#style continues to be the least subtle person on the planet

[fandomfairyuniverse]

Style: I keep dropping hints that I want to spend the rest of my life with him

The hints: pretending to propose and officiating a gay wedding

[ninjakasuga]

More Sonally Headcanons!!

Well, sort of. They’re headcanons related to Sonic and Sally, but this is actually more of an in depth introduction to my fankids J.C. and Kathleen. Along with an addendum to my last headcanon I flagged for @boundforfreedomsonsal. Turns out as I re-read it, I left out a part for Sonic’s headcanon. The stay at home dad part, I barely touched and that bugs me, so here’s that segment fleshed out and then some info on J.C. and Kathleen! Sonic the stay-at-home-dad: As mentioned prior, Sonic knows he’s not cut out for the majority of what being Prince-Regent entails. Showing up for parties, events and giving back to the people of Mobius, he can do that. Ruling stuff, that is absolutely Sally’s domain. Sure he can offer his viewpoints and all that, but the long-term, big-picture view thinking isn’t his style. That said he doesn’t wanna be a lay about, nor just jam off on adventures and leave Sally doing the hard stuff either. When the children are born, Sonic sees a way he can contribute more after Sally’s maternity leave period is officially over with. Not that Sally intends to stop being maternal, but at some point she is going to need to get back to the day-to-day logistics of running the Kingdom. Motherhood is wonderful and she isn’t going to neglect it; but she has her duties she must fulfill. To help with this; Sonic figures he can handle some ‘solo parent time’ while Sally does her part of the ol’ Kingdom running bit. To which his lovely wife is very grateful for, but also concerned. She recalls some of the trouble he had babysitting his little brother and sister; plus these two MIGHT have his speed. Sonic as usual, brushes off the concerns with the ol’ charm and a smile. Of course this bites him in the ass when the kids DO start to show they have his speed. Especially when said children are still being potty-trained and their diapers don’t stay on due to the velocity of said speed. (Not trying to be gross here, but it is a scenario the two will have to deal with, I pity the cleaners at the castle). While Sally feels that she’s putting a large heft of the parenting responsibilities on Sonic, he points out it’s the least he can do. He can’t do what she does, and while they are BOTH together on the parenting journey, he can handle the tykes for some hours while she’s doing the Queen-y stuff and once she’s done; it’s family time all together. “Sal there’s gonna be times when I gotta do stuff and you’ll have the kids by your lonesome. It’s just part of the gig, you ain’t abandoning the kids, that ain’t you. Go on, be the Queen. Your Prince, will keep our babes safe and adorble!” Now onto the kids themselves: This kind of goes over their base personalities as they develop in their preteen-to-teenage years. Kathleen: The daughter of the twins (whose name is a meta-homage to Kath Soucie), who as she grows up, gains a tomboy streak and is very much the apple of her Father’s eye. Feisty, sly, and prone to mischief (at least moreso than her brother who can be mischief-y himself). Out of the two, she’s the one truly in love with their inherited speed, and the freedom it offers. While she can be a bit blunt, and snarky, she has a keen mind, and education that she can use to scary effect, when she wants. She’s not above using her ‘cuteness’ to get what she wants, as long as she uses it sparing on her parents who are WISE to her antics. As her Aunt Bunnie puts it “She’s a lovable troublemaker with Sonic’s knack for trouble, and Sally’s brains to get out of said trouble.... most of th’ time.” She also has picked up some mechanical aptitude after hanging out often with her Great Uncle Chuck, Uncles Tails and Uncle Rotor. She loves repairing things and trying to build her own gadgets or vehicles. Well once she builds one that doesn’t fall apart from her overzealous designs getting the better of practical usage. In a tense situation where trouble brews, she’s the most likely to start throwing punches, and worry about ‘why’ the troublemakers started trouble after they’re tied up from their punch-naps. Of the royal duo she doesn’t exactly try to slack in any royal duties she has, but the idea of adventuring across the planet sounds more keen than sitting on a throne or doing paperwork, or both. Despite being closest with her Father she does love and respect her Mother; if anything she sees her as the ultimate badass Queen; but she also loves to push her buttons, a lot. Lastly unlike her brother who aspires to be a decent cook, he isn’t, and she is, and she does love to rub it in J.C.’s face she can pull of ‘Uncle Twan and Aunt Bunnie’s recipes’ with gusto. Jaleel-Craig (J.C. for short): The brother of the twins (with a double homage to Jaleel White and Roger-Craig Smith), J.C. is the more serious of the pair, but in a more laid back manner compared to his Mother. Of the two royal heirs, he’s the one who takes their responsibilities to the crown seriously. That said he’s not in any rush to be crowned King either, feeling he’s still lacking qualities or the ability to see things his sister does that he feels make her just as good a potential ruler as she feels he will be. Just getting her to understand that is a tall order. Not unlike his sister, while he loves both parents equally and shares many traits with both; while Kathleen is the apple of Sonic’s eye, J.C. is Sally’s pride. Sharing a love of lore, history, and learning in general. It isn’t uncommon to find the two engrossed in going over books and tomes of lost lore they’re trying to regain after so much was lost in the Robotnik/Eggman wars. While he and his sister both were taught hand-to-hand and various self defense moves by both their parents after their kidnapping at age six; J.C. found himself favoring the use of melee weapons in conjunction to the lessons from his parents and extra martial arts from Aunt Bunnie. To this end, his Uncle Twan’ was happy to show the young man the way of the blade to which J.C. has proven proficient and capable to his Uncle’s delight. Plus it gives Antoine playful ribbing ammo to use against his Father. J.C. is also a skillful diplomat-in-training having picked up some skills from his Mother and some of the best silver-tongues on the planet. As much as he is the studious son, he still shares a streak of mischief not unlike his sister; he’s just much better at being subtle and under-the-radar about it. Alas one skill he aspires to master but for the time being, fails at is cooking. If it’s anything but his Father and Great Uncles Chili-Dog recipes, he finds himself burning water not unlike his Mother. The fact his sister who usually prefers junk food, can make Uncle Twan’s Crepes’ or Aunt Bunnie’s Peach Cobbler from scratch vexes him. Much like his sister, he does revel in the speed inherited from their Father, but he views it as a ‘with great power, comes great responsibilities’ viewpoint as opposed to his sister ‘freedom above all’ mentality of the super-speed. That said, he’s not above using it to help her preform pranks from time to time. A last bit of side information. After the kidnapping, as an extra safety precaution, Sally asked Nicole to create some helper A.I.’s to work alongside the children. A notion Nicole found not just a good tactical idea, but also endearing as it would in her eyes, foster a continued foundation of friendship and family between her own growing ‘cyber family’ and Sally and Sonic’s own. With some ‘help’ from a certain former Metal Sonic-turned-good (*cough*Shard*cough*), Nicole created her own A.I. ‘children’ to be companions for the duo, housed in upgradable ‘watches’ that would house the A.I. when they were away from the nanite-network of New Mobotropolis. Kathleen gained ‘Berri’ Nicole and Shard’s ‘daughter’ who seems split between trying to ‘reign in’ some of Kathleen’s more spastic tendencies, and yet from time to time; loves to work alongside her in her crazy endeavors as Kathleen gets her to ‘lighten up’ some, as their friendship grows. Sometimes two crazy minds work well together. Kathleen equates Berri to having a portable, nanit-hack-capable sis-in-crime. J.C.’s A.I. companion Fragment or ‘Frag’ as they coined as a nickname is a bit of an oddity. His default persona is that of a semi-stiff minder, who encourages his more academic past-times, and furthering his education. Yet at times Frag shifts into a female persona who sometimes uses ‘Fraggie’ as a nickname. Fraggie is more laid back, trying to get the young Prince to mellow out when his more serious side becomes ‘a bit much’. She also seems to enjoy trying to play match maker between J.C. and his crushes. Okay I hope ya’all enjoyed these tidbits on my fankids. Next time we return to headcanons about their parents!

[motherfingtitan]

Hi! Big fan of your fics. I have a suggestion for one: the basic idea is that the Lower Decks characters (mainly the Warp Core Four) get involved with the ep. "Trials and Tribble-ations" Meet both DS9 and TOS crew in a subtle/not-so-subtle way (PARADOX!). Bonus: They are drawn and animated in TAS Filmation style, with some of them slightly aware. Maybe a bit of Mariner x Boimler? Hope you have fun with the idea.

Time Tribbles

The Warp Core Four decides to go back in time to the Enterprise to do some not-so-scientific research on Tribbles. They come across not one, but two famous Starfleet Crews

Tendi dragged herself to her bunk. She was absolutely exhausted from pulling double shifts in Medbay to make up for the influx of patients. Earlier today, some of the food replicators were producing food at extreme temperatures. They were also uncontrollably spewing food out, and in the case of ten forward, literally spraying boiling nacho cheese. Crew members had been in and out all day with burns. Just as she sat on her bed, she saw Mariner down the hallway. Both of them waved to each other.

"Yo, Tendi, what's up?" Mariner said as she walked up to her.

"Nothing much; I’m just exhausted from all the activity in Medbay. I did see somebody with a nacho cheese burn in the shape of an Orion continent!" She smiled.

"I have something that will cheer you up!" Mariner held up her finger and ran off, going to get her special piece of contraband.

After a few minutes, she returned with a Tribble in hand. It had brown fur and little white patches. She handed the Tribble to Tendi and sat down next to her. The cooing of the ball of fur filled the room.

"Personally, I would prefer getting drunk, but I thought this might be more up your alley" Beckett smiled as Tendi ran her hand through the fur, her eyes lit up.

"This is the cutest thing ever," Tendi squealed. She then spoke in baby talk to the Tribble, "Yes you are, you are the cutest little Tribble on this ship.”

She continued to pet the Tribble for a couple of minutes before finally speaking, "You know, I've always wanted to see a Tribble reproduce. I know that the ones they sell at the pet stores are neutered."

Beckett thought for a second before finally speaking. "Ok, so I got this really cool piece of contraband from the planet we did second contact with a couple of weeks back. I've been testing it, and I think it opens up portals to different times. We could go back in time to see Tribbles reproduce."

"But isn't that against the rules?”

"Yes, but it's for science, so it's probably ok. Come on, let get Rutherford and Boimler."

…

A few hours later, the four Ensigns were in an empty part of the docking bay. All of them were wearing 2260s uniforms. Tendi messed with her holographic disguise, trying to find the right hairstyle. She felt odd with blonde hair and peachy skin, but there was no way she could go back in time looking like an Orion. Enterprise crew members would ask too many questions.

"Bangs or no Bangs?" She adjusted her holographic remote, letting it flip through different hairstyles.

"Definitely the Bangs," Rutherford gave a thumbs up before continuing his excitement-filled lecture about Constitution-class ships. “Did you know that turbolifts were not completely voice-controlled back then? You had to hold down a bar for them to work.”

"Mariner, are you sure we should be doing this. Time travel is against 253.7-" Boimler began before being cut off Mariner.

"Rules, Schmules. Come on, Boims, this could be your one chance to see Kirk in flesh and blood."

"Fine, but I'm keeping you in check," he spoke.

Beckett then pulled out the small blue stone from her trouser pocket. It glowed softly in her hand. She set it down and stated where she wanted to go "Stardate 4523.3, USS Enterprise 1701."

The store glowed brighter until it flashed, opening up a small portal to the other ship. Its corridors were empty, meaning the Ensigns could slip in undetected.

"Ready to do science stuff?" Mariner asked Tendi.

She bounced in excitement, nodding rapidly. Mariner was the first to step into the portal. She felt slight tingles all over her body as she popped out on the other side. The Enterprise looked much different than the ships of her time. The lights had colored tints, and more equipment was exposed. Rutherford came out of the portal next, slightly dizzy but extremely excited to see such an old ship. Tendi and Boimler followed. Once through the portal, it returned to its original gem form.

Boimler slowly stood up, trying to shake off how dizzy he felt. "I feel so stiff and kinda cheap too,"

"You look different," Rutherford pointed out

"Oh god! Am I phasy again?!?"

"No, but your eyes look smaller," Tendi looked at all of them. "We all look kinda different."

"Probably some stupid time travel stuff, come on, let's got find some Tribbles!" Mariner shoved the gem in her pocket and started down the hallway, followed by the other four.

Soon, they came to the main corridor that was bustling with people. The women styled their hair in extravagant bumps and wore earrings. Most wore minidresses, a popular style in the 2260s, but a couple wore the tunic style uniform, just as Mariner was. The sound of boots tapping filled the hallway, and the gold rank bands on the officer sleeve sparkled among the sea of yellow, red, and blue. Perhaps the most striking thing, however, was the lack of aliens. The vast majority of the officers were human, a stark contrast from how diverse the Cerritos was.

Suddenly, Mariner stopped and motioned to the other three to get against the wall. From just around the corner, two very famous Starfleet officers could be heard.

"Is that Kirk?" Boimler asked

Mariner nodded, feeling just as excited as the rest of them but doing an excellent job of hiding it. Kirk and Spock were speaking with someone through the communication unit.

"Bridge to Captain Kirk." A young man with a Russian accent spoke.

"Kirk here." The captain responded

“Mister Baris is waiting on channel E to speak to you, sir."

Mariners’ heart was beating fast. She may have acted like she didn't care, but she did grow up as a Starfleet brat, and though she may have seen Captain Kirk in a holodeck simulation, it wasn't the same as being a couple of feet away from him.

"Mister Baris is coming on." The young man spoke again.

"Yes, Mister Baris. What can I do for you?" Kirk’s voice was pleasant

"Kirk, this station is swarming with Klingons." A man by the name of Baris replied.

"I was not aware, Mister Baris, that twelve Klingons constitutes a swarm."

"Captain Kirk, I consider your security measures a disgrace. In my opinion, you have taken this entire..."

At this point, Boimler had lost focus on that conversation as his eyes drifted to the other side of the hallway. There, a man with a deeper voice and a tall woman spoke. Both looked as if they were doing routine maintenance. The woman kept glancing back at the captain and the first officer.

"I had no idea." The woman began

"What?" The man replied, fiddling with some machinery.

“He's so much more handsome in person. And those eyes."

"Kirk had quite the reputation as a ladies' man."

"Not him. Spock."

Boimler noticed that, just like him, they looked out of place. He continued to listen.

"I can't believe you don't at least want to meet Captain Kirk."

"That's the last thing on my mind."

"Oh, come on, Benjamin. Are you telling me you're not the tiniest bit interested in meeting one of the most famous men in Starfleet history?"

Benjamin? He thought as he slowly went through all the people he knew named Benjamin in his head.

Benjamin Anderson

Benjamin Taylor

Benjamin Sisko

Sisko!

It was Captain Sisko! And the woman next to him must be one of his crew members. Jadzia Dax, maybe? His face twisted in confusion. What was he doing in this time?

"Guys, look!" Boimler whispered and motioned his head to the other side of the hallway.

"Is that... Sisko?" Rutherford asked. "He looks different," he added, still getting used to how everything looked in this period.

"Two famous Starfleet Captains in one day?!?" Tendi bounced on her heels.

"Why is he here?" Boimler looked at Mariner.

"I don't know, something to do with a Tribble and a bomb,"

"A bomb?!"

She shrugged. "Relax, it's on the space station. We will stay on the ship,"

"How do you even know all this?"

"I have my ways,"

The Ensigns decided that it was time to get moving. They didn't want to create too much suspicion by huddling up against the wall. The halls were so crowded, Constitution-class ships were certainly packed, even without the hallway bedrooms of the Cerritos. The colored lights enthralled Tendi. She was so used to sterile fluorescent lights that the soft blues, purples, and yellows were dazzling. She had read about these types of ships, but reading about it and seeing it were two different things.

"Gosh, I love Constitution-class ships," Tendi said.

But there was no response. She twisted her head back and forth, slightly panicking that she had lost her other three friends. She wanted to yell out their names, but that would raise too many questions. She would have to silently slither through the confusing corridors of the ship to find them, all while looking natural. Looking back and forth one more time, she decided to continue forward. Turning down a hallway, she noticed that there was a turbolift at the end. Inside were two men. One was a bulkier man in a red shirt, while the other man with slicked-back hair wore blue with a single strip of gold on the bottom of his sleeve.

"Deck twenty-one. Deck twenty-one. I said, Deck twenty-one." The man in the red shirt said. He's getting more frustrated every time he spoke.

"Maybe if you said please." The other man replied

Tendi remembered from Rutherford’s conversation earlier that turbolifts were not entirely voice commanded at this time. She continued to walk towards the lift.

"Maybe it's jammed. Help me get this wall panel off." The redshirt was starting to open a panel when the disguised Orion walked in. She put one hand on the wall handle and crossed her fingers, on the other hand, hoping that this would work.

"Deck fifteen." She spoke, and the lift started to move. She breathed a secret sigh of relief.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't." The medical man, with a British accent, spoke.

"My lips are sealed."

"Guys, where's Tendi?" Rutherford asks, trying to find one of his best friends.

"Aw Sh*t, we must have lost her" Mariner looked some more. "Tend-"

Boimler clamped his hand against her mouth. "Are you insane? You wanna mess up history?"

"Ok, then how do you want to find her?"

"Constitution-class ships only held about 300 people, so it shouldn't be too hard to find her, especially compared to a Galaxy-class ship," Rutherford suggested.

All three realize that the only way to find their friend was to just walk through the halls and hope they stumble across her. They started down the aisle, maneuvering their way through the mass amounts of people. At one point, Beckett hit somebody with her elbow.

"Oh, sorry." She said

The woman smiled and replied. She was wearing an operations red dress, and her hair was teased on top of her head. Her sleeves bore lieutenant stripes. "It's ok," she said as she walked away. She was making baby noises at something in her hand.

Mariner craned her neck just enough to see that in the lieutenants’ arms was a small Tribble. "It can't be long now."

Tendi saw the first baby Tribble in one of the turbolifts she was taking back down. She was alerted when she heard soft sweet cooing on the other side of the lift, and she couldn't resist. She picked it up, so happy to see an unneutered baby Tribble. At first, she only saw one every once in a while. Maybe one would be stuck to a wall. Another was in an older doctor's hands, and he was scanning it with a tricorder. However, the amount started to multiply, and before she knew it, Tribbles were lining every single hallway. They came and all shapes and sizes. Some were white with gray spots, and some were a beautiful shiny Brown. They stuck to the walls and the ceiling, and cooing filled the hallway, along with the occasional screech when someone stepped on one.

She tried to resist the temptation and only grab one, but every time she turned around, she found herself face-to-face with another ball of fur, and soon she had an entire armful of Tribbles. Curiously, as she wandered about trying to find her three friends, she saw Sisko and that other female officer scanning Tribbles. Both looked frazzled. She realized that they were scanning for a bomb of sorts and remembered that Mariner said it was on the space station, not on the Enterprise.

Speaking of Mariner, she finally found her friends walking towards her in a hallway. The pep in her step grew as she walked towards them.

"They are so cute!" Tendi showed off her arm full of at least ten Tribbles.

"Let's get to a private room, watch how a Tribble gives birth, and then get back to our own time," Boimler continued. "I don't want any time travel shenanigans on my file. It's not very Captain-like."

"Oh please," Mariner replied, "you realize how much stuff was on Kirk's record?"

The four came across an empty meeting room. They all walked in, Rutherford closed the door, and Tendi set one of her many Tribbles on the table. With her pad on hand, she was ready to take notes.

Tribbles reproduce fast, so it was only a matter of time before the one on the table, which Tendi lovingly named Warpy, gave birth. The ball of fur soon went from cooing to screeching as it tensed up half its body. Soon from underneath the adult Tribble, baby Tribbles emerged. Tendi was so excited, but the other three just watched with confused and uncomfortable faces. After she finished taking notes, Boimler suggested they leave.

"I'm going to miss the blonde hair, but I can't wait to have my old body back," Tendi spoke as Mariner pulled out her blue gem.

"Tell me about it; my eyes are the same color as my skin. That can't be healthy," she replied

"Maybe people look like this because of issues with the older technology," Rutherford suggested.

Mariner spoke to the gem the time she wanted to go back to. The portal opened underneath them.

"No one's got any Tribbles, right?" Mariner asked.

All of them nodded, and Mariner was the first to jump through the portal. Rutherford followed, and then Boimler. Tendi turned around one last time to her Tribbles.

"Bye, Warpy," she spoke as she jumped through the portal.

"Much fu*king better" Mariner cracked her back in the Cerritos’ shuttle bay. Tendi glanced over her notes and deactivated her disguise. Beckett came over to her and wrapped an arm around her.

"You had fun?"

"So much, thanks" Tendi smiled.

"How about we change and get some tacos?" Beckett spoke as she walked towards the doors.

"Okie Dokie" Rutherford and the other two ensigns followed.

As they walked to the mess hall, Mariner spoke to Boimler, “Glad you could join us. Ya know, you actually look confident in that old uniform! And kinda charming.”

“Thank you, I feel confident” He did a cheesy smirk.

“Annnnd now it’s gone.” She said, trying to hide the slightest blush.

They continued to their bunks to change. Unknown to Boimler, however, was a small ball of fur stuck to his vintage uniform boots.

Three days later

Ransom woke up for his morning shift at the sound of his alarm. When he reached over to turn it off, he felt a ball of fur right on his alarm clock. Upon opening his eyes, he saw that Tribbles filled his entire room, all cooing.

"Who brought an unneutered Tribble on board!?"

[danger-xylophones]

The Ice General (Captain Rex x reader)

mobile’s fucking with formatting, sorry.

The Ice General is a miniseries following the love story of our one and only Captain Rex and the elusive and confusing Jedi general Y/n L/n. Certain aspects of the character of the Ice General have been chosen by me, the author, as a way to keep my sanity intact. 

This is narrated primarily from Rex’s perspective but it will shift to yours now and again. 

Words: 2160 

Warnings: Mentions of injury but that is about it

{Masterlist}

Taglist: @tararuthven // @questforgalas

................................................................

Captain Rex once heard that clones take on the personalities of the Jedi they serve. Now, he wasn’t exactly sure that that was true but the clone captain did believe that certain traits previously dormant could be awakened or amplified if the general they served had similar traits. Case in point: Commander Cody. Rex had known Cody for a long time and as a result, was pretty familiar with the way his vod thought and acted. Cody had always been thoughtful and calculated with plenty of sarcasm and snippy remarks to spare but Rex noticed that his endless wit had seemed to expand upon serving under General Kenobi. The captain noticed it with Commander Wolffe as well though to a more subtle but still heartwarming extent as Wolffe had always been compassionate if a little closed off. His brothers’ changes often left the captain wondering what personality traits he had let show after serving with General Skywalker and Commander Tano. 

But, bearing all this in mind, that didn’t mean that Rex could always guess the personality of the general based on the personality of the commander. Such is the case with CC-4290, better known as Commander Fritz of the 205th battalion or the right-hand man of the infamous Ice General. 

The 501st was en route to a backwater planet named Elaroth, a dry and miserable mining world ripe for a droid factory if the Grand Army didn’t claim it first. And while the men of the 501st were buzzing with anticipation for meeting the almost legendary general of the 205th, Rex was a little nervous and his orders to keep chatter to a minimum did little to quell the enthusiasm in the air. The general of the 205th was an...interesting character, or so he had been told. In truth, Rex knew about as much about her as anyone of his brothers outside of the 205th-that is to say, he knew almost nothing. He knew that her name was Y/n L/n and that she was a human Jedi who studied under Ki-Adi Mundi for ten years before being knighted shortly before the war. He also knew that she was known for her eery calmness and the ability to see through bantha skrag faster than anyone Rex knew personally. And of course-her tactics. Strike hard, strike fast, and stay out of sight as much as possible-confusion and mystery were the friends of the 205th, how ironic that that would extend to their general as well.  

Rex was pulled from his quiet ponderings by the sound of loud, boisterous laughter emanating from next to him. Commander Fritz clad in his blacks and the bottom portion of his teal painted armor was nearly doubled over as he guffawed at some joke a shiny had made. His messy silver hair was in disarray (a constant; Rex was starting to think that it was just the way he styled it) and it had moved to the side to reveal a black tattoo that read ‘Freedom’ in Mando’a on the back of his neck. The captain of the 501st had noticed that most of the veterans of the 205th had the same tattoo but in different locations and it caused a certain unease to arise in his gut. All he could think of was the words of his brother Slick who had spoken about how the clones were just slaves with different titles: they had no freedom. The reminder of Slick only encouraged his wariness of the Ice general. Why would her men all have the same tattoo? Had they gotten it as a way to cope? Was she a monster in disguise?

No, she couldn’t be. Commander Fritz spoke of her with such rapport and admiration. But, admiration can be faked. Rex’s more cynical side countered. He could be court-martialed if someone found out he held any distaste for his general. But, maybe he truly adored her? He had to, especially if what he had seen earlier was a regular occurrence. 

