#hrmmm.... why indeed

[otterpuppss]

ok so i seem to have forgotten why rats have scaly tails. i am here to beg for information please mx otterpups

uhhhhh ummm uhh well you know what I really have no idea- neither does the internet it seems. like. perhaps the scaly skin is more durable? perhaps its an evolutionary left over? i know the function but I really have no idea why they're scaly when they could be fleshy... but imagining a like fleshy hair finger like tail is hmm . I willntry not to think about it too much, I am a big fan of them though- whatever the reason may be......

[becauseplot]

Oh no XCOM Mike D: at least XCOM Pac saved him (as he should, in every universe).

Alright here we go:

abt the rose---fhdjsk i got so excited that Cellbit had a rose from Death Family that i straight up forgot "oh yeah phil didnt give it to him chayanne did phil didnt even notice lmao" BUT STILL! And yeah from Chayanne it's vvv intentional, because he doesn't just hand people flowers like Tallulah does. not entirely sure where Chayanne and Cellbit stand with each other. Cellbit is his tio ofc but beyond that? idk i dont remember much of their interactions pre egg disappearance. at the very least Chayanne knows that Cellbit is important to Phil so he gets a Rose rose :]

LOVE the idea of Richas nabbing the tea bc he knows his dad is Traumatized. Richas was in purgatory too he knows The Tea and he knows it would bring up bad memories.

exhausted dads being taken care of by their kids we love to see it (yes i have indeed seen your missions list for your au. i actively live in fear of it. i am going to get my Stuff organized and finally write something for archivists i swear <-delulu, been saying this for months)

yeah all around, Cellbit does not like the person he became in purgatory. he does not like himself. and it's so much easier for him to compartmentalize himself into the "good" version of himself (cellbit, quesadilla island) and the "bad" version of himself (cell, the prison and purgatory)**more on this later

yes exactly! Phil isn't a good man, but he can wish good upon others and want to keep them safe.

and it was at this point that i had a whole section written wondering about how Phil would react upon hearing about the shit Cellbit put Pac through, and when he would see Cellbit as "crossing a line" because Cellbit is one of Phil's friends but so is Pac and Cellbit is hurting Pac and etc etc etc and THEN i read down more of what you said and. i was not aware that Phil knew what Cellbit was doing to Pac during Purg1. and never got on Cellbit's case about it. so.

*crumples up paper, tosses it in the bin, pulls out fresh paper*

(is it obvious i didnt actually get to watch a lot of purgatory yet. is it.)

(also the bullet points don't line up with your reblog-post at all anymore im working off of vibes and vibes only)

you're right about the guilt complex, though. if there is ANY conceivable way Phil could have stopped a loved one from going through something, could have protected them, he will mentally shoulder all of the blame. (i can't think of an exact example off the top of my head but you know what im talking about.) he's a very "i should have been there" person, expecting himself to be everywhere at once and protect everyone. yes i am almost certain he lies awake at night thinking about how he should have saved them.

i do think Phil is aware of how much the other bolas members looked up to him, even if he personally doesn't see/understand why. i hate to bring up the fact that they (JOKINGLY JOKINGLY JOKINGLY) called him "dad" as evidence in my point, but come on. he was a guiding influence to them. he spent a good deal of his time in purgatory offering moral support, holding them together. then again if asked he will deny deny deny because he never sees himself as a leader. hrmmm bird man i want to dissect you under a microscope, what are you thinking. either way yes, he'll probably shoulder at least some of the blame here for Cellbit's (and Baghera's) spiral.

PUTTING QCELLBIT ON TOP OF THE FRIDGE FOR TIME OUT UNTIL HE PROCESSES THAT SHIT!! again, it's so much easier for him to compartmentalize than process. like, he says it himself, "i have a new start, i feel like a new person" (<-not exact words, something to that effect) like!! yes he's putting all of that behind him, but he's separating himself into the "better" version (cellbit, quesadilla island) and the "bad" version (cell, alcatraz and purgatory) of himself without realizing like, bro? that is just you? suffering from vast amounts of trauma? and not coping well when shit gets rough? and shoving everyone away when it happens because you hate the "monster" you've become and thus not getting the help and support you need?

you know, thinking about the compartmentalize-and-move-on in the context of his backstory---do you think that's something he learned to do in the war? like, you don't have time to process the dead bodies or the fact that you just nearly had your eye stabbed out or how you just ate a fellow human, you have to run from the people chasing you, line up your next kill, find food, water, survive. and now he's just applying that on a much larger scale, to his life in general. always moving forward, always running never looking back. (<-aw fuck. yeah. as i write this im realizing this is currently a line written in Prime Meridian: "run. don't look back. okay?" i think should work more of this theme into Little Dagger AU)

Getting back on track: "Do you think knowing Philza is more complicated than just a good, protective, strong man would reassure him?" IT COULD!! because yeah, he's struggling with the fact that he's not a "good person at heart" so when things get bad he falls HARD into the "im terrible irredeemable monster i don't deserve to live" mindset, whereas Phil is,,, kind of at peace with it? we don't actually know too much about Phil's backstory pre-island, but yeah, we've gathered details. Cellbit definitely recognizes that Phil isn't always one for "ethical" practices but probably doesn't realize how far that disregard for what is considered "ethical" goes. and if Phil can still hold his family close and freely love and be loved despite it, maybe Cellbit can too.

if Phil's kids can get him to sleep in a proper bed for the first time in months, then he knows that Richas is gonna be the one who's gonna get Cellbit to take care of himself. they're both weak to their kids and Phil knows it.

spinning them around in my brain!!!!!!!!! spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning and

