her gut as something clicked together. She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t know how she’d gotten here, but she knew one thing for dead certain--that wasn’t her Garrus.

“Hands where I can see them,” that same masculine voice ordered from behind her. There was no doubt in Shepard’s mind that she now had several guns pointing at her. So she complied, still maintaining eye contact with the Garrus as she was very aware of what his rifle was capable of. “Turn around.”

Slowly, she turned away from the pair she knew and faced the source of the voice. Standing at the end of the hall was an N7 marine. She’d never seen this man before in her life, she was certain. He would be difficult to forget from the imposing figure to the glowing red scars that cut deep into his face. Even his eyes were illuminated a dull red, she realized as he moved closer.

“Lieutenant,” the N7 ordered. Vega pulled the rifle from Shepard’s hands and the shotgun from her back. He quickly patted her down, finding the flash grenades in her belt, and then stepped back.

“Clean.” Vega moved to stand behind the N7, arms full of her weapons.

The N7 approached with measured steps, an assault rifle that was the exact same model as her own raised to her head.

“Name and rank, soldier,” he said, not relaxing from an assault posture. She didn’t know who that Garrus was, or if that was actually Vega, but this N7 was obviously Alliance. As annoying as it could be at times, sometimes the gravitas her name demanded was useful.

“Commander Shepard,” she answered, not hiding her annoyance.

Vega’s eyes went wide. She heard the Garrus behind her adjust his grip on his rifle. The N7 just stepped closer, finger on the trigger now. One wrong move and she might actually be meeting Garrus at that bar.

“I’m only going to ask you this one more time,” he growled. “Name And Rank.”

“Commander Jane Carren Shepard, Alliance Navy, Fifth Fleet, service number 5923-AC-2826,” she answered without the annoyance this time. “N7 class of eighty-one, first human Spectre, commanding officer of the SSV Normandy SR-2.”

“What the hell is going on?” Vega asked, half under his breath, eyes jumping between her to the N7 repeatedly.

“Yeah, I’d like to know that myself,” Jane replied, despite the multiple weapons pointed at her. She locked eyes with the N7. “Who are you?”

He didn’t reply for a moment, just stood up straighter. “Commander Shepard,” he bit out and then looked past her. “Vakarian, restrain her. She’s coming back to the ship. We can sort this mess out there.”

The Commander turned without waiting and headed back the way he came as the Garrus pulled Jane's hands behind her back and fastened a set of cuffs around her wrist. How she got here was still a mystery, she thought as she was led away, but there was a far better question right now. Would she be able to get home?

Ao3 Version

[This is actually the first chapter of a new untitled project I'm working on. It's gonna be a bit before it sees the light of day, but this chapter fit the prompt well enough I thought I'd give a bit of a teaser.]

[mrs-pissoff]

Your eyes (Reader x Thane)

(the title is pretty much a placeholder because I have no idea what else to call this lmao) 3rd person POV, Reader is referred to as she/her

A/N: So first of all, I usually don't know what the unholy crap I'm doing when it comes to writing. I'm also not a native English speaker. There may be a part 2 coming but I can't promise cuz once I do promise something it's surely not going to happen, ever. Nonetheless, please enjoy.

Introduction: You're whoever you are, and you've joined Shepard's crew aboard the SR-2 to stop the Collectors. You've become something of a close friend to Commander Shepard and may have caught spicy spicy feelings for them. Unfortunately for you, Shepard has eyes for a certain turian vigilante, but hey, this story isn't about them. It's about you and our favorite assassin.

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and its characters belong to Bioware.

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An unusual stillness fell over the empty kitchen of the SR-2. The crew were all tucked away in their chambers, resting or talking about the day’s events. Even the lights of the Med Bay were dimmed, indicating that not even Dr. Chakwas was at her station.

She was glad no one could see her in such a state. Puffy eyes, hair and clothes in complete disarray. A mess, really. She didn’t need the looks of pity or the unnecessary and painful question ‘What’s wrong?’. No. She only needed a glass of cold water and some time. Some time to sort things out. Alone. That part was easy at least, since she thought no one knew how she felt. She kept it hidden, locked away. Out of sight, out of mind. Except when the feelings would resurface violently and erupt like a volcano. Like right now.

Head bowed and quietly sobbing into the sink, both hands resting beside the edges of it, she doesn't hear the silent footsteps approaching her. Too preoccupied with her spiraling thoughts of Shepard and her own confusing feelings. The footsteps of the cautiously approaching Thane Krios cease, as he stands frozen in place. The woman before him is the one that judged him for all his wrongdoings the day he stopped his son from stepping on the path of sin. Her once fiery gaze was now drowned in tears, head hung low and heavy with sorrow.

She's been feeling on edge lately, making careful but not very covert snide remarks to Garrus Vakarian and politely pushing away everyone who questioned her sour mood. She only smiled when Shepard asked, the storm clouds hanging over her head evaporating at the sight of the Commander as her face relaxed. And with a beaming gaze and the hint of a smile, she'd tell Shepard how everything was fine and she just needed some rest. That a nap would fix her up. A white lie to avoid worrying the Commander. He saw how her eyes lost their spark and how her legs would carry her around the ship without purpose. Only in battle she seemed alive. A raging whirlwind sweeping through enemies. A most unsettling change in behavior. He knew the reason behind it all.

Suddenly becoming painfully aware of his presence, her head shot up and a startled gasp left her lips. She pushed herself away from the sink in a swift motion and turned her gaze away from him, wiping the tears from her face. Desperately trying to make it seem like they weren't there to begin with.

"Damn, you're quiet. You should make more noise or you’ll give someone a heart attack."

Her tone had a slight bite to it and an uncertain shake she tried to mask. He could still hear it though. This was a moment of weakness she wished no one would witness. Much less him. He knew what she thought about him. She called him a gutless coward and a poor excuse of a father while still wishing him success to save his son, though not for his own sake, but simply because Kolyat deserved better. He had to agree with her, he told himself all of these things and more. It was nothing new. And yet, hearing someone else utter those words aloud cut even deeper. The look she gave him that day sent a jolt of shock down his spine. Her eyes filled with scorching ire, blame and so, so many questions. He felt small even if he was standing taller than her. Even though her mind seemed occupied and uncertain at the moment, he could still sense that she'd have preferred anyone but him finding her like this.

"Are you feeling unwell?"

Of course she did, he thought, but the words left his mouth before he could rephrase the question.

"No."

Her reply came almost too quickly as she washed her tear-stained hands and turned around, ready to leave without drying them. He knew she carried a great many burdens, and not all of them her own. She was much like him, and didn't leave her room frequently to socialize with others, but he knew that Shepard visited her just like the rest of them. Shepard always made sure to check on everyone, to talk to them and ease their solitude, but sometimes people forgot to do the same for the Commander. She didn't. She told him and Vakarian that Shepard had a tendency to hold onto everything, and rather than adding to Shepard's emotional cargo further, she preferred to ask and listen to everything the Commander had to say. No doubt a roundabout way of telling the two to do the same every once in a while. He wondered whether she herself shared her thoughts with anyone.

"If you need someone to talk to-" but he couldn't finish. She looked back at him and began speaking quietly, her tone now withdrawn and empty. 

"Perhaps you should focus your energy on your son to make things right, and mind your own business. I'll do the same as well." Ah, he knew she'd push away, but he still had to ask. He wished she'd at least talk to Shepard, but knew that she won't.

"Sometimes strength isn't about holding our emotions at bay, but sharing our weakness with others, however difficult it may be." His words seemed to catch her attention as she raised one eyebrow at him questioningly.

"True, but I don't see why you would bother."

Her statement was expected. They weren't on the friendliest terms after all. Of course there was no ongoing animosity between them, she simply voiced her opinion of him and they never talked about it anymore. Few words were exchanged between them even before Kolyat's attempt at assassination - aside from the usual pleasantries that is - , even less afterwards. He was aware of her presence and they passed each other aboard the Normandy more than once, but neither spared as much as a second glance. Both too lost in their own thoughts to notice the other. That was until he was caught in her eyes like a trapped varren, desperate to escape. He felt as if he was standing underneath a spotlight, all of his shame on display for everyone to see. It was then and there, where he truly saw her for the first time and began paying more attention to her unconsciously.

On rare occasions when she was having her meals at the same time he was, he'd find himself observing her closely, listening to her talking with others. He'd seen the pang of jealousy in her eyes as Garrus recalled all the time he spent with Shepard years ago and when he would ask specific things about human relationships once he and the Commander became closer. She would deflect his clumsy questions half-heartedly and leave shortly after, her initial friendly disposition towards the turian dissipated and a polite tolerance took its place. Garrus was none the wiser to see this change, such nuance seemed to be lost on him. Perhaps that was for the better. She couldn't blame either of them for falling for each other. Garrus has been there for Shepard for far longer than her.

During shuttle rides Thane could see how she tried to be casual and disciplined while Shepard spoke, careful to contain herself and not let anything slip even if her eyes had a playful and longing glint to them.

He came to adore those eyes. They told him everything she was hiding so carefully. The eyes truly were a window to the soul.

Sometimes he was also lucky enough to catch her in a conversation where she voiced her point of view on certain things, mostly concerning Cerberus whom she did not trust in the slightest. A sentiment many other squadmates shared. Surprisingly, she didn't let her negative opinion extend to Miranda and Jacob, or the rest of the crew wearing Cerberus colors. Short and reserved debates between them were apparently not uncommon. On her better days he could even hear her joking about with Zaeed and Jack. A wide and playful smile spreading on her face with every witty little comment she shared with them.

He's never realized just how aware of her he was until now. He wanted to let her know, but-

"You intrigue me."

The words escaped him once more.