When the 501st touched down, they weren’t expecting to immediately be caught up in a fire-fight (though with a man like Skywalker as their general, they were always itching for one) that had them racing to rendezvous with Y/n L/n and Commander Fritz where they were trapped in a ravine with a rock slide slowing their retreat and a droid battalion intent on wiping them out. One of the medics had informed Captain Rex that the Seppies had already gotten to the planet and had built a factory that was producing units faster than the 205th could cut them down. If they didn’t move quickly, they would all die. 

The 501st had made it (they were the best for a reason) and together the two battalions were able to push the droids back to a dried-up delta that afforded them the one thing the 205th needed to win; mobility. After that, it was only a matter of time before the droid factory was destroyed by a mixed force of 501st boys and 205th. Though, in the midst of it all, a tank had managed to take a shot at the Commander. It had launched him back and Rex couldn’t forget the way General L/n had sprinted away from Skywalker’s side to get to him. She hadn’t panicked, she hadn’t yelled for her felled commander, she just ran to him and took her spot over his body, deflecting blaster bolts, like it was routine till one of the field medics could get to the silver-haired ARC. Rex remembered how her jaw was set and how still her face was as her arms worked to swing her dual lightsabers. She had looked bored as she stood over the knocked out commander. 

And when Fritz had been dragged away, she surged to the front again as though her commander hadn’t been injured at all. It was perplexing. But Rex couldn’t erase the image of the Jedi standing over Fritz’s body, ready to protect it whether he was dead or alive. That was the evidence Rex held onto that contested his theory that Y/n L/n was one of those generals that didn’t care for her men. 

Commander Fritz had been alright, just knocked unconscious and a little banged up from the blast and now he sat next to Rex barking out loud peals of laughter and acting like he hadn’t broken two ribs. “Try-try telling that to Ice-I dare ya!” The silver-haired man choked out between chuckles, pointing a hand at the shiny that had spoken from across the fire they had made. Rex felt out of the loop as he glanced between the 205th-ers and his boys who were all sharing varying looks of amusement. What had the shiny said? 

“Try telling me what?” A cool, even voice cut through the laughter like a blaster bolt through a calm meadow. In his peripheral, Rex saw Jesse, Fives, Echo, and Kix stiffen up and snap their attention towards the sound. The men of the 205th, however, were far laxer in giving their general their attention (minus the shiny Fritz had been laughing at who had gone pale and stiff). Rex was struck with the realization that General L/n’s tone was no different than the tone she had used when explaining the best move Skywalker could make to help her over the comms. It was a little unnerving. 

Y/n L/n was unnerving. She stood beside slightly in front of Skywalker, perched on the edge of the firelight. The warm light kissed the apples of her cheeks but did not quite illuminate her face, leaving her appearance mostly to the imagination. She looked like the physical embodiment of a shadow, distant, amorphous, ambiguous. The only thing keying the men into the fact that she was a real person was the datapad held firmly in her left hand and the rim-lighting on the most dynamic parts of her face. Her eyes were sharp as she scanned over the men though the captain could not tell if she was disdainful of their conduct and lax postures. 

“I-uh…” The shiny began uncertainly, looking around to his brothers for help. The veterans were smirking down at the shiny, unwilling to aid him in his struggle while the other shinies looked ready to piss themselves. 

“Go on, Boom, tell the general what you were going to say when she got out of her meeting.” Fritz waved his hand to signal the shiny to continue while he sat back with a smug grin. Briefly, the commander’s elbow dug into Rex’s side as he whispered ‘watch this’ out of the corner of his mouth. 

Boom swallowed and carded a hand over his shaved head, unable to meet General L/n’s inquisitive gaze. “I...I was just…”

“Go on, Boom, I am eager to hear what has Fritz so amused.” Y/n encouraged in the same even tone though she had slightly cocked her head to the side. 

Boom muttered a string of curses in Mando’a under his breath before finally deciding that he wasn’t going to get out of this easily if at all. Still unable to meet the general’s eyes, he summoned whatever courage he had left to at least spare his dignity and spoke. “I was going to ask if you needed a seat, ‘cause I’ve got one right here for you.” And with that, Boom hesitantly patted his thigh. Tension started to descend over the gathered group of clones as Y/n mulled the pick-up line over that threatened to break as a result of Fritz’s barely contained giggles. 

Y/n stepped into the light and Rex swore he heard the shiny take a sharp intake of breath, apparently already resigned to his demise. Her face was stoic and entirely unreadable as she faced Boom and regarded him with a swift once over. “Earn some more nicks in your armor, shiny, then we’ll talk.” Fritz and the other veterans lost it. All doubled over in laughter and the softly spoken retort. One of them who sat closest to Boom clapped him on the shoulder, commending him for his moxie. Rex swore he saw Y/n’s lips quirk upward momentarily before she was turning to look at the boys of the 501st who all sat pensively, still more than a little unsure of her. 

Noticing the tension in them, she addressed Skywalker over her shoulder. “Skywalker, you didn’t tell me your men were so serious.” Was she teasing them? It was hard to tell. 

“Normally they’re not.” Anakin answered, slightly baffled as he walked around to plop down on Rex’s right. 

“I think you’re reputation proceeds you, Ice.” Fritz chimed in before anyone else could with a poorly hidden wince as he scooted away from Rex and gestured for Y/n to sit. 

“Careful with those ribs, commander, or Bolt’ll have my head-you weren’t supposed to leave the med tent.” Y/n scolded in her still unwavering tone as she looked down at the injured man. Fritz shrugged. 

“Eh, you’re the general, General, tell him to can it.” The commander simpered nonchalantly, leaning back on his hands. 

“Or, as your general, I could court-martial you for insubordination.” Rex stiffened up, would she really do that? 

“With all due respect, General, kriff you.” Fritz bit back with a grin a parsec wide. There was a horrified gasp from what Rex suspected was Echo and frantic muttering from some of the shinies. 

Y/n seemed unfazed though as she sat beside Fritz and began pouring over the datapad in her hands. “I mean, you could if you wanted to but I feel I should inform you that I prefer blonds.” 

“Damn, what are they up to now, Hyde?” A veteran whistled lowly, reaching around Kix to poke at his brother who was wedged between the medic and Jesse. 

“22 to 3, Ice’s winnin’.” The redhead answered back quickly. 

“They do this a lot?” Jesse gasped in disbelief, looking to Hyde as he dug a piece of flimsi out of his glove and used some ash to mark it before folding it away. 

“All the time. We didn’t start to keep track of who wins the sass-offs till recently though.” Hyde explained. 

“I find it relaxing and it makes sure I stay sharp.” General L/n chimed in once again, eyes fixed on Jesse. “I just realized I never asked your names.”

“Fives.” The man in question stated with a lopsided smile. “This is Echo, that’s Kix, and that’s Jesse.” He waved his hand around to each clone as he said their names. Y/n nodded and closed her eyes, muttering their names under her breath in a move Rex recognized as a way to memorize them. 

“It’s nice to meet all of you.” Suddenly, Y/n turned to Rex. “And it’s nice to see you when we’re not getting shot at, Captain Rex.” And Rex’s questions multiplied. 

Next ->

[crusherthedoctor]

Crusher Elaborations #1: Thoughts on the Aesthetic of Sonic’s World

If someone came up to me and asked “Which do you prefer, Classic Sonic or Modern Sonic?”, my answer would start off with “Well, technically Classic Sonic because...”, and then I'd get cut off by the other person immediately lecturing me on why I'm wrong and why I'm the worst kind of fan imaginable. Should they finish their rant, I would then explain to them in the midst of them basking in their flock of easy Twitter likes that I didn't necessarily mean it in the way they predicted.

If we were talking about the games, the characters, or the character design, I'd be fairly neutral, since I like both halves equally for the most part. In fact, when it comes to characters, Modern might actually have the edge believe it or not, since the sheer number of characters introduced from SA1 onwards naturally means a lot of my favourites were introduced from that point on, such as Tikal, Rouge, Gamma, Omega, Blaze... But then again, Classic introduced Eggman and Tails, and the Hard-Boiled Heavies are technically Classic as well despite being relatively new...

Anyway, the point is, I'm not talking about any of that today. I'm talking about the world that Sonic and his multicolored chums live in. Or rather, the aesthetic of it.

NOTE: This is purely about the game universe. While I do have my thoughts on Sonic’s world as presented in other continuities, that won’t be the focus here.

If you're familiar with my blog, you'll know that as a general rule of thumb, I much prefer colorful and creative worlds in my Sonic universe, and that rings true for my reasoning here. And I know what you're gonna say: “But Crusher, isn't there plenty of that in the Modern games as well?” Yes, there is, and I appreciate them very much. But this is why I feel the need to make a post of this sort to begin with, because I'm NOT saying “Classic cool, Modern boring” and calling it a day. There's a little more nuance to my tastes here.

When I say I prefer the Classic aesthetic for Sonic's world, I don't mean it in the literal sense of disregarding everything about the Modern aesthetic. Let's put it like this: when you're asked to paint a picture of these two sides of Sonic's universe in your head, a specific image will likely come to mind. When you think of Classic, you'll probably think of Green Hill first and foremost, whereas with Modern, you'll probably think of something like City Escape or Rooftop Run before anything else. In other words, when you think Modern Sonic, you're probably imagining the more realistic kind of locations first. And between the two mental images that come to mind, I personally prefer the Classic image. Shock, horror.

I wish I could swim in a sea that’s probably radioactive.

Now keep in mind, I'm not saying that City Escape, Rooftop Run, and all similar environments in the series look bad, because they don't. Unless they're painted with the '06 brush, they generally look fine, and the locations in Unleashed in particular are undeniably beautiful from an graphical standpoint. The problem is that although I can picture this as a world that Sonic could be in, I can't necessarily picture it as Sonic's world specifically. Because when it comes to the more realistic environments, I feel there's not much of an attempt to let it branch out as its own thing.

I know that might seem harsh, especially for Unleashed, since the real world angle was the deliberate theme of that game. And Sonic taking cues from real places is a fine concept, there's no issue there. I'm not gonna complain if there's a France Zone with an Eiffel Tower in the background. In fact, Sandopolis Act 1 has one of my favourite aesthetics in a Classic zone (mainly because the background is really pleasant to look at), and that zone is essentially Egypt Zone. But if you're making a Real World Zone, there needs to be more to it than that, otherwise you don't truly get a Sonic interpretation of our world... you instead have our world as it is with Sonic characters awkwardly stapled on.

When I look at City Escape, it may not be completely unfitting for Sonic (the posters and billboards in particular are actually a really nice touch), but when I look at it, I don't see Sonic's interpretation of San Francisco. I see San Francisco with Sonic shoved in. When they morph these places to Sonic's liking, they'll add rings, loops... and that's it. They rarely take the concept any further, which is a huge shame, particularly in the case of Rooftop Run, where I otherwise do like its visuals a lot, but it just doesn't go far enough with the concept for my liking.

At least you get to murder car owners, and give G.U.N. a legitimate reason to arrest you.

So which Modern games do I feel did the best job at making Sonic's world... er, Sonic's world? Well the truth is, most of them actually do a decent job in this area, regardless of the level design quality or the game’s quality period. SA2 has Pumpkin Hill, Eggman's Pyramid Base, and... SOME levels aboard the A.R.K (mainly the “outside” ones, like Final Rush). Shadow the Hedgehog, a game that reveled in how brown and gritty it was, still had highlights like Circus Park and Digital Circuit. Even '06 of all games had Aquatic Base, which was pretty cool from a conceptual standpoint. And although Unleashed as a whole might be a touch too vanilla in the creativity scale, it still had the glorious Eggmanland at the very end. But if I had to say which of the Modern installments did the best job overall...

- For starters, I'm gonna give a shoutout to SA1, because even though it was the first Modern game, and thus it was technically responsible for the more focused angle of realism in Sonic's world in the first place, it didn't take it quite as far as later games would, and although it may not be a perfect 1-to-1 representation of the world we saw in the Classic games, it does well enough with what it brings to the table that I can still accept it without any issue at all. Some of that has to do with the fact that you still have wilder areas like Windy Valley and Red Mountain to balance things out, but even with the other half, the game's use of colour is enough for it to go a long way, oddly enough. Take the At Dawn section of Speed Highway for instance:

From innocent times, when the radar wasn’t a piece of shit.

Technically, it's really not that different to the urban environments you see in SA2 or Unleashed. But something about the sleepy morning approach gives it a subtle, almost dream-like edge to it that I really dig, and despite it being pretty similar to the likes of City Escape, somehow I have an easier time buying into the idea of this place being part of the same world as zones like Sky Sanctuary.

And seeing how I already mentioned Red Mountain, let me compare it to Flame Core:

Yes, I know bringing '06 into this discussion at all is inherently and hilariously unfair, but let's put aside the game that Flame Core comes from for a moment. Aside from maybe the purple crystal caves indoors (and that's assuming you can even see where the fuck you're going in there), Flame Core is pretty boring to look at as far as Sonic levels go. Red Mountain is vastly more interesting, even though it's basically the exact same concept, and a lot of that has to do with - you guessed it - colour. Sure, it's day time, that's one thing, but you'll also notice that for a lava/mountain stage, it surprisingly has a few grassier sections, sort of like Hill Top in that regard. A little bit of green among the brown and red, and a great contrast to the volcanic nightmare you'll experience when you head inside.

Now this might seem like a fairly minor detail... and yeah, it is, but the thing that SA1 does so well is that it combines so many of those small details to make a complete, well-rounded package. This is why SA1 meshes well with the Classic style despite not being an exact replica, because just as the Classics excelled at, it wasn't afraid to use colour in interesting ways. It understood that a fire level could have more than just red and orange, in the same way that a grassy level could have more than just green and blue.

But of course, as I mentioned, SA1 is not an exception. There are other Modern games that did a great job on the whole...

- Heroes is an obvious answer, since it's translation of Genesis-style environments to 3D is probably one of the most recurring praises the game receives, and rightly so. Not much to say here, except that Hang Castle is still cool as hell.

And plenty of opportunity to admire the not-broken-in-half moon.

- Colours is another obvious one, though something of an ironic one given that the premise of the game involved going to other worlds, and those worlds were all converted against their will by Eggman. Yet, they did an equally superb job at creating fun, unique locales, and Aquarium Park in particular remains a favourite of mine.

Gotta love that red/blue contrast.

- The Riders series has a more futuristic bend compared to the rest of the series, but even when it's not all high-tech, it's got some pretty cool environments of its own, and I feel they even do well at mixing the real world side of things on top of that. Gigan Rocks comes to mind, as does Aquatic Capital.

Reminds me of when Perfect Chaos peacefully protested against Station Square.

- Regardless of my thoughts on the game itself, Secret Rings had some undeniable winners in this depertment. You tell me with a straight face that Night Palace doesn't look amazing.

A wonderful palace for a domestic abuser.

- And lastly, they might have had an early advantage since they're already 2D, but the Advance trilogy and Rush duology deserve a mention. They had some fantastic ideas for zones, like Planet Sonata Music Plant, and they did great with the colours as well. Hell, throughout these five games, the sky was practically every shade of the rainbow at one point or another.

Oh look, another completely whole moon.

Also, quick shoutout to another minor detail akin to the grassy sections of Red Mountain: these pink tunnel sections in Ice Mountain. No elaborate point to make here, just another perfect example of how much I adore these games' use of colour and contrast.

Seriously, I could go on for hours about good contrast.

Although I do bring up these small details for another reason, and in turn, another layer to my more nuanced take on Sonic aesthetics. By this point, we get the basic jist: Crusher likey when Sonic levels unique and pretty. But this can - and has - lead to a couple of misconceptions, so I'd like to address those and then laugh at them.

“So you want Sonic's world to be exactly like Mario?”

A common complaint that Lost World received was that it was too much like Mario, in more ways than one, and part of this was to do with the game's visual style. The zones may have been upbeat, but they often consisted of a bunch of things floating in the air and not much else, ala 2D Mario. While I didn't outright hate it, it’s definitely not what I have in mind for Sonic.

Of course, all complaints about being too much like Mario suddenly turn into praise when Eggette gets brought up...

And why is that? Because yes, I like my Sonic locations to be fun and lively... but I also want them to be firmly established within the context of this universe. The Lost World approach is fine with Special Stages and the sort, but outside of that... well, Studiopolis is a perfect example of what I'm talking about:

On one hand, it's very unique when compared to other cities in this franchise, and it's full of quirkiness, great use of colour, and all that good stuff I've went on about. But at the same time, it's grounded just enough so that it still feels like an actual city that the people of Sonic's world could feasibly live in, rather than a basic and empty video game level with a tacked on city background. Studiopolis may be a level from a video game, but you can totally believe it's a fully fleshed out place from its own perspective.

Naturally, this praise also rings true with the Modern games I listed earlier, and is yet another reason for why I approve of their settings.

“So you think Sonic can't have darker locations?”

It might be easy to take my compliments at face value, and assume that I'm immediately opposed to a zone that's not brightly colored. This is... very obviously false, as even the Classic games have their share of less-than-cheery areas, such as Scrap Brain and the Bad Futures in Sonic CD.

However, when you're making a grittier location in Sonic's world, regardless of the context, it still needs to be interesting. The problem with a lot of them in Modern installments is that they're boring. Crisis City is a generic city on fire. Westopolis is a generic city with aliens firing lasers from above. The prison levels in SA2 - and the indoor ARK levels not named Cannon's Core - are just grey hallways for the most part. That shit isn't exciting, and it doesn't get my mind speculating. It just makes me want to move on.

Let the eggsperts take care of this.

By contrast, Eggmanland is a prime example of how to do it right. Eggmanland is a magnificent theme park as envisioned by the good doctor, but it's also, at its core, a giant metal hellscape fueled by the energy of a dark entity, and it only gets more ominous the further you go through it or try to before you give up because it’s too fucking long and you died at the end. So it sets the mood to be sure, but it's still visually compelling to look at, and interesting to think about.

And since Eggman is apparently the only one who can show us how it's done, here's a shoutout to Titanic Monarch as well:

Like Heavy King, but Heavier and Kingier.

When comparing the final zones in Sonic games, I especially love this zone's visual approach, because it manages to be dark and colorful at the same time, and in a strangly organic way. It's got a spooky atmosphere, with a moody moonlight backdrop to match, and the titular robot is foreboding as hell as you climb up it and traverse through it... all the while having red floors, green and yellow wires, blue and pink buildings, and stained glass windows of Eggman and the Heavies for you to marvel at. So even putting aside the unique scenario of climbing up and then through a Kaiju-sized mech, the mood of the zone alone manages to be extremely memorable.

So what have we learned from all this? Aside from the fact that I’m way too interested in this subject? We now know that when I say I prefer the Classic “style” over Modern when it comes to the way that Sonic's world is presented:

- I don't mean that literally.

- There are certain qualities that although both of them possess, they tend to be more immediately associated with Classic in the collective consciousness, even within the fandom.

- The environments that I love the most in Modern games are often the ones that would also fit perfectly in the Classic style.

So whenever I express the basic nature of this opinion in the future... just imagine a small asterisk at the end of my sentence.

[ryttu3k]

Part 2 of my season 12 reaction posts! Find part 1 (Resolution of the Daleks to Fugitive of the Judoon) here!

Praxeus

Thoughts on Doctor Who - Praxeus!

OKAY FIRST. THANK YOU, SHOW, FOR FIXING A BIG ISSUE I HAD WITH THE FIRST SEASON. So they were doing a thing where they’d introduce incidentally queer characters, have a female character mention her wife, stuff like that, only for them to die. This episode had Jake and Adam, married/separated/it’s complicated couple, who face huge amounts of danger, who both come close to dying, but who survive! And have a Big Damn Kiss! And walk off together holding hands! They survived!!

Plotwise, I enjoyed it a ton while watching, although in retrospect it did feel a bit free of danger. The companions were never in true peril because the Doctor can home in on them automatically, and we never got the true scale of the risk of infection, since the only people we saw get infected were in isolated areas. I would have liked to see, for instance, the threat of Praxeus spreading beyond just the very Hitchcockian birds; all of the peril was on an individual level.

Good message, if unsubtle. Mind you, that’s kind of Doctor Who’s thing, and it pisses off conservatives, so all for it, really XD (They must have loved the core relationship in this episode, too!) Like. Subtle doesn’t work. There are literally climate change deniers that exist. Sometimes you actually do have to tell a message with all the finesse of a sledgehammer because .

(Side note, I was deeply concerned when I saw the cowriter was the guy who did the hot mess that was Kerblam!, so at least this was just an unsubtle and kind of questionably written story instead of an actively harmful one.)

The companions: Ryan seems a fair bit more confident on his own? His initial scenes with Gabriela showed that he’s starting to work well even without backup, and picking up the bird proved to be a damn good call. Yaz and Graham were a fun pair, and Yaz got a lot to do when she and Gabriela (again!) got to explore, and I can definitely understand the conflict between curiosity/doing what’s right and safety when it came to the teleport scene. She does seem to be bordering on the reckless. Intriguing!

Minor plot snag - Graham knows how to set up an IV, presumably because of the shitload of time he spent in hospital! …And yet he doesn’t know what a pathogen is?

Friend note!

“fun fact about graham seemingly not knowing what a pathogen is! in my reading of the scene, i saw it as graham knowing what one was. with "Well, I’m glad you asked that…!” he seems like he’s actually sort of pleased with himself, like he’s about to launch into an explanation, and then IIRC there’s a very brief shot at Ryan giving him a Look and Graham immediately changes tone to “…cause I didn’t want to look stupid.” he immediately changes from boosting his own ego to bolstering ryans and im love"

In which case, good shit gooood shit.

SFX - the infection was creepy as shit. The very obviously puppet bird near the lab was hilariously bad.

Apparently the filming was tricky because it was super windy so all the shorts of Thirteen with her hair Like That weren’t planned, it just kind of happened. Love a fluffy ruffled Thirteen.

So anyway. People calling for more plot focus - literally this is the Doctor trying to distract herself and not focus on the plot! This is her avoidance tactic! Emotional honesty? Who’s she? She’ll get back to it eventually, but for now she needs a distraction after being punched in the emotions. Give her that for one episode, c'mon.

Ryan: “…I do a lot of running.”

Graham: “Whatever is giving off those weird readings… is on the other side of that wall!” Yaz: *silently turns scanner around* Graham, not skipping a beat: “…is on the other side of that door!”

Yaz: “I don’t want you to panic, but… we followed one of those things through a teleport and now I think we’re on an alien planet.” Thirteen: “…well, you don’t do things by halves!”

Thirteen: “That’s why you smell of dead bird! I thought you’d changed your shower gel.”

Thirteen: “I’m having half a thought. Ooh, this one tickles!”

Thirteen: “What can I say? I’m a romantic~”

In conclusion, Doctor Who said gay rights.

-

Can You Hear Me?

Thoughts on Doctor Who - Can You Hear Me?

Trigger warning for discussion of depression and suicide.

You know you're in for a wild ride when iView warns for horror themes instead of science fiction themes.

Overall: at first impression, it felt sort of mashed together? There's 14th century Aleppo, and there's 21st century Sheffield, and there's a deep space station, and there's creepy monsters and dream villains; I do kind of wonder why Zellin targeted a random girl in Aleppo as source for his pet monster, although targeting people like Ryan's best friend makes sense if he's deliberately trying to lure the Doctor to him.

The theme, on the other hand, of mental health resiliance and reaching out, was done incredibly well. Oh yeah there'll be more comments about it - the Guardian described it as 'adventures in Wokeness' - but damn, sometimes you need to hear it. I loved getting more of Yaz' backstory, about being a desperate teenage runaway at the point of being suicidal, and her reunion with the older woman legitimately made me tear up.

But like, goddamn. Her nightmare - she's still hearing that. She's still hearing her sister saying that she should "do it right this time" and that this time she won't call and that no one is coming and holy fuck. God this makes so many of Yaz' scenes incredibly painful in retrospect, knowing that she was at that point only three years before and that she's still dreaming that shit! It makes her recklessness terrifying!

Ryan's nightmare, and his experience with Tibo - it's quite reflective of the Doctor, too. She wasn't there, and Gallifrey burnt. And Ryan is realising this now, and really thinking about the potential future in Orphan 55. I think this is absolutely foreshadowing Ryan leaving at the end of the season (there's been a lot of speculation given Tosin's new TV role), and I think Ryan and Yaz' discussion at the end of the episode was a definite hint in the direction of Ryan choosing to going back to Earth.