*returns to yours* I HAVE THOUGHTS! NOT COHERENT ONES TOO SLEEPY AND NEED TO SAVE COHERENCY BUT THOUGHTS!!! MOSTLY ABOUT ISLAND TEAPARTIES AFTER THE KIDS ARE ASLEEP WHERE CELLBIT AND PHILZA DRINK TEA AND PHILZA TEACHES CELLBIT ABOUT STARS AND CELLBIT SLOWLY GETS BACK INTO HIS ENIGMAS AND THEY BOTH BITCH ABOUT TEA BUT DRINK IT ANYWAY BECAUSE IT HAS GOOD STATS

YEAAH!! YEAHHH!!! Okay okay okay so I meant to ramble more earlier when you initially responded to my ask and then I got sleepy and conked out and now it's super early for me, nailed it lmaooo. so anyway just like a couple things i noticed abt this scene *rolls out a scroll of notes, the bottom hits the floor and bounces out the door cartoon-style*

Chayanne gives Cellbit a rose!! Idk if Rose still has influence here (I'll have to sift through Phil's VOD to see if he says anything abt Rose, yesterday I mainly watched Cellbit's POV) but he's protected now!! That kinda folds him into Phil's "closer" circle of friends/family since it's primarily them who carries the roses for protection so!!!!! I'm!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE TEA!! Yes the tea the way the tea immediately broaches the topic of purgatory, and yeah the audible wince in Phil's voice after Cellbit says the tea triggers him and Phil agrees. Yeah it's so shit and they're both so sick of it but it's so OP. Phil survivalist (hardcore) :handshake: Cellbit survivalist (hunger games/"The War"), do and use what is necessary to keep yourself alive.

And AAA!! Yes, okay okay so like you remember that idea abt Phil and Cellbit having late-night convos at the Order pre-purgatory? This is basically that!! It's late at night, they're getting caught up with each other, they've both got the shitass tea and it's going cold and!! In my head this scene goes on for a full night and they just sit and talk and talk and talk, eventually conking out when it's late, just like old times EXCEPT THEY HAVE THEIR KIDS NOW WHICH IS ONE OF THE THINGS THAT BROUGHT THEM TOGETHER, THEIR DESIRE TO FIND THEIR KIDS, AND THEY FOUND THEM!!! (I should write a fic i NEED to write a fic, me vs the 754389 wips in my brain; in my head they still had late night convos in purgatory when their "play time" timers lined up, phil waking up early enough and cellbit staying up late enough for them to talk while the others slept)

The way Cellbit still minces his words abt what he and Bags did post-purg 1 "we had our fun...bolas...style..." is it because he thinks Phil will think less of him? because there's children present? because his SON is present? idk how much Richas knows abt what Cellbit did in purgatory, Richas *did* rescue him while he was fighting eye workers but does he know about Cellbit hunting fellow players for sport? what Cellbit did to his pai Pac? I NEED ANSWERS

Phil's "Dude! No! Oh my god... D:" to when Cellbit says Roier was better off without him. PHIL WAS AT THEIR WEDDING. HE TOOK THE GODDAMN PHOTOS OF THEM AT THEIR WEDDING. HE SAW HOW HAPPY THEY WERE, HOW HAPPY ROIER WAS, WHEN THEY WERE REUNITED IN PURGATORY. Phil isn't close enough to Roier nor speaks to him enough to really understand the full extent of Roier's grief after purgatory 1, but it's gotta be hard for Phil to imagine Roier happy with Cellbit gone. Whether he believes it when Cellbit says "yeah Roier told me he was better" (doied WHEN I GET YOU---) is up for debate but I think about this constantly.

Phil fucking laughing when Cellbit admits he ate some of the eye workers fhdjsk. I can't get over the combo of Cellbit POV (in character thinking: "I'm terrible I'm a cannibal I'm a monster") vs Philza POV (cc who laughs at everything that is even remotely cursed) honestly, taking this as in-character (bc ccPhil doesn't mute his mic to laugh and he...usually does that for ooc bits while in the middle of rp), it says a lot abt qPhil that he's able to just laugh abt an admission of eating corpses. ethics who? geneva convention who? qPhil doesn't know her. munch on those eye workers king they're dickheads. (fuck, DOES qPhil know that Cellbit is a cannibal, as in, he has eaten not just workers but other players?? hmmm...)

"I'm sorry I couldn't do much as bolas leader" "It's better that you didn't see us...I think you'll be disappointed" "oh I could never be disappointed what do you mean shut up *laughs*" GODDDDDDDD also Cellbit trying to say he got worse after purg 1 and Phil saying "nah bolas is already at ground level" (either not understanding or indirectly reiterating that he won't condemn Cellbit for his actions, I can't tell) and then Cellbit just,, going with it. because it's not worth it to argue and he's trying to move past all of that now anyway. (QCELLBIT PROCESS YOUR TRAUMA CHALLENGE LEVEL IMPOSSIBLE)

watching Phil's POV now and HFDJSK you can't hear it on Cellbit's stream but Phil catches Richas as they're both leaving and says quietly, "Take care of your dad, Richas, n' take care." I'M 💥💥💥💥 (<-banging table)

Anyway!! This is what happens when the two characters I'm obsessed with interact for the first time in months. Over-analyzing a 5 minute convo. Sorry, it will happen again :] Praying they stay as neighbors I'd love to see archivists have more interactions!! And yes yes yes yes the tea parties with the kids!! Phil routinely chatting with Cellbit and watching him slowly "regain his color" as he settles back into peaceful life post-purgatory, falls in love with enigmas again. They've always trusted each other when they don't trust themselves, and they're both a Stable Point for the other. I'll miss what we never got to have with the leaders-of-the-Order-having-meetings ideas (timezones, wails) but I'm so excited for new island mysteries!! :D

[the-nysh]

Opm150 thoughts: Master & Disciple. Well! What an unexpected yet welcome surprise of a chapter! I’d gladly take more self-reflective chs like this -as opposed to pure fighting chs- that take the time to reveal more historical context & further insight for the characters we know. This time the focus expands more of Bang & Bomb’s past in their prime, and how it relates to Garou. So to me, this ch was well worth the wait!