His body tensed as he watched her carefully. Her eyes found the floor as a thoughtful expression crossed her face. She seemed unsure and deep in thought, and he began to wonder whether it was a mistake to speak his mind. A few agonizing seconds later she met his eyes again seemingly ready to respond, but deciding against it in the end. She gave him one last incredulous look before turning around and heading for the elevator without a word, leaving him in the dimly lit kitchen.

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So, here. I hope it was enjoyable? I honestly don’t know how to write Thane so he may be severly OOC. Hopefully not.

It’s just that I’ve been adding more dialogues to the custom Thane follower I have in Skyrim and I got inspired so I was like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ whatever, I’ll post it.

And I already have another scenario running in my head. A possible continuation to this, but this thing took me the better half of today to write. We’ll see. Feel free to let me know what you think.

[icharchivist]

I was rewatching DGM hallow and I remembered that Lavi and Bookman occasionally engage in telepathic conversations. How come I've never seen this talked about more in all the years I've been in this fandom? This is really weird. Even most of the Noahs think it's weird/creepy when someone reads their thoughts/talks in their head. The more I think about the Bookman the creepier they get. I'm not implying they're evil. Just really weird. 1) Telepathic w/each other. 2) Not only against attachments-

2 but against having a heart (not even the past Jedi at their most radical taught padawans to not feel anything). 3) If Bookman and Lavi are the standard then they either think they're above humanity or hate humans or or just indifferent. 4) they have SO many secrets that they keep to themselves no matter what. 5) they will never feel loyalty for anyone/thing that doesn't further their own ambition and even then they can easily drop you like you mean nothing to them. 5) They routinely erase-

3 each other's minds and none of them remember their birth names. 6) they swap identities so many times their own growth as individuals is trivial. 7) Ever single (possible) bookman we have met has either exhibited creepy or hostile behaviour. 8) they take to neutrality so strongly you can question if they even think to care what will happen to them if the Earl's plans succeed. 9) Are they even self aware? I'm not expecting a complete disaster. But I am expecting the bookman to weird me out.

Okay so for the telepathy i will have to come back to it when i will re-read it bc i don’t really remember it in Hallow and I think the scene I think should be that one??? Is the fact that ii’m almost certain i remember it being confirmed that Lavi and Bookman talk a whole other language. Apparently the Bookmen would have had their own language and I think i remember that in the manga it was translated by having weird bubbles to specify they were talking in that language (and it is possible that, due to the fact the anime couldn’t just pull a new language that was a work around to still have one of their Bookmen conversation being visible using telepathy).

But i really don’t remember the scene in question in details so i will have to check that out again but I THINK it is Bookman Language related more than telepathy and that the telepathy was a way for the anime to translate it

THAT SAID if the idea of Telepathy is a thing (which tbh could still be??? Bookmen already messes with minds a lot with the whole deleting memories thing who knows the hell they can do) it could explain also a lot of much more silent looks that we kinda justified so far by “they know something we don’t”. It might have been conversations we missed. 

Still unsure though i’ll get back to that when i will properly have re-read those parts bc this is really intruiguing me now

I know the fandom had talked about the Bookman’s language though but i’ve never heard of telepathy before now?? Idk 

And yeah like you say this is very weird bc putting them on the same level as Wisely is... very weird. Besides considering how much Lavi still struggles to get people around him i am fairly certain that if telepathy there are it i between the Bookmen only, not all knowing as Wisely.

But yeah aside from that, mood. The Bookmen are seriously a creepy brunch. Not in a bad way, but in a “this is extremely shady and I get you’re doing that to be neutral but i’m not sure those means are actually legally or morally applicable”

I agree with all your points. 

and i’ll elaborate under cut bc i might have gone carried away,

well 1) i just discussed it there, either Telepathy which would be a whole new can of worm, or a whole other language that would still applies that they have a special language to keep secrets in. And tbh it would also make sense that they would write down records in a secret language since they don’t actually let people Read their reccordings: Bookman specify that it comes with the part to “chat a lot”, they won’t share the written reccords (which they MUST HAVE for the the survival of the clan), so “Secret Language no one else in the world know” rings as shady to me.

4) NOT TO MENTION we know that Bookman also keeps secrets from Lavi (when meeting Cross’s altered akuma, Bookman specifies it was only something he (and Cross) knew about.). And it’s not to mention secrets that the Bookman in charge keeps from the rest of the Clan (see again, how Lavi’s eye is only known by Bookman Sr, not anyone else in the clan seems aware of that)

6) Apparently about their switching identities, something very creepy that came out of the latest Komui corner too is that the name they have during a war is the name that the recording will officially get. Meaning it’s not even that “Lavi” calls himself like that for the people around him, it’s that even after Jr would have moved on or died or anything, the Records of the Holy War would still be called “Lavi”. And we know that the names picked seems to have meaning that applies to each wars (as Wisely smugly smile realizing Lavi’s name’s meaning, but doesn’t tell people).��So even more of a disconnect with their sense of humanity since they have to be distanced from their own names, as their names become history as it goes. Which makes Jr’s identity crisis over how “Lavi” is “him” even more creepy tbh, bc it extends that “Lavi” isn’t just a reccord name anymore, it is not just the Holy War anymore, it is part of Jr as a BEING. And to me that’s even creepier that it’s even something Lavi has to worry about.

8) this is honestly one of my biggest questions. If the Earl’s plans work, all humanity will die. Or at least there had been no mention so far of any “saved people that would go through the Ark”. (there had been speculations about the real purpose of the Akuma and how its evolution process would be perhaps a part in creating supperior beings to salvage during the Flood like the original Ark did, and i’ll need to get back to the chapters tha thints that there are more secrets to the Dark Matter than it just reversing the innocence, BUT personally I have issues with this theory because of how easily the Noah do torture and kill the Akuma at times and seem to look down on them. But I would agree there seems to be a bigger purpose to the Akuma and the Dark Matter that we cannot even imagine.)Regardless, I don’t see anyway for the Bookmen Clan to survive, else the Noah would have found way to keep them on their sides and not torture them like they do now and exclude them. Yet we know at some points the Bookmen were “on the Noah’s side”. So what the hell do the Bookmen expect to happen with the Flood? Is their neutrality so important that they are ready to litteraly go down with this ship when the end of the world come? Yet we know they have some self preservating instinct it seems, so why? It just enerves me so much!

9) Yeah same, basically.

One last thing i will add: How the HELL did Bookman manage to find himself and Lavi innocences he knew they would be accomodator to when they decided to join the Order? Bc the Corner mentions that Bookman decided to set them into the Order to watch BEFORE they even got in contact with the innocences, and Lavi mentions that “Gramps just knew we’ll find innocences we would be compatible with” and how????? How the hell??? You can’t just make it that easy for the two of them to randomly connect with two random innocences (and we know they’re the one who have shown the least actual connection with the innocence) after arcs and arcs proving that the innocence is picky and sentient, that its own personality affects who they end up picking, that even the synch can change depending of how the innocence feel to their acomodator, and Especially, that the Order had DECADES of experimentations that were basic human rights violation due to how desperate they were to not be able to have enough people synchronizing with the innocence.

You  cannot have a full arc of telling us the Order did an entiere experiment about bringing fallen exorcists’s brains back in new bodies in hope the innocence would synch with said bodies, while letting those bodies decay under the pain of the innocence, for the sLIGHT CHANCE an innocence could be compatible again, only to then tell us “oh yeah we wanted to join the order so we ended up finding two innocences that we could connect to.”

For exemple: Take the Crows. it’s obvious the Crows want to help the holy war, as the Third Exorcist project proved a whole brunch of people were ready to put Dark Matter in their body to fight back the Akuma. And from all those Crows, from all the experiments we know the Order have carried on, somehow, as long as we don’t know of a “Former Crow Exorcist”, it means it’s not that easy. Not when you have a whole military branch who would be willing to be God’s apostles. And it’s not even counting how others Orders’s soldiers like the Finders would or not jump on the occasion.

So how the hell did they do that? How the hell did Bookman find those? bc even if they don’t connect to their innocence on an emotional level, they seem like proper innocence. Else Allen would have commented about how the souls don’t disappear like planned, like when he saw how the Third Exorcists killed the Akuma. Besides, we also know Bookman fears Lavi’s innocence could turn into a crystal type, so it confirms this is legit innocence, and that Bookman doesn’t have full controle over it.

How could Bookman be so sure they will become accomodator BEFORE finding any innocences? It raises seriously worrying implications considering all we know about the innocence and how hard it is to find accomodators for it this far in the saga. 

*take s a deep breath* anyway that said,

tbh part of me understand the feeling of “wanting to disconnect your feelings” when you watch history happens, because history is goddamn overwhelming. For having studied history for a few years i’ve personally had a few breakdown just over thinking about the amounts of horrors you read about one year after the other, so to have to remember all those horrors AND reccord current horrors, I understand in principle the thought that shutting those emotions down is the easiest way to record it. 

In principle.

Because in practice this is (a lot like you compared) nearly impossible witout losing their humanity and even losing perhaps an important part of how to understand and translate human experiences through emotional lenses. That’s the major issue with this logic.

had they done that for so long they don’t even question it? Or are they perfectly aware that it’s exactly why they cannot afford emotions? what are their view on the world and it coming to an end? How far are they willing to go in order to keep their own secrecy and status squo? Do they even realize the possible irony of them “not meedling with history” while the only fact that they are meddling by taking the dispositions they do to remain hidden/uninvolved? Not to mention that wanting it or not, Bookman and Lavi had meddled in the Holy War. Would they remain fully neutral, Bookman wouldn’t have had to tell everything he knew about the Noah to Komui in his first appearance for exemple. 