Would have really liked Graham, during his talk with the Doctor, to gently remind her that she can talk about her own problems, although I can understand the narrative choice on why she didn't (although, yeah, would have been good for Graham to ask). Because, yeah, if anyone needs a sympathetic ear (...sans fingers) or a shoulder to lean on, it's her!! The entire theme of this episode was like... reaching out. Conquering your fears with the help of others. Sharing your fears to lessen them. Getting help. And the Doctor deliberately... not doing that makes it into an actual Thing that I think is going to seriously be addressed by the end of the season.

It's been such an ongoing theme. A bunch of episodes have started with an obviously depressed Doctor. The Fam has tried to raise the issue multiple times and have discussed it amongst themselves even more. Scenes like Yaz' reaction after being abducted in Spyfall (...which makes her, "I thought I was dead" part even more worrying) and being comforted by Ryan, not the Doctor... her whole reaction to Graham being like, "I'm glad you talked to me but I literally can't do the same in return" - if it's not addressed by the end of this season, it's at least going to have to be an ongoing theme, because it's becoming very deliberate now.

An interesting note: the actor who played Zellin (an immortal manipulator of nightmares) also voiced the Remnants (who were the first to mention the Timeless Child in The Ghost Monument). Coincidence or deliberate?

Assorted thoughts:

"I'm still quite socially awkward." There's socially awkward and there's emotionally repressed... (I saw a description of it on Tumblr as 'weaponised dissociation' and... yeah. And also yikes.) Also the way she was so closed in on herself, basically hugging her arms to her body! On a semi-related note, talking to herself in Aleppo was a bit depressing. Like it's continuing the theme of The Doctor Does Not Like Being Alone.

The finger thing - ew ew ew ew it's in their EARS ewww D:

Stylistic comment: the traditionally-styled animation for the Immortals' game was gorgeous.

"Try not freak out, yeah, but you're on a floating space platform trapped in a gravitational pull between two colliding planets."

"Thanks for lending a helping hand!" Companions just being, "...Doctor p l s."

On an old lore note, loved the callback to Eternals, Guardians, and the Toymaker! On a concerning note, man, the Doctor has so many issues with immortals. They abandoned Jack, there was the punishment they gave the Family of Blood, they had those Issues with Ashildr (from what I've read), now this, an eternal punishment with no chance of redemption, perhaps because she knows what immortality does? Parallels with the Doctor as quasi-immortal too, which Zellin even pointed out.

"You're wrong about humans. They're not pathetic. They're magnificent. They live with their fears, doubts, guilt. They face them down everyday and they prevail. That's not weakness. That's strength. That's what humanity is."

(Contrast: "That's what humanity is." The Doctor isn't human. She's not prevailing against her fears, doubts, and guilt.)

In conclusion, literally everyone but the creepy immortals needs a hug.

-

The Haunting of Villa Diodati

Thoughts on Doctor Who - The Haunting Of Villa Diodati!

tfw you think you're just going to get a nice spoopy historical and instead get major plot?

Overall impression: Well, Jack is going to be pretty miffed, given that the Doctor had to do precisely what he didn't want to happen - giving the Lone Cyberman what it wanted. To save Shelley, and also to save the future, although that does bring up the question on if the death of one person can rewrite the future, why doesn't that apply to literally everyone? Fletcher the valet and Elise the nurse died too, do their deaths have the same impact? Either way, the Doctor takes the Cyberium for herself - then realises that the Cybermen are inevitable, and returns it. And now she's trying to go and stop them. So... a bit conflicting in the message there, I think.

Yeah. Bit of a Trolley Problem there.

The characters were really fun. I did enjoy seeing Mary's sense of morbidness, but also her kindness and sympathy towards the Cyberman; you can see the foundations of Frankenstein there. I'm seeing some criticism of how Byron was portrayed as a coward, but eh. Nice little callback to Ada. Also I love how one of the rules was 'no one snog Byron'. Put that dirty boy back, you don't know where he's been! Glad Claire realised that too, although historically, she was already pregnant with his daughter at that point (and that didn't go well at all)... Either way. Good display of all these bright young reckless things.

(And yes, they were young. Byron was the eldest at 28. Shelley was 23, Polidori was 20, Mary and Claire were just 18. And while Claire lived to 80 and Mary to her 50s, the three men all died young, too - Byron at 36, Shelley at 29 - yes, from drowning, Polidori at just 25. Also wasn't mentioned that Polidori also created something on that Dark And Stormy Night along with Mary's Frankenstein - he wrote The Vampyre, the first modern vampire story!)

The Lone Cyberman (and I am deliberately using that instead of 'Ashad') - creepy as shit. Not just the whole Frankenstein look, but the way he acted! Not emotionless and blank, but actively manipulative and sadistic! Mary showed empathy and he actively threw it back in her face! I mean, yikes.

House was terrific and also spooky as hell. (Am lowkey miffed that no one went "VIBE CHECK!") The jumbled layout was quite Castrovalva, and I actually really dig that Graham got to see some actual ghosts. Ghostly sandwiches!

I think we got actual confirmation here that Yaz does have feelings for the Doctor? (Bleeding Cool News is pretty sure that it was for Ryan, but... lmao no.) BBCA twitter certainly thinks so!

Claire: "His answers only increase the enigma." Yaz: "I know someone like that." Claire: "This enigmatic person of yours... would you trade them for reliable and dull?" Yaz: "My person's a bit different..."

I MEAN.

(It got deleted. So. There is that.)

Thirteen: "Hmm. Fourteenth... no. Fifteenth century... touch more umami." (Doctor, have you been playing Detroit: Become Human again?)

Mary: "I don't think they're really from the colonies!" Byron: "No, she... is from somewhere much, much stranger." Polidori: "The North."

Thirteen: "YOU HAD ONE JOB."

Cyberman: "You appear courageous. But your vital signs betray a heightened state of anxiety." Thirteen: "Or as I like to call it... Tuesday."

Thirteen: "Yeah, 'cause sometimes this team structure isn't flat. It's mountainous, with me at the summit, in the stratosphere, alone. Left to choose. Save the poet, save the universe. Watch people burn now, or tomorrow. Sometimes even I can't win."

Claire: "You pursued Mrs Doctor without a care for my presence, belittled my thoughts and opinions... and then proceeded to use my person as a human shield." Byron: "...And?" Claire: "And the spell is broken... my lord." Polidori's face: "haha you fucked up dude"

Next week: Shit Hits The Fan.

-

Ascension of the Cybermen

In lieu of a proper post for Ascension of the Cybermen, here are a list of questions we need an answer for.

Will Graham and Yaz survive, on a giant carrier full of Cybermen?

Who is Brendan, and what is his relevance to the story?

What is the Boundary?

How is Gallifrey in the Boundary?

How was the Master in Gallifrey, and not trapped by the Kasaavin?

Who is Ko Sharmus and why am I getting Yana vibes?

Who is Ashad and what is his story? (And why is his theme such a literal banger?)

Is he an actual Cyberman? Because I'm totally getting this impression he's human in armour?

How did Brendan survive being shot, and why did his non-ageing father and mentor do that?

Why did it look like a chameleon arch?

Is Ethan's tech-savvy just warzone familiarity or something more sinister?

Are there any other large human populations left?

Was I detecting a hint of romantic tension between Graham and Ravio?

What's up with Yaz?

Why did the Cyberium get sent to that time period?

Who or what is this alliance Jack is a part of?

How do the Time Lords and the lie of the Timeless Child come into it?

WHO THE FUCK IS BRENDAN?

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The Timeless Children

WELL THEN.

While I gather proper thoughts on The Timeless Children, here are the questions I had from Ascension of the Cybermen, now with answers!

Will Graham and Yaz survive, on a giant carrier full of Cybermen?

Yup! Disguises for the win!

Who is Brendan, and what is his relevance to the story?

Brendan is a filtered overlay memory of one of the Doctor's former lives.

What is the Boundary?

An anomaly, as far as I can tell.

How is Gallifrey in the Boundary?

No idea!

How was the Master in Gallifrey, and not trapped by the Kasaavin?

No idea!

Who is Ko Sharmus and why am I getting Yana vibes?

A big damn hero.

Who is Ashad and what is his story? (And why is his theme such a literal banger?)

We're still not actually sure. Either way, he's an action figure now.

Is he an actual Cyberman? Because I'm totally getting this impression he's human in armour?

Yeah, sort of.

How did Brendan survive being shot, and why did his non-ageing father and mentor do that?

Because Time Lords.

Why did it look like a chameleon arch?

It's probably related technology! If the chameleon arch rewrites memories, this one just wipes them.

Is Ethan's tech-savvy just warzone familiarity or something more sinister?

Just warzone familiarity. Poor li'l bean.

Are there any other large human populations left?

Possibly! If the Boundary really did send them to random places, there still could be surviving pockets elsewhere in the universe.

Was I detecting a hint of romantic tension between Graham and Ravio?

Maybe a bit XD And now they're all on Earth, who knows?

What's up with Yaz?

Who knows?

Why did the Cyberium get sent to that time period?

Ko Sharmus sent it. Didn't send it far enough.

Who or what is this alliance Jack is a part of?

Same organisation Ko Sharmus is part of. Also, young!Ko Sharmus/Jack please.

How do the Time Lords and the lie of the Timeless Child come into it?

In so many ways.

WHO THE FUCK IS BRENDAN?

The Doctor!

More thoughts later!

-

Thoughts on Doctor Who - The Timeless Children.

...Actually, first thought is the title. Timeless Children? Hmm.

Anyway. That is... sure a literally mind-blowing revelation for the Doctor, yes! Like, damn, the discovery that you're not even the species you thought you were, that your adoptive parent spent lifetimes abusing and experimenting on you, that your memories were routinely erased by people you thought you could trust (including your adoptive parent), that you're literally the progenitor for your entire species, that you've lost who knows how much time and who knows how many memories... yeah. Damn.

What's an appropriate birthday present for someone turning ten million?

Also, huh. Amidst all the old lore and casual mentions (like Borusa!) that got mentioned - were they taking hints from the Cartmel master plan? About the Doctor being some kind of founding figure for Gallifrey? Not exactly written as Cartmel had it, but that big main concept of the Doctor as a sort of... foundation piece of Time Lord culture was still actually there.

Brain of Morbius Doctors confirmed, I guess. I guess even Four was going, "...the fuck?"

Cybermen = still scary. Regenerating Cybermen = felt somehow obscene. Like, no, that's just fundamentally not right. Like the TARDIS responding to Jack by noping the fuck out kind of not right. God. And the Master was completely and utterly magnificently batshit, like, more than usual, come on, dude, you know they'd kill or convert you the second you turned your back.

Still. Deeply, deeply entertaining to watch just from a villain perspective, completely Chaotic, and like... I do understand where he was coming from? His entire life is a lie. His entire life is because of the Doctor, who, I think it's fair to say, he has Complicated Feelings regarding. (Their entire interaction this episode was a giant power play. Like damn guys just get into BDSM and leave the would-be genocide and universal takeover.)

Tecteun = Rassilon, I'm assuming. Goddamn. Like they were a pompous abusive asshole from the outset, this just kind of makes it worse. I also wonder if Rassilon chose the Master specifically to get the drums because he was friends with the Doctor? That actually may have been something the Master worked out himself, too. I mean, I'd be pissed off as well :-\

Also, how many people know about this? I assume Gat knew, since she was implied to be responsible for the mind wipes, but was it like... a super tightly-held secret or was it something a lot of higher-ups knew? Because that's fucked up tbh

Thought on the Master. Okay, he's hugely furious that he's been lied to, that the entire origin of his people is based on a lie, that his greatest friendrivalloveenemy is incredibly special and that a part of her is in him and not in the fun way, but like... I'm also wondering if he's looking at the Time Lords, the way they turned him into their puppet, how they drove him insane for their own purposes, then looked at the Doctor - someone who has also been used, abused, experimented on, manipulated, controlled, and went, "No. This is an injustice and the Time Lords need to be punished for it."

Oh, saw a nice theory regarding the TARDISes - Ruth!Doctor had the original busted police box TARDIS. When she was eventually taken in to be mind-erased, they sent the TARDIS off to storage to be eventually repaired. The Doctor manages to steal that one, goes to Earth, and it immediately gets stuck again because it's still broken. Explains how Ruth!Doctor can have the police box while also being pre-everything.

I really want the Doctor and Jack to sit down and have a nice chat about being timeless undying constants of the universe. Also for Jack to get one of the spare TARDISes around. Be kinda funny if he got the Master's old one, given the Year That Never Was, but it really is just sitting there. (Poor TARDIS stuck as a tree on a random wartorn planet in the far future, though!)

Also, Jodie was fucking magnificent in this episode. The hurt, the absolute fury, the almost glee when she's telling the Master he can't break her, her refusal to press the button at the end (so much like Nine's "coward or killer?" moment!)... just... so good.

Beautiful post I saw here on Tumblr - the Doctor as the Timeless Child, making the choice to help.

Amazing post here on Tumblr about abuse and repressed memories. Even if the Doctor doesn't remember it all, the abuse they underwent at the hands of a beloved parent figure still informs a hell of a lot of their behaviour, but it doesn't define them. The Doctor's need to run = informed by abuse. The Doctor's desire to help crying children = informed by abuse. The Doctor being an inherently good person = being their own person, no matter what their upbringing, no matter what their past was. They made the choice to be the Doctor, and that's a hell of an important thing.

Extremely painful post I saw on Tumblr about the Doctor being 'hip with the kids' by calling her companions her Fam but hell if they're not more family to her than her actual adoptive mother ow my heart.

Also, the scene between Yaz and Graham was so sweet <3 I do want to see Yaz, at some point, admit that sometimes she's so terrified she can barely move, and to tell him what she came so close to doing when she was sixteen, and Graham to just go, "Yeah, but you keep going." Also I'm trying not to think about how Yaz would respond to the Doctor going off on a suicide mission when Yaz was suicidal just three years earlier because ow my heart. She knows that Ko Sharmus went after her, she knows the Doctor might be alive, but either way, she's just seen someone she loves leave with the intention of dying (and Ko Sharmus too, actually). Someone please give her a hug. Actually please just let the Fam have a big group hug in general.

"Have you ever been limited by who you were before?" "Huh. Now that does sound like me talking."

So, remaining questions to be answered next season!

What actually is the Doctor? Since they were found near the Boundary, they could be from anywhere. It's fair to say they now are recognised genetically as a Time Lord, but what were they originally, why were they abandoned in the first place, and are there any more of their original people out there?

How do the Remnants know about the Timeless Child, or were they just picking up on that unconscious knowledge from the Doctor's own mind?

Like... we're generally under agreement that the Master, the eternal cockroach, survived, right? Despite definitely being lowkey suicidal like oh, was hoping the Death Particle would kill me? Like the Death Particle was made by the Cyberium, it could have gone, "Nah, keeping this one."

What's going on with the Kasaavin? Remember them? Still out there, stationed all through time and space? And are we going to see Daniel Barton again?

Is something going on with Yaz?

Will the Fam stay on? (I personally think Ryan will elect to stay on Earth to account for Tosin Cole's new TV role, and if Graham and Ravio enter a relationship, he might too.)

When will we see Jack again? If he was connected to the Lone Cyberman arc, that seems... pretty conclusively finished, unless we're going to learn more about it?

Is it Christmas yet?

............so the Christmas/NY special is going to start with Jack using his vortex manipulator to bust the Doctor out of prison and get back to the Fam and it'll never be mentioned again, right.

"At least buy me diNNER!!"

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Plots and Planning

Something different for this story.  I have decided to write how the various factions of the different universes that make up the story would react to all these new galaxies colliding.  This particular one is the Imperium of Man and the forces of Chaos from Warhammer 40K.  Why them?  Because they are the most gung-ho and definitely two of the most powerful groups within all of the universes, so I had to find some way to make sure they didn’t go into this new reality all guns blazing.  Divine intervention and brotherly bickering will do that nicely.  It is about to get real complex real quick, so if you have any questions, most definitely feel free to ask.  I will be writing more of this style, so if you have a request about a certain group or government, please feel free to ask.  As per usual, none of these characters or universes belong to me.  Enjoy the story.  

A note on timelines:  This takes place around 950.M41, during the height of the Ciaphas Cain book series.  This is before the the 13th Black Crusade and the Fall of Cadia.  

Warhammer 40k Galaxy

Holy Terra, Throneworld of the Imperium of Man

Holy Terra.  The birthplace of the human race.  Seat of power of the most dominant empire in the galaxy.  The most sacred planet in the galaxy to humanity, for it was here that the Emperor himself sat upon the Golden Throne, here that holy humanity was born, and here that the leaders of the Imperium, operating in the Emperor’s stead, convened.  And today was a most important day, for the High Lords of Terra, the council put in place by the Emperor to guide the Imperium in His absence, would meet to discuss the current situation.  

The gilded spires of the Imperial Palace reached into the sky, towering above all the rest of the structures on the planet as the massive bells of countless cathedrals tolled noon.  The entire planet was one massive city, housing hundreds of billions of people.  And, quite a beautiful city at that.  For here there were no ugly grey skyscrapers or disgusting constructs made of glass and cold steel.  No.  Here, every building was a work of art.  Reaching into the sky, some tens, if not hundreds, of kilometers high, they were all masterpieces, created by the finest architects ever born of the human race.  All had the same architectural style, a mixture of what ancient Terrans had called Greco-Roman and Gothic.  Huge domes, massive towers, and flying buttresses, all ornamented and carved to a ridiculous detail, stretched as far as the eye could see.  But, despite their size, or decoration, the Imperial Palace put all the other buildings to shame.  

Stretching the entire length of what had once been known as the Himalayan Mountains, it was the largest and most beautiful structure on the planet.  Created by the finest architect ever known to man, it was the seat and symbol of Imperial power, and the most protected fortress in the galaxy.  It was here that the God-Emperor of Mankind sat upon the Golden Throne, and it was here that the High Lords would convene.  

  The room was opulent, paneled with wood from ancient and long-extinct Terran trees, and lined in gold.  The ceiling had a massive fresco of the Emperor and his sons, painted in loving detail and framed by statues of cherubs where the walls met the ceiling.  The High Lords of Terra, leaders of the twelve most powerful branches of the Imperium of Man, sat underneath it at a long table draped in a white cloth.  Interestingly enough, for the rulers of an empire whose expressed purpose was to exterminate all non-humans, few of the High Lords looked like normal men and women.  

If one was to look at the table through an overhead view, then the man at the top right was the most easily noticeable, despite being far from the largest or most dangerous-looking person in the room.  He wore elaborate, overly decorated crimson and gold robes, and a human skull, massive reams of paper spilling from its maw, hovered over his right shoulder.  He was the Master of the Adeptus Administratum, the administrative and bureaucratic division of the Imperial government, and currently he was rambling about taxes in the Segmentum Obscurus while the other Lords pretended to pay attention.  

Sitting next to the Master of the Administratum in a clockwise direction was one of the few normal looking individuals at the table.  While his hair was grey and cybernetics were peeking through at the base of his neck, he still looked human, and still looked alert.  He was the Grand Provost Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites, the Imperium’s state police.  He sat quietly, unobtrusively, while his college prattled.  

Further down the table was a figure that towered over the rest and did not look even remotely human.  It was at least ten feet tall, and a mass of augmentations, slithering wires and metal plates peeked out from behind a large red robe emblazoned with a cogwheel symbol.  The rest of the Lords seemed unnerved by his...her...its gaze, as if the lenses built into the lump that could be called a faceplate could see right through them.  (Which, incidentally enough, they quite literally could, if the user wished it)  The being was the Fabricator General of Mars, and the leader of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the branch of the Imperium charged with overseeing, preserving, and repairing technology.  

Next in line was a tall man wearing a deep blue uniform.  Golden epaulettes adorned his shoulders, and cold green eyes surveyed the table from beneath carefully combed grey hair.  He was one of the few completely normal looking people at the table, and his position was Lord High Admiral of the Imperial Navy.  

Fifth from the top was an odd looking man who huddled deep into his crimson robes.  Unlike many of the others, he appeared to have absolutely no interest in the man talking at the head of the table.  An air of moroseness seemed to cling to the very air around him as he huddled into his chair.  He was the Master of the Astronomican, in charge of overseeing the sacrifice of thousands to fuel the God-Emperor’s massive navigational beacon.  

Last on the right side of the table was a petite white-robed woman.  Her hair seemed to shimmer several different colors in the light given off through the room's massive stained glass windows, and her eyes gleamed violet.  A pure white strip of cloth, emblazoned with the Imperial Aquila, covered her forehead.  None of the other High Lords would look directly at her face, and she seemed to take great amusement at this by striving to look whomever she was speaking to directly in the eye.  They would then flinch and look away as quickly as possible.  She was the Paternoval Envoy of the Navigators, the semi-human beings responsible for steering Imperial starships through the miasma of the Warp.  

Continuing clockwise, at the bottom left of the table was a pale faced man in another white robe.  His face was shrunken and seemed to be drawn inwards to his hollow eye sockets.  However, despite his non-existent eyes, he had the unnerving tendency to stare directly at the face of whomever was speaking as if he could see perfectly.  He was the Master of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, the school in charge of training Imperial psykers.  

(Authors note:  If you don’t know what a psyker is and you desire to find out, ask me separately.  It’s too complicated to explain here.)

Next to him was a tall, muscular man clad in a tight-fitting black suit.  His face was completely normal, with strong cheekbones and a jutting jaw, all framed by short cut jet black hair.  His eyes were steely grey, and if one was to look closely, they would see that those eyes concealed a breathtaking malevolence behind them.  He sneered and stared at his colleagues as if they were prey instead of the most powerful collection of beings in the galaxy, for he was the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum, the organization tasked with destroying any threats to Imperial power in subtle, or not-so-subtle ways.  

One up from the Grand Master was a relatively normal looking grey haired man.  His chest was so covered in medals it was hard to see exactly what color shirt he wore underneath, and the left portion of his face was dominated by a metal plate and cybernetic eye, replacing the real flesh he had lost in an explosion long ago.  He was the Lord Commander Militant of the Astra Militarum (more commonly known as the Imperial Guard), the Imperium’s main ground fighting force.  

Farther to the top of the table was a figure swathed in a heavy grey robe and cowl.  The lower part of the figure’s face was feminine in nature, but nothing else could be gleaned about her nature due to the cowl’s shadow.  She sat stock still, eyes moving as if looking for threats from beneath the hood.  She was the representative of the Imperial Inquisition, the dreaded secret police, tasked with finding, hunting down, and eliminating any and all threats to the security of the God-Emperor’s realm.  

Next to her was a tall, imposing woman with hair dyed a silver-white.  A fleur-de-lys was tattooed on both her cheeks, and she radiated an air of power.   She was wearing a massively ornate suit of gold and black power armor, and moved inside of it with the ease of long practice.  She was the Abbess Sanctorum of the Adeptus Sororitas, more commonly known as the Sisters of Battle.  They were an all-female organization of soldiers dedicated to the Imperial Church.  

And, speaking of which, the medium sized man at the top of the table was the Ecclesiarch of the Adeptus Ministorum, also known as the Ecclesiarchy or Imperial Church.  He wore white robes emblazoned with the Imperial Aquila, and perched upon his head was a tall mitre of white and gold.  

“Thank you very much for your report on the tithes, Nuchanldus,” said the Inquisitor before the Administratum head could continue speaking.  “But I believe the reason we’re here is to discuss the current situation.  Eight other, different, galaxies have appeared beyond Imperial space, several of them attempting to make contact with us.  We do know that there are humans in at least several of them.  However, we know nothing beyond that.  We are here today to decide how we shall proceed.”  The Abbess turned to her and scowled.  

“None of this would have happened if it were not for your Ordo Chronos.  They tried to break the laws of time and reality, possibly tried to contact the Ruinous Powers, and most definitely broke almost every single Warp-related law of the Imperium.”  The Administratum head spoke up once more.  

“That is correct.  Article 288731-J of the-”

“Yes, thank you,” shot back the Inquisitor with an annoyed glare.  “The Ordo Chronos has been sanctioned, dissolved, and will be handed over to the Ecclesiarchy for punishment, effective immediately.”  Everyone stared at her with shock.  The High Lords always played power games, vying to have their own group come out on top.  To hand over an entire subsection of your own organization to another, whether they broke the law or not, was not just unheard of, it was completely unthinkable.  The fact that the Inquisition was willing to do so meant that things had gotten very, very, serious.  

“Statement- new galaxies have endless possibilities for the discovery of new technology.  Request- Mechanicus wishes to immediately deploy to uncover new technology.”  The Fabricator General’s voice emitted from a speaker on its faceplate, and sounded mechanical in nature, as if it was coming from a badly-tuned radio.  

“Wait a moment!  We have no idea what sort of threats are awaiting us in these new galaxies!  For all we know, they could be completely overrun by beings of Chaos.  We cannot afford to start another war,” said the Commander of the Imperial Guard.  The Ecclesiarch spoke up.