Current Garou, apparently while he’s still not even fully ‘conscious’ or lucid yet, happens to take the stance of Bang’s old sealed technique, ‘Explosion Release Fist’ - something previously completely unheard of to us, that both reminds and confronts Bang with the vices of his past self. 

Now, this is all brand new context that has never been shown before - not even in the webcomic, so my eyes are wide open here.

Hmmm~ Why indeed? Garou breaking into Bang’s vault to view the hidden scroll techniques for himself does sound like a douchey move from one perspective (especially if it was done in spite immediately after Bang expelled him). But this also tells me, that perhaps in Bang’s negligence to properly instruct and be there for him, Garou compensated by taking the initiative to learn and pick up most skills on his own. (Independently without Bang’s guidance in his hero absence.) Including the dawning sense that there was more to it that Bang was holding back. Looks like Garou was right. :’)

We get the manga’s formal debut of Bang in his prime (design previously teased before on Murata’s streams) and...HRMMM?!

The behavior on the left page, as an ‘out-of-control ruffian’ brimming with talent yet swift to pick fights...hmm, well gee that image is pretty reminiscent to early hunter Garou’s grandstanding when he ‘declared war’ on the Hero Association. But the right page...depicting Bang as a sleazy, self-absorbed womanizer *record scratch* oh hell no, that is ABSOLUTELY NOT like Garou! D8 (I am genuinely taken aback in disapproval; what an unexpected trait his past self used to have!) Cause THAT behavior is more akin to Suiryu’s initial mindset, that omg if I’m being completely honest, if Garou met young Bang back then I’d fully expect him to punch him in the face in distaste, much like he did to the HA employee, for similarly fooling around and behaving Like That. (As an aside, if young Bang truly was getting that much action, it’s curious why he never gained any biological descendants or bastard children. Mayhaps Garou could be some long-lost grandson of sorts, but I guarantee -that at least compared to this side of Bang’s- Garou thankfully shares no relation to that.)

Whew;;; okay yeah. If I may say so - this early version of Bang, complete with both sets of negative traits (ie some of the worst behaviors from early Garou & Suiryu) leads me to believe he was this close at risk to going down the path of genuine self-absorbed villainy. O.O;; (He would not look out of place as one either.) That oh god, someone stop him.

THANK YOU, Bomb! ;A; My respect for prime Bomb as the responsible, level-headed, disciplined older brother has increased immensely. Seeing how he shares the same disapproval I feel for Bang’s behavior as well. Smack some sense & perspective back into that fool who’s let the hubris get to his head!

Ah. :’) And of course, Bomb defeats him, complete with a ‘cool off for a bit’ scolding for Bang’s ‘rampaging.’

Now interestingly for me, Bang was able to tell Bomb’s fist had no killing intent towards him, whereas he, brandishing his special ‘explosion release’ fist, even against his own brother (!!), did. That it will be very telling if Bang notices how current Garou, who’s somehow wielding that same ‘killer’ technique and all, holds no killing intent either. 👀 I will be interested if Bang can begin to discern the difference between his past self and Garou like that. (Because then he’ll be that much closer to finally seeing Garou’s true nature~)

Young Bang soon took a more reformed path after his defeat to his brother, sealing his old technique (and essentially his past self) away, developing the new defensive WSRSF technique instead, and following in his brother’s footsteps to contribute his wisdom through teaching. (It also makes sense if Bang couldn’t fully impart the principles of his defensive technique, made for empowering the weak, down to his countless students - when his old self, originally with an opposite attack style, still always prioritized the strongest. See the disconnect where perhaps Garou had to intuitively pick up things on his own to fill the gaps? Hmm~)

Older Bang became a hero (also to advertise his dojo) and...oh. 🥺

Looking at it this way, Bomb was already his hero, for saving young Bang from going down that dark path. :’))  (That longtime bond between brothers is heartwarming~) That from Bomb’s perspective, becoming a hero was perhaps Bang’s way to show him how much he’d changed. Also recognizing that Bang similarly going after a disciple whose path had strayed (Garou) was just like what Bomb once had to do to save him. :’) Therefore, Bomb felt the obligation to help his younger brother successfully see this effort through.

Current Bang could use his old technique again to counter Garou, but as Bomb observes, he will not. Because unlike his past self, getting through to Garou - as testament to the ‘master,’ hero, and person Bang is now - all that has become his utmost responsibility and what he personally wants to show he can achieve.

So look at that. :’)) In contrast to the time when Bomb once disapproved of Bang’s old ‘twisted punk’ ways, now he looks to his brother in fond approval at how far he’s come.

As for Bang’s thoughts towards Garou...ahhh. :’))

So important: he regretfully admits those faults, including his failure as a master by neglecting the relationship with his students (which, coupled with his absence away from the dojo on hero duties, had so far been something heavily implied, so it’s nice to see that thought - about his negligence to be there with the attention Garou needed - finally voiced.) Bang internally accepts accountability for that, along with the consequences and punishment that follow, as the reasons towards his hero retirement post-arc. :’)) Webcomic readers already knew he would, but finally seeing his thought process and further context leading up to that decision is...;o; But even more than that, he...!!

Ahhhhhhh! ;A; Honestly Bang’s words feel like a genuine apology to him, while expressing the willingness to properly be there for him next time. :’)) I’ve always wanted to see the signs for their potential reconciliation someday (in the webcomic), so the fact that at least on Bang’s side he’s already eager to try and ready to start over, is quite the big deal! The groundwork is potentially laid; we just need to hear from Garou’s side of the equation too. Which of course, Bang still doesn’t know how he actually feels (especially if he assumes Garou’s rage, intent & behavior are all comparable to the traits of his past self), but aaah!?!