Lately it seems like they seem more interested in the Noah losing (self preservation kicking in) but that does raise the question of how far they are willing to share the secret history and how much is considered “medding with history”? Because this “secret knowledge no one should have” IS changing the course of history by being shared.

Do they even realize or do they really see themselves as walking books who can deliver information if pressed a the condition it doesn’t require to dig in their secrets? Where do they draw the lines?

I have HUNDREDS of questions about the Bookmen and it drives me insane. I won’t exclude that i might be overthinking it bc man, gotta wait between chapters huh, and that perhaps it won’t be that complicated or deep, but the more you get to see how shady the Bookmen are the more you wonder how and why?

Anyway that fascinates me. Bookmen pls unlock your secrets,,

[nyctolovian]

Summary:  Meet the parasite Vree

A/N: I was supposed to post this yesterday (i posted on ao3 yesterday) but um... welp, its like  that sometimes.

Also, I just did a refining of the plot annd uhhhhh it just grew by like.... 6 chapters???? im??? so??? screwed??? I've never written anything this long seriously before and uhh ((im srs when i say this is a huge ass feat for me please support my sed writing ass))

Special thanks to @lunasloveliess and @oorubixoo for beta reading this :D This chapter was pretty difficult to write.

The walls of the quarantine room were pristinely white, and the room smelled clean. It wasn’t hospital-clean, or Galran-jail-clean. It was just neat, like a new untouched bedroom. There was a large glass pane that let Lance see into the room next to his. Below it was a speaker and microphone, so Lance assumed this was going to be the mode of communication he was going to use if the team wanted to speak to him while he was still in quarantine.

He wondered if he could ask Allura to turn on the air-conditioning. But there was no communication button anywhere so he probably couldn’t activate the communicator on the wall from the inside. He rolled over onto his other side, and onto the side of the bed that had yet to accumulate his body heat. He had dumped the blanket onto the floor because it was making him heat up way too quickly. But not before inspecting it and counting the number of flowers, petals and Altean bee-sparrow-rabbit hybrids (Sparabbees!) printed on it.

What? Was Lance bored? Oh, no, not particularly. Why would you say so? (Yes, he was dying of boredom.)

He’d been in here for god-knew-how-long with nothing to do. Immediately after his body checks in the cryopod, he was sent here to wait for the results. That was fair. Lance wouldn’t want a possibly rogue paladin running about the castle either. He also knew that the others would talk about this issue separately before coming to find him, although they did not mention a word of this. But it was probably a given.

He sighed. This was the second time he was locked up in a windowless room with absolutely no stimuli. This time, he had a bed though. And possibly someone else with him. But it made no difference if that someone refused to talk.

“Hey, you,” Lance said aloud. “I know you’re there.”

No response.

“Helloooo?” He groaned. “Seriously, there’s no use hiding. You already revealed yourself! And I know you can hear me, alright?”

No response still.

Lance groaned and flopped onto his back. “Stop pretending you aren’t there! You either start talking or get out of my body right this instant.”

I’m sorry… But I can’t. Get out, I mean.

Lance startled. The voice was finally talking to him! He tried to regain his composure. “W-Why not?”

I-I’m not really sure. Sorry. I’ve tried to but I seem to be… stuck. I-I don’t know why. Leaving my host’s body was never an issue but I seem to be locked in by your tissues. I’m sorry, the voice replied.

“Wait,” Lance said. “So you’re a thing? With, like, a physical body and stuff?”

Yes, I have a body.

He let out a sigh. “That’s… less frightening than some spirit thingy existing in my head or something.” It sounded… less druid.

I’m not the work of a druid. I assure you.

Lance bounced upright. “Okay. Wait. So you can read minds?”

Well… yes, I can read my host’s mind.

Lance sighed and scratched his head. “Okay, how can I know that you’re telling the truth that you aren’t druid? For all I know, you could be lying to me. ‘Cause it seems like this mind reading thing is pretty one-sided.”

There was a moment of silence before the voice said, T-true. I don’t have concrete proof, but do you recall the dream you had? While you were in the so-called healing pod?

That strange dream. “You were the alien in the jar? Everything was from your perspective, right?”

Yes. And everything you saw and felt is genuine.

“Oh, then are you…”

Yep. A very specific feeling was transmitted to Lance. If the voice could clear their throat, they would at this point. The name is Vrizerain. But most call me Vree.

“Oh. Uh… I-I’m Lance.”

They chuckled. I’m aware. But nice to meet you. Properly.

Lance rubbed the back of his head. Vree seemed kind of polite and nice. Lance didn’t get any bad vibes from them and, for some reason, he felt inclined to believe in them.

Maybe it was the fact that even though he couldn’t read Vree’s mind like they got to read his, he could still feel a slight bit of his emotion seep into his words.

It really felt like Vree was just as confused and worried as Lance was about the situation. And their apologies felt sincere. Every word was spoken with care, like they were tiptoeing in a nursery during naptime.

Or maybe it was the fact that he had seen the dream through Vree’s eyes.

The momentary comfort of seeing their friend, Frivirion; the visceral fear of watching the druids enter, which could only spell danger; the genuine agony of… it all, expecting the same fate to eventually befall them. Lance realised that they weren’t meant to be shared. The memory was so personal — the emotions so raw, it made Lance feel like an intruder.

With those emotions echoing in his chest, Lance decided, “I’ll trust you. For now.”

Lance wasn’t as bored as he was before, having someone to talk to for most of the remaining duration of his quarantine, but the door of the room next door opening was still a huge relief for him. He leapt off his bed and rushed to the glass pane in excitement.

In came everyone, all looking tense. They closed the door behind them. Their mouths moved, but Lance couldn’t hear a word. They talked to each other for a while longer before Allura gave Coran a nod. Then, Coran fiddled with the control panel in front of the window pane on their side. The speaker crackled for a while before falling somewhat silent, save for the added ambient sounds from the other room, but otherwise, everyone remained quiet. Lance stared at the team, waiting for someone to speak.

It took a while before the silence was broken.

“Hey, Lance,” Keith said. “Can you hear me?” He was the most calm in this situation. Somehow.

“H-Hey. Yeah. You’re clear.”

“We’ve got some results,” Pidge said as she flipped through the pages of her folder. Her voice was rather soft, like she didn’t know how to speak to him now. Honestly, Lance couldn’t blame her. “We ran some checks and there’s this worm-like parasite in stuck in your spine.”

Parasite?! Vree whined loudly in Lance’s head.

“Your tissues seemed to have healed over it in an unusual way… Probably because of the healing pod.”

Oh… That… would explain why I’m stuck like this.

Lance asked, “Is there a way to take the… well, parasite out?”

Lance! Not you too!

“Surgery, maybe,” Hunk said. “But it’s going to be, like, really difficult considering how it’s practically attached to your spinal cord. Removing it might cause spinal damage. I mean, none of us here are medical experts, so unless we’ve got a doctor, we don’t really know what to do.”

Lance winced.

“We will try to find a surgeon who can remove the parasite,” Allura said. “But… we shouldn’t get our hopes too high.”

Parasite again. Stop calling me that.

Bending down to Pidge’s height, Coran flipped through the folder in her hand. Pidge visibly cringed at the page that Coran, who swiftly took out the piece of paper, had stopped at. “Here is the thing, Number 3,” Coran explained as he pressed the paper against the glass pane for Lance to look at, “the creature living in your spine now looks like this.”

Lance leaned into the glass and squinted at the picture.

It was a grotesque black-and-white photo of a creature lodged between what looked like the bones and nerves of his spine. It looked like some kind of half-worm, half-spider thing.

Coran lifted the page off the glass slightly to point at the image of the parasite. “The creature is lodged between the disk of your vertebrae and entangled with some of your spinal nerves. It’s rather tricky, you see?”

That’s a whole lot of mess I’ve gotten into.

“You can say that again,” Lance said in response to both Coran and Vree.

“We will be running one more test for you. But for that, we will require Princess Allura to enter your room,” Shiro said.

Everyone on the other side was tensed up again.

“We’ll be on guard,” Keith said, lifting his bayard up for Lance to see. “Just, um, don’t transform or attack Allura or something, and we’ll be fine, I think. She’s just coming in to check on your quintessence stuff. It shouldn’t hurt…” He glanced to Allura for affirmation, and when she nodded, he looked back at Lance. “Can you do that?”

I suppose that’s fine…? If that’s really it, Vree said. Can we trust them?

Lance smiled. They wouldn’t lie to him. “Okay, yeah. Allura can do her thing. No problem.”

Allura was let into the quarantine room. Everyone else was deathly still. “Hey, princess,” Lance said with a tiny wave. He chuckled nervously. “W-will this hurt by the way?”

“It should not,” Allura assured him. She raised her palms towards him and wrapped them around the crown of his head. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Then, Lance and Allura began to glow a soft light.

Allura slowly opened her eyes and revealed her glowing purple irises. The light faded. “Your quintessence is still the same,” she said.

“So Lance is still Lance?” Hunk asked, his hands clenched in front of his chest.

“Yes. His soul has not been changed fundamentally.”

Everyone visibly relaxed with a sigh in unison.

“I could sense the quintessence of another creature in your back, as expected. And its quintessence is intricately entangled with yours. Like a bond of some sort,” she continued.

Like a telepathic one?

Allura yelped and leapt back.

“Princess!” Coran yelled.

Keith charged in, pushing Allura behind him, as Hunk and Pidge followed behind. Eyes determined, they brandished their bayards at Lance, who raised his arms in surrender.

Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. Sorry.

“I’m half-convinced you’re doing these things on purpose,” Lance muttered bitterly.

“W-Wait,” Allura said, gently nudging Keith away. “Lance, have you established a telepathic bond with the parasite?”

For the last time, I’m not a parasite… Lance could almost sense a pout in Vree’s voice.