“How do we know what their capabilities are?  It is our duty to purge the-”

“An Inquisitor by the name of Amberley Vail in the Damocles Gulf region has already dispatched a team to find out exactly what these other galaxies are like.  With that team is an exceptionally noted Commissar by the name of Ciaphas Cain,” interrupted the Inquisitor.  “We will see exactly what these new galaxies are like.”  

“This Inquisitor Vail shows remarkably forwardness,” said one Lord.  

“No she does not!” snapped another.  “The Inquisition has completely overstepped its boundaries.  It cannot be the only organization allowed into these new galaxies!” The table dissolved into bickering before the Commander of the Navy pounded his fist on the table for silence.  

“Enough of this squabbling!  You said that there are humans in these other galaxies.  If any of them were alternate universes to our own, then it is possible that the Emperor is alive and well there.  If so, this could be our salvation.”  Hushed murmurings sounded before a new voice broke the silence.  It was inhumanly deep and resonant, and if one were to listen to it, they would be able to feel the power of its wielder. 

“Unfortunately, neither the Emperor or Imperium exist in any of the other galaxies.  They are all completely different from each other and from our own.”  The High Lords turned in surprise at the being who dared to interrupt them, then went meekly silent.  Standing in the room’s entrance, wearing golden armor so incredibly ornamented it made the Abbess’s look like crude metal riveting, was a nine-foot tall man.  Man, however, would be completely inaccurate and slightly insulting to describe this newcomer.  He was a demi-god, lantern-jawed and brown haired.  Flanking him were two other soldiers of the same height, wearing the same style of armor, and welding spears so large that any normal human would tip over if they tried to carry one.  They were the Adeptus Custodes, the personal bodyguard of the Emperor of Mankind.  Genetically enhanced to a ridiculous degree by ancient sciences created by the Emperor himself, they had no peers, no equals, and no superiors save the Emperor.  Each was a masterpiece, and each created to be able to counter any threat.  And now, their leader had strode into the High Lords’ chambers unannounced.  Many of the Lords inclined their heads respectfully as the Ecclesiarch spoke.   

“Captain-General Launceddre.  An honor to see you here.”  

“The Emperor has spoken to us.”  Launceddre dropped the bombshell without pause or preamble.  Several of the High Lords audibly gasped.  The Masters of the Astronomican and Astra Telepathica looked up in interest.  

“How have we not heard of this?”  

“It is a recent development.  We came here as soon as possible,” replied Launceddre.  

“How did the Emperor speak with you?”  Launceddre frowned.  

“It was all rather strange.  As you may know, the Emperor cannot speak in His current state.  But this time… somehow He did.  He spoke aloud.”

“What did he say?”  Most of the High Lords were leaning in, hanging on the Captain-General’s every word.  Even the massively augmented and emotionless Fabricator General seemed interested.  

“He told us to ‘approach the new galaxies with caution.  Use diplomacy and peace, for we will need allies.’”  

“Diplomacy?” scoffed the Inquisitor.  Every eye (or in some cases, empty sockets and cybernetic machines) turned to her.  

“Are you questioning the word of the Emperor?” asked Launceddre plainly.  The Inquisitor paled beneath her hood.  

“No- no of course not!  I would never…” she stammered.  

“Good,” replied Launceddre.  “Summon the masses of your organizations, for we have planning to do.” 

Within the Eye of Terror, Sicarus, Daemon World of the Word Bearers Traitor Legion

Heavy footsteps sounded on the distorted rock floor.  They drowned out the chanting of prayers to the Dark Gods, drowned out the crash and squeal of the heavy iron gates opening, and drowned out the whispers that came at the figure’s approach.  For there were whispers.  Whispers of fear, whispers of awe.  The figure towered over all of the whisperers, towered over even the super-human guards of the Word Bearers, and almost came up to the very top of the twisted iron gates.  The figure gathered a crowd, all servants of the Dark Gods, who knelt and prostrated themselves at the figure’s feet, for the figure was touched by the gods themselves.  

Mortarion, the Death Lord, Primarch of the Fourteenth Legion, Champion of Nurgle, strode purposefully down the path from the outer gates leading to the Templum Inficio, the home of his brother.  Seven massive men followed him, staying exactly forty-nine paces behind him.  They were his personal bodyguard, the Deathshroud Terminators, and it was their job to sacrifice life and limb to protect him.  Not, of course, that he needed protecting.  His body was beyond that of any human, any alien, any creature of the material realm, even beyond the god-like physiques of any of his father’s creations.  He spat the word out like a curse in his mind.  He was beyond the touch of his father now.  

He stood a full sixteen feet tall, taller than all of his brothers.  Great wings, creaking and rotting, gifts from the Lord of Decay, sprouted from his back.  His flesh, tougher than steel, fused with his armor, creating a disgusting, dripping, mess, another gift from his Lord.  A massive scythe, his preferred weapon, was strapped to his back, and an oversized pistol, glowing with ancient and eldritch power, was attached to his hip.  His eyes, glistening with a thin sheen of mucus, stared out with hate from under a heavy hood.  He was the living embodiment of death.  He was the Grim Reaper made flesh.  And currently, he was very pissed off.  

Why, why, did he have to be here?  He didn’t want to be here.  He could be doing a thousand different things; concocting plagues, gardening, feeding the oversized insects, gifts from his Lord, that always seemed to follow his sons, hell, even perhaps murder some of his loyalist nephews.  He would rather be anywhere else but here.  Here, in his brother’s domain.  He had received summons from Lorgar, whom he hadn’t talked to in 10,000 years, to come here and deliberate the current situation.  Not so much as a “Hi Mortarion, how are you?” in 10,000 years, and suddenly Lorgar needed his help.  That was the reason he was here, he suspected.  Always, he was required to solve problems that his imbecile brothers or his bastard of a father couldn’t.  Never “Mortarion, we really appreciate your help!” or “Hey, Mortarion, I want to talk with you,” it was always “Mortarion, we need your help!” or “Mortarion, we have a problem that we can’t solve.”  Mortarion do this, Mortarion do that.  He was fed up with it.  He was prepared to ignore the summons, but Nurgle, his master, had ordered him, as His champion, to be present at the meeting.  It was then that Mortarion had heard the worst news of all.  All, all, all, of his brothers would be there.  Gods damnnit.   

Lorgar he could stand.  Even though Lorgar hadn’t talked to him in 10,000 years, he could stand him, for Lorgar was level headed and possessed a degree of common sense, which was more than he could say for most of his kin.  Angron he could stand, too, because Angron only cared about killing things, which was fine by Mortarion.  Perturabo, another of his brothers, would be there as well, which he didn’t mind either.  Perturabo he liked, for Perturabo was much like himself.  But the rest… the rest.  Fulgrim was too glitzy, too showing, too pretentious, and was, to put it mildly, a complete and utter deviant.  Magnus, another brother, he completely loathed.  Magnus and himself had never seen eye to eye, and he considered Magnus to be a dangerous imbecile who flung warpcraft and magic around with no thought of the repercussions.  Then there was Alpharius, who no one liked, because Alpharius had made it his mission in life to be as sneaky and secretive as possible.  And, of course, inevitably, unfortunately, there would be his nephew, Abbadon.  After Horus, another one of his brothers, had been killed by father, Abbadon had taken over Horus’s forces.  Horus was a real leader of men, a good general, a good brother, and, at least from Mortarion and the rest of his traitorous kins’ perspective, the true leader of the Imperium of Man. 

Abbadon...left much to be desired.  In 10,000 years, he had launched twelve, just twelve, attacks on the Imperium.  None of them had succeeded, several of them being defeated by mortals.  Abbadon was a complete failure of a general who thought himself equal to his uncles.  That was plainly not the case, and Mortarion had no idea why Lorgar had invited Abbadon to this meeting.  He knew for a fact that Lorgar and the rest of his brothers couldn’t stand the man.  It must be something important indeed for all the leaders of the Traitor Legions to be summoned.  And now Mortarion would find out what.  

Word Bearers, the sons of Lorgar, saluted to him as he walked through the long hallways of the temple to his brother’s chambers.  The boiling, unnatural, red sky of Sicarius could be seen through massive stained glass windows emblazoned with the eight-pointed star of Chaos.  Mortarion walked through endless hallways, some weeping blood and pus from the walls, others distorted to unnatural and horrifying shapes, until he reached the inner sanctum.  Two massive daemons, one a deep blood red, covered in spines and with far too many teeth, the other a mass of necrotic flesh and weeping boils, guarded the door and bowed as he approached.  The heavy black stone double doors opened, souls of the damned trapped inside screaming in agony as they tried to break free.  And inside, his brother.

Lorgar Aurelian, Primarch of the Seventeenth Legion, his form twisted by the powers of the Dark Gods and his face illuminated by unholy light emanating from within him, rose from his seat with what could be described as a smile on his face.  

“Mortarion.  A pleasure to see you after all this time.”  Mortarion gave a half agreeing nod, half respectful bow.  

“I can say the same about you as well.”  He looked past Lorgar and nodded affably at the two other forms seated at the massive stone table.  

“Perturabo, Fulgrim, good to see you.”  He glanced at Fulgrim and did a double take.  “I must say, you’ve changed since I last saw you.”  Fulgrim smiled dazzlingly.  The effect was rather ruined by the odd, unnatural perfectness and violet hue of his face.  

“I have been blessed by the Dark Prince.  I am now more beautiful than any other.”  He paused for dramatic effect as Perturabo rolled his eyes.  “I am perfect.  You must have obviously noticed my face, which is-”  Mortarion cut him off.  

“No,” he stated bluntly.  “Why do you have four arms?  And why in the name of the gods do you have a snake tail?”  Fulgrim glanced down at the lilac tail that had replaced his lower body.  

“I… uh… it’s a gift from Slaanesh. Whom, of course, I serve, as you all well know.  It represents-”

“Yes, thank you Fulgrim,” said Lorgar before he could say anything else.  Apparently Fulgrim had been rambling before Mortarion arrived, something he most definitely did not regret missing.  

“Now we have Mortarion here.  Where’s everyone else?” asked Perturabo tiredly.  Before anyone else could answer, an ear splitting crack filled the room as everyone inside was dazzled by a flash of blinding light that seemed to be every color in existence, yet at the same time had no color.  The air cleared, and, standing where the flash had appeared, was a tall figure in ornamented armor.  His skin and hair were both pure crimson, and his one good eye glowed with eldritch power.  Magnus the Red, Primarch of the Fifteenth Legion, had arrived.  Mortarion promptly gave him a glare that had, on occasion, wilted plants.  

“Still so unnecessarily dramatic,” Mortarion sneered.  Magnus shot him a glare that could literally kill.

“Mortarion.  Still so extraordinarily obtuse.  Tsk, tsk.  How are your psychic powers working out for you?” replied Magnus.

“They are not psychic powers!” exploded Mortarion.  He settled uncomfortably into a chair.  “It’s science.”  Magnus rolled his one eye, which rather spoiled the gesture.

“Oh yes, of course.  Creating an entire planet with your mind and killing things with a gesture is science.  Please tell me more.”  

“It is not your pathetic and dangerous sorcery, you moron.  I’ve seen sorcery growing up.  It ruined my adoptive homeworld.  My science does not destroy or rend reality as yours does.  It complies-”

“You still are so incredibly stubborn as to think that is not sorcery?  I’ve seen infants with a higher I.Q. than yours!”

“You’ve just been sour ever since I was proven right at the Council of Nikea,” said Mortarion.

“I am not!  I was not wrong then, and I am not wrong now!  Father just listened to you because he wanted to limit my greatness!” 

“Or because you can’t cope with the fact that Leman and I were right.”

“Do not ever say that fucking name!”  

“What? Leman?  Leman, Leman, Leman…”

“Shut up!”  

“Would you two please stop?  The Council of Nikea was ten thousand years ago.  Get over it,” said Lorgar, exasperated.  He sighed.  “While you two were bickering, Abbadon arrived.”  Mortarion and Magnus looked up to see a figure, much shorter than the rest of them, encased in black armor, sitting at the edge of the table.  “Now we’re only missing Angron and Alpharius.”

“Let’s get on with it, Lorgar,” said Fulgrim, looking bored.  

“But Angron and Alpharius haven’t arrived yet!”  

“Angron is now so consumed by bloodlust that I doubt he could even form coherent sentences, let alone plan for the future.  And Alpharius is probably around.  Somewhere.”  

“...fine.  Right, let's go,” sighed Lorgar.  “You are probably wondering why I summoned you all here today.  Recently, through the bending of time and space, nine different galaxies, from nine different realities, have come together to exist in one universe.”

“None of this would have happened if it wasn't for your sorcery, Magnus.  Again, I’m right.”

“It wasn’t my fault!  It was my idiot first captain, trying to reverse his Rubric.  He was conducting an extremely delicate psychic ritual.  The Imperial Inquisition arrived, two extremely powerful points of energy originated from other galaxies, the ritual went to hell, and here we are,” said Magnus.

“Which still proves my ten thousand year old point that sorcery-”

“Mortarion, shut up,” interjected Lorgar tiredly.

“Thank you!”

“Magnus, you too.”  Magnus harrumphed and crossed his arms.  Lorgar rubbed his forehead.

“This is why we never get anything done.”

“Hey, I actually get things done.”  Abbadon spoke for the first time.  “The rest of you just sit on your planets, doing nothing, while I-”

“Shut up and let me talk,” said Lorgar.  “Anyway, as I was saying, nine different galaxies came together.  It is our job to spread the truth of Chaos to all of them.  However, the problem is, none of us can do it alone.  So, the question is, how do we proceed?”  The room exploded.

“We attack now, get the false Imperium out of the way, then destroy anything that dares cross our path!” said Abbadon.

“No, we bide our time, marshal our forces, and wait for the perfect moment to strike!” shot back Mortarion.

“I disagree.  The Warp in the other universes is calm and uncorrupted.  We use this to our advantage.  We hold psychic mastery over everyone except Father.  With the power of the Immateriums of the other dimensions, we can finally tear down Terra's psychic defenses and destroy the Astronomican, thus dooming the Imperium forever,” stated Magnus.

“No!  I will not partake in any of this psychic nonsense.  I-”

“You’re a psyker, Mortarion.”

“No I’m not!  It’s… different.”

“No it’s not!”

Two Hours Later

“Okay.”  Perturabo interrupted Mortarion, Fulgrim, and Magnus, who were currently bickering over whose legion had better-looking armor.  “Lorgar.  Thank you for making me sit through another gods-damned family reunion.  It’s been fun, everyone, but this is pointless and I’m leaving.”  He got up and walked out of the room.  

“Wait!  You can’t leave!  We haven’t even come up with anything yet!” yelled Lorgar to his retreating form.  

“Enjoyable as it has been watching some of the most powerful individuals in the universe bickering like schoolchildren, I must say I agree with Perturabo,” idly intoned Fulgrim.  “I have better things to do with my time.”  With a snap of his fingers and a puff of sweet smelling lavender smoke, he disappeared.  Lorgar turned helplessly to his remaining brothers.

“We can’t just leave with nothing!  We have to come up with some form of plan.”  Magnus sighed.  

“I have a feeling that even if I came up with the most brilliant of plans, some of my brothers wouldn’t follow it just out of spite.  Do what you want.  I’m leaving.”  He snapped his fingers and disappeared with a loud pop! and swirl of color.  Mortarion turned to Lorgar.

“Sorry we couldn’t come up with something.  But if we did, I would probably end up doing all the work anyway.”  And he, too, strode from the room, leaving the servants of Chaos with no plan.  As per usual.

That’s it.  I must admit, it was quite fun writing the Primarchs arguing with each other.  Again, if you have any requests, comments, criticisms, or concerns, feel free to ask.  Also, if you like the “governments interacting” more than the Scoundrels, or vice versa, please tell me.   

[beccarooni]

Space Bros

(A.N: my first asgardians of the galaxy fic! Took me a while, sorry about the wait. This is mostly inspired by that thing about Chris Pratt being able to braid hair. Thanks to @woahthisguy for helping me out with dialogue!)

“No, one of us has to do something. This has gone too far already.“ 

"I don’t see what the problem is. The Angel-God should be able to wear what he likes.”

“Drax, you haven’t worn a shirt in…any of the time I’ve known you. Forgive me if I don’t take your sense of style too seriously.”

“For someone who can’t even reach the table, you-”

Quill leaned against the doorway, watching as the ‘friendly debate’ between Drax and Rocket once again got out of hand. That seemed to be happening a lot recently. Well, he supposed they’d always been a bit like that. And that was what he liked about them, really. Sure, the Avengers were great and all, but they were just so…serious. Serious about their friendships, their battle plans - it was all a bit of a bummer to witness. Which was partly the reason why he’d been so opposed to having Thor join them in the first place. When they’d first met him, he’d been a serious mood killer. Tall, dark, handsome, and an all round axe-wielding angst machine that made his team go crazy. 

And then the blip happened, and suddenly that guy was gone. To where, Quill didn’t exactly know. All he did understand was that somewhere between then and now, all of the anger and pain that Mantis had first witnessed had been shoved somewhere deep under the surface of the Asgardians skin. 

If he was being honest the whole ‘missing 5 years of his life’ thing was still freaking him out. He’d been dead for five years. Rocket had mourned for him, for the whole damn team, for five years. And then all of a sudden he was running out of a portal shooting weird space-creatures, and he was just supposed to deal with all that? 

Things were stressful, and all he’d really wanted to do was go to space, play his tapes, and pretend not to notice the way Rocket stared at them all- like he wasn’t sure if they were even real. 

But then Thor had asked to stay. He’d asked to come with them, just for a little while, and what was he supposed to do? Say no? 

He may have had his disagreements with Thor in the 20 minutes he’d known him, but that was the old Thor. The frankly kind of scary one. This one, with the longer hair and the wild beard and the laughter that seemed just a bit too close to crying - Quill could handle this one. He could understand him, tolerate him, maybe. 

And with their travels of course had come a bit of bonding, no matter how Quill had tried to prevent it. Thor was a likeable guy, with no shortage of crazy stories to tell. Granted, Quill had tuned out at first. Combat stories were all well and good, but when you’d fought a planet who happened to also be your dad, other things started to fall a little flat. 

But then, Thor had started talking about love. 

About a scientist with curly hair and brown eyes, and a giant with green skin and a crooked smile, and that had got Quill’s attention. He’d never been to Asgard - the Ravagers had scared him away from that golden fortress with tales of security systems that seemed straight out of Quill’s own personal nightmares - but even just listening to the man talk about love was like getting smacked in the face with a Shakespearean sonnet. 

Quill got that. He got love that was so intense it made your heart want to explode out of your chest. It was kind of devious, really. Thor had roped him into conversations and now dared to use his charm on him? To win him into a friendship? 

Disgusting. Illegal. Quill would’ve challenged him to a laser-gun based duel if Thor wasn’t the only person on the spaceship who would high five him no matter the occasion. 

But then the eventual day had come where Thor had decided to leave them. To go back home and check on New Asgard, and most importantly to see Bruce. Thor had said “For the first time in about 3 years!” With a sense of levity, and for the most part he’d been happy for him. 

And then Groot had asked what Thor was planning to wear for a 3 year space reunion. 

And then all hell had broken loose. 

All because Thor had gestured to a pair of sweatpants and a jumper and said the fateful words, “these are fine”. 

“Listen, I’ve met his Bruce, alright? Dude wears button up shirts and cardigans. That’s code for being a big green fancy man.” Rocket shook his head, clawing his way back onto the table to poke Drax in the chest.  “That means no sweatpants.”

“He’s a god!” Drax retorted, twirling a knife in hand which Quill was really hoping he wasn’t planning to use. “If I had a lover capable of tearing apart spaceships, I would bed him regardless of pants!”

“Oh my God, we get it Drax. You’re horny for Thor.”

Quill rolled his eyes, failing to hide the fond smile that was creeping over his face. Honestly - he’d truly picked some of the weirdest people in the galaxy to share his life with. 

But he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Maybe they’d never really admit to him being their captain, or see him as their leader. At least, not in the way the Avengers saw that dude in the spangly outfit. But maybe being the captain was more than that. 

Maybe being the captain was loving his team, as cheesy as it sounded, even with all their weirdness. 

Being the captain meant taking care of his crew. And with his eyes drifting away from the table, and down to the darkened hull of the ship, Quill began to suspect that there might be someone else that needed taking care of. 

He pushed away from the wall with perhaps a little more speed than he needed to (in all honesty it was more to avoid Drax’s next weird sex anecdote than with any urgency regarding their resident Thunder Dude, but no one else needed to know that), walking along the various rooms to get to Thor’s bunk. Prior to the asgardians arrival that room had been the designated 'Random Garbage’ room, and had become the largest victim of Rocket’s serious weapon-hoarding problem. It had taken a whole week, and several close calls regarding bomb explosions to clear the place out, and even longer to procure a bed suitable for someone who could summon lightning at will, and who was one bad dream away from conjuring a hurricane. 

He knocked on the door, casting his eyes over the Nordic runes that had been painted over it with a crooked grin. Thor had spent a decent amount of time teaching the guardians Asgardian, more specifically, Asgardian curse words. Not a mission went past now that wasn’t littered with words that would make the Allfather blush, and the not-so-subtle warning to 'Keep Out’ that was posted over Thor’s door was no exception. 

“Just a minute!” 

There was the sound of something smashing from behind the door, and the thud of footfalls followed until the metal panel was thrown open with a clang that made Quill wince - the Asgardian’s slightly flushed face staring back at him. 

“Oh, hello." 

Thor’s face brightened in something close to surprise, as if Quill was a neighbour who’d popped round for a quick chat. 

"Did you need something, Quill? I was just packing." 

"Thought you might need some help." 

He grinned back, peeking his head through the door at the chaos inside. Clothes were strewn over chairs and tables, random axes and swords piled precariously onto any surface that could handle them. And some that definitely couldn’t. 

"Ah, yes. That would be…appreciated." The Demigod clapped Quill on the shoulder in a brief show of thanks, guiding him forward into the war zone he’d created within the span of half an hour. 

"I must apologise for the mess. Had a bit of trouble trying to find clean clothes.”

“Yeah, join the club, pal.” He shook his head, nudging through a pile with his feet. “Spaceship living. Hard on the laundry, harder on the privacy." 

Thor chuckled from across the room, pacing about what little free floor remained as he watched Quill attempt to navigate through it. 

Now, Quill was no stranger to mess. His spaceship was frequently labeled as a blatant violation of any and all safety protocols that existed for rag-tag groups of space bandits (which, surprisingly, there were quite a few of). But something about this mess seemed…off. Clothes had been strewn about, not by laziness or necessity, but what looked like anger. And there were a few still sparking holes in the walls that were definitely made from fists. 

"You uh…” Quill rubbed at the back of his head, trying to think of the right words to say to get to the bottom of this. “You excited about going back?" 

"Hm?” Thor glanced up, brows furrowing as he mulled over the answer. “Well, of course. It’s been a while since I’ve seen everyone. It’ll be nice to catch up.”

“You’re not nervous?" 

"Nervous? Why would I be nervous?" 

Quill shrugged, lifting up a shirt that was still glowing red with embers before dropping it with a hissed curse. 

"Just seems like you’re a bit freaked out about it, is all. Which is understandable, I mean. I’d probably be freaked out too.”

“I’m not nervous.” Thor’s frown deepened considerably, a few stray sparks flying from his fingertips. “I’m…excited. Excited, happy, very happy to see them all again. Not nervous. That’d be stupid.”

“Not even about seeing Bruce?" 

A pause followed before Thor’s next answer, and for a moment Quill was worried he’d crossed a line. The dark shadow that crossed the demigods face was a sharp reminder of the Thor they’d first picked up all those years ago - the sad one, the furious one. The broken one. 

"I don’t -” Thor began, his voice breaking off into silence. He lifted a hand to his mouth, shutting his eyes briefly against what quill was sure were tears, allowing the tremor in his voice to settle before continuing. 

“I don’t know if I can face him like this, Quill.”

“Wait, like what?”

“Like this. This, all of this!”

Thor gestured to himself, his face set into a deep scowl as his hands clawed at his clothes, his hair - all with a ferocity that made Quill grimace in sympathy. 

He didn’t quite know how to handle this, and he was honestly a little nervous to even try. Petty arguments between friends, he could stand. Friendly touches and comforts were things that he could easily dispense, if he needed to. 

If Rocket was angry, he’d want to be left to cool off with a handful of machinery and some light music. If Mantis was sad, she’d want a hug, and something funny to make her laugh. If Gamora, or Drax, or Groot, or any one of his team members needed something, he knew what it was, and when to provide it. 

But Thor was new. Even after 2 years, he was new. 

He’d been about to open his mouth to offer him some privacy when Thor interrupted, his voice low and just so tired. 