The ‘shell’ of his caked-on volcanic fury is beginning to break. 👀 I can see those cracks forming over his eyes!! Whether this means Bang’s words are starting to get through to him with the right sentiment, where he’ll soon ‘awaken’ to his full awareness or evolve to something further, at this point I’ll be ready for anything. :’D (Fuhrer Ugly���s still on his way to intercept them as another incoming but potentially very rude wake up call.) I’m sooo ready to finally see Garou TALK more like himself and actually be a responsive participant in the action again, because he may be here in the flesh, but he’s also not here yet mentally either. So alright, next chapter here we go~   

[deiliamedlini]

WIP Wednesday 1

I’m posting two WIPs today because they’re both currently being absorbed into another fic and will never again see the light of day in this form! So here is the first one!

This BOTW scene, but written in a modern fantasy way is: Link saves Zelda from a Guardian with a pot lid, which is a scene from Zelda’s diary.

Goes along with this other scene that happens a little later with this same Link and Zelda where Link gets assigned to guard Zelda personally.

~~~

“Hrmmm,” Robbie hummed to himself as he looked through Zelda’s notes. “This is interesting, I’ll admit that. But the way I read it, it’s too flawed. Tell me more. Let’s think this through.”

Robbie was the lead researcher on Project Guardian. His posture was perhaps the most telling part of his personality; his hands were always on his hips, straight backed, almost like a superhero. When others would cross their arms to think, Robbie would go straight into his superhero pose and hum loudly to himself.

His goggles held his white hair back from his face. The goggles were a staple of every one of his outfits. He worked more with the large machinery, building prototype after prototype until he was forced onto a break by anyone higher than him, or Purah, who technically matched his position.

Both were young, doctorates before they were even out of their twenties and neither yet nearing thirty. Both Sheikah, ensuring that the artifacts were treated with the respect and reverence that their culture demanded. Both the brightest minds in all of Hyrule.

Zelda felt intimidated near them, but she was learning from the best. So when the Robbie asks you to tell him more, one tells him more.

“Okay, my idea is that we come up with some kind of injectable serum that we place markers in. When the Guardians go to attack the threat, but they see, say, me rather than a Yiga for example, they’ll scan for the presence of that marker and cease to fire on me. Instead, they’ll attack the real enemy.”

“Hrmmmm,” Robbie said, though he’d just read all this in her notes. “Money and funding for such a task aside, how do you propose we go about injecting nearly 30 million people?”

“Mandate it, of course.”

Robbie scoffed, forgetting for a moment that he was speaking with the Princess of Hyrule. If she wanted to mandate the injection, of course she could.

“You will have those who refuse,” he said instead. “Or those too unhealthy or who reject the serum for whatever reason. Perhaps it’s toxic to our first trial participants. Perhaps it won’t work as well on a Sheikah or a Rito as it will on a Hylian. You must also think of some other, faster, more effective ways.”

Zelda sat at the desk, resting her hand on her cheek. “I suppose it could be a type of paint. Something that goes onto a person rather than into them.”

Robbie surpressed a laugh at the Princess’ expense. “Well, perhaps someone forgets their paint? Maybe the weather will wash it off. Or someone cannot afford it. Or runs out. Perhaps the Guardians attack them, and their children. What then?”

“Fine,” Zelda hissed, getting his point but feeling frustrated. It had been such a good idea, she thought. “I don’t know. If only we could set them to auto-pilot, then we could—”

Robbie smiled, knowing where her mind was going before she even got there.

She stopped, her mouth open. “We need pilots. We need a conscious mind to control them. The large ones we excavated… those would be too wild to use without a pilot, even if we theoretically could. A pilot would negate those fears. They’d see friend from foe.”

“How many pilots can we afford to train?”

That had Zelda stop immediately. “I… I don’t know.”

Robbie didn’t expect everything from her. “I don’t think we can have each Guardian with their own pilots. We start with four, one for each of the four larger ones. We take samples, record data, and see if we can synthesize a program for an autopilot. If we can, then I think we should work on incorporating that into the smaller Guardians. Perhaps we can have a lead Guardian each time, and those would have its own pilot, and a string of others will follow?”

“See,” Purah said, looking up from her phone where she’d been taking notes in the corner of the room. “Told you she had a good idea.”

“You did indeed, Princess,” Robbie said with a winning smile. “I’ll get straight to work on it. I’ll draft a proposal and send it to your father immediately so we might be able to recruit the first pilots who will champion this project. I’ll have it in to him by tomorrow.”

“Dr. Robbie,” a researcher said, coming in with a tablet. “You asked for a briefing on the latest trial run?”

Robbie hesitated, not wanting to ignore the presence of the Princess. 

But she read the room. “Don’t worry,” Zelda said, standing up. “We should be going anyway. I look forward to hearing how the proposal goes.”

“I’m sure you’ll know before me, Princess. Good night.”

“Night, Robbie.”

Purah led Zelda out from Robbie’s office, taking the route past the prototype Guardians.

Researchers were mulling around, some in lab coats, some in street clothes, all of them looked busy. And most of them had their eyes on her as she passed by.

“Next time,” Zelda muttered, “we take the quieter route.”

“Understood and agreed. Come on, let’s go to my lab. I can show you the Slate I’ve been working on.”

But they didn’t get the chance.

A deep scream rang out, crying “look out!” to anyone within earshot. Perhaps it was instinct from being in the dangerous lab often, but Purah took a flying leap forward behind one of the pillars that held up the balcony of the second floor, unsure what she was looking out for.

But Zelda didn’t have that reflex.

Instead, her head shot around, looking for the threat so she could hide in the most appropriate location. Was it a Yiga attack? Should she find something to defend herself with? Was it a chemical spill? Did she need to take heed at all if it was simply a broken glass that someone nearly stepped on.

So she didn’t see the red laser aimed in her direction, and worse, she didn’t see the blue beam of energy that followed it.