“Well, yeah. And Vree doesn’t really like you guys calling them a parasite,” Lance said.

I can talk through you, so anyone with direct skin contact with you can hear what I say.

“Skin contact lets him talk to others apparently,” Lance explained.

Tentatively, Allura placed a hand on Lance’s arm. “Like this?”

Yep! That’s right!

A frown creased Allura’s brow as she tried to process this new information. “H-How unusual,” she mumbled.

“Wait, Princess Allura, you can actually talk to the para— to the thing?” Shiro asked.

Allura nodded.

“That sounds kinda gross. Talking to some worm thing, I mean,” Pidge commented.

Before Vree could respond to that, Allura asked them, “Is speaking to multiple people possible?”

Um… Yeah, I think so.

Allura seized the closest person, Keith, and made him hold Lance by the hand. “Say something.”

Um, hello again.

Keith blinked several times, surprised. “H-hello? I guess?”

And, Lance, I’ve been meaning to ask this but what is this strange feeling in your chest whenever this—

“Vree! Alright! Okay! Um! Uhhh...” a red-faced Lance shouted to interrupt Vree. “Anyone else want to try out this whole new concept of speaking to aliens through direct contact?”

Eventually, after much talking and convincing, everyone was in direct contact with Lance, who was weirded out by the number of hands on his arms.

“You want to do a self-intro, Vree?” Lance asked.

I am Vrizerain from Regeunde. Most call me Vree.

“Wait. Did you say you are from Regeunde?” Coran exclaimed. “But we visited the planet right after we rescued Hunk and Lance, and there was… no one left there.”

The Regeunders… are extinct now. Or at least, they’re not on Regeunde anymore.

Coran sighed loudly.

My kind are the Immarin, and I assume you don’t know of us. The Regeunders never found out about us either. We attach ourselves to other species so we can blend in with the Regeunders.

“So what I, um, transformed into,” Lance said.

“But I thought Regeunders were small cats,” Keith said, turning to look at Coran.

Are they? Well, they’ve been gone for ten thousand years. We don’t really know what they look like anymore. I’m sorry.

“Evolution?” Hunk suggested. “A lot can change in ten thousand years. Especially if the Galra threaten the planet.”

Pidge nodded at the possibility. “Transformation is pretty useful if you are threatened. Essentially, Lance and this, um, Vree have a symbiotic relationship at the moment where the host, I assume, offers nutrients while the symbiont provides an alternative defense mechanism.”

That’s right. The amount of nutrients we can usually obtain outside of our host’s body is only enough for survival. We need a lot more if we aim to live longer and reproduce.

Lance paled. “Hold up—”

We clone outside of the host’s body, Lance.

“Okay, that’s a relief. You know, too many movies I’ve seen have these weird creatures being inside humans and bursting—”

“Lance,” Keith interrupted, “I beg you to stop. It’s kind of bad enough as it is right now.”

“Okie dokie. Yep. That’s probably a good idea.”

“How did you attach yourself to Lance?” Coran asked. “Surely not on Regeunde. They didn’t even get to reach that planet.”

“Long story short,” Lance replied, “Remember those cuts on my back? I landed on a pile of those, um, specimens, plus all the glass, and while I was like that, they kinda crawled in through the wound in my back.”

Pidge cringed. “Ugh, gross, gross, gross.”

“Well, it was only because of Vree that I could make it out of the ship. They helped me navigate through everything and stuff, apparently.”

“So what else can you do, uh, Vree?” Allura pressed.

I can read Lance’s mind. And I know that he’s currently thinking of this movie called Alien. Specifically the part where this man’s chest—

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Shiro said.

Sorry. That’s fair.

“You can read his mind,” Hunk said. “As in, everything he’s thinking?”

Um… Yeah. It’s to facilitate efficient communication between me and my host.

“That is…” Allura pursed her lips. “That is rather dangerous… isn’t it? For us. It would be terrible if our information were to be leaked out.”

“We need that surgery asap,” Hunk said. “I don’t trust that parasite.”

Lance felt Vree’s discomfort like a itch in his chest. Umm… Sorry but I- Well, I’m not a para—

“Look here,” Hunk yelled, glaring at Lance’s back. “As far as I’m concerned you’re invading my best friend’s body. You’re a parasite. And, now, you’re even invading his own private life! I don’t care what the purpose of your mind reading is, it’s personal. We all have things we want to keep personal.

“Hey, Hunk,” Lance said, shrugging as best as he could with all the hands on his arms. “It’s not that—”

Hunk’s eyes darted upwards. “Lance, we don’t know this Vree friend of yours. You shouldn’t be accepting this so quickly. For all we know, this Vree creature can be dangerous. Letting anyone into your brain and thoughts is never a good idea.” He huffed. “And I assume that puma thing I saw was you?”

Well, um, yes—

“And it wasn’t the lizard thing that killed the Galra either, was it? It was you, right?” Hunk continued. “That thing was dead after all. I bet you killed it too.”

You’re right agai—

“I knew it! I knew it, knew it, knew it! That thing has been bothering me from the beginning! Do you guys not understand the danger of this?!”

Pidge was the first to pick up on what Hunk meant. “Lance’s body was controlled without him knowing.”

A shudder ran through the rest of the team as Lance laughed nervously. “Hey, um…”

Vree tried to explain, I only have partial control over his body’s actions while in the transformed state. I can’t control a thing while he is, um, normal. And Lance was unconscious previously so I could control his body without a hitch.

“Yeah,” Lance agreed quickly. “And Keith probably saw today that I had control over my own actions as well! You know, it’s like one person is using the trackpad and one person is using the mouse on the same laptop at the same time.”

“Lance, you knew about this?!” Hunk breathed, outraged. “That thing used your body to… to kill all those Galra like that! Without you knowing a thing!”

“I-It can’t really be helped, right?” Lance smiled back in reassurance. “Besides, I was in mortal danger and stuff, so Vree actually saved me. Although I wished everything wasn’t done so brutall—”

Hunk cut him off. “Lance, this means there could be a next time when you are unconscious or sleeping or — I don’t know — and- and that thing can just use you to do whatever shady business it wants or even murder us! Do you understand that?”

I promise I won’t do that. I really don’t mean any harm, Vree pleaded. We, Immarins, as a species are generally—

Hunk groaned loudly and let go of Lance, refusing to hear another word from Vree. “As if we can just take your word for it. We’re not little kids. A pinky swear that you’ll do no harm isn’t going to convince us.”

Everyone was holding their breath. Their eyes were on Lance, as though pleading him to say something in response, because no one else knew what to say — even if they could muster the courage to speak up.

“Look, Hunk,” Lance’s voice was gentle. “Vree’s just trying their best.”

“I’m just trying to protect you, Lance,” Hunk replied, looking at Lance earnestly. “And this team. We can’t risk it.”

“I get it,” Lance replied, voice firm now. “We’re all worried, but Vree’s scared too. And it’ll be difficult from here on out if we’re all super defensive and stuff.”

“Lance, why do you trust it? What makes you think you can trust it?” Hunk shouted, punctuating his sentences with gestures. “Why aren’t you more wary?”

“H-hey,” Keith said, “Hunk.” He looked between the Red and Yellow Paladin, somewhat regretting speaking up. “I’m sure Lance has his reasons. Right?”

“Yeah.” Lance stood his ground. “I may not be able to read Vree’s mind, but I can feel their emotions. I know that they are genuinely concerned and sincere. And, right now, you are hurting them.”

“Those so-called emotions,” Hunk said, air-quoting, “can be some way to dupe you, Lance. Did you even learn anything after Nyma tricked you?”

Lance gasped softly.

“Do you want a repeat of that again? This time, it won’t just be your lion, Lance! You can’t trust this parasite!”

“But what else can I do but trust Vree?” Lance screamed. “Vree’s there and we can’t just get rid of them. Not unless I want to severely damage my spinal cord! You guys said it yourself! So all I can do is trust them and pray for the best. I’m scared too, okay? But what other choice do I have?”

Hunk’s eyes widened.

“Oh! Or you could just lock me in a cryopod for the rest of my life until we can take them out,” Lance said, sarcasm dripping from his words. “You know, that way I won’t have any thoughts for Vree to access, and there’s no way for them to do anything with my body. Would you like that instead?” His breath hitched as he realised what he had just said. “Oh. Oh no,” he breathed. “Oh god, Hunk. I-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“No,” Hunk said, holding his hands up. “You’re not wrong.” He rubbed his eyes roughly with his palm and let out an exasperated groan. “I’m out. I’m out.”

“God. I’m sorry, Hunk,” Lance stuttered out in alarm. He pushed everyone aside and seized his best friend, who froze.

With bated breath, the world waited. Then, with gentle, warm hands, Hunk pried Lance’s fingers away from his arm. “Please just give me some space.” With that, he left, closing the door behind him lightly.

Everyone in the room stood still, not uttering a word. It was so unusual to see Hunk flare up like that, but it was even more unusual to see the two best friends yell at each other. It felt almost surreal to witness this. A bitter taste was left on everyone’s tongue.

But Lance had it worst. His chest was aching with guilt, and his head was hot with anger, both at everything, and at himself. His lungs were searing with the urge to yell, yet he felt that he had no right to raise his voice any further.

God. Why the hell did he have to yell and say things like that? Why did he have to be stuck with this wreck of a situation?

The first thing to break the heavy silence wasn’t even a noise.

I’m really sorry.

[jamesvehrlinger]

Deep Stone Crypt

//...INITIALIZING…

//INITIALIZATION COMPLETE

//EXECUTE: SUBROUTINE:[DEEPSTONECRYPT]

//...PARSING...