“I only went to space to get better. I was supposed to be happy again, and I’m just…not. Coming back like this? Without changing anything about myself? It feels like I’ve failed him, and I promised myself I was done with failure." 

The clenched fists and hunched shoulders really weren’t giving Quill much to go on comfort-wise, but he was done with standing awkwardly at the sidelines. It was time to be the captain. 

Awkwardly stepping over the various piles of junk, Quill finally arrived at the demi-gods side, planting a firm hand onto his shoulder. 

"Look, I don’t know Bruce. Never met the guy, and I don’t fancy going back to earth anytime soon so I doubt I ever will. All I’ve got on him is what you’ve told me." 

And jesus, had he been told a lot. He thought back on it - on the descriptions of a smile that was rare but so, so bright. Of restless hands constantly moving from experiment to experiment, yet still always managed to find time to hold Thor when he needed it. Of someone who seemed delicate, but really was as tough as they came, who’d been through so much in such a short time but still dedicated every minute of his life to helping others. 

Thor had painted a picture of a scientist, and a giant, who loved with as much fire and splendor as a collapsing star. 

Quill smiled softly, tightening his hold in what he hoped was a comforting squeeze, but honestly Thor’s skin could take a bullet and barely even bruise so he wasn’t sure if he’d even felt it. 

"The only way you’d be failing him is if you didn’t come back at all.”

Thor sniffed, and Quill’s brain was screaming at him for a solid 5 second interval that ’you just made the God of Thunder cry, Quill. What the hell is wrong with you, Quill. You walk in to help him clear up his room and within the span of 5 minutes he’s started sobbing and you’re considering throwing yourself out of the airlock, Quill.’

But then he caught a small smile, shaky and ever so slightly water-logged, but present, and he allowed himself to breathe. 

Thor straightened his back, wiping at the sides of his eyes and trying his very best to drown out the crying with a Manly Cough. 

It didn’t really work, but Quill had enough sense in his brain to ignore that part, and forge forward with his role as emotional support captain. 

“But, I think the rest of the team would kill me if I let you go out without sprucing up your image a little bit.”

Thor raised an eyebrow, folding his arms protectively across his chest. "Did you have something in mind?“ 

"Well…" 

**

20 minutes later, Quill was perched on the edge of the bed, brows screwed tightly together in concentration as he stared at the copious amounts of blonde hair currently tangled in his fingers. 

He’d learned many skills as a Ravager. Breaking into vaults, impeccable aim with his blasters, and somewhere along the line a particularly long-haired ravager had taught him the art of braiding. He hadn’t used that skill in a long time, at least before the guardians had come along. Now it seemed every evening he was braiding back Mantis’s hair, and if he was being honest, he was getting pretty good at it. 

A small chuckle from Thor as he looked in the mirror confirmed his suspicions, and gave him a well needed ego boost. 

"This might be the peak of my career, dude.” Quill leaned back, pulling at a couple of loose strands, earning him a warning crackle of lightning from the asgardians fingers. 

“Seriously. Should I become a barber?”

“I think guarding the galaxy is a somewhat higher priority than hair styling.”

“Nah. This is way better. I feel like picasso after finishing the Mona Lisa.”

“What?” Thor turned slightly, prompting Quill to swat at his shoulder as he tied the final few strands into place. 

“I don’t know, I only got an 8th grade education. Leave me alone." 

Quill brushed his hands against his knees, admiring his now finished handiwork with a proud grin. 

"You do look kickass, though.”

“Agreed.”

Thor twisted this way and that in front of the mirror, fingers tracing their way along the length of the braid that just brushed his shoulder blades. 

He got to his feet, turning slightly to place his hands onto Quill’s shoulders in a sudden movement that made a rather undignified noise come out of his mouth. 

“Uh-” Quill’s brain short circuited for a moment, trying to come up with some snarky response and drastically failing to do so. "What are we doing?“

"When I first got here, we didn’t get along too well. And that was partly my fault - I think I came across as a little intimidating." 

”Oookay…”

“Which is ridiculous. You should value yourself more, Quill.”

Thor smiled, moving to pull Quill into what would go down in history as his most awkward, yet somehow most comforting hug he’d ever had. 

“Your talents are varied and I am in no competition with you. You’re a good man. And I thank you for your hospitality these past few years.”

“O-oh.”

Quill managed to stutter through, kicking his brain hard enough to get it to respond in at least some meaningful way, even if that was just reaching up to pat Thor on the shoulders before the two broke apart again. 

“It’s…it’s no problem. You know you’re always welcome here. Even if you make the team go a little crazy.“ 

Thor laughed at that, reaching up to scratch at his beard slightly, his eyes once again turning back to the mirror beside them. 

"It does look nice." 

"Yeah.” Quill nodded, reaching forward to brush an imperceptible smudge of dirt from their resident god’s shoulder. 

“It does." 

**

"Y'know, I’m gonna miss having Blondie around.”

Rocket hopped up onto Quill’s shoulder, watching from the viewing window as a large green gentleman lifted Thor clean off the ground, swinging him in a circle as the two clung together. 

“Where else am I gonna find enough electricity to power all of my stuff?”

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing him again soon." 

"We better. Some of this stuff is seriously unstable.”

“Rocket." 

"I mean, seriously. Like world ending." 

"Oh my God.”

[transcendragon]

Clone Outpost

The rumble of the mining bots makes the entire facility tremble, but Inferior Zeytord 4634 is so used to this that it doesn’t even register. ThreeZs (IZ 80090) and DoubleOs (IZ 76001) are monitoring the machines for this darkside shift, so it’s not his problem right now. Or at least it shouldn’t be. 4634 had taught the others carefully when they came, and the still-learning newbie IZ 895601 wasn’t on deck right now. He wouldn’t even be ready to work nightshift for a couple of weeks, until 4634 thought he was ready. It’s been a long while since ThreeZs and DoubleOs needed 4364’s supervision, though.

4634 wouldn’t even be awake right now if the supply shipment weren’t running so late.

He’s tapped into the system interface on the cargo deck, writing reports as he waits. He figures he might as well get something productive done. The Newbie was going to help him unpack the supplies, but 4634 sent him to bed an hour ago, so now unpacking was going to have to wait until tomorrow. 4634 might as well get something productive done.

An alert on the monitor popped up in front of the atmospheric conditions report 4634 had been working. The cargo vessel was finally here, flashing its Zeyfficial Certificate and this week’s security code through communications.

4634 sighed. He sent off the responding codes and pressed the button to open the transport bay as usual, ready to get this over with so he could sleep.

4634’s interface showed the cargo vessel as it pulled into the airlock, and 4634 frowned. It was a different ship than the standard long haul Zeycraft. It didn’t even look like a Zeytoidian military vehicle at all. The vessel was sleeker than the usual bulky style, and it had an insignia on the side that 4634 didn’t recognize at all.

He checked for his gun in his side pocket. The vessel had a Zefficial Certificate, and those were very hard to check, but it was better to be sure. It had been a long time since 4634 had used his weapon, but he was sure he still could.

With the affirmation that his gun was ready at his side 4634 went out to meet the cargo ship and it emerged from the airlock.

The ship’s door opened down with a thunk and a figure stumbled out of it. 4634 blinked. It’s been a long time since he’d seen one of them.

It was a single person. A human person, 4634 could still tell, though he hadn’t seen any of those since his time on the front lines. The human’s eyes were distinctively brown instead of red, his skin and hair were dark, and in general his features different from 4634’s own in both obvious and subtle ways.

“I’m really sorry about the delay,” the human said. He wore a grey and blue uniform much less dramatic that of the green and black style of the Zeytoidian military. The human drew one hand through his hair as he stared down at a notepad in his hand.

The human gave 4634 an apologetic smile, but got only a blank stare in response. Shifting uncomfortably, the human continued: ““My navigational system does not have a good time working this far out from colonized space. I mean,” the man gestured, “not that this isn’t colonized, you’ve obviously got something going out here, but man. The farthest cargo hub is so far- I mean this place doesn’t even show up on the map-”

“You are not a Zeytord Clone,” 4634 inturrupted. “You aren’t any part of the Zeytoidian military.”

“Uh, yeah, no.” The human shook his head. “No, I don’t have any Zeytord in me, no. I work for a communications and cargo company, actually. The Space Frontiers.” The human gestures again, this time specifically to the emblem on his ship. The logo.

4634’s hand strayed to his weapon.

“Why are you delivering the cargo here?” 4634 demands.

“Woah!” The human’s hands shoot up with palms outstretched. “I’m just working a job, dude! We have some good contracts with the Zeytoidian Empire! We’re a neutral, third-party business or whatever you want to call it. We just do basic supply runs.”

4634 took his hand off his holster and shook his head. Everything seemed to check out, and if this man was going to attack he probably would have already.

“We’ve just always gotten our supply from other Zeytoidian ships,” 4634 said, “and you were very late.”

“Yeah,” the human rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. I’ll get here quicker next time! You want your cargo?”

After the cargo was securely dumped 4634 had to sign the proper forms that said that he got it. Double the amount of forms as usual, for both the contractor and the Empire. 4634 still felt slightly off-balance.

“There was no announcement about a third-party contractor coming in,” 4634 commented as he skimmed the paperwork.

“Yeah, well, you know the empire, almost as bureaucratic as the Republic,” the human shrugged as if 4634 knew anything of the bureaucracy of the Republic. “Anyway, it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it? They probably don’t have enough troops for this kind of non-combat grunt work anymore.”

“What do you mean?” 4634 asked. “Why not?”

“Not after those recent battles, the ones the Republic won,” the human said. “You haven’t heard? They don’t announce these things?”

“They announce victories,” 4634 said, with a shrug of his own, “sometimes.” And when they did announce those victories this mining facility was often some of the last to know, being isolated and far from any Zeyloidian, Republic, or even fragment colony space.

“Huh,” the human said. He didn’t appear to have any words after that, and for a moment they shared an awkward silence. The human cleared his throat.

“Anyway,” he said, “gotta be going. You’re my last delivery for this run, but I’m running late enough as it is.” He began to turn back toward his ship, but gave 4634 a little wave. “Nice to meet you, though. Stoic as you are, you’re a lot nicer than the other Zeytord clones I’ve met!”

4634 acknowledged this with a nod. Unsurprising. Uncloned humans were considered even lowlier than the Inferior Clones, at the bottom of the Zeytord hierarchy.

“Goodbye,” he told the human.

The human lingered in his mind, though probably because it was the first person he’d seen in over two decades without the same face as his own.

. . .

The next supply run was on time, and Newbie was there to see it. Newbie, of course, had never met a human before.

“You look so weird!” Was the first thing Newbie said upon seeing the human. 4364 shook his head slightly, but the human just laughed.

Newbie was very curious.

“What’s your name?” Newbie asked.

“Xaviera Thresh,” the human replied, handing Newbie a box to unload and pack away.

“What kind of name is that?” Newbie asked, crinkling his face into a frown. “Where did you even get that? I mean, Thresh comes from 3, right? Does Xaviera come from 6?”

The human looked amused. “You know humans don’t get assigned numbers, right?”

“What!?” Newbie exclaimed. “How do you keep track?”

“Through their name, mostly,” Thresh shrugged. “I think the numbers are even more confusing. How do you remember them all?” “How do you remember all the names? How do you even name things?” Newbie asked in return. “What qualities made you an Xaviera? Or a Thresh?”

“Well, you keep track through families, kind of,” Thresh began to launch into an explanation of names. “That’s where the last name comes from, it’s usually shared by at least one of the parents who raised or made the child. The first name is chosen individually, and many first names are associated with different cultures or genders.”

“What’s a gender?” Newbie asked. Xaviera opened his mouth to explain, but 4634 had to interrupt to give Newbie his next job.

Newbie scampered off to follow instructions. Thresh shook his head, but there was a smile on his face.

“You know, before this I’d say that all Zeytords were stoic, cold even,” he said. “I’d say it’s coded into your DNA, a feature gifted from Emperor Zeytord himself. Now I’m not sure what to think, because there isn’t a bone of stoicism in that kid.”

“He’s a child,” 4364 said.

“Yeah. Too young to be working on a mining facility in most places,” Thresh commented.

“I was on the front lines of the war even younger,” 4364 said. “The facility is safe. It’s a good job.”

Not that Newbie ever believed 4364 when he said that. No, Newbie wanted the glory of battle! To fight for his Emperor, his country, himself! That’s practically the slogan of the learning facilities for Inferior Zeytord. The other four had been all for it too, playing at it all the time when they were younger and first sent to the facility. It’s only Four-Four got sent off and failed to come back that they stopped being quite so enamored with the idea.

4364 hoped that Newbie just grew out of it.

“Oh,” Thresh said softly. Even without his constant gesturing the man was expressive, and 4364 could read the emotions in wide brown eyes. Surprise, some, but mostly anger. And sadness. Perhaps a touch of pity, but small enough for 4364 to ignore. “I didn’t realize they had Clone troops that young.”

“It’s part of why helmets are regulation,” 4364 said. “Children are not intimidating opponents.” The information wasn’t a secret. They didn’t know any Empire secrets, the Inferior Zeytord crew of an isolated planet. Thresh probably knew more of empire affairs than they did.

“Huh,” Thresh said. He sighed. “Well, it’s a nasty world out there.”

There was a sadness in his eyes that made 4364 look away.

Their conversation ended as Newbie came rushing back in.

Newbie went off to deal with the last of the boxes as Thresh and 4364 went through the forms.

“You can really tell he’s yours, the kid,” Thresh said with a small smile, looking after Newbie.

“He’s not,” 4364 said without looking at the man. “There are no Inferior Zeytord fathers, and we are simply both clones of the Emperor Zeytord. There is obviously a resemblance as we are genetically identical, but it doesn’t represent a human biological relation.”

“The resemblance might not represent a ‘human biological relation’,” Thresh said, “but I wasn’t talking about a physical resemblance anyway.”

. . .

Emperor Zeytord decided to make the ranks of his army out of the one person he truly trusted and believed in: himself. There were roughly three ranks of Zeytord clones, though some of them may have subdivisions: Royal Zeytords, Middle Zeytords, and Inferior Zeytords. Royalty was his closest advisors and potential heirs, all based on the Emperor but specifically customized for excellence at their roles. They’re often given incredibly strength, dexterity, healing, intelligence, slow-aging, and resilience. Almost all the most powerful people in the Empire were Royal Zeytords. These Zeytords had one blue eye, like the Emperor himself, and then one green to be clearly differentiated.

Middle Zeytords filled all the rest of the leadership positions and professional military jobs. They were the officers. There are non-Zeytords civilians in the Empire who may hold professional positions, the conquered masses of humans who require Zeytord leadership, but never in military positions. Few even in any government positions, either. Many Middle Zeytords may move on to a comfortable civilian life after successful careers in the military or government. They’re differentiable by their yellow eyes. The standard Middle Zeytord was modeled after the Emperor, but without the same boosts in intelligence and strength favored to the Royal Zeytords. Still some booths to strength, healing, and slow-aging, but nothing like the superhumans that the Royalty often ends up being.

And then there’s Inferior Zeytords. They are pretty much all the same. They are almost all footsoldiers in the millitary, and though there are stories of heroic Inferiors making officer status you never actually see any of this happening and trying to verify the names in those stories will get you nowhere. The only customized line of Inferior Zeytords are the ones that serve as servants to the Emperor, who are given decreased strength. All other Inferior Zeytords get increased strenth and healing, but take a hit to intelligence somewhat. They’re not made stupid, certainly, but they aren’t meant to be all that smart, either. All Inferior Zeytords share the same red eyes and low status, but they may at least count themselves as better than humans.  

The Emperor himself is the original of all of these strains. He designed the cloning technology used and is known as a strategic genius even to his enemies, if an amoral one. He certainly uses biotech and nanotechnology to upgrade himself, though exactly how is a secret privy to only a trusted few. It’s certainly true that he hasn’t aged since 30, leaving him looking younger than many clones made decades after his birth.

Especially the Inferior Zeytord.

Targets to the Republic, cannon fodder to the Empire, the veterans that 4364 served with would often say, when they weren’t being watched. When they were being polite.

4364 was lucky, for an Inferior Zeytord. He was reassigned.

. . .

“Do all humans look like Thresh?” Newbie asked 4364 once, as they all lingered in the small dining area before lights out. The mining station was off, as a break for the machinery more for the clones staffing it. The place felt empty without the constant hum of the machines, and they all instinctively gathered together to combat the loneliness the silence threatened to bring in. It was already lonely, here on the outer edge of colonized space, where all real human civilizations were nothing but points of light in the sky if they were visible at all.

It was nice in its way, though. The empty expanse of the planet. The few opportunities they had to all gather together, when the machines were turned off.

There was no lounge area built into the mining facility. There were cramped sleeping quarters, an exercise room to fight the effects of low-gravity, and a make-shift kitchen with a dining area attached. So when they gathered, they gathered in the kitchen, turning a couple of crates into chairs so that they could all sit at the table.

“Don’t be stupid,” Sixes (543666) said. “Humans all look different, they’re not clones.”

“Yeah, silly,” Sevens agreed. “Didn’t you learn anything before you came here?” Sevens only had two sevens in his number, 678973, but he and Sixes came from the same IZ educational facility and were inseparable. From shifts to names they were together.

“Yeah, I know, but they never actually said what was different!” Newbie protested. “Like, they still all have the same amount of limbs, right? And Thresh was a different color, are they all different colors? And why’s Thresh a different shape?”

“Thresh is a different shape because he’s female,” ThreeZs explained. He had a soft spot for Newbie. Well, all of them did really, though Sixes and Sevens showed theirs in odd ways. ThreeZs frowned.“Or she’s female, maybe I should say? I’m not sure.”

“It’s hard to be sure, I don’t know what culture Thresh is from and some of them use pronouns to differentiate and refer to females with she and her.” 4364 said from the kitchen, as the only one of them who had ever been around humans before. He was finishing preparing the food. “Some of them use pronouns in more complicated ways, and often they have more pronouns, though, they often have categories called genders that are associated with but don’t always match up with physical sex.”

“Sex?” Newbie asked, nose wrinkling. “Isn’t that how they make humans?”

“No, he means sex as in the charictaristics that Thresh has that you don’t,” ThreeZs said patiently as Sixes snorted. “That’s because your physical sex is male. All of our physical sexes are male, because Emperor Zeytord is male.”

“I heard some of the Royal Zeytords are female,” Sevens said. “Can you imagine? It must be so weird.”

Sixes shook his head. “Royal Zeytords are all kinds of weird.”

“Female like Thresh?” Newbie asked. “Wait, so are he and him the pronouns associated with males, then, if they’re the ones we use?”

ThreeeZs beamed. “Absolutely!”

“So have we been calling Thresh by the wrong pronoun this whole time!?” Newbie exclaimed.

“Nah, Inferior Zeytords always use he, didn’t you hear?” Sixes said.

“Inferior Zeytords don’t have a choice,” DoubleOs muttered at the end of the table. “Just like with everything else.” DoubleOs was usually pretty quiet, so Newbie blinked up at him. 4364 made a note of it in his mind.

“Wait, humans get a choice?” Newbiw asked. “A choice of gender or pronouns or sex?”

For a moment 4364 watched the table as they all blinked and considered the possibility. They may have all been clones of the same person, but they were all having different reactions. Sixes and Sevens looked taken aback. ThreeZs was thoughtful and DoubleOs stared down hard at the table.

“It can be complicated, and there are often pressures in different cultures, but yes to an extent,” 4364 said as he poured out the Foodstuff(™) he’d been preparing from the pot into a large bowl. Foodstuff was never very good, it was designed to last and be shipped in builk more than taste good, but at least it was better cooked.

“They need medical procedures to change sex, often,” 4364 continued as he brought the pot of food to the table. The others shift eagerly in their seats. “But it’s all doable.”

It was times like these that 4364 most treasured the company of the others.

“How do we know Thresh’s pronouns, then?” Newbie asked, as the others started on the meal in front of them.

“You ask,” 4364 said.

. . .

“What’s your pronouns?” Newbie asked the next time Thresh gave a delivery.

Thresh blinked, taken aback for a moment, and then smiled. He seemed to relax.

“I use they/them/theirs pronouns,” Thresh said. “It’s rather old fashioned of me, I know, but I love the history of them.”

“They/them like plural pronouns?” Newbie asked. “What kind of history do they have?”

4364 let them completely unload the ship before sending anything to the store room so that Thresh could continue his- their conversation with Newbie. They piled the supply boxes high on the anti-grav carts used for transport around the facility maybe a little higher than was advisable.

It turned out Thresh was from a planet near the Solar System, the original Solar System, and they were more tied to Terran ways there. That territory was deep in the Republic, and 4364 had to wonder how Thresh ended up delivering cargo as far from the Republic as you could go for company ignoring the war to make as much money as possible. But 4364 himself didn’t press, and Newbie and ThreeZs wouldn’t know the implications of that information.

Thresh seemed happy and patient to explain, but there was something wrong. Not with the discussions or Newbie’s questions, a feeling that began even before Thresh began talking. It was different. 4364 could feel it in the air. Maybe it was the way Thresh stood, or something in their gaze as they chatted while the rest of them unloaded the supplies. A tension. A sadness.

“You know, you could choose your pronouns too, if you wanted to,” Thresh told Newbie.

“But all Zeytords are hes,” Newbie said. “The Emporeror Zeytord’s a ‘he.’”

“He might be, but that doesn’t mean you have to be, not here,” Thresh turned to look over at 4364 as he continued speaking. “There’s no one to keep track of the six of you here. You could basically do what you wanted, regardless of the Empire.”

“That’s not a very Zeytord way to think!” ThreeZs said, shaking his head. Newbie, however, looked intrigued.

4364 was more interested in what laid in Thresh’s gaze at the moment.

“Go take these to the storage area on your own?” 4364 asked ThreeZs. “Take Newbie with you, go over everything with him. I need to chat with Thresh here about something.”

“Well, just make sure you make it clear that that kind of talk doesn’t happen here in the Empire, okay?” ThreeZs said.

“Does this mean I get to drive one of the carts!?” Newbie exclaimed.

4364 nodded absently to both, and they were off.

He and Thresh stood silently for a moment.

“You can call me Xaviera, if you want,” Thresh said.

“What is this about, Thresh?” 4364 asked, and Thresh frowned and looked away.

“You don’t need to be rude,” Thresh said. They were rubbing absently at their arm, as though more nervous than offended.

4364 sighed. “I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just- something’s up. You’re making me tense, Xaviera.”

Xaviera swallowed, and glanced up at 4364. “Yeah. Yeah, something’s up. I’m not just delivering cargo this time.”

“No?” 4364 asked.

“No.” Xaviera said. “I have a message. All of you here are supposed to report to battle.”

4364 is silent for a moment.

“Why are you the one delivering this message?” 4364 asked. “This should be part of the Zeytord command.”

“It’s too important to send through your systems, which may have been compromised, I think,” Xaviera said. “And all of the other Zeytords who may have delivered it are reporting to battle. All of the other Inferior Zeytords.”

4364 paused for a moment, reading between the lines.

“This battle is going to be a bloodbath, isn’t it,” 4364 said. It wasn’t really a question.

Xaviera breathed in shakily. “Yeah. The Republic’s been winning for awhile, and I think the Empire might be going for a desperate strategy.”

“You know what happens to Inferior Zeytords who don’t report to battle, though, don’t you?” 4364 asked.

“I know it’s not good,” Xaviera said. “But that’s for Inferior Zeytrods who chose not to report to battle. Not the ones that never got the message in the first place.”

There’s a pause, between the two of them.

“Wouldn’t that get you in trouble?” 4364 asked. “Failing to deliver a message?”

“I could have gotten into an accident, lost my message and supplies,” Xaviera said. “At worst I’ll lose my job.”

If 4364 and the others reported to battle they’d probably die. They’d in the very least be seperated. Newbie was young, new meat, and if they were going to send him in without training they had to be very desperate. This had to be very dangerous. The Empire might even fall, and Zeytord himself knows what the Republic would do with any leftover Zeytords.

“If you want to go-” Xaviera said, after several moments of silence.

“No,” 4364 said. “No. Please, lose the message.” There’s another moment of silence.

4364 looked Xaviera in the eyes. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Xaviera said. “Well, I mean, it’s not nothing, but it’s the least I could do. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself otherwise.”

Maybe they would have said more, but at that moment the doors to the transport bay open suddenly and ThreeZs rushed in.

“Newbie-” ThreeZs panted, doubling over for a moment. “Newbie crashed cart.” More panting. “In corridor five. Are you done with your paperwork yet?”

4634 glanced at Xaviera. “Yeah, I’m done here.”

“Wait,” Xaviera held up a piece of paper. “One last thing before I go. Just in case.”