When she was knocked backwards, she was surprised to find herself on the ground at all, let alone to find someone lying on her, covering her entirely from the blast.

The white sleeve of his lab coat was smoking, burned nearly clean off and exposing singed skin beneath it, fabric melted into his flesh, and hairs on his arm gone. His hand shook, and he dropped a large piece of Sheikah tech that looked far worse than his arm, a hole burned clean through the thick piece of metal that had taken the brunt of the impact off them both, though his arm appeared to have suffered regardless.

When Zelda noticed those two things, her eyes widened, and her heart sped up. “Oh Goddess!” she breathed, her head falling backwards with a harsh thud before she remembered the man on top of her. “Are you okay?”

Her hand went to his chest to help push him up, and she felt something hard under her hand. Something hard that she knew... something like the body armor her guards used. She let her fingers move. Solid, not human flesh; definitely the armor. Her eyes darted immediately to his ear next. And above his blue earring, she saw that her suspicions were confirmed. His ear wasn’t empty, but a very familiar earpiece with a wide hidden by his disheveled hair and low ponytail that had hidden it.

He was not a scientist. He was one of her undercover guards.

“How did you get to me so fast? Where even were you?” she asked, finally understanding why some strange scientist had risked his life to reach her. But she and Purah had been alone on this side of the room. Everyone kept their distance. Everyone stayed out of reach, and he’d been there in an instant.

He stood up, off her almost as quickly as he’d dove in front of her in the first place. “Are you alright, Princess Zelda?” he asked, oozing formality and professionalism, as if he hadn’t just nearly died. He offered her his hand before wincing and retracting it, offering her his other, non-singed one. As if nothing had happened. As if she’d simply tripped.

Now, she was stunned into confusion, trying to put the events in order, to relieve them and understand. She blindly accepted his hand and felt a shockwave of energy pass between them, sending a harsh shiver down her spine that had her attention immediately shift to the man who’d saved her.

He was slightly older than her, though it couldn’t be by much. She was almost surprised her father actually employed any of the younger agents to be her guards. She’d only ever really noticed the older ones. But this man was familiar somehow, though she was sure she’d never seen him in person before today. He could have been her guard in the past, expertly blending in as was his job. But she suspected something more.

His blue eyes were brilliant and captivating. Alert and on her, like he was thinking something about her rather than simply waiting for her to answer him, his eyes were straight out of a crayon box, like the lightest and purest of the blues had been picked for his eyes, one that a child would use for the daylight sky. But the color wasn’t all that was intense about them. It was in the way he looked at her, like she held the answers to the world. His gaze was that intense. It was unnerving.

“Yes,” she finally managed. “I’m fine, thank you.”

He managed a short nod and stepped backwards, allowing her to pass. Purah had grabbed onto Zelda, rambling about how she needed to get checked. But Zelda’s eyes drifted to the burned Sheikah tech on the ground. A hole had gone through the metal. His arm had been burned. And he’d gotten to her in time. 

He was good, apparently. Good at his job. Too good. She’d have to be more alert to the locations of her guards.

“Was he near us?” was all Zelda could ask Purah as they headed out of the building, the other researchers proceeding to clean up the mess.

“I don’t know. Your guards are always near us. But Zelda, are you okay? That could have killed you! That was nearly the end of your life!”

Zelda chuckled nervously, rubbing at her hand, still feeling the agent’s in hers. But what she didn’t realize was that the attack from the Guardian hadn’t nearly been the end of her life, but it was the start of it.

[aretarers]

TNG BABEYYYYYYYYY

im gonna kiss you on the lips

favorite character: i know i talk about data the most but like. actually its probably q tbh. but ONLY in tng he has like 1 episode in ds9 and 3 episodes in voyager and theyre all horrible. but the tng episodes?? absolutely effervescent. but like. ok how do i explain this . hes fucking funny!! but also like. hes my favorite because its a combo of “lol hes stupid and gay and funny” but ALSO “the implications of being godlike and immortal are really fascinating” AND “the writers used his character very effectively as a foil for picard and as not only a test of but also a reaffirmation of the most core themes of tng i.e. human value and progress” i could go on about this for hours

second favorite character: OKAY this one definitely goes to data ohughgh my god... oh data we’re really in it now. hes so. hjrhghh!!!!!!!!!!!!! *spends several hours thinking about how datas humanity is explored throughout the series *thinks about how datas desire to be human i.e. desire to grow past what he is is inherently a human trait and once again one of the most core themes of tng *thinks about how much data loves his friends *thinks about how data consistently shows that he does indeed have emotions even though he thinks he doesnt because hes always been told he doesnt but its so so clear that he DOES he just experiences them in a different way

least favorite character: hrmmm well theres a lot of like. characters with only a couple appearances i could probably choose from but when it comes to the more main-series id probably say tasha? not because i dislike her but like. she was only in season 1 save for a small handful of appearances past then and like. theres. very few season 1 episodes i like. so yeah its not that i DISlike her i just . like her less than all the rest of the main cast. she deserved better though :/

the character i’m most like: oh god? oh god??? ummm . ummm oh im so bad at this. im gonna say data bc *often has difficulty navigating social situations *overshares *overexplains *tried to have a romantic relationship once via piecing together outside impressions of romance due to having no idea how it was supposed to actually work

favorite pairing: q and picard, once again this is a combination of it just being funny as shit (the inherent hilarity of q literally having all of not only human history but pretty much any race’s history at his fingertips. and yet he goes for balding middleaged teadrinking picard. HILARIOUS) but also ouughghhh the use of characters is so good from a narrative standpoint................