//PARSING COMPLETE

//EXECUTING SR:[DSC]

I exhaled, opened my eyes, and I was there. I’d heard stories, but it was unlike anything I’d ever expected. The weak breeze, roving the hair on my arms and cloth on my chest. Sensations I hadn’t felt for a lifetime, maybe more. I let my jaw slack, feeling the tendons and cartilage stretch and settle. I licked my lips, and turned my face skyward. Blue, in every direction, spots of white here and there, and at my feet, green. I took in my surroundings, an infinite field of grass, about knee-high. I felt it run up against my calves, it itches, but I didn’t feel the urge to scratch, only to savor it.

With a quick breath, I recollected myself. I had to remember, remind myself the nature of this place, what I had to do. I scanned the horizon, one turn-a-round, squinting, two turn-a-rounds, focusing, three turn-a-rounds, closing my eyes. I came to rest, and opened them.

There it was.

The obelisk dominated my view. It was but a speck on the horizon, but it’s presence alone overwhelmed me. My breathing became quickened, my vision darkened. I fell to one knee and steeled myself. By revealing the obelisk to myself, I had stated my intentions. And, this place did not want to indulge me. I rose again, and focused on the distant object, and I began. I had missed walking, although the way my mechanical joints locked and shifted tried it’s best to mimic it,  there truly was nothing like the feeling. I have no knowledge of how far I walked, or how long I took. What snapped me out of my focus was the dirt. I nearly fell as the ground depressed, catching me off guard. Recollecting myself, I scanned the area.

I had reached the first border.

I continued on. No longer shielded by grass, my lower legs were vulnerable to the ever-intensifying breeze. I shivered lightly. Here, there were no more grassy plains. Stretching as far as the eye can see, there was dirt. Upturned, and unkempt. Here, every step began to drag on. I did not tire, but a thin layer of perspiration formed on my forehead, and my underarms. On my old hydrophobic chassis, these drops would have run down to my chin, and hastily dripped off. I ran my hand along the moisture, treasuring it’s warmth. As I continued, I began to notice something in the dirt. As I lifted my foot, the displaced earth revealed them. Had they been writhing or wriggling, it would have been a sense of familiarity. But, alas, the worms that inhabited this soil did not. Their bodies static, they were an unnerving reminder of the reality of this world. Nothing lives here. As I began to see the white line crest the horizon in front of me, the sun waned behind. The last yellow-orange lines retreated from the sky as I felt the sand caress my bare foot.

I had reached the second border.

The sand was pure. It was not unkempt, like the dirt. Although the small crests and troughs stretched for miles, there was a terrifying uniformity to them. As I walked, I thought back to a lesson I had been taught in my past. None of these memories had times or places, only feelings, or brief recollections. I believe the lesson had been on Chaos Theory, more commonly known as the Butterfly Effect. In a desert, no matter how small or insignificant a factor, even a wind so weak it could only move a single grain of sand- would eternally change it. As the wind began to pick up, causing my clothing to ripple, I stared down into the static sand.

I turned my head skyward. Here, no moon had risen to replace the sun. Instead, great bodies swirled and twisted on the canvas of the sky. Had I the time, I would have laid back and basked in their majesty. For a moment, I stopped and craned my neck around, entranced by the great scene unfolding before me. As my knees become weak and my chest became pressured, I panicked and began again. As I quaked, I shut my eyes and continued, driven only by the Obelisk. I reopened my eyes, and fixed my gaze into the distance, the obelisk was nearly the size of a deck of cards now. I did my best to block out the events occurring above my head, and focus on what transpired within.

Once they return, no one can recall why they entered this world. There are different theories, ranging from computational neurodegeneration, to a price which must be payed for entry, tax collected by the world itself. But, anyone which has entered will tell you. Why they are here is irrelevant. What matters is what they take back with them.

I was snapped out of my trance by a surge of warmth. Opening my eyes, I saw a great monolith of fire arising before me, much larger than what had disappeared mere hours before. The Obelisk was nearly the size of me now, it’s dark, imposing shape silhouetted against the mass of heat made me acutely aware of the cavity in my chest. I pressed on.

The ball of flame had climbed high into the sky when I felt the burning. I recalled my foot in shock, and looked down. I was met by my own reflection. Bringing my gaze upward, I saw it.

I had reached the third border.

For an eternity, all I could see was glass. I squinted to look upon it, as the harsh light reflecting off it caused my eyes to water. I felt the floor with my hand, feeling the intense heat snaking its way through my fingers made me wince. I dreaded the pain I was about the endure, but as my body began to shake, and my nose began to bleed, I knew I needed to continue, lest my journey would end.

Each step was a trial in of itself. I should have grown accustomed to the pain, but the world did not allow me that luxury. The heating and cooling of the soles of my feet had made the skin weak, it was not long before drawing my foot from the plane became near-unbearable. My feet had become red and raw, what little outer skin was left stringed off, trailing with every step. As I pressed on, I howled in pain.

As I had began to lose feeling in my feet, I did not feel the heat subside. I had kept my eyes shut forcefully, a vain measure to mitigate the pain. As I opened them, I turned around and saw the great mass of flame wandering past the horizon. I exhaled. Hopefully I would pass the next border before it rose again. Had I known what I would endure that night, I would have wished for tenfold the pain of the scorching day.

The wind had now grown to a whip. It caused my eyes to dry and squint when gazing towards the horizontal. I turned my gaze downward to avoid it. As I stared into the glass plane, I became aware of a terrifying realization. As the same bodies of the night prior began to dance their number in the night sky, their visages were reflected as far as the eye could see. I could no longer avert my eyes from their enchanting movements. As I focused on the movement of my feet, their song wormed its way into my mind. First, it was a melody I heard in the whipping wind. Then, it was in the squeaking of my feet on the glass. Not long after, I began to hear it in my heartbeat. I clamped my hands over my ears in vain, shaking my head and screaming to drown out the malicious melody which infested my brain. Realizing the measure was hopeless I began to flail my arms in front of me, batting at manifestations of my own rotting consciousness. I began to turn, spinning around, wailing like an infant. As I fell to my knees and pressed my forehead into the ground, I screamed at my own reflection, begging it for help as it did me. As I watched the blood begin to seep from my eyelids, and the color drain from my face, I felt my resolve renewed. As the rhythm weighed down my appendages, I regained my footing and forced myself forward. As I stared down at my feet, moving one after the other, I took a great risk. I closed my eyes, and focused on the song. It tried to dominate me, but instead of trying to resist, I allowed it. As it filled the cavities of my mind, it’s fingertips guided my thoughts. But, every poke or probe or pull or push, I responded in kind. Rather than fighting the song’s influence, I matched it. I began to move lighter and lighter, until I began to dance. First a skip, a twirl, then a jump. I had embedded myself into the music of the spheres. I kept my eyes shut, and continued to move within the rhythm, until the number ended.

As the music softened into a whisper, I landed and opened my eyes. Although the Obelisk had grown into a towering figure in the distance, the light of the rising sun glinted off of something much closer. In front of me was a sword. A claymore, fit for a knight. It sat embedded in the black stone which splayed out as far as I could see.

I had reached the fourth, and final, border.

I had heard stories of the final test. As it had been told, everyone’s was different, but they all centered on one act. Relieving oneself of the past, killing it if need be. The brutally perfected instrument of death which sat in front of me confirmed this notion. Compelled beyond myself, I clasped my hand around the sword’s hilt, and drew in one motion. The large weapon should have been moderately heavy, if not more so. But, as I swung and let it fall to my side, the blade felt weightless. As I moved it, it seemed to leave something of a trail behind it, resembling white, etheric light. As all previous thresholds before, I held the weapon at my side, and began to walk. It was not long before I saw them. A horde cresting the horizon. It felt as though it had been an eternity since I’d seen another person, but rather than comfort, I felt dread. The same principle as before came to the forefront of my mind. In this world, nothing lives.

As I approached them, I could barely make out one silhouette from another. The Obelisk had grown to such proportions, the great shadow it cast enveloped the scores of people, myself included. My eyes, assailed by the now whipping and unceasing torrential winds, could barely open beyond a sliver. As I grew closer to the front lines of the crowd, I felt a shift in the world. I stopped, and to my great surprise, I felt nothing. I breathed a sigh of relief, and knelt. In this world, one does not grow tired, but I still relished in the opportunity to be off my broken and blistered feet. My bliss was short-lived, however. As I turned my gaze upward, a silhouette had separated itself from the scores, and was walking toward me. I rose to my feet to meet them, but they stopped meters away. From this distance, I could discern the face of the person that stood before me. A woman, indescribably beautiful, stood before me. As I studied her face, I felt a great swelling in my chest. A feeling unlike any I’d felt in a lifetime. Had I known this woman? Had I loved her? I stood, mystified by the sight, until my trance was broken by the cracking of the ground beside her. A sword rose from the crevice, identical to my own. She took the blade in hand, and raised it it to me. Knowing what was about to happen was inevitable, I raised my own in kind. As the woman closed the distance between us, and began to strike, I protected myself. I easily parried and blocked her attacks, but I could not bring myself to strike back. As the Obelisk’s shadow receded and revealed us to the sun, the features of the woman’s face became illuminated. She looked indistinguishable from a human, indistinguishable from me, but when I looked into her eyes, I saw nothing. Her face may have been contorted in anger and hatred, but the vast emptiness of her eyes betrayed my only comfort. As I threw her off balance, and slashed across her chest, I repeated the mantra to myself. “Nothing lives here.” I repeated the phrase ad nauseum as her body slumped in front of me, I averted my eyes from her now-lifeless body. No, that’s wrong, she never had any life in her to begin with, I reminded myself. I heard the ground begin to crack again, and when I lifted my head the cadaver was gone. I exhaled, and focused my gaze forward again. Another silhouette separated itself from the crowd. As the colossal shadow receded, I saw his face. He was younger, couldn’t have been more than 20. My hands quivered as I raised my sword, this face was different, I knew this face. I was determined to make it quick, I knew if I dragged it out it would only be more painful. I deflected his first strike, and swiftly felled the opponent. Tears stained my cheeks, as my son’s body fell, and returned to the rock.