4364 took it and glanced at it wordlessly. It was extraplanetary coordinates for an area that 4364 estimated feel just outside of Republic space. Above the coordinates was written the word Haven. 4364 shoved it into his pocket.

“Thanks,” he told Xaviera, “for everything.”

“Of course,” Xavier said. “Good luck.”

They both knew he’d need it.

[spidermando]

I love you  {pt.1}

Pairing: Peter Parker X sibling!Reader, Quentin Beck x reader

Word Count: 1.6k+

Warnings: Nothing so far!

Authors notes: This is the first time I've written in months, please go easy on me. Also, this will be a series? so stay tuned!

Masterlist

Before the whole Thanos snap, Peter had been your little brother. Five years sat between the two of you and despite being powerless, you still attempted to protect him. 

After Captain America led that huge group into battle, which ultimately ended Squidwards life, Peter was suddenly your very annoying little brother. With the ten year gap now between you, you sat in the middle of your twenties, while he was still a teenager whose voice cracked at inconvenient times. While May was missing and Peter was merely dust in the wind, Tony and Pepper had taken you under their wing. However glad you were for your family to return, the sting of Tony’s death ensured that you did anything and everything in your power to protect Peter. You were no longer looking out for him as any big sister would, you were covering for Mr. Stark too. When Peter left Earth, you were his older, dorky sister. When he returned you were his much older, fist fighting sibling with her very own Stark suit and hero name. With every breath you took, you cared for Peter and Morgan, going as far as following Peter’s grade around Europe. Without his consent or knowledge. 

When a tornado with a face appeared in Mexico, Nick Fury reached out to you. Agreeing to help, in order to spare poor Peter, you were unpleasantly surprised to find out these monsters were coming to you in Europe. By your understanding, Spider-man would be left out of this fight as long as you stepped in.

Late one night, after yet another attack, Fury directed you to some dodgy caves where SHIELD was set up. Much to your shock and horror, Peter was already there, shaking hands with a much bigger, older, gentleman. 

“Ah, Miss Parker. Glad to see you’re finally here.” Fury’s voice rang out. 

Peter’s look of utmost confusion did not go unnoticed by you as you walked further into the light. 

“Well, there’s lots of dimly lit tunnels here in Venice. This is the fourth one I’ve entered.” You responded an edge of anger in your voice.

“I hope there was no trouble.” Fury replied, ignoring your tone. 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Turning around to face Peter, the features on your face softened a little. “Hi, Pete.”

“Y-y/n? I thought you were in New York!” Peter squeaked out, leaning closer to you.

“As if. Agent Parker has been following you during your time in Europe, haven’t you Y/n?”  Fury answered for you.

“Wait, what?” What little distance Peter had closed between the two of you, he quickly opened again. “You’ve been stalking me?”

“Less like stalking and more like protecting from afar.” You grimly smiled, knowing you’d done the wrong thing but finding it hard to regret your decision. 

“So stalking,” Peter stated, his eyebrows lowering slightly. 

“I only did it because I worry about you.” You reached out to touch him but recoiled when he pulled away, acting like you were a disease he didn’t want to catch.

“You don’t have to worry about me! I’m fine! I’m just trying to have a good time with my friends, can’t you understand that?” He sounded hurt, betrayed even. Had you known it was going to be such a big deal to him you would’ve run the idea over him first. 

“Look, I’m so-”

You were cut off mid apology by Fury, who simply walked over and talked over you. “You can have your domestic another time. We have actual important things we need to discuss.” 

You felt your blood begin to boil, first, he drags you into this, then your brother and then he has the audacity to speak over you like you were some common peasant. You don’t know what’s got his knickers in a twist, but lately, you’ve wanted nothing more than to punch him in his stupid, arrogant face. 

“Y/n, meet Earth’s newest hero.” He gestured to the man beside Peter. You’d been so caught up with your brother that you’d almost forgotten about the stranger standing beside him. Almost. 

Finally looking at him, your eyes skimmed over his solid chest, large shoulders, chestnut brown beard, plum lips, and perfectly styled hair. He looked too good to be true, almost like he had a styling crew right around the corner to do his touch-ups. But what really caught your eye was his eyes. They were a shade of indescribable blue, so deep that you could drown in them. On the surface, they looked like any other normal eyes, but deep down something else rippled inside them. Was it anger? Terror? Spite? It could’ve even been arrogance, but it was hard to tell in the dim light. All you knew is that they drew you in and took your breath away. 

You brought out of your thoughts by a subtle cough, delivered by none other than Peter. Shaking your head to metaphorically shake yourself out of it, you looked down only to see the strangers hand extended in your direction. Moving forward, you wrapped your hand around his in a firm grasp. 

“Y/n Parker, nice to meet you.” You murmured, looking down at your joined hands as you were still captivated by the mere memory of his eyes. 

“Quentin Beck, nice to finally meet you too.” 

Your hands left one another's and finally grasping the confidence to look back up, you caught the subtle smirk playing on his lips. 

“This is going to sound incredibly weird, but you have beautiful eyes.” You said lowly, intending the words for Quentin’s ears and Quentin’s ears only. 

“Thank you.” You could’ve sworn there was a splash of pink dancing along his cheeks, but his beard made it hard to tell. 

“If you two are finished flirting, we’d like to get on top of this elementals situation.” Fury stated, causing your face to turn bright red. 

Refusing to address what he had said, you continued on as normal. “Elementals?”

You spent the next twenty minutes learning all about these four creatures, and Mr. Beck (who had asked you to call him Quentin). When it came down to his family, who were tragically killed by these creatures, your stomach wouldn’t stop turning. 

One, Quentin had a family. The people he loved were ripped away from him by these disgusting monsters. His planet was destroyed and yet here he was, fighting to save yours.

Two, Quentin had a family. He was loved by these people and loved them in return. How could you, a 26-year-old girl from Queens, ever replace that? At least you found out now and not ten months down the track where you’d inevitably grow feelings for this beautiful and kind man. 

After a little more discussion, a plan was hatched and Peter was finally sent off to his hotel. 

“Peter, can we talk?” You followed him out, desperate to fix your sibling relationship.

“Not now, please Y/n.” He moaned, stopping to turn to you. He must’ve seen your face drop because his eyes softened. “Look, I’m still mad at you but I understand why you did it and I forgive you, okay?”

“Don’t say that just because it’s what I want to hear. Be honest with me.” You replied, sick of pity because it’s all you’d received these last five years. 

“I am being honest, okay? I’m just tired and over it and I just want to go back to my hotel and sleep.” His voice was softer this time and the bags under his eyes became more noticeable. 

“Okay.” Your voice was low. “I love you.”

You’d made sure to end every conversation with May and Peter with I love you since they’d gotten back. At first, it seemed weird to them, but when you explained that for the last 60 months you’d thought they were dead and that you’d never get to hear them say those three words again, they softened up.

“I love you too.’ Peter spoke just as softly, “goodnight.”

And then he turned his back to you and exited the tunnel, Fury’s man leading him back to the hotel. At least he was safe.

“He’s a tough kid, he’ll be fine.” The voice startled you but you knew who it was almost immediately. 

“He’s not that tough and he is still a kid.” You responded, not looking at the man beside you. “But I know he’ll be okay.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because if he’s not, then I don’t know what I’ll do.” Sighing, you finally turned to your counterpart. “Let’s get off this emotional conversation now, how are you finding this earth so far?”

“It’s okay, there are a few things that are different but overall it seems pretty similar,” Quentin responded, looking directly into your eyes. “I could always do with a tour though.”

“I’ll be sure to let Fury know,” you jokingly replied.

“Haha, very funny.” He then proceeded to laugh. “Do you have any plans for the rest of the night?”

“Well, my original plans fell through. I don’t think Peter would be all that impressed if I decided to continue stalking him.”

“I thought you were simply protecting from afar?”

This time you laughed, a smile graced your face as your conversation continued. “Touché.”

Quentin smiled at you and you couldn’t help but imagine what his lips would feel like pressed against yours. Would they be soft? Chapped? Warm? A feeling of resentment traveled through your veins. How could you think that? This man is dealing with the grief of losing his family, yet here you are, imagining kissing him. Disgusting.

“You alright?” He must’ve noticed your sudden turn in emotions since his eyes were filled with concern.

“I’m fine. ” You replied, your voice clipped.

“It looks like you could use a drink.” 

“Are you trying to get a personal tour, Mr. Beck?” You replied, the playfulness slowly returning to his voice.

“Perhaps.”

“Well you’re doing a good job, I’ll happily go get drinks.” You smiled. “But I doubt I’ll be the best tour guide, I've only been in Venice for two days.” 

[theorynexus]

I Guess This Is 29, now~

THANK YOU FOR ACKNOWLEDGING THE VALUE OF EDUCATION, DAVE!   I had been thinking of making just this kind of point about the Kids not really having the technical know-how to adequately lead in the first place, but at the same time, most of them are incredibly intelligent and almost over-competent.  Thus, I had held off from doing so, and put faith in Dave’s economic side-research, or whatever the heck he did to actually know how to properly manipulate matters as effectively as he did on the stock exchange, assuming it wasn’t trial and error. 

It’s interesting that he says this isn’t the issue. I would personally argue that Marxism’s creation does not necessarily have to lead to the rise of authoritarian powers working in its name, but that is somewhat beside the point. Restriction of alchemy essentially would mean the collapse of their whole economic system. Earth C has likely been so coddled by a history predicated upon the existence of such mechanisms that I doubt it would be able to properly thrive without unrestricted availability of it-- or at the very least, it would likely take decades-to-centuries for it to properly recover, assuming that no reintroduction was allowed (and even then, it might have already spurred on massive crises of a violent character, which could have led to the overall destabilization of the planet).

***single tear of pride in this wonderful child*** (Karkat really does need to get a grasp over the issues if his candidacy is going to properly pan out, though.)

*gasp!*   How lewd!   Or that could possibly just be me. I mean, she could mean eating or something (in a literal fashion).

Hmm. Indeed, this does seem vaguely perverse in its description. I shall proceed with caution, considering Tumblr’s policies of late.

Hey, look, Dave to the rescue!  (Also, it is quite hilarious that even in his professional work [political], he still continues in that horribly silly SBaHJ style.) ***snerks at the horrible dog whistle joke***

I mean... I’m sure it was for some Trolls. Vriska’s childhood comes to mind. FLARP was serious business, involving-- GASP --actual death and Lusus Naturae feeding necessities!

Ha. Aliens franchise humor.  Nice subtle reference, there.

Yay, anatomy clarifications for those who actually care! Also: Hooray for double entendre that don’t actually include sexual references!  (He means to point out that Karkat was a mutant, but also that he gets on people’s nerves. Very silly and cute.) Also also:  It is both horrible and funny that Karkat sortof attempts to defend the baby eating line.

I mean, to be fair, that might be partially why Karkat is going to be the one campaigning for the Presidency, not Dave. :y

I guess that helps to explain why Karkat and Jade weren’t paying attention so much. I wonder what this says about Dave, that he is willing to repeat the same matter so many times while not even actually speaking to different audiences (meaning that campaigning politicians and their intermediaries/associates/allies DO repeat themselves a great deal, but to different people, and for very logical reasons of making sure that their relatively narrow, focused message can come across to every audience they speak to).  Sadly, I do not have any personal training in psychology, so while I could guess (for I can indeed be pretty insightful as far as human thought and interactions go), I will not do so. It would feel a tiny bit illegitimate and time-wasting (no pun intended).

This is an interesting transformation, in the context of the layers of irony he used to gird himself such that true understanding was difficult even for friends.

Hooray, god tier SCIENCE!

***raises an eyebrow, wondering if Jade actually has a better grasp of economic matters than Dave does, or if this is more of a matter of her being better at math, and being able to transfer that skill to the knowledge Dave has likely shared with her over the years, to both of their benefit***

***can’t help but laugh, quite immaturely, at this description/series of facts***

[alstanfordart]

Saumo, the shopkeeper from Ch. 14 of my story. He's depicted with the demon Donto.

The scene where he appears below. No triggers.No gore.

They walk up the small ramp to the foot of the door, with Robert stepping aside to pull the curtains back, letting her enter first. The shop had gold and black material recklessly hung around the light brown interior, along with thick candles sitting in shiny black holders. They are greeted by the strong scent of incense burning and the shopkeeper snapping "Don't touch that!" at a youthful human couple.

"Hey, it's cool man. Be cool." the young man says, his hands up as he lets go of the small carving he held.

"What does my body temperature have to do with anything?" Saumo snaps, turning and bowing his head as he sees the new arrivals, the abundance of gold jewelry that adorns his ears and neck chiming as he does so. The outfit he wore matched the fabric strung along the walls.

"Buna, Mirasal." he places a long thin pipe to his lips.

"Buna, Saumo." Mirasal says as she and Robert peruse the shelves filled with religious artifacts and prayer books. Previously she'd found some hidden treasures here. At one point she'd found a religious manuscript from Earth called a bible that was tattered and worn. It had to have traveled far and wide to reach this modest little shop. Along with old toys that had once been in possession of human children. She'd bought one for her daughters called a 'paddle ball.' Ineti had taken a shine to the object, often not letting it out of her sight.

Robert slips away from her to pick up a large heavy black and silver book off a shelf near the entrance. He lowers his lips to blow a cloud of dust from the cover.

Witnessing this, Saumo mutters under his breath. "I should really clean in here."

"What's this?" Robert turns the book sideways in Mirasal's direction as she comes to stand by him.

"It's the Arak book of Araseza," she says, wiping away the remaining grime on the cover to expose the bronze lettering. The style of the book told her it was an earlier edition; the newer ones weren't so gaudy.

"Who?" he cocks his brow.

"Araseza. She's the creator-at least to the Arak," she explains. "And to Rykan, Rykali is the Tusa Masare-the True Mother."

Explaining this would be a task, as it gets complicated. The wars and hostilities between the two groups were as old as the planet itself it seemed. Neither wanted to back down and both thought they were right. The chosen ones. She personally had no time for either.

"So, which one do you belong to? Which do you believe?" he raises the book up.

"Um, neither really. I don't adhere to either one."

"You don't pray to any deities?"

"No. I have no use for them."

"Huh," he places the book back down. "That's interesting."

"Interesting meaning...something else?"

"It's just I saw something in your memories relating to a temple."

"I was baptized in the Arak temple and attended until I was fifteen neros. That's all, though. I haven't stepped in one since." After she'd received the traditional 'ata'-facial tattoos, she'd lost interest in any religion.

"Any specific reason why?" he prods.

"I don't think it helps-praying I mean." she pauses a second before continuing. "Aradea still attends. She tries to get me to attend with her." Her younger sister seemed to think praying in the temple will protect her older sister from whatever harm she may encounter on the job, but to Mirasal, such things weren't necessary. But the younger woman had always been more religious, even her name meant 'daughter of Araseza.'

Neseret on the other hand had a Rykan for a mate and had since defected to that temple. Something that didn't make their mother happy.

"So you don't believe in something greater." he taps the book's cover, as he scratches his forehead, his eyes focused on the floor.

"I didn't say that. Are you religious?" Was he offended? He had mentioned a Goddess name Bessa earlier.

"Not really no, but it's good to be open to things, that's all." He steps closer to her.

"I am, it's just I-"

"Demon! Demon! "

Saumo's voice cracks through the awkwardness between them as he scurries from behind the cluttered wooden counter with a slam of his fist on its surface. He heads directly towards that same leather-clad human couple. The man holding a black marble statue of the demon Donto. The woman's hands come up to grip his shoulders.

"Demon!" Saumo continues to holler as he snatches the artifact from the man's hands. "Don't take it out of it's case. Bad luck!"

The couple make a hasty exit, with the man muttering. "Man, we stepped into crazy town. Fuckin' insane natives."

The shopkeeper then places the artifact back in its place encased in a glass box with gold leaf edges and points a scraggly finger at it. "This is a demon. Humans can't touch it. He'll unleash his wrath upon me. My shop would burn to the ground and I would perish and my soul would be claimed forever to wonder iado and I would never enter the eternal sky. The disrespect!"

"Well, they don't know. You can't expect them to." Mirasal offers as Saumo's erratic eyes land on Robert.

"You look a little startled. Didn't mean to scare you." Saumo chuckles, his voice lowering to a more civil tone, his nose giving a bunny-like twitch.

Mirasal touches Robert's hand. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." he gives her fingers a light squeeze, along with a smirk as he gazes at the artifact.

"Demon, huh?" he approaches the encasing, eyes staring pointedly at it. Saumo's hand shoots up, gold jewelry clanging in response.

"Stay back. No human can-"

"He's not human." Mirasal cuts in, as she follows, standing at Robert's side.

This alters the shopkeeper's facade. "Oh, so you're passing? Good fortune has smiled upon you stranger, perhaps it will rub off on me. Well, I suppose you can see it. But only for a short time."

He takes the sleek black statue out and places in it Robert's hands. The sheen of the ebony surface and maroon jeweled eyes catch the subtle light in the room as Robert turns it over in his hands. Mirasal traces her metallic fingers along it.

"It's Donto. He's the one who hands down punishment to anyone who is cast into iado." she says.

"Iado?" Robert asks, eyes glued on the artifact, still moving it in his palms.

"It's where the lost souls go. The ones who others have turned away from."

"Oh, so like Hell."

"No, it's more like limbo in Easna," she elucidates."It's an endless void. No light, just darkness. No others around. You just wonder endlessly," she taps the figurine. "And he knows what your darkest secrets are. He uses them to torment you, to hunt you. You can try to run from him, but he always catches up."

Robert looks at her. "Really? Sounds like...something else I…know. I mean, I've heard of."

"Like the Prim? It's similar to that in a way."

"Yes it is. But other myths I've heard. Other creatures. There are ones who know all your fears, they feed off them. Then there's the creatures who feed off the life force of virgins."

"What sort of creatures are those? Demons?" she asks, remembering the disturbing story of Mia and her baby.

"Some are. Some are known as energy vampires. Some are Todash-they're not really demons, necessarily, but can be mistaken for them," He looks to Saumo. "How much?"

"Not for sale," comes the stubborn response. "No. Not at all. It guards my shop. Cannot part with it."

"A demon guarding your shop?" Robert counters, his voice trailing off finishing the sentiment.

"Demons can serve you well, if you treat them with respect." Saumo coolly replies, sounding like the Rykan he was.

"Yes they can. But..." Robert lifts his free hand, to pass it along Saumo's defiant scowling face. "Maybe we can discuss it."

With this, the shopkeeper draws a nonplussed countenance, before he finally responds "Well, I'll see what I can do." He turns to head back to his counter, littered with smaller, less valuable statuettes, missing the surprised look on Mirasal's face. He beckons them over with a gesture of his finger.

"Now," he says as he lifts a stack of small, blue books from below the counter. The pile held together with a silver braided bind. "Here, Mirasal. I have Arnamina's poetry books. She asked me to pass them along to you." He pushes them towards her.

Mirasal lifts one up to thumb through it. "She should just keep them."

"Ah, well, it's a reminder for her, I suppose." Saumo shrugs.

Mirasal, keeping her eyes on the pages, concurs. "I suppose," she pauses. "Why did she ask you though? Do you…know each other?" He did after all, use her mother's name.

"Oh yes! She used to read these to me during our visits." Saumo smiles as he turns to Robert, while Mirasal stares at him blinking before she snaps up the books and quickly steps away to stand by the exit.

"So what's the best price you can offer for that?" Saumo points to the statue, still in Robert's hands. The two haggle for a few minutes before an agreement is reached and Saumo carefully bags up the artifact in a beige silk bag. He then escorts them to the exit, standing in the doorway, holding back the turquoise curtains.

"See you soon again!"

[artofaboythatoncewas]

Devilish Deals 3

Libra: Offered cool-ass, hellfire bullets. On my route to work, there’s several things I always remark a subtle difference of change in whenever I pass them by: The color of this single window that portrays a lovely dining room scene, the angle the traffic lights hang at, and the name engraved on a rather fancy mausoleum to long-dead celebrity. I can’t tell if I was endowed with a foresight to detect the incredibly subtle, or if it’s an involved process like deciphering anagrams. Regardless, certain messages have been changing to be something that corresponded with recent events within my life. Two years ago, a supply that was supposed to arrive at six in the afternoon was late by another six hours: I checked outside the coordinates they gave me, and I ran only to find out that the site was abandoned. The truck was still there, but it was torn nearly in two and the books were gone. Witnesses had nothing to say before casting their attention to darker corners, alluding that something had happened here that they didn’t want to tell me. [,] The morning after, I passed by that window and it was tinted an irradiated yellow that reflected just enough sunlight for you to avoid seeing what’s behind it. Then, I passed by the traffic lights and they hung at an unusual angle that was 30° facing north from where they’re positioned normally: Not only this, the second light was duller and quite hard to make out. Finally, the mausoleum located in the bottom-right corner of the local cemetery said that it was honoring Yisrael Katz, who — last time I checked — was still alive somewhat. I was passing by the first two attempting to avoid how they were calling to me until I got to the last sign: At that point, I had to ask someone. So, I got off my horse and approached a gravedigger in the cemetery… But he refused to look towards me and instead to arbitrary corners: Indicating that someone was there I couldn’t sense. Suddenly, I was back on my horse towards my workplace as usual. […] Later I was approached by crossing guards who took their duty very seriously, though the ones that stopped me didn’t wear brightly colored vests and actively carried military weaponry. That was something that wasn’t out of the ordinary, so I forgot all about the paranormal disturbances from earlier and I continued on with my day… that was until today where the crossing guards weren’t carrying assault rifles. [,] «Cool, that’s… actually quite interesting. Spare me another story will you?» Heh, and here I was expecting the same old sarcasm from you.

Cancer: In a bus. It was a cold, drowsy morning: One that told you God listened to too much loud music and it started giving him early symptoms of tinnitus. Here, we zoom into a quiet corner of the Patagonian landscape into a somewhat isolated townscape that’s aching with the fog that surrounds it: Even the dry plateaus felt misty this morning. In the center of this village, the statue of Blessed Whoever stood as unquestionably incompetently as you’d expect, decorated with the linings of bird defecation. From its mighty stone finger pointing eastward, there could be seen a low-end shopping center that served as the fourth quadrant that made up the village square. All was quaint except for two villagers having a troublesome argument near the fountain. There’s nothing else for us to do here as eavesdroppers from inside the walls, — the one they just so happened to lean on when they began to fuss — so we’ll take whatever information we can receive from the outside. [,] Peer into a life you were never meant to understand and ask yourself questions: Why are they arguing? Are the typical, emotionally logical reasons why it’s occurring, or is it strange, esoteric reasons? What’s the tone of voice being used by each party? Are they pious people or secular snakes? Is it about the, uh, family business? […] We’ve been eavesdropping for so long that the sun has turned a noticeable fifteen degrees in the sky. And for as much as the sun had turned, the conversation had turned for the worse. Both of the voices were becoming louder and more parched as the subject matter shifted from academic performance to finances. Each party is becoming more thoroughly stubborn in their assessments. It seems that it’s in our interests that no compromise is reached if we’re continued to lay near this building and pretend we’re only homeless in the moment. You lived long enough to know that getting too far up one’s own ass is a very real thing, and you’re aware of the epiphanic powers that one’s inner self holds in how the reconsiderations never leave the space where the self feels trapped oftentimes by their own causation. We’ve spent long enough invading privacy; let’s leave, Kokin: We’ve done enough amoral narration for now. […] Oh, I meant this literally; I have no idea why you thought I was talking about arrogance when I mentioned shoving one’s head up their own ass.