least favorite pairing: hmmm. probalby worf and troi? its not like HORRIBLE i just dont. Get It. its like. i dont See it at all? for one i actually dislike though. its kinda cheating because its ds9 and not tng but i fucking HATE kira and bareil. WHY did it happen its. BAREIL?? kira come on sis... bareil?? really??? eugh 

favorite moment: oh my god theres so many dude umm. like SO many but ONE of my favorites is this scene where data is temporarily in charge of the enterprise and worf speaks out against him and data pulls worf into his private office and is like. hey. it’s your duty to tell me if you have concerns with the way i’m commanding but you need to do that in private instead of undermining me in  public. and worf is like. you’re right. i apologize. and data goes i hope i have not jeopardized our friendship and worf goes no i’m the one who has jeopardized it. i would like to remain friends if possible. and data goes i would like that. i jsut really like that scene bc like?? they handle it like mature adults?? theres no unnecessary drama they just handle it and remain friends. LOVE that

rating out of 10: this is impossible bc like. the rating i would give it in my heart and the rating i would actually give it objectively are 2 different things

[rakaus-love]

JoxterxMuddler (sickfic?)

It was a spot of good luck when the crew of the Ocean Orchestra (or rather the "Oshun Oxtra") had found some abandoned barrels at sea filled with food. Hodgkins guessed that a ship that must have sailed nearby may have lost them. One was filled with all kinds of exotic fruits, and another some kind of juice possibly made with said fruits.

Another barrel was opened to reveal salted meats. They were well preserved it seemed at first, but it was soon revealed that some ocean water had leaked in and halfway into the barrel it was discovered that the meat had gone bad.

"Don't eat it." Came Hodgkins warning. Most of the crew of the Oshun Oxtra did just that.

-----

The sun was high and the waves were small as the river boat pushed forward. Hodgkins and Moomin were in the galley going over maps figuring out their next destination. The Muddler was out in his tin can, reorganizing his things, when he heard a suspicious sound. He lifted an ear, and just barely registered the sound of strange splashing before it stopped. Did...did someone fall overboard?

Popping his head over the rim of the can, he looked around and caught sight of one of the crewmates leaning over the rail.

"Joxter?" He climbed out of his can to walk over to the other. Usually his mumrik friend liked to watch the waves roll by but the odd way he was slumped over the rail didn't feel right to him.

"Hmm? Oh hello, Muddler." The Joxter wiped his sleeve over his face before looking up at him.

The Muddler tilted his head at him, "Were you throwing something over the rail?" There was a gasp, "It wasn't the rest of the juice, was it?"

The Joxter sighed and lowered himself down onto the deck, curling up right there. "No, nothing like that."

Strange, usually The Joxter complained about how hard the deck was and how unsuitable it was for napping. He wasn't even laying on his stomach like he usually preferred. In fact his arms seemed to be hugging his stomach as...if...

Something clicked.

"Oh!" The Muddler leaned over the other, "Joxter are you sick?"

"Hmm."

"But how come? You haven't been seasick before! Unless...wait, you ate the meat didn't you? Why?"

"Hrmmm."

"He told you no and you had to do it, didn't you?"

The Joxter couldn't help but glare up at his friend from beneath his hat but a moment later he scrambled back to the rail and leaned over it, upchucking into the sea. The Muddler had just barely avoided the two of them colliding heads; he didn't back off as the other continued to be sick. Instead he stepped up and put a hand to the mumrik's back, patting it in circles.

"There, there friend. It'll pass for sure."

He waited until The Joxter was done, helping him back into a sitting position.

"I'm fine." The Joxter mumbled, eyes drooping. He was usually lazy, but The Muddler had never quite seen his friend like this before. He must have always hidden himself away when he was sick; but now on this boat there was little elsewhere to go.

"Well, once you get it out of your system, there's fruit and juice left. Hopefully you can feel better then." Even after trying to assure him, he could see that the Joxter still felt miserable. Oh no, and if he went to his uncle for help he would probably just make the other feel worse by telling him 'I told you so!'

"Hmm...oh, here!" The muddler got up on his knees and pat them. "You can lay your head on me, at least you'll be comfy. And we'll stay near the rail in case you get sick again!"

The Joxter looked at him and his knees then away, "You don't need to do that, Muddler."

"Come on, please? I can help! And when I get sick in the future you can do the same for me!"

The sick mumrik seemed to think over it for a moment before finally laying back and setting his head over his lap, after setting his hat to the side. The Muddler smiled and pet the others hair lightly, receiving a relaxed sigh.

The Joxter did indeed need to lean over the railing a couple times. And each time he did so he moved up a little more into The Muddler's lap until eventually half of his body was leaning into him. That was quite alright for The Muddler since he took to leaning on the rail, one hand lazily petting the others head and the other slowly rubbing his belly.

"...Thanks, Muddler."

"Don't mention it!"

"Not so loud..."

"Oops....sorry."

----

"Who's ready for seconds on that fruit barrel?" Hodgkins and Moomin came out of the galley and walked around to find their other shipmates. They came to a stop when they spotted the two sitting against the rail of the ship.

The Joxter and The Muddler were fast asleep, The Muddler still holding onto his friend, his head resting on top of the others, and The Joxter leaning fully into him, looking much better.

"Perhaps, Moomin, we'll wake them up a little later."

[wizardsnwookies]

DFD032118 - The Halls of the Dead

What you seek, lies beyond these doors. Many great things. The hoard, and something else of even greater value. Surtur furrowed his brow, listening to the quiet whispers in his head. The centuries revealed themselves in its voice, the way it breathed out its carefully chosen words. He could hear the strength of those who had weilded it before him, his father, his father’s father, a great great grandmother, and so many others. He knew their inflection, how they spoke to him through the flail, so he could tell that final statement meant something important

“’Greater Value?’“

A shield, a brother an arms to myself. We share a spirit and a bond like no other. Claim it, and together we will wield power like no one has ever known.

“How? Tell me how to get past this blasted door.” The guilded doors on the other side of the alter were proving stubborn. The teeth affixed to the mask had yielded no results and Surtur’s aching shoulder was testament to it’s resistance to shows of force.