I do not know how many days and nights passed as I thinned the herd. Eventually, they began to blend together. Oh how I wished I had fatigued, I wanted my muscles to scream, and break, but that would release me from this hell, and this world was bent on keeping me in it’s clutches for ever longer. Some of the faces I knew, some I did not. Some of them I loved, some of them I did not. Some of them, I had to force myself to enact the killing blow, some of them, although I deny it to myself, I relished in watching their corpses fall. What surprised me the most, is that I never became numb. How a cut will eventually lose its sting, or an ache will dull, this was not so. Every strike opened a new wound, and I knew they would never heal, not until this was over. So I kept on, slashing and slashing, as the sun fell and the planets rose, over and over.

I did not realize when I felled the last of the crowd. All I know is that once the bodies stopped coming, I stared, and reflected. As I ruminated on the ordeal I had endured, I found, to equal parts disgust and surprise, that my heart was light and my head was clear. I was confused, where had all the anger and sadness gone? It was not as if I was happy, or even contempt, but where all that emotion had been, now there was only a void, an indescribably empty space. As I ran my hands over my coldening chest, I understood. I had begun to return. Now that my time here was capped, I moved with a renewed urgency. The Obelisk had dominated my view, it’s unfathomably large figure seemed to stretch for miles, stretch around me like long, coal-black appendages. The winds had began to impede my movement, I used my hand to shield my eye as I took long strides toward the Obelisk. As I grew closer, I came upon it. The transition from the rough crag rock to the smooth stone stairs was jarring. I would’ve recoiled my foot, if I could feel how cold it was compared to the rock. But, unfeeling, I descended all the same.

Once I had lost sight of the remnants of sunlight, I felt the wind subside all at once. The all encompassing black rock seemed to absorb any monocum of light in the stairwell, but that did not impede my movement, I no longer needed it to see. As I descended, the low hum that seemed to come from everywhere intensified in my head. I rubbed along the side of my head to, but where my ears had been had already been replaced by cold steel. I intensified my pace.

As I entered the final chamber, the light startled me. I drank in the majesty of the scene in front of me. Angular and clear wires run along the walls and floor, all leading to the console which served as the centerpiece of the room. Above it, a small ringed orb floated, bobbing up and down as it turned. Within it, purple specks seemed to move, appearing and disappearing too quickly for a human eye to see. As I walked towards it, the humming intensified until I could feel it reverberating in my chassis. Unfazed, I outstretched my hand toward the artifact, and rested my hand on it.

I became bathed in light. As my eyes blinked open, and I adjusted to my surroundings, I recalled it. Letter by letter, the word etched itself into my mind. C-A-Y-D-E. Cayde, I said it out loud to myself. It felt natural. As I stood up from the table, I said it out loud again.

“My name is Cayde”.

[muckduckgoose]

NPCs

Bio | Rules | Relationships | NPCs (you are here) | ‘Verses

NPCs (Non-Playable Characters), or Secondary Muses--other characters I may play alongside Honker if deemed necessary by the plot. As this is a Honker blog, none of the characters can appear without Honker being present, barring any possible hereto unforeseen exceptions.

Herbert Tankard “Herb” Muddlefoot Sr.

Herb is an excitably friendly suburban man and father of two. He was a bully in his youth with a lot of unchecked aggression, but he quickly mellowed out as he grew older (his favorite target at the time, little Drakey Mallard, finally fighting back and winning was “probably” a major catalyst) and developed an interest business after some soul searching. He acquired a job at the Quackerware Corporation, initially as a door-to-door salesperson before rising to the rank of assistant sales manager by the time the company phased out its door-to-door sales tactic for a more modern virtual business model.

While that was happening, he also fell in love with and went onto marry Binkie Hurloon, who laid the egg of their son Tankard Herbert Muddlefoot, or Tank. A few years after Tank’s came an unexpected but no less welcomed egg, from which hatched the child they named Herbert Tankard Muddlefoot Jr. but would later identify as Honker. While a good kid, Honker proved to be unusually brainy for a boy his age and often got into concepts that made him very hard to understand.

While Herb loves his boys and supports them in whatever they want to be, he really does wish his younger boy could learn to behave more like a normal kid and do normal kid stuff with other kids. That’s why he and Binkie declined when the school board recommended Honker skipping ahead a few grades but at least agreed to enroll him in the district’s gifted program. He needs to be with kids his age, as far as they’re concerned. As for Tank, Herb is vaguely aware of his aggressive nature, but he figures he’ll grow out of that on his own.

Herb is currently neighbors with none other than Drakey--er, Drake Mallard, who’s now taking care of a girl of his own, Gosalyn, with the help of a friendly fella from Duckburg named Launchpad McQuack. Somewhere deep down, Herb knows he and Drake still have some bad blood left over from their childhood, but he’s eager to do whatever he can to put the past behind them and carve a brighter future. Maybe too eager, but he’s genuinely trying.

Binkie Muddlefoot (nee Hurloon)

Binkie Hurloon grew up with her twin sister Trudi and had a fairly average childhood; the most she can remember is the times she and her sister bonded over learning how to cook. At some point, Trudi lost an eye in an accident during high school, apparently involving an old flame trying to show off with a Red Ryder BB gun he allegedly got for Christmas one year. While Trudi would go on to attend culinary school up north and soon after start her own diner, Binkie did a lot of major hopping in her own college years; no one’s even sure anymore which major she’d settled on by the time she graduated.

Around this time, she met and fell in love with Herb Muddlefoot, a business major who started out as a salesperson for Quackerware Corps and quickly moved up to assistant sales manager. The two had two boys together: Tank and, to their pleasant surprise a few years later, Herb Junior, who quickly became more known as Honker. While her husband is making a cozy income from his management position, Binkie spends her time volunteering, mainly as a cook at the local soup kitchen. While Binkie has difficulty understanding her boys for different reasons, she recognizes and admires that her younger boy harbors an interest in helping their community.

Tankard Herbert “Tank” Muddlefoot

Tank hatched under fairly ordinary circumstances and was more or less a fairly ordinary kid. At just a few years old, he saw his mother unexpectedly lay another egg and then suddenly saw considerably less of his parents attention after the egg hatched about a month or so sooner than it should’ve, leaving the hatchling needing constant medical attention to make up for that last month of natural incubation he missed. Tank grew frustrated at how much his home life got flipped around by Herb Junior’s sudden appearance. Due to the baby’s tendency to involuntarily Honk at odd times, Tank kept calling him “Honker” to the point it stuck with everyone.

Tank struggled in school as he grew up and was often teased by his peers when appearing stupid, which added further to his personal frustrations. Envious of how smart and talented his shrimpy little brother always seemed to be, Tank took to pushing him around just to feel superior over someone. Tank started picking up football in high school, what has given him something of a healthier outlet, but these brothers stil have a ways to go before they reach an understanding. Still, there have been times when Tank has felt compelled to step up when someone else bullies Honker in front of him, in a kind of “nobody messes with Honkface but me” sense.

W.A.N.D.A.

A creation of “Dr.” Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, W.A.N.D.A. acts as the auto-intelligent operating system for Darkwing Duck’s crime-scanning computer. Nobody’s really sure what her name stands for, and W.A.N.D.A. herself isn’t talking. While she has a somewhat snippy and sarcastic demeanor, which may or may not have come from the influence of her creator’s mentor, she is quite serious about her job. She also seems to have developed a soft spot for kids, as she tends to get noticeably less snarky with them.

[miss-m-calling]

Juletide 2020 letter

Dear writer,

Hello and thank you for writing for me. I’m very excited to read whatever you come up with.

Without further ado…

Starred Up

Oliver Baumer, Eric Love

Yes I do ship it, I do, I do!

Ahem. Don’t get me wrong, I liked what the movie did with the father-son relationship and its influence on both men’s character development – but I really wish they hadn’t got Oliver out of the action before the story’s climax (not like that!). The final denouement with Love father and Love son was great, as was the hint at the end that Eric learned something in anger-management group and has a support network that will help him a lot. But. I would have wanted to see more of the intriguing dynamic between Eric the intelligent, semi-feral, yet not-incorrigible, young thug and Oliver the educated, dedicated, kind yet aware of his own potential for violence (what was he on about with “I need to be here”?), slightly older counselor. They had me at Oliver’s “I want him” and Eric later telling his father that Oliver’s a better man than Love Sr. Also the not-flirting and the push-pull in the scene when Oliver picks up Eric from his cell - yowza!

For this canon, my dubcon DNW does not apply.

Prompts:

-I would love to see Oliver return to holding his group in prison, so the two of them can interact more, either in the movie’s immediate aftermath or years down the line, as it’s implied that Eric will be serving a long sentence. Give me more scenes from anger management or the ribald, honest, free-flowing conversations in group, either with the other men present (I liked Hassan and Tyrone especially, among the group members) or a one-on-one session.

-An oblique or open-but-undramatic admission/declaration that they both know there’s something there, even if they don’t know what to do with it. Or, one or both of them knows exactly what to do with it, and the push-pull that would result from that.

-Dirty talk: used for arousal, as a defense mechanism, as a form of flirtation. Eric using slurs to assert dominance, and Oliver not letting him hide behind profanity, when he can use colorful language to express emotion and/or sexual interest. There could definitely be some verbal taunting/flirting about who wants/is eager to do what or is good at doing something. There may be some sniping comments about logistics and (lack of) condoms and barebacking and what men get up to in prison. There probably wouldn’t be deep discussions about sexual identity.