Virgo: By dancing for them. Like the band Paramore (whose recent work was pretty good; I don’t know why so many think it’s lackluster just because it’s not traditionally punk), we must complete an arbitrary number of world-records to the tune of a new power-pop track. <Bluma turns toward the crowd of unamused city-folk gathered around her rather dignified soapbox.> I see you must’ve all come here for a reason, and we mustn’t disappoint. <A small coughing can be heard in the back of the crowd, and another person reacts with disgust over the cougher not covering their mouth with their shoulder.> Before we perform, we must list all of the feasible, previously uncontested world records that we’ll attempt to perform today. Refer to the whiteboard above me, read it, and understand the potential records as its followed so you don’t become confused during the process. <The whiteboard is shown, and all the records are written in a dried, green marker that makes the text hard to read.> [,] For those who still can’t grasp it, I’ll read them out: 1. The highest stacking of Starbursts. 2. The fastest time to teach a child how to comprehend Baudrillardian thought. 3. The farthest-reaching skipping stone. 4. The most amount of ding-dong-ditches in the span of six hours. 5… <Those of the audience who wanted to see some action left as they became bored through the persistent listing, adding to Bluma’s plan.> [,] Now, those of you with the proper faith left to trust us, we’ll be performing in T-minus sixty seconds. I’m Bluma, and this is my band: Gamerghazi. «Wait, was this supposed to be a concert? I thought it was just a demonstration.» <Bluma drops down from her soapbox and kicks it into the crowd, indirectly hitting the one who asked that question.> Well, actually, it’s not really a musical band: It’s an unclear organization of people that doesn’t fit into any neat category, so I just call it a band for simplicity’s sake. I named it Gamerghazi after an existing indie band from Canada. <The questioner, now on the ground, responds> «Oh okay, that’s neat.» […] <While in the midst of completing the second record, Bluma triggers a supernatural event> In that moment of silence that broke everything — and broke more world records for me than any of those Guinness books I stole in my childhood — I felt like I was in a space of reality completely tailored towards who I’ve become to be over this quarter of a lifetime. There was a serenity that I somehow knew wasn’t meant to be there, and had to come at the cost of removing the presence of others to restore a sense of balance. It’s as if all of those years of listening to the powerful anthems of contemporary pop music — that which was calling for world domination via style alone — made all the sense in the world to me. <Bluma awakes to find out that she’s been accused of faking the first record by using non-traditional flavors of Starburst.>

Sagittarius: For some job experience. I forgot what time this took place… It seems to have shifted so much, and I feel like someone can live on the same planet that I do but be a hundred years ahead in terms of how quickly than can coordinate action. There’s someone out there who’s an exact pinpoint reflection of myself and the path of life I’m tracing out, and that almost everything about them is identical to myself, yet having such varying differences in how they merely comprehend knowledge. They’re probably some sorta silicone-based lifeform, and they probably have a civilization that chose to etch its language into a more insane physical material through a process I can’t even begin to imagine… Might be that they live in a solar system the same as ours, only that they inhabit a slightly modified version in which Venus became the most hospitable place for life. They likely would’ve inhabited Ishtar and had a funny accent compared to those on the island of Tellus, but they’re too self-conscious to admit they have their own funny way of pronouncing Lakshmi words. «Let me guess, you’re projecting your desire for exploration on fictional worlds again, aren’t you?» <The atmosphere of the scene is settled in with the intrusion of Swayo’s words make their case. The exposed comfort of the campfire lights the entire scene, and Rossouw lowers their flask of gin. It was a far call from the nakedness of the AC back at home-base: Something that she had to finally accept as her new home and pass on by as if she’s never had a concept of stable living.> I feel like too much time has passed between your friendly intrusion and my monologue, but please, sit down and gaze further with me. [,] It’s not often that I engage in these; I generally despise sit-downs that I didn’t form myself because I’m paranoid that they’re gonna attempt to redirect me rather then the preferred: That I redirect them. But, I’ll make an exception for you because you broke my focus, and that warrants the punishment of getting to know me. «Uh, I just wanted to ask about your shirt.» Then why the comments from earlier? I was gonna make this at least somewhat heartfelt and now you’re just proving my point that any glimpse of peace I can have is just ripped away by people who didn’t even mean it, God. <The fire begins to die and the gin in Rossouw’s bottle begins to reach its last drops. The wind that feels like an AC returns at the small sense of comfort she had began to dissipate into usual expectations. It was a close call to the nakedness of the AC back at home-base.> [,] I’m gonna pretend you didn’t interrupt me...  You’ve seen it on the news, and you’ve heard it in stories of abduction, sometimes we’re just granted with biological technology around us that grants us something that pushes us “ahead” in certain areas. «Where did you get that shirt, though?» I feel like too much time has passed… in general. I hope my otherworldly self has a home.

[twitchesandstitches]

Disney Growth AU

One of my holdovers from my old blog was what I called the Disney Growth AU, and I’m bringing it back! Mostly for the odd snippet or story post here or that, and partly as a component in some of my other AUs, since those mentions might not make a whole lot of sense without this AU’s particulars.

And also since it would fill a bit silly reposting older stories or edits of them without giving everyone the background of this AU, and anything i happen to think of. No sense posting stories and just throwing you into it blind, even if you’re familiar with it. It would just feel strange!

The Disney Growth AU is a combination of all the various disney properties (or at least the ones that fit into the Disney animated canon, with the various cartoons as having a more nebulous connection but are present), centering largely around the Disney heroines and major lady characters of their respective franchises and sub-series, with a focus on magically induced transformations and a particular emphasis on hyper curves (gigantic boobs, hips and butt, with variance for individual body types and personality-appropriate looks, and with more monster-y/human divergent form styles) and giantess.

In that later case, the princesses and other heroines are absolutely massive, with none of the usual limits i typically have in my usual AUs or giantess scenarios for the sake of tiny/giant interaction; they are a mile high at minimum when not deliberately suppressing their powers, and when they’re fully powered up, the giant Disney girls can be as big as entire planets, if not solar systems… and even larger than that, with their proportions scaling up to match.

Of note, this AU is broadly split into two continuities of a kind; one where this AU is its own thing and its relation to other fic ideas isn’t important, and one where it is a sub-set of Crossthicc as an important aspect of the multiverse, and the distinction has to do with which aspect I’m playing up.

Both versions heavily emphasize magic, and the basic premise is the same: the heroines, or princesses (whether they are actually royalty or not, such as in the case of Mulan or Moana; the title is a catch-all for ‘important heroine’ as a consequence of their actions) are living embodiments of raw magic, both conduits for the stuff of the soul and transformation, and generating it in the same way that stars create elements and light. This causes them to transform over time, growing bigger and curvier, and eventually take on more individual, inhuman alterations to reflect their raw power and coolness.

Their villains are, of course, around and up to No Good, and in between slice of life shenanigans, pranks, and attempts to simply live their lives while also being benign giant goddesses, they might thwart the plans of their equally gigantic villainesses and foes, who have transformed to become Big and Thicc too, and seek to impose absolute dominance over all existence.

In the former case where its a standalone AU, the setting is more mundane… as much as they CAN be, in the context. They live on a single version of Earth, with a different history to justify how a Powhatan diplomat, ancient Chinese war icon, Germanic fairy tale, and outright mythical figures can all exist at the same time. Effectively, they have been given a Kingdom Hearts style lighter and softer treatment, with ancient countries still existing in the modern day and altering history in subtle ways for this all to make some kind of internal sense. (For instance, modern America may not exist; instead you have the original countries of the First Nations expanded and industrialized and existing as a broad union similar to modern America,) Something similar applies to outright fictional countries or landmasses, with the world altered so that their likely geographic locations makes some kind of sense. Agrabah, for example, is a bit of a tricky case.

In this case, all the princesses are modern women, but have existed in many incarnations throughout history as great peacekeepers, champions of justice, mighty warriors, and paragons of virtue to teach others. In relatively recent times, their actions ensured a massive burst of magic that permanently brought raw, wild and Good magic back to the world, imbuing them all with it and making them living generators of it, awakening new power and making them into new goddesses, with great stature to match. Apart from now being potentially planet-sized and warping local space via their raw power just to fit into the world - packing mountain mass into a very small area - their lives are still mundane, and much of their time is spent adjusting to their new power and finding things to do with it.

Something similar would apply with the villains, most obviously Maleficent and a cadre of other villainesses following her; while not as powerful as the heroines, they are nonetheless massive and powerful goddesses… just not on the same level as the heroines, but they have the benefit of a massive horde of spooky monsters and less imposing foes that are mighty in their collective dangerous-ness.

Periodically, Marvel characters may make appearances (especially the more cosmic ones, such as Thor); assume this is a meeting of the multiverse kind of deal, with the other Earth perhaps being merged into the Disney one and the superheroes making do, with the new supervillains coming into conflict with the villains. Alternatively; emphasizing the Awesome of the heroine and supporting characters to serve roughly the same purpose as having legit superheroes here. For instance, consider Maui as being a Thor analogue by emphasizing his myth-appropriate raw strength and heroic deeds. Guy pulls up oceans during fishing trips!

(That said, the Marvel Growth AU from my old blog is now its entirely own thing, combined with some ideas I have for a DC one as well, as well as BNHA/My Hero Academia, as a cohesive general superhero setting. The tone of Disney Growth AU is more mundane slice of life that just so happens to take place for giant hero ladies dealing with their newfound powers, and just a hint of epic fantasy.)

Generally speaking, i will probably tag fics and thoughts specifically meant for this AU as JUST ‘disney growth AU’, for the sake of simplicity, without additional specifications.

The other version of this AU is explicitly intended to work with Crossthicc, and relies on the multiverse aspect and incorporates more obvious elements from the different versions of the characters in question. In this version, the princesses are explicitly goddesses; not just powerful heroines made mighty, but actual goddesses, and have been for some time.

They are, in-universe, widely worshiped across the multiverse under many different names and culturally relevant touchstones, but when one person pays homage to a raven-haired personification of Good Governance, and another gives their love to a goddess of orphans and adoption, it is still Snow White they worship. Consequently, they are enormously powerful and have a lot of potential domains under their influence, and mostly dwell upon a vast plane of magic that dwells beyond the material realm. This huge coterminous plane is effectively an elemental plane of magic, perhaps the metaphysical engine that keeps the World Tree of the mortal universes going, supporting that delicate soap bubble that is so easy to pop… and constantly on guard from the dreadful things trying to do just that.

It is possible that even this realm is but a reflection of their true divine power, a somewhat accessible an diminished echo of their full nature, but it's so mighty that they cannot properly exist in the mundane plane without wrecking it, instead manifesting as avatars. Depends on the need of the scenario, honestly.

The MILF fleet of crossthicc comes across these goddesses during their travels, earning their favor and interest, and a few of them send mortal avatars to stay with the fleet and experience the mortal universe, far weaker than their true selves but still shockingly powerful, and members of the God Squad that is a club of benign deities that for whatever reason are endorsing the MILF fleet.

Their home planea is much more mythic in tone, with an explicitly magitech vibe; imagine epic D&D style fantasy in an infinite universe of soaring mountains and mighty landscapes, with magically empowered technology serving the role of more mundane technological advances, and magic being absolutely universal. Take your grandest high fantasy ideas, ramp them up a 100 times, and mash them into the tropes of nobility and honor being actual forces of nature, and you have the basic approach! Here, mighty heroes fight grand monsters… and usually it's the goddesses doing this, the mightiest beings in all the cosmos, and fighting manifestations of entropy and cosmic non-existence. Their villains here are embodiments of forces like that, perhaps linked to the mysterious monsters the mortal plane is plagued with.

In this realm, mighty brave warriors ride on fearsome dragons to confront demon kings, mountains get up and walk to wrestle with one another, and the geography of the plane can shift at a moment’s notice when the currents of magic are strong enough. IT is in fact a source of magic, and does not conform to mundane notions of space-time. The plane is infinite, continuing forever, with ever more wild landscapes dissolving into chaotic potential and randomized impossibility as you get from civilization: mountains made of teeth, seas turning into boiling oil and crystalize laughter… and it gets weirder from there.

The goddess-heroines are so powerful that they stabilize this realm with their mere existence, growing more powerful and drinking deeply of the magic they generate and are empowered by, growing stronger still, and in doing so, they also reinforce the mortal realms, which is given life by this plane in some fashion. But the universes of mortals have been badly wounded, and the same applies to the princess’ realms too, and horrors pour out from them, and they must constantly quell those in hope of helping to bring peace, in some fashion, to all realms.

It is also important to note that given the different scale, they are far larger than in my usual giant lady fare; since space is more of a polite suggestion, this causes few problems, and they aren’t just planet sized. They are often universe-sized, if not even bigger, though they can adjust local space to fit them if they please, and even if they don’t, their presence causes no damage if they don’t wish it; their steps could reduce worlds to powder, but not a single living thing will be bothered by them stepping down.

(It is also possible that this realm is a primordial birthplace of souls, or an afterlife; people who perish come here, and after they work through their remaining problems, they pass on to another afterlife and perhaps later reincarnation. IT is the fate of evil beings to be reduced to food for the princesses, becoming monsters to be slain that reflect their evil hearts… or both. Some few mortal villains retain their willpower and become meances the princesses strive to defeat, and these are the villains of Disney canon that otherwise don’t fit the motif for the villainesses. Something similar might apply for the heroes and prince-types, but in terms of heroic spirits or great priests/followers of the goddesses in life. They came to love their goddesses so much, they remain by their sides forevermore. The goddesses themselves, or their bodies, may also constitute an afterlife as well.)

One more note; while this applies to the more mundane AU too, it's more prevalent here: the princesses here aren’t just based on their Disney interpretation but have elements from their other fictional interpretations too. Those who are public domain fairy tail characters, such as Snow White, have attributes from those stories as well as their many different stories incorporated in some fashion. Those who are historical figures will have attributes from real life applied more freely; for instance, in both AUs, Pocahontas is more like her real life analogue (apart from being the same age she is in the movie), down to that not being her actual name. There may also be liberal Fables (the comic series) invoked here, because i just plain like that series.

However, this AU is still intended to be mostly epic fantasy and high adventure, and should have a more or less light tone; thus, exceptionally dark or grim elements (such as those rooted in what may be the Grimm storyteller’s potential issues with women) will be ignored outright, reinterpreted, or applied in-universe as faulty propaganda.

There may also be a lot of mythological elements brought in. For example, the Seven Dwarves of Snow White are her adoptive fathers, in a sense, and are mostly Norse mythology style dwarves (and possibly svartalfar/dark elves, depending on whim), with their disney names, Doc and Sleepy and such, as pet names Snow had for them. For instance, Brok and Sindri are definitely there; Grumpy and Doc, respectively.

Effectively, in whichever AU, all the Disney cartoons are canon, with the ones more akin to Disney’s fairy tale vibes being more closely tied. More gray areas will be subject to weirdness; for instance, the series of Kim Possible might either be as more or less mundane figures in the magical plane of the goddesses, or as characters from a universe of superheroes who happen to have a connection to an appropriate goddess.

[joestories]

The Silent Magician

November 1, 1961

Dear Aleister,

If, perchance, someone offers you the opportunity to perform a very special show for the leader of a small, troubled country on the other side of the planet—even if said leader has asked for you by name—politely decline. I’ve gotten myself deep into something. And I’ve broken all three of my cardinal rules.

Everyone is dead, Aleister.

It looks bad, seeing it typed on the page like that. But that’s the truth of the matter.

I want to get this all down while the events are fresh in my mind, but also because I worry, dear friend, that if somehow I fail to make it out alive, this might the only way to recount what’s happened. I might as well start with what I’ve been concealing from you.

It was no lie when I said I’d be traveling to Europe to perform a special show. What I left out is that the people paying for this show weren’t the best sort of people.

I received the letter near the end of summer. Apparently, I was still a celebrity in the world’s farthest crevices. They were so far away that they couldn’t smell the stink of desperation that had attached to me after I’d performed one too many bar mitzvahs. And even the bar mitzvah circuit was drying up.

This leader (or dictator, as I would learn), Konstigt, had grown up watching my old routines on smuggled filmstrips. He still loved me all these years later. And he was willing to pay handsomely for the pleasure of having me perform for him in his palace.

I had grown weary of magic, but perhaps this was what I needed. One last show. Go out with a bang.

I wrote back immediately and the following day I received a visit from a pair of rats from the CIA. Apparently it’s a big deal for them when there’s communication between the country of ██████████████ and a person stateside. They paid me a visit to learn whether I was a spy or an imbecile.

They had my return letter, which had been intercepted. They read it back it me and I was immediately embarrassed by how effusive I had been. They said I sounded like a desperate, sad old man and they were right.

Cooperate, they said, and the charges would disappear. What charges? They couldn’t say, but cooperation seemed simple, not a large deviation from my original plan. I would meet with them at a tavern in town each night and tell them everything I had learned about Konstigt. I would be doing my country a service. They would offer me protection and if everything worked out, I would be rewarded handsomely.

A month later, I found myself in a succession of smaller and smaller planes until I arrived at a small village at the foot of an old castle spire; this was the palace at which I would perform. I was shuttled through the village in what appeared to be a taxi cab. Perched in the back window was a tiny figurine of a serpent. I pocketed it.

Milton called the serpent the subtlest beast in the field. But there was nothing subtle about this country’s obsession with serpents. Quickly, let me recall at least ten instances in which serpents factored into my time spent here:

A magnificent stained glass window in the cathedral.

A sign hanging in front of the tavern where I would rendezvous with my CIA contacts.

The tattoo on Mila’s wrist.

A mural in the lobby of the hotel I stayed at.

On a coin I received as change at the aforementioned tavern.

A wooden toy that I observed a child in the village playing with.

A huge parade float that was operated by at least three people

Engraved on the barrel of a pistol held by a dead man.

An actual snake, which slithered over my foot as I made my way to a secret rendezvous

The figurine. The one I had stolen. It will reappear later.

And of course, barely anyone in this serpent-obsessed country speaks English. The only English I hear is American music on the radio. Where is their music?

The taxi deposits me and my luggage in a hotel lobby. It is eerily quiet. I seem to be the only guest. A concierge silently escorts me to my room. It overlooks a courtyard and features a painting in which a woman on a beach stares at a shark in the ocean.

I open my suitcase and am displeased to learn that it has been ransacked by some sort of brutish security detail. The contents smell vaguely of cheap cigarettes.

My trick gun had been seized. I’m not surprised by this, it looks realistic, even though it can’t actually fire a bullet. I will need to find a replacement before the show.

Of the four decks of playing cards in my suitcase, I am missing four cards. The queen of hearts from each deck. A strangely superstitious people, this bunch.

My clothes have been rifled through. My cape looks to have been trampled by schoolchildren. My poor hat, which is in no way magical, seemed as if it had been run over by a steamroller.

The rubes left my most magical items unmolested. The puzzle cube is untouched. I am able to locate my invisible dagger after feeling around for it inside the lining. Of course they had no idea it was there.

The concierge reappears and leads me back to the lobby where a uniformed military man is waiting for me. He leads me inside the castle walls and through corridors until I am in a tall wood paneled room adorned with paintings of crying women. From the far end of the room, I am approached by a tall man with grey hair and a grey beard. He wears a white, military-style coat. He is smiling.

The first English spoken to me the day I arrived was by the dictator himself. Konstigt says, “I am so happy you could make it.”

He is flanked by two serious looking men. He introduces them. On his left, wearing a black uniform is Pavel, his chief of police. On his right, in a pale green uniform adorned with hundreds of medals is Vlad, the commander of the military.

He asks about my flights. He asks what I think of his country. I smile. I am genial. This man is a fan.

“If you need anything, I will provide it.”

“I’m going to need a coffin, for the final part of my act. I couldn’t bring one with me.”

“Of course. One will be delivered to you tonight. What else?”

“They took my gun,“ I said.

"Ah, well you’re going to need that for your famous bullet catching trick, aren’t you?” He knows my act well.

Pavel says something. I think he’s asking what I said. Konstigt replies in their gibberish language.

This is where it all started to go wrong. I’m about to break the first of my three rules: never explain a trick, even under penalty of death. I always thought that last part was an exaggeration.

Pavel draws his gun. It’s polished silver and ivory. Every surface reflecting light. I’m squinting as it directs sunlight into my eyes. The gun is pointed at me. He says something. Konstigt laughs as he translates: "Pavel wants to see this famous bullet catching trick!”

Panic sets in immediately. The bullet trick is an illusion. I am sputtering, talking fast, trying to explain that. The gun isn’t real. The bullet is transferred to the mouth with sleight of hand. When you strip away the showmanship, it really is quite a simple trick. Konstigt looks disappointed, but he waves at Pavel and the gun is lowered. Even though it is no longer an imminent threat, the gun continues to reflect light at me, daring me not to look at it. I notice a serpent engraved on its barrel.

“You talk too much,” says Konstigt. And in that moment, I make a promise to myself to talk less, starting right now. They can’t understand me anyway. My vacation will be one of profound silence.

I am whisked back to my hotel. I try to relax and rehearse my act, but it’s no use.

It gets dark. At the predetermined time, I wander into the village and find the tavern. The CIA goons are easy to spot. They look as out of place as I do. We settle into a booth in a dark corner. “Can you draw us a layout of the palace?”

“And a good evening to you too, gentlemen.” A notepad is placed in front of me.

I had been escorted around so quickly that I couldn’t remember it with any clarity, but I am embarrassed to admit this, so I make an attempt. I draw the outline of the entry hall, with the two smaller halls coming off of it. My drawing resembles a diagram of the female reproductive system. I slide the notepad back to the goons. “I’m sorry, this is all I remember.”

They want to know if I have any idea where they’re keeping the diamonds.

“Diamonds?”

“Don’t play dumb with us, we know you know about the diamonds. That’s why you’re really here.“

But I’m not playing dumb. "I’m here to perform my act.”

“You want us to believe you came all the way here and put yourself in serious danger to perform? Are you an idiot?”

The other one chimes in. “Listen, if someone asks you if so-and-so is the reason you’re really here, the answer is always yes. That’s the first thing they teach you at the academy.”

I wander back to the hotel in a daze. When I open the door to my room, there’s a loaded revolver on the nightstand and a pine box coffin propped against the wall.

*

Aleister, have I told you the story of how I decided to become a magician? I’m certain I have, but it bears repeating.

You might know of the vanishing of Orius in 1899. He was a genius performer, but he was not well known. This story takes place on the night of his final performance. He told his audience that he was going to perform an illusion that could be performed only once by any human, and for this reason he had saved it for his last show.

He was going to turn completely invisible.

But the only way for this to work was for everyone who was not pure of spirit to turn around. This was in Bavaria in 1899, so I don’t need to tell you that this meant everyone in the audience.

And so, with the entire audience facing away, he narrated as he vanished each part of his body. His legs, his arms, his torso, and finally his head. Now, as the legend goes, there was a one young child in the audience, and this child thought himself to be pure of spirit. So when Orius had been reduced to a disembodied voice, this child turned to look. And he was the only one to see that Orius was invisible. He cried out in shock, “He’s truly vanished!”

The audience had been transfixed, but this shout caused them all to abruptly turn to the stage. The spell had been broken, and Orius was immediately made visible again. There was thunderous applause, even though no one in the audience had witnessed this trick. Only the boy had seen it. But that boy had seen something truly magical.

I was the boy.

*

My spirits had improved for day two.

I took in a hearty breakfast, of which the predominant ingredients were boiled cabbage and sausage. The populace seems to sustain itself on boiled cabbage and sausage. The streets stink of it. A dedicated vegetarian like yourself would starve here.

I set about the town collecting the odds and ends that I will need for my show. I am still far from understanding the language, but I have noticed that the locals have bestowed some sort of sobriquet on me in their ugly goat tongue. It sounds like plo-nee-ba-ka. I suspect it to mean something like outsider or interloper. And I was one, wasn’t I? I made a mental note to ask a trusted source for a translation, should I find someone to trust.

In the meantime, I had developed a set of hand gestures for communication. And I started to figure ways that I might incorporate them incorporate into my act.

The townsfolk were full of energy. I was swept up in a parade that deposited me in the what I judged to be the most blighted part of town. And yet, I was not robbed, I was simply subjected to more singing. They have folk songs they sing here, as you would expect, but I was surprised to hear them interspersed with American music which they had written new lyrics for. The crowd performed a version of I Want to Hold Your Hand and I can’t imagine their version was a direct translation. The intonation was too violent. If I was to guess, the hand in this song had been torn from the wrist of an enemy.

I stumbled upon a group of children who had gathered for a show. I joined them. The show was performed with a strange collection of puppets and toys. The plot, as I could gather, was that a benevolent stranger arrives from space. The stranger befriends a mountain princess, and she then betrays him to win her country’s freedom. The only evidence of the identity of the performer is a visible tattoo on a wrist. It is, of course, a serpent.

At the conclusion of the show, one of the children tugs at my sleeve. I look down and he presents me with a note. I examine it: a clock face reading 11, and an image that I recognized as the stained glass window of town’s cathedral. It was a serpent wrapped around an inverted cross. I suppose it would be bad manners to ignore such a finely crafted secret invitation. I put it in my pocket. How would I occupy the next five hours?

I decided to wander back to the palace. I had intended to survey the theater in which I would be performing. This is a very important step before any performance. And I should admit, I had been indulging in drink. All the townsfolk were. Would you reject a beer stein from a smiling man that just a minute before was singing violent love songs?

I was permitted entry to the palace by the guards, but they were not able to direct me to the theater. They did not appear to speak English. I got lost and wandered from room to room hoping to bump into a human who might understand me.

I finally crossed paths with a soldier, but when I got his attention, he seemed very nervous. I used my hand gestures on him, they had no effect. My presence seemed to have spooked him, and he exited the room in a hurry.

I followed him out of the room and through another chamber. When you’re lost in the wilderness, you follow a river. When you’re lost in a palace, you follow a man. Eventually, he would lead me to other people, and perhaps one of them would speak English.