It needs teeth, teeth that have not been offered to it before. There was a pause. How far are you willing to go for this?

Surtur thought for a moment. It was a loaded question with every implication that things were only going to get tougher from here on out. Still, he had come this far and he was not about to back out.

“To the end of the path.”

Good. Sacrifices may have to be made to move forward on this path. 

Surtur heaved a sigh and severed the connection. The mask was the only evidence they had of teeth since entering this place. No skulls had been found despite the abundance of human remains used to build the vile organ in the corner. He turned to face Siggrun, arms folded behind him.

“It needs teeth.”

“Hrmmm. Maybe we should check out the torture room again. Perhaps we missed something.” He turned, readying his stride back towards the other passage when his eyes fell upon the woman. Raven was always pale as the snow that covered the land, but the skin around her neck was starting to show a rosy hue. “You alright lass?”

“I think there’s something wrong with my neck, it’s starting to feel a bit-” Her words were choked off in an instant, the gold chain that once draped around her shoulders snapped tightly around her throat, digging into the flesh and turning it from a soft rosy color to a bright red.

“GET IT OFF!!” Panic grew in her voice, her breath becoming more and more shallow. He clawed at the chain but it only grew tighter and tighter, escaping her prying fingers. 

“Calm down lass, I have it.” A flash of light popped into existence around her neck in the form of a phantom axe, cutting through the air. The gold chain sparked as if hewn by the blade and fell slack once again. Raven gulped in the freezing air, lifting the necklace off her shoulders and tossing it onto the ground before her. This time, the axe that came down upon it was very real, and with a single blow, Siggrun had rendered the glittering jewelry into worthless shards.

“Hey now, that was unnecessary, we sill could have sold that.”

Siggrun glared daggers at the Bard, his shoulders heaving with a heavy intake of breath. “What did I tell you about touching things?”

“Oh come on, how are we supposed to do our jobs if-”

“And what’s worse, you dragged her into doing your dirty work for you!” He pushed towards Baldric, despite the size difference, it was hard to not be intimidated by the elevated tone he was commanding. Looking into his eyes, the bard could see his companions frustration towards him had reached a point that yet to be achieved.

“What she did, she did on her own. I was just trying to help her make a little money is all.”

“She could have been killed!!”

“I didn’t tell her to put the damn thing on did I?”

The tense stare down continued in silence for a few moments before finally Siggrun turned away in a huff, thundering towards the shattered door. “Just you mind yourself from now on boy. I won’t have much more of your nonsense.”

---

Surtur’s stumpy fingers felt something smooth and cold wedged into one of the cracks in the coffin wood. It was stuck in pretty deep too, but after prying it out with the tip of his dagger, he triumphantly held up three small teeth into the light. Finally, progress.

“Hey, choir boy, got something that might interest you.” The bard sauntered in brazenly holding out a rolled up scroll of parchment. It was not minutes earlier that Siggrun had called him out on his nonsense and lack of caution, and here he was again flaunting it in the mans face.

“What?” Baldric smirked at the sour demeanor with which he was met. “For all we know this could be a magical scroll, which we may need somewhere down the line.”

“Is this all you found?” The dwarf snatched the scroll out of his hand, starting him down between hard set eyebrows.

“You said not to touch anything, but this looked important considering the circumstances.” The bard produced a small scrap of paper, on which a note was scrawled in common.

“ ‘For those who fail to make their offering in the coin fountains, and those who willfully miss lead Aleth, a terrible curse will befall.’“ For once, Siggrun agreed with him, this was important information. So far the only thing they had seen had been the two basins by the door. He checked his coin purse and felt its heft. A few coins were a solid investment to ensure another curse would not befall any one of them.

“Fine, is that all then?”

“Yup.”

Normally Siggrun had a hard time discerning the truth from lies with the bard. The man was very good with words, and spun them like a weaver would fine silk. Whether it was the overwhelming sense of dread that fell over all of them, or the weariness of having yet to rest for the evening, Baldric was off his game and his lies were as transparent as glass.

“Boy...”

“Oh, yeah. Silly me, I forgot I found these too.” From out his pack was produced two gilded tomes, dusty, but otherwise in grand condition. The pages were lined with gold leaf, and obsidian and ruby gems accented the covers. One held the all too familiar Du’vanku runes, but the other was written in common for all to see.

“ ‘The Grand Theory of the Creation of Liquid Time through the Utilization of Expended Spiritual Essence.’“ Siggrun read the title aloud and set it aside.

“ “Expended Spiritual Essence?’“ Raven didn’t like the sound of that.

“Tortured Souls Lass. Less we forget what evil this place holds.”

“The white substance then?” Surtur inquired, already knowing the answer.

“Aye, Liquid Time it seems.”

Siggrun flipped through the second book haphazardly, apparently some sort of holy text of these creatures. Within he found mentions of a Symbiote God that sent a chill down his spine. What god would allow such atrocities? It mattered not, Gor was all powerful, his might would crush whatever this Symbiote God was. He moved on to the scroll. Any magical scroll here would not be considered lightly, but he did not doubt its usefulness if that was indeed what it held.

He realized too late that the words carefully inked on the parchment were nothing short than a curse upon the reader. He had but moments to react, and if he so choose, turn the curse upon someone else...someone...more deserving perhaps? Siggrun looked at the bard and considered it for a moment. It would be a lesson to be learned for sure. No, for HE would have been the one to place the curse, not Baldric’s own foolishness. The lesson would be tainted, and he would learn nothing.

“This is why we don’t touch things.” Siggrun sighed and as the rest of the group watched, a pale fog clouded his eyes, beginning as a mist in the corners before billowing out and turning the once dark centers into a milky orb blinding him to the world.