-An emergency in the prison requires a lock-down, so Oliver gets temporarily stuck in Eric’s cell or another room with only Eric for company. Things get porny and/or emotional.

-Eric is eventually released (you can handwave this so it happens soon after the movie or have it happen years later) and crashes with Oliver while he adjusts to the outside world. You guessed it: things get porny and/or emotional.

-How do they get to the point where both can cross that line from friends/whatever the hell they are and become, to lovers? (There’s Eric’s personal history and general discomfort with vulnerability, plus all the ways prison sex can be or make things complicated, and if it helps, I headcanon Oliver as either gay or bi and at least somewhat closeted, at work especially.) Who initiates and “directs traffic”? How does their always-contentious dynamic shift during and after sex? Is the sex an isolated (series of) occasion(s), or a progression/escalation over multiple encounters (how would I love especially an escalating series of encounters, let me count the ways)? Eric might seem like the logical initiator and/or dominant partner as well as using the possibility of sex to manipulate and exert control, but then Oliver might (or might not!) surprise him and is definitely the one more in touch with himself as well as aware of his custodial duty toward the men in the group.

-At some point in their intimate relationship (probably not right at the start, and probably not in prison, though if you can make it happen in prison, more power to you!), Oliver decides he’s going to take his sweet time and make Eric fall absolutely apart with pleasure, while using dirty talk to both arouse and empower Eric to own his desires – by that point, Eric is in a place where he can let that happen and enjoy it, even if he still talks tough.

-Role reversal: Oliver as the con (jittery, shut off, sticking out like a sore thumb in prison with all his fancy learning, yet no pushover) and Eric as the newbie counselor (kid from the wrong side of the tracks made good? Youthful hoodlum turned around his life, now trying to help others via tough love and lots of swearing and maybe a bit of manipulation when called for?)

  Witchblade (TV) Sara Pezzini, Danny Woo

I used to love this show back in the day, and loved it again in all its hokey gloriousness when I rewatched it recently. Sara figuring things out and being a principled badass, but maybe out of her depth with the Witchblade, and her dynamic with Danny, whether he's a ghost or alive, it’s all catnip to me. Sara is not extremely quippy, she has a job to do dammit! and don’t look at her vulnerable side, just don’t look at it!, and I love that about her (she’s much harsher in S1, after Danny’s death, than in S2); ditto that Danny is somewhat softer than she is, but still can hold his own thanksverymuch (well, when the plot doesn’t require him to get nabbed by bad guys) and has a bit of a deadpan snarker side too. I’d love something that plays around with their canon dynamic from either season, or uses canon as just a starting point. Some of my prompts lean dark or horror-y, so don’t be shy about going there; I’d also enjoy a story in which the Witchblade itself ends up not being very significant (say, they start to investigate a possibly mystical case and then nope, plain murder). Canon-specific DNW: Irons and any version of Nottingham appearing (you can mention them if you need to).

Prompts:

-The Witchblade is more parasitic than symbiotic, and instead of Sara learning to control it, its feeding on Sara affects her more and more over time. Or, the visions and dreams ramp up into full-blown paranoia and/or disassociation. The Witchblade's POV, maybe (it is sentient)? Asking for help is the hardest thing for someone like Sara, but what are (more than) friends for? I’d also enjoy a dubcon scenario (exception to blanket DNW) where Sara really shouldn’t be having sex when her head is all messed up by the Witchblade’s influence, but… well… they do. The Witchblade canonically enjoys violence and bloodshed perpetrated by its wearers, so it stands to reason that it might lower other inhibitions too.

-Witchblade v. mythological monsters. In S1, even with everything else that's going on, Sara absolutely scoffs at the possibility of vampires. So of course I want: Witchblade v. vampires! The scarier and more feral, the better. Or, it's implied that the Witchblade was forged from a meteorite, so it's basically an eldritch artefact from outer space. Yes, please lean all the way into the Lovecraftian tropes! (The moon is turning red, the Old Ones are back, it’s the end of the world as we know it, but Sara’s got her partner by her side.) Or something from Chinese mythology, so Danny can kick extra ass. Or, for a silly take on Chinese culture: Sara and Danny in the world of Big Trouble in Little China (another old fave of mine, the entire plot of which revolves around… a woman with green eyes and an unwanted connection to the supernatural).

-The Witchblade has a reputation for abandoning its wearers just when they need it the most. True to form, it slips off of Sara’s fist, leaving her and Danny to save themselves with good old-fashioned guns, fisticuffs, martial arts, and of course having each other’s back.

-More of the psychedelic-ness in many of Sara’s fight scenes, where now she’s a woman in a leather jacket with a gauntlet on her arm, now she’s a knight in armor! Now her opponent is human, now he’s a wolf-shaped spirit of evil and hatred! Playing around with the characters’ senses and perceptions – yes!

-Instead of seeing only Danny and needing him to play intermediary for Sara to talk to other ghosts, the Witchblade makes Sara see ghosts all over the place, and it's getting to her. Ghost!Danny may or may not help with that. Or, ghost!Danny is basically always around, whether Sara can see him or not. He manifests when Sara is masturbating, and you can't really feel guilty if the ghost of your dead partner whom you’ve always had a thing for helps you out, and anyway you’re probably going crazy and none of this is real, so it doesn’t count anyway... right?

-Case fic/stakeouts and banter. Flirting to pass the long and stressful days at work. Quick and guilty sex because Danny's married. Slow and intense sex if handwave he's not married but “oh noes we’re partners, we shouldn’t be doing this, but somehow we keep doing it anyway.” Hooking up in the car. I've always headcanoned that they had a thing pre-canon which ended for Reasons, but they both kinda wish it hadn't, hence the hand kissing, and the “I can’t even touch you,” and the coffee bringing/stealing, etc. So feel free to play around with that.

-Undercover as married, undercover as a gangster and his moll (LOL at Sara as a moll, or have Sara as the gangster and Danny as her arm candy), undercover as “they think we’re fucking, better fake it real good for the people listening in, oops shit got real fast, careful don’t say each other’s real name or you’ll blow your cover.”

-More timey-wimey shenanigans with the Witchblade. Maybe it allows Sara to manipulate time more than once. Maybe she starts doing it way too often, throwing the continuum out of whack (something non-linear would be very interesting). Maybe she and/or Danny remember some or all of what happened in S1. Something about all the multiverse versions of them, possibly splitting off from a dramatic moment. Time loops and feelings are a combustible mix.

-Apart from the super obvious shippiness, what I like about S1 especially is how Sara rolls with the weirdness the Witchblade has brought into her life, instead of reaching for rational explanations. More of that (I can't think of a better way to put it), and double extra brownie points if alive!Danny figures out at least some of what's going on with Sara's bracelet and somehow gets in on the action. Maybe a Danny saves the day divergence? Or how about a loophole that allows a man close to the Witchblade's wearer to wield it temporarily, but There Is a Price to Pay.

킹덤 | Kingdom (TV 2019)

Prince Lee Chang, Seo-bi

I fell so hard for this show. So hard! The beautiful production values, the wonderful cast, how the characters develop, how the show slowly but surely unfolds one reveal after another and packs so much into two short seasons, all the period detail, the genuinely tense action scenes, the moments of humor and intense emotion, the intertwining of political intrigue and zomg! really scary zombies, how the zombie outbreak works on multiple levels both literal and metaphorical…

I love the brave, kind-hearted, but sheltered prince, whose whole life has been so privileged yet shadowed by the possibility of death if he loses his position as heir, learning what it means to actually rule and lead people, to protect them and be protected by them in turn. And I love Seo-bi the fearless, dedicated, selfless physician, who notices things and figures things out regardless of whether this annoys the people in power. I ship them, but I also love their platonic interactions, how instantly and fiercely loyal she is to him (not just because he’s the crown prince, but because she’s seen how brave and altruistic he can be) and how he immediately takes her advice and experience seriously despite her being a woman and a commoner in this super-hierarchical setting. So I’m good with either / or & for this pairing, and you can work with any of my prompts accordingly. In a / fic, I’d even be good with a totally sublimated, “they both must kinda know what’s going on between them but for reasons of both their personalities and their respective genders and social positions, nothing overt ever gets said or done” scenario! So don’t stress too much over which flavor of dynamic you write for them.

Also, I love most of the cast (not a huge fan of Chancellor Cho, but he is an effective antagonist), and would be delighted to see any of them in fic too. Especially the loyal and funny and badass Mu-yeong (he was loyal, despite the Haewon Cho clan’s blackmail, and if you want to diverge from canon so he lives, I would not mind that at all), the even more badass and wounded and snarky Yeong-sin (or is that “Yeong-sin”???), Chang’s sparky, exiled uncle several times removed, and the terrifying and frankly unhinged young queen are my favorites. I even have a soft spot for that mostly-useless coward Cho Beom-pal, but really, they’re all great and I would love reading about them too, or just about the prince and the lady physician – whatever works!

Finally, before I get to prompts, I know a bit about the Joseon period, but we’re talking the bits and pieces I remember from a college class, and what I’ve read on Wikipedia and picked up from this and other Korean movies and shows. I know a bit more about some of the cultural background, like the Confucian values, the social stratification and feudal system, the gender segregation among the aristocracy, the wars with Japan, but again – my knowledge is limited. So if you want to teach me stuff about Joseon, go for it! If you want to invent or handwave stuff, as long as it fits the canon’s mood and broad cultural parameters, go for it! And if you want to treat me to some worldbuilding, period detail of any kind, and/or costume porn, definitely go for it.

Prompts:

Zombie fighting anything! Learning to survive in a society that’s rapidly breaking down, having to transcend their habitual social roles and challenging each other, anything! Maybe one of them teaches the other to hunt, or to make herbal medicines, or to fight with a sword, or heck, to cook or clean dirty clothes. (FYI I wrote most of these prompts before I was quite done with S2, and the time-skip took me totally by surprise. So while my prompts ignore Chang renouncing the throne, I’d also be down for the untold adventures of the former prince and his traveling companions, as Chang learns how to be just regular folks and they pursue clues about the resurrection flower, or for your take on what happens in S3. Use whatever works for you in my prompts in any way you want!)

Figuring out how the zombie infection continues to evolve and/or working together to find a cure beyond dunking the infected in water – whether that means to destroy large numbers of the undead, or to develop an antidote, or to cure and bring back those afflicted. One plot detail that really struck me: more experimenting with zombies, like Chancellor Cho started to do, might also hold the key to a cure?

Political intrigue anything! Having to fight zombies and/or factions at court with both friends and unexpected allies (not gonna lie, I would have loved to have seen the young queen unleashed on some zombies, even if that did not make her the prince and Seo-bi’s ally).

More road trip/survival/battle goodness – maybe Seo-bi offers Lee Chang some advice while they’re navigating their new situation, or she witnesses him developing his leadership muscles, and it brings them closer together than before. Or maybe a moment of humor, relaxation, or quiet affection on the road or in between zombie-slaying, especially if it catches them both a bit by surprise. Or one of them gets a non-zombifying injury (nothing too gruesome or life-threatening, please!) and the other one has to care for them – extra points if Seo-bi is injured and the prince kind of bumbles through the most basic things so she has to talk him through her own treatment. Or nightmares/being triggered by something, like we saw both Chang and Seo-bi react at the sounds of zombies growling and people screaming in S2E5.

We have seen Seo-bi insist on staying loyal to the prince, and Lee Chang rely on her repeatedly to the exclusion of all his other people – give me a situation in which he has to make clear his own loyalty to her, as a part of both his becoming a better leader and as a step in advancing their relationship. Or, there comes a time when Seo-bi really pushes against the rules of what someone like she can and cannot say or do to/around a crown prince – we’ve seen Lee Chang refuse to stand on his dignity to the point where so many of his interactions with commoners would end in the commoners’ death, but I imagine even he has his limits, and that kind of clash can only drive this dynamic forward!

Canon divergence in which Seo-bi gets sent to the capital and assigned to be the personal physician to the petulant, frustrated prince we meet at the start of the show (handwave the gender segregation and impropriety). She knows her place, but she also does not suffer fools or male nonsense. Sparks fly, social conventions get tested, zombies may or may not happen, and a new mutual understanding is born.

Canon divergence from the scene in S2E2 when Seo-bi finagles her way to being allowed to see the prince and he instructs her to resurrect Ahn Hyeon – what if instead of that, they came up with another plan of escape? Or maybe Lee Chang sending Seo-bi to spy on the queen goes a different way than in canon? And really, anything that requires those two to pass secret messages while grabbing each other’s hands and staring intently into each other’s eyes is A++ with me!

One theme which emerges gradually, and I really loved, is people having to compromise their principles to survive and ensure the safety of those they feel loyal and/or obliged to: Ahn Hyeon agreeing to turn the sick villagers into zombies, dear Mu-yeong having been a spy but also protecting the prince all along, Seo-bi resurrecting Ahn Hyeon, Lee Chang instructing her to do it as well as his thousand-yard-stare after having to finish off what’s left of his father… I’d love to see more such compromises, how their consequences ripple out, and the emotional fallout.

In addition to zombies, other magical and/or supernatural events and creatures start to appear in Joseon. If you want to bring in something from Buddhist mythology or Korean folklore, please do, and any and all worldbuilding would be awesome. One possibility that occurs to me – and I’m going for broke here – is: a dragon awakes in his cave and shit starts hitting the fan.

Post-canon something in which Lee Chang is king, possibly of only a part of the country (maybe a zombie-free enclave, or a part he won in a civil war against the Cho clan or a cadet branch of his family), and Seo-bi is there as his advisor, physician, and unofficial chancellor. Gimme policymaking to deal with the lingering zombie issue, and assassination plots, and servants/guards/ladies in waiting gossiping like it’s their real job, and all the palace intrigue!

Kind of related to the previous: even as a “spare” prince, Lee Chang can’t marry a commoner. Would he ever think to offer Seo-bi to become his concubine? I don’t think she’d go for it, and he might realize it, but maybe I’m wrong! Or maybe being intensely platonic at each other is as good as it gets for them, and they’re kind of okay with that. Or they get married in secret and have to very careful not to let slip anything by word on gesture in public, or not to let Seo-bi get pregnant. Or, y’know, one day or night on the road or in a fortified town, in between scavenging for supplies and fighting zombies, they decide to bone just because their lives are weird enough now to forget about propriety and all that jazz for an hour.

Role reversal: Seo-bi is the sheltered, willful princess fearful for her position (especially since she’s a woman as well as the daughter of a concubine only) and Lee Chang is the proper yet willful provincial physician. Do they meet as in canon, or under different circumstances (maybe she must flee the court to escape assassins, accusations of treason, or an arranged marriage, with or without bonus zombies)? How would their dynamic be complicated (and made awesome of course!) by the gender reversal? Also, burning question: does Princess Seo-bi already know how to fight (because she forced Mu-yeong to teach her back at court, of course), or does she have to learn once zombies/brigands/insurrection/whatever happen? And does Physician Lee Chang know one end of a musket or sword from another, or does he need rescuing at some point?

I realize that some of these prompts could work as well (better?) as a no-zombies AU, and that’s fine if you want to take it in that direction. Just so we’re clear. J

 Likes:

I love pre-canon, canon, post-canon, canon-divergent, and missing-scene stories. I love character-driven and plot-driven stories equally, and I love fics which mix humor and angst/serious business when appropriate for the canon.

I love stories about characters at work and play, group dynamics, family dynamics (including constructed families), professional partnerships, friendships, alliances, rivalries, intimate couples (new lovers/first times as well as long-term/established couples), UST-ridden couples who are not just UST-ridden but connected in other ways too, etc.

I love irony, snark, humor as well as angst arising from the characters rather than the plot crowbaring it in, linear, non-linear, and 5+1 stories, hopeful endings, happy endings, bittersweet endings, worldbuilding, spiky characters who keep their jagged edges and spikiness in adversity as well as when their lives are going well, square-peg-in-round-hole characters, characters who are their own worst enemies as well as those who can get over themselves when the occasion calls for it, characters with conflicting values which may or may not be reconciled/resolved, characters who treat each other with respect and as equals even if they hate/annoy/can’t stand/love to dislike each other.

I especially love workplace stories (this can mean anything from an actual workplace/casefic/procedural setting to anything that revolves around the canon world in which the characters live) in which the characters are competent and dedicated to the job, and while they may not be exactly friends and they may well irritate one another, they still manage to rub along to get the job done and maybe even grow to care about one another (much to their surprise and sometimes reluctance/discomfort). Or, if they can’t get along, show me why not and what’s preventing them from finding common ground.

In terms of ship dynamics, I love (where it fits the characters) banter, competitiveness or antagonism shading into attraction (this tension need not be resolved), oh-god-why-did-it-have-to-be-you-what-did-I-do-to-deserve-this, bickering yet loving couples, characters who are serious about their romantic interests, characters who think they are much better at flirtation than they actually are, characters forced to work together only to prove much more compatible than they initially assumed, fics which mix an exploration of characters’ professional and everyday lives with shipping. A dynamic I cannot resist is shipping a couple who are incompatible in some important way (they are ideological enemies, cop and criminal, spies from opposite sides, one betrayed the other or they betrayed each other), and while they love and want each other they’re also not willing to change sides or surrender/compromise their identity for the other’s benefit, and how they might (or not) make their relationship work anyway.

I don’t have any very specific likes for smut, other than smut fitting the characters – show me how their canon dynamics spill over into the bedroom (or other place of congress). I also like sexual scenarios that subvert expectations a little and surprise the characters themselves (e.g., the person who’s usually quiet or more passive taking charge, the more aggressive person goes with it possibly snarking or commenting on it as long as they can). And I like sexual scenarios that contain an element of competition, antagonism, oh-god-this-is-a-bad-idea-but-we’re-going-for-it-hammer-and-tongs, not wanting to admit feelings or show vulnerability except oops it happens anyway, whether the characters acknowledge it or not, or just people getting way more into it or being more affected by it than they thought they would. When it fits the characters and their canon dynamic, you also can’t go wrong with we-both-wanted-this-for-forever-and-now-we-both-know-it-so-here-we-go-diving-in-headfirst. For het and/or slash, oral, vaginal, anal incl. pegging, manual (ifyouknowwhatImean) – it’s all good. You can go as veiled or as explicit as you like, but please avoid excessive medical jargon – I don’t find a lot of mention of “penis” or “clit” sexy.

 DNWs:

MPREG, A/B/O, knotting, D/s, kinks, incest, underage, genderswap/genderbent characters, xeno, non-/dub-con, torture and abuse (this and non-/dub-con can be mentioned if the story needs it, but please don’t dwell on it in loving detail or subject any of my requested characters to it), dwelling on bodily fluids (mentions of gore/blood and come are fine), toilet humor, character bashing, issuefic, gender/sexuality/race/ethnicity/religion/ability/identity headcanons, unrequested ships, soulmates and soul marks, major character death (the exception is Laura Moon in American Gods dying so she can become undead), serious illness or injury, pregnancy and children, holiday or wedding setting/theme, secondary characters shipping the main pair like it’s their job, reference to RL current events, 1st/2nd person POV, unrequested crossovers or fusions, AUs which have nothing to do with canon