Frustrated hands tore the scroll in two, then in quarters, before finally rendering them into bits of confetti. Sirrgrun opened his palms and let them fall to the floor, muttering a soft prayer to Gor. Once again a flash of red light accented the pale glow of the enchanted candlestick, and before the bits of parchment had fallen to the ground, the cloudiness in the dwarf’s eyes dissipated and once again, vision was his.

“Do you still doubt the power of Gor?” He turned to Surtur who merely shrugged, unimpressed.

“Once I have that shield, I’ll have no need for Gods.”

“Shield?”

“Nevermind, let’s get moving then.”

---

Baldric wasn’t one for writing things himself, what was the point? All the best songs have already been written. Besides, why risk a coin by singing your own song when there was a surefire crowd-pleaser already out there? Still, as they made their way through the gilded doors and into the halls of the dead, he couldn’t help be feel a spark of creativity.

What know ye of death and rot? What smells and sights that time does wrought? To flesh and bone and cloth and steel

Where we all go when life continues not In beds of stone, the forever cot The darkness hides fear most unreal

Rows and rows and roses wilted Left behind upon chest plates gilded Priests and soldiers of evil sleep

What know ye of death and rot?

Meh, needs work, he thought. Behind them the faint sound of another ice skull plummeting to the floor echoed through the seemingly endless halls of mausoleums they now found themselves in. 30 feet high bodies were stacked, lining walls that seemed to stretch on forever before leading to a set of stairs that led to a similar room that repeated the process all over again.

He looked back at the two dwarves and cursed under his breath. What hypocrites. All of this nonsense about not touching anything and yet they now walk with their own spoils. Siggrun, shockingly enough, had been the first to break his own rules. One of the very first rooms they encountered seemed to be a small chapel or prayer room. Rather mundane, but at the front of the room was a worn podium with the all too familiar petrification of time. Upon it sat a book bound in human flesh and inked in blood mimicking the tome of names they had discovered in the cabin. While still a vile thing, they were no longer shocked by this point. 

What it held, however was a different story. For the first time in his memory, Baldric saw the war priest grow pale as he read through the pages of the book. Some passages he read aloud, but for the most part, mercifully, he kept the rest of them in the dark as to its contents.

Unthings, monsters made of flesh and dark magic shambling in the darkness of the bards imagination. That book held the key to their creation, something so forbidden in practice that up until now, Baldric had thought the secret art had been long since lost. Sigrrun closed the book and tucked it inside his pack, claiming of course that he wholly intended to properly destroy it. Baldric wondered though. He had no doubt the war priest was insufferably upstanding in his morals, however, even someone like he had to know how valuable such scarce knowledge was to the right buyer.

Surtur was next, robbing the corpses of priests and soldiers through the mausoleums. He was of course warned by Siggrun, who conveniently forgot his own transgressions, that taking things from the dead was not wise. The fool stubbornly proceeded nonetheless, taking coin, a full set of sparkling plate male which he now wore brazenly on his person, and oddly enough a scroll of bardic music. Baldric patted the scroll in his vest pocket, making sure it was still there. The magic was risky, it held the power to randomly teleport them anywhere in the complex. In a pinch, however, it may be the difference between life and death.

Petrified wood groaned as the next door was pushed open, revealing a line of marble pedestals lining the western wall. Each one of them held a book, again bound in flesh, but these books were far lager than any they had come across before. Books so large, that it would require some sort of cart to move them.

“‘The Chronicle of the most Consummate Church of Du’vonku.’“ Siggrun read one of the titles aloud, before looking down the long stretch of pedestals. “Several volumes of it. So much history.”

“How old are these guys?” Baldric kicked at a stone on the floor, idly looking at the books, his mind placing buyers.

“Centuries, maybe a millennia from the looks of it. Not much is known about them.”

“So...these are valuable is what you are saying?”

“Exceedingly so. A wealth of knowledge...and coin. It is a shame we can’t come back for them.”

“Why not? Assuming Lord Umber is good on his word we walk away from this rich, more than enough money to hire some crews to come back and dismantle what’s left. That organ out there for example.”

“Or the gyroscope in the torture room.” Surtur chimed in. The strange device they found was a marvel of astrology, mapping the movements of the stars and celestial objects to a degree of perfection that was astounding. It was a shame that such use was used to slowly tear its victim into pieces.

“Have you learned nothing about taking things from this place?” Siggrun shook his head.

“Oh please, what about that book in your pack?” Baldric balked.

“I suppose he’s right, a bit too late for that.” Surtur admired his new armor, rubbing a bit of dust off the worn shine.

Siggrun didnt’ bother to argue, his mind was elsewhere. It had been since Surtur found the previous owner of his new armor. Deep within the recesses of the soldiers mausoleums they found a decaying body of a dwarven soldier. A brother in arms, who served under a dark god doing evil deeds. It sickened him to recall it. What was more troubling was what he found in his hands.

While Surtur stripped the man of his armor, Siggrun walked to a corner and examined the snowglobe in the light. Just like one of the countless others they had found outside the library, it held a scene of the cemetery and decrepit cabin above their heads. Again, four figures were seen trudging through the snow. Only this time, their gate was quicker, panicked. A desperate scramble through the knee deep snow. Stumbling over the headstones, tumbling, and scrambling to their feet as they clawed at the ground. Something was chasing them, something that had these figures scared for their very lives. Shadows emerged from the cabin, projecting elongated shapes on the snow outside the front steps. From the portal a flood spewed forth of dead and decaying bodies, a shambling army of the undead. Siggrun watched as row after row of these creatures streamed forth from the cabin and into the snow. Empty eye sockets fixed into a dead stare, arms outstretched, mouths open in a baleful moan. They just kept coming. An endless sea of death, sweeping down the mountain.