I was horribly, horribly right.

I followed the spooked soldier around a corner and bumped into him. He had frozen in place. Pavel was before us. And this man’s behavior seemed to trigger something in Pavel.

“Mr. Pavel, I am very happy to have happened upon someone who speaks my native tongue. Might I trouble you for directions?”

I was ignored.

Pavel started speaking in a low, accusatory voice. The soldier stuttered a reply. Pavel unholstered his magnificent shiny pistol. The soldier attempted to speak, but Pavel motioned for him to stop. He pointed at the soldier’s groin with his gun.

The soldier, with much hesitation, started to turn the pockets of his trousers inside out. A few handfuls of dirty, unremarkable looking rocks spilled on the floor.

Pavel laughed. “Diamante!” he shouted. Just my luck that this should happen to be the first easily understood word in this guttural swamp language.

Pavel continued to laugh. And the soldier uncomfortably started to laugh too. And so I started to laugh.

Pavel stopped laughing, lifted his gun to the soldier’s head, and fired. The soldier dropped dead on the ground. Pavel resumed laughing. I did not.

I watched a blood stain grow larger on the dark crimson floor. I recalled that most of the floors in the palace were this color. A utilitarian consideration? Easy to conceal bloodstains when all your floors are already the color of blood. What kind of monsters run this country?

I thought of the CIA men laughing at my naivety the prior night. They were right. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.

Pavel seemed to remember that I was present in the room, and now he addressed me. “Yes, magic man. Have you got any tricks for me?”

“I… I’m afraid not.”

He studied me. “Do you often travel with thieves, then?”

Aleister, you know that if I was to be honest, the answer to this is yes, but this was certainly not the right thing to say in my present situation. But he didn’t bother waiting for an answer. He waved his pistol in my direction.

“Why don’t you let me see what you have in your pockets, magic man?”

A magician and a thief have a thing in common: They both always know the exact contents of every one of their pockets at any given time. Left front pocket: mysterious note. Right front pocket: pilfered serpent figurine.

I was a fool for not destroying the note as soon as I had read it. Old age has made me soft. But there’s always a way out. You know the adage? One can escape from anything. It sounds better in Latin. I have escaped from locked rooms, arguments with shopkeepers, moving vehicles, and marriage proposals. I will escape from this.

Misdirection is the greatest ally of both the thief and the magician. The note, I had inferred, should not be revealed. The serpent figurine I was less certain about. But no one trusts a man with empty pockets.

And so I did have a trick for Pavel after all. I reached into my pockets and turned them out quickly. With my left hand, I palmed the note. With my right hand, I revealed the serpent. As my right hand extended forward, my left hand slipped the note into my sleeve. And then both hands are palm up. The deception is so simple that you would never know anything was out of the ordinary.

Pavel looked at the serpent figurine. He smiled. “Now, how can I help you?”

I was delivered to the theater, but I was feeling scatter-brained, owing to the fellow whose brains I had seen scattered moments before.

*

In the evening, I once again met with the CIA goons at the allotted time. They were overjoyed by the evidence of diamonds. That I had witnessed an execution didn’t seem to have any effect on them.

One of them gets a serious look on his face. He wants to know if I could use my magic to teleport the diamonds from their location into a suitcase that could then be whisked away. I tell him this is impossible. He wanted to know if this was because I didn’t know exactly where the diamonds were being kept? I told him I am an entertainer. I’m not actually capable of magical acts. He seemed very disappointed in me.

“Do you mean to say that nothing you do is magic? Everything is just an ordinary trick. Something that anyone could learn?“

"I suppose that might be the most pessimistic way to describe what I do.”

They briefed me on the plan for my show tomorrow. They told me that when the performance has ended, if there’s an opportunity to distract Konstigt or any of his men, I should keep them distracted for as long as possible. They told me they would be watching me and they would appear at the first sign of trouble.

The hour was nearing 11. We parted ways and I walked quickly across town. Hoping to avoid detection by Konstigt’s men, should there be any out looking for me, I stuck to the shadows. The only trouble I encountered was in an alleyway a block from the cathedral. In the darkness, a serpent slithered over my foot. I leapt back in shock, but contained my surprise. The snakes, I told myself, worked for no one.

I pushed past the heavy door to the cathedral. A few men in monk’s robes were seated around the altar playing a card game. Another monk emerged from the shadows and lead me down a narrow side passage into some sort of catacomb.

The monk’s hood was pulled back and this monk was revealed to be a beautiful woman.

“My name is Mila. Fate has brought us together.”

I was so charmed that I agreed! Yes, fate had brought us together.

She was familiar with my routine, and had worked as the assistant to local magician whose current whereabouts were unknown (he was a drunk). She wanted to be my assistant. She was quite insistent that she be my assistant. She had been performing since she was a child. I knew I was naive to accept her offer, but I also knew my act would be much better with an assistant.

I noticed that one of her hands was still sheathed in a hand puppet from her performance earlier. This one was a donkey.

“You may join me, but the donkey must stay,” I said, thinking I was being quite clever.

She looked crestfallen. “My hand… it was mangled in a thresher accident when I was just a small child. I keep the puppets to cover my mutilation.”

I was embarrassed, and recanted my previous declaration. She would be my assistant, puppet included. She was overjoyed.

Aleister, you know my act. Two of my illusions are certainly better with an assistant:

Cranks at Work

The Ghost Talks

And then there’s three that I had planned to leave out entirely, as they are impossible without an assistant:

The Doctor’s Secret

Fancy Baggage

A Most Immoral Lady

If this was to be my last show, why not go out with a bang? With Mila’s help, I would be able to perform all of them. Was this greed, or pride, or both?

I was breaking the second of my cardinal rules: When someone offers to help, be suspicious of their motives.

I told her we must meet to rehearse tomorrow morning. She agreed. Then she got a serious look on her face, and I had utterly no idea what she was thinking, though it didn’t seem to be of a romantic nature. She came close to me. In a low voice, she said, “You’re here for it too, aren’t you?”

It? I remembered the advice of my CIA friends. The answer is always yes. So I said, “Yes.” She seemed very relieved. “Good,” she said, “I will speak no more of it.”

I bid her goodnight, and she raised her hand (the unmutilated one) for me to kiss it. This is when I noticed the distinctive serpent tattoo on her wrist.

As we were parting, I remembered something. “The people have been calling me a name… plo-nee-ba-ka, I think. What does that mean?“

She thought about it. "The hollow one. Or invisible one. Or silent. There’s not an exact word in English.”

The Silent Magician. I like the sound of that.

*

I want to amend my story of the Vanishing of Orius in 1899. Aleister, I am going to tell you something that I have never told a soul, and I want this knowledge to die with you.

I did not witness an act of magic.

Yes, the audience, they all turned their backs. Yes, I was the boy. Orius narrated his disappearance, and when I turned back to face the stage, what I saw was a sad old man. An old magician performing his final show, totally corporeal on the stage. Not a hint of transparency. He wasn’t magical, he was a liar, or perhaps, more charitably, a trickster. And suddenly a very young child, me, held his fate in my tiny hands.

And I chose to carry the lie. I didn’t know why I said what I did at the time. But I know now that I wanted to live in a world where magic was possible.

That’s the problem with magic. The keepers of magic are the ones who know it’s a big charade.

You can’t unsee the man.

There is no magic.

We know definitively, and yet we have to keep telling the lie.

*

The rehearsal was a success. The room, as I’d demanded, was empty except for myself and Mila. She had gotten some looks for her puppet (today it was a wasp), but the story of her mutilated hand elicited sympathy (or at least deference) from the guards.

They asked how I wanted to be introduced. I told them to call me The Silent Magician. Plo-nee-ba-ka.

The rest of the day was a blur. All I cared about was the show.

I watched nervously from behind the curtains as the audience was filled in. It was a mix of townsfolk and military men. Konstigt was seated front and center with Pavel to his side. Vlad was conspicuously absent.

I’m not going to bother describing my act. You’ve seen it a dozen times. Of course, I had to remove the double entendres, those only work with spoken language. Some of them I tried to relate with hand gestures, but they were single entendres at best. But it didn’t matter, there was a real excitement in the air. I had an eager audience, and my set was performed without a hitch. It was brilliant.

The standing ovation carried on for an embarrassingly long amount of time, I am certain this was due to the fact that Konstigt continued to stand and applaud and so everyone else felt the need to follow suit.

Perhaps this also means the audience was less enraptured with my performance, and was merely performing for Konstigt? Well, that’s possible, but let’s not dwell on that. Trust me, I know a great show. This was a great show.

The curtain was dropped and I stood frozen in place. It was done. I had done my act, and I had done it silently, and I had still wowed them. It was a wonderful feeling. It was something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Seconds later, Konstigt had appeared backstage with Pavel in tow. He stood to my left, clasping my shoulder, with Pavel in front of me. And then there was a noise from backstage and Vlad appeared.

Vlad was apologetic about missing the show. Pavel’s expression soured. I was a look that I’d seen before. He issued a command in his goat language and Vlad laughed. But Pavel wasn’t laughing. I recognized the command. He was asking Vlad to turn out his pockets.

When Vlad did not comply, Pavel drew his pistol and pointed it at him. Vlad, in response, drew his own weapon, a large revolver. Konstigt now had a very grave expression. Pavel and Vlad stood on opposite sides of me, I was positioned perfectly to catch their crossfire. I slowly started to back away, but the pine box coffin was still on the stage from my final trick and it blocked my path.

Aleister, would you agree that this seems like the best time for my buddies from the CIA to show themselves? To rush to the rescue?

They thought so too, rushing the stage from opposite ends, and when they saw the guns, they positioned themselves so one of them was behind Pavel and the other was behind Vlad. Much to my chagrin, their guns were pointed at the midsection of each man (and those midsections were aimed at me), which meant there was now the possibility of four bullets hitting me.

Konstigt had taken his hand from my shoulder. He had a furious look on his face, as if he had just understood I had been working against him this whole time. Had I, though? If you could look into my heart with a microscope, I think you would see that I just wanted to perform. That was my motive. I was pure of spirit, at least in this one regard!

Konstigt was unholstering his weapon when the cover of the coffin flung open next to me.

From it emerged Mila. With a theatrical flourish, she unsheathed her hand previously hidden by a puppet, to reveal a perfectly lovely hand holding a perfectly lovely gun. Did you see that one coming, Aleister? You were always sharper than I was. Mila yelled something in that cursed troll language, which if I had to guess, I would think might be “The revolution has started, and your time is now at an end.”

She was pointing the gun at Konstigt, who at this point has his own gun drawn and pointed back at her, which also means that both of them are pointed at me as well and I’m now in for six bullets when the guns go off.

I’ve enclosed a diagram if you’re having trouble visualizing my predicament.

[enclosed image missing]

Everyone was shouting in their terrible tongue, and I couldn’t say anything. They were yelling at each other, they were yelling at me. I was trapped. I was a fool. At least I had one last good show.

And in my last moments on earth, I thought about Orius. Not his act, but what he said. Everyone gets one chance to vanish. It’s a thing you can do only once and never again. If that were the case, I had never used mine. This would be the time to use it, if ever there was one. I pressed my eyes shut.

I don’t need to tell you the ways of the magician. We weave magic out of what we have to work with. We don’t witness miracles, but we can tell others we did.

A miracle happened. I turned invisible. I had my eyes shut, so I couldn’t see myself turn invisible, but I felt it. And it must have startled my gun wielding stage-mates because there was a sudden, terrible cacophony and the air was alive with bullets, And then six thumps as six bodies fell.

I opened my eyes. First I saw the blood. My brilliant white cape was specked with it. I dropped it to the floor and noticed a half dozen new perforations. I felt myself up and down. Where was I hit? Where did I feel pain? But I didn’t feel pain. I hadn’t been hit.

I was the only one who hadn’t.

They were all dead and crumpled on the floor.

Konstigt had a bullet between the eyes. Pavel and Vlad had felled the CIA men (whose names, shamefully, I am realizing I never bothered to remember). Or perhaps they felled each other? The four of them wore shocked, lifeless expressions. Pavel’s hand still gripped his beloved engraved pistol.

And Mila, poor Mila. Just as dead as the others. She’d fallen back into the coffin, her two perfect hands draped over her lap. She would have looked like she was sleeping if you could ignore the chunks of her brain that were splattered across stage left.

In a daze, I stumbled my way past the curtains and into the orchestra section, and I started to become aware of the commotion as my senses come back. Bodies of soldiers and townsfolk were sprinkled throughout the aisle. Some of the townsfolk had donned animal masks. A fox and a rabbit were trying to decapitate a fallen soldier with makeshift knife. There was blood everywhere. Or there wasn’t. It’s hard to tell when the floors are the color of blood.

I shuffle past numerous scenes of agony and violence. I’m not wearing a military uniform or a police uniform or an animal mask, so it’s as if I’m invisible.

The streets are in chaos. I mind my business and make my way back to the hotel. Where will I go next?

It’s when I start to consider how I might bribe my way out of this mess that I realize that I’ve broken my third cardinal rule: Always get the money first.

My room seemed undisturbed. I went to my suitcase seeking my invisible dagger. When I’m in a dangerous situation, it always calms me to hold it, even though I’ve never had to use it.

It has been sitting on the table next to me while I type this out. I am ready to brandish it if necessary. The last time I peeked outside, there was black smoke rising from the palace and the commotion seemed to have died down a bit. Even revolutionaries need to sleep.

When the sun is up, I’ll figure out what’s next. First, I’m going to try to post this letter. If you’re reading this, then at least something went right.

I’m not sure if I’m a hero, a villain, or just an invisible person. I will know soon.

With the best regards I can muster given the circumstances, One can escape from anything, Your friend always,

The Silent Magician LL

[sweetlysilent]

Endearment

Requested By: @tom-holla

how ABOUT the reader gets mad at peter for always talking about Liz (bc they know Liz doesn’t like him back but the reader rlly likes him) and then they get into an argument and then to get him to shut up the reader like kisses him and then yOU FINISH IT FROM THERE

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Description: Peter is oblivious to the fact that Liz doesn’t like him back and that instead you have feelings for him, so during one of his moments of talking about Liz you snap.

Warnings: Swearing, Jealousy, Fluff 

Word Count: 2,515

A/N: This was so fun to write, I actually really like how it turned out and even better it’s for the QUEEN @tom-holla !!!!! I hope that it’s everything you expected it to be and I hope you enjoy it :)))) ily <3

You knew Peter liked Liz, it wasn’t a secret, hell, everyone knew Peter liked Liz, anytime he was ever around the brunette haired girl Peter would get flustered and forget how to speak English.

And each time you saw them together you felt your heart die a little on the inside, you had developed feelings for Peter, but this wasn’t just your average ‘crush’ feeling, it was something stronger, deeper.

You had realized freshman year that you felt something for the boy, you started noticing that when he smiled it would be genuine, or how when he’d laugh his nose would wrinkle up and it would be the most adorable thing you’d ever seen, or the way his eyes would glimmer in just the right lighting and they’d sparkle from a mile away - or at least they did to you anyways.

It was then you knew that you were screwed, you were falling hard for your best friend, but you knew he had his heart set on Liz Allan, the girl of his dreams.

So, from that day forward you kept the secret to yourself, nobody could know about your feelings for Peter, and that’s how it stayed.

You went through each day, walking down the hallways with Peter and Ned, while Peter would casually talk about Liz and how gorgeous she was, which was silently killing you.

This happened everyday of Freshman year, and each day you felt a small part of you die, knowing he’d never feel that passionate about you, but you felt just that passionate about him.

That was also the day you realized you were in love with Peter, and it scared the hell out of you.

“Y/N are you coming? We have gym in like two minutes.” Peter would stop to turn around and look at you, a soft smile on his lips as he glanced you over, seeing how your face had paled, and that you looked.. uneasy.

“I-I yeah.. Of course. Sorry about that, zoned out.” You shrugged it off nervously, giving a fake laugh as you waved your hand in the air trying to play off what had just happened, noticing how Peter gave you a skeptical look but let it slide.

That was also the day Peter started to pay attention to your actions more.

But that also didn’t change how he felt towards Liz, and you weren’t sure anything would ever change how he felt.

Come Sophomore year you felt maybe there was a chance, a chance for you to finally confess your feelings for Peter, you had grown up since being a Freshman, you matured more, looked older, it was the perfect time.

Or so you thought.

“Damn it’s like Liz just gets more beautiful as time goes on, don’t you think so Y/N?” Peter would glance over at you, while you gave one of your fakest smiles of your life, nodding in response, trying your hardest to not roll your eyes.

“Did Liz get a new top?” Peter questioned aloud, making you internally wish you could be anywhere else but with him at the moment.

“No, she’s had that one for like.. ever.” Ned would laugh, seeing as Peter didn’t even care, he was so infatuated with her, she was perfect to him.

That was the day you decided to start slowly distancing yourself from Peter, you couldn’t take the pain anymore, it was too much.

But then the unthinkable happened, Liz approached you that day, and you two became inseparable.

“Y/N, you’re friends with Peter right?” Liz questioned randomly one day while you were helping her clean up from the Academic Decathlon practice.

“Yeah, we’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember, why?” You would answer, glancing over at her in curiosity as you gathered flash cards.

“I know he likes me, it’s pretty obvious, he’s not so subtle about hiding it.” Liz would laugh, making your heart ache slightly at her words, but you nodded slightly showing you were listening.

“Anyways, what I’m trying to say is, I don’t feel the same way for him, everyone but him apparently knows, but what I don’t think everyone knows is how you feel about him.. am I right?” She’d stop gathering papers, standing up straighter, her one eyebrow raised as she studied your movements.

Her words replayed in your head like a broken record, Liz didn’t like Peter back, therefore, you didn’t have to worry anymore. Therefore, you had a chance, therefore - wait, did you hear her correctly? How did Liz know about your feelings for Peter? Matter of fact how did she figure it out?

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You’d fake laugh, while avoiding her intense stare, continuing to clean up the flash cards as you heard her sigh loudly.

“After getting to know you for these past few weeks, I can tell when you’re lying Y/N.” Liz would smile softly, making you let out a sigh of your own, your shoulders dropping slightly as you turned to face her in defeat.

“Alright! Alright fine! I like Peter, - no , I love Peter. I love him so much that it physically hurts me when I heave to hear him talk about you all fucking day and night about how beautiful you are, or what your wearing that day, or how you did your hair and it kills me!” You would shout, your hands waving around in the air for emphasis, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Y/N.. I..” Liz tried to interrupt, but you weren’t finished, now you were just word vomiting, all your secrets were pouring out and there was nothing you could do about it.

“He has never, not once, noticed me, like genuinely noticed me. He has never said I looked beautiful, or commented on what I was wearing, or even said my hair looked nice, it’s like I don’t even exist, because I’m not you. I’ll never be you, I’ll never be perfect.” You’d sniffle, tears slipping down your cheeks as you finally broke, making Liz’s expression fall as she’d rush over to you.

That was the day Liz made it her personal goal to get Peter to truly notice you.

So, when Junior year came Liz had done a complete three sixty on you, she gave you a new look, a new style, a new everything.

Sure, you were nervous as hell, you’d never looked so.. so pretty before, it made you feel confident, comfortable, noticeable.

You walked through the school doors, earning a few looks from people, some wolf whistles from others, before your eyes landed on the two people you were hoping to see.

You instantly started making your way over to them, earning Ned’s gaze first before he elbowed Peter in the ribs, making him groan before turning his head to see you approaching them.

“Holy shit, is that.. is that Y/N?” Peter would whisper to Ned, who’d nod frantically, seeing your new appearance, you were breathtaking.

“Hey guys.” You’d smile, leaning against a random locker near theirs as they’d look you over before clearing their throats.

“New look?” Ned would choke out, making you smile and nod your head in response.

“New year, new me, thought it was time for a change, maybe someone will actually take interest in me this year.” You’d smile, shrugging your shoulders while glancing down the hallway, seeing Liz approaching.

Peter on the other hand would be replaying your statement in his head, what was this about someone taking interest in you? And why did it bother him so much?

“Y/N! You look gorgeous!” Liz would squeal happily, making you laugh and hide your face as she’d smile at you.

“Don’t you guys think so too?” She’d glance as Ned and Peter whose eyes would widen slightly, being caught off guard by Liz’s question.

“-Of course! Y/N is always stunning.” Ned would smile, giving a thumbs up at you, making you laugh.

“Y/N’s always been beautiful, with or without change.” Peter would speak quietly, making your heart race at his simple yet meaningful words.

“T-Thanks.” You’d smile shyly, before being dragged off by Liz, her excitement radiating off her as you both walked.

Since that day you thought maybe things had changed, that since Peter finally noticed you, that he’d start to develop some sort of feelings in return for you.

But, of course, those were just dreams.

You were currently with Ned and Peter, walking to your next class, everything was going great, until Peter saw Liz, and his eyes lit up like the sun.

“Liz looks so good with her hair up, I wish she’d wear it like that more often. Also, look at her outfit, she’s stunning.” Peter would smile, gazing at her down the hallway like she was a goddess, making your blood boil.

You were sick of this.

“Y/N isnt’ she-” Peter would turn to face you, only to see your hard glare on him already.

“Peter, I’m going to be as blunt as I can with you, Liz doesn’t like you, she’s never going to like you like that, and frankly I’m so sick and tired of hearing you talk about her like she’s the only fucking girl on the planet, so please, forgive me if I don’t want to stick around and listen to you rave about her.” You’d spit out, your words dripping with venom as you’d scowl at the boy in front of you, shock taking over his face.

“How the hell do you even know that? Actually why do you even care? I’ve liked Liz for almost three years now and now you tell me she doesn’t return the feelings? Where were you Freshman year with this information huh?” Peter would fire back, taking a small step closer to you with each comeback.

“Oh! You want to know how I know?” You’d raise your eyebrows, while letting out a sarcastic laugh, your feet moving closer to him as well.

“Yeah! I do!” He’d shout, the space between you becoming smaller each step.

“Because she told me! She told me to my face that she didn’t like you back! That she knew you liked her, but that didn’t change anything! So, do us all a favor and get over your pathetic little crush!” You’d shout, your index finger poking his chest.

“Why do you even care so much if I like her! What’s it matter to you anyways!” Peter would shout, his eyes searching yours rapidly for the answer.

You’d both be breathing heavily from shouting, your faces dangerously close to one another’s.

“Tell me, tell me why you care so much that I like Liz! You wouldn’t be this mad if-”

You’d cut him off, pressing your lips against his, your one hand cupping his cheek gently while the other was placed on the back of his neck.

Peter on the other hand would be in complete shock, unable to process what was happening until you would pull away, a look of fear washing over your face.

“I-I..” Peter would stammer, his face growing red from what had just happened.

“I’m so.. I’m so sorry.. I don’t know why I just did that..” You’d whisper, unable to look him in the eyes.

The two of you would grow silent for what felt like forever, until you felt his fingers graze your chin, gently tilting it up to look at him, before Peter himself pressed his own lips against yours.

To say you were shocked would be an understatement, you were speechless.

Peter Parker was kissing you.

Peter would instantly feel like he was making a mistake, that he read your actions wrong, so he started to pull away, but you pulled him back, kissing him back.

You’d both eventually pull away, looking at each other with adoration, something you never thought you’d experience from Peter.

“This entire time.. this entire time I’ve been chasing a girl that didn’t feel the same way, if I had only opened my eyes sooner and realized that the girl I’ve been waiting for has been beside me this whole time.” Peter would whisper, his smile growing on his face as he’d caress your cheek gently with his thumb.

“Took you long enough Parker.” You’d joke, letting out a soft laugh, making his heart swell up at the sound, his eyes lighting up slightly seeing your nose crinkle.

“Y/N, would you honor me and be my date to homecoming?” Peter would blurt out, surprising you, hell, surprising himself.

Where did he get this confidence all of a sudden? Not that he didn’t mind it though.

“I’d love to be your date, I wouldn’t want it any other way.” You’d smile, before pecking his lips quickly, earning a tiny smirk from him in return.

Weeks later, you’d both be making your way onto the dance floor at homecoming, your light purple dress matching his light purple bow tie, which was nicely done if you did say so yourself.

“May I have this dance my lady?” Peter would grin, placing his hand out as you’d laugh and accept his gesture, starting to dance with him.

You’d see Liz and Ned, smirking at the two of you from the sidelines, making you roll your eyes slightly, but give a silent 'thank you,’ if it wasn’t for them you weren’t sure you’d be where you were with Peter today.

“Did I tell you that you look absolutely gorgeous tonight?” Peter would speak into your ear, his arms wrapped around your waist gently as your arms draped around his neck.

“Actually, yes, you did, but I could always hear you say it again.” You’d tease, making him smile and shake his head.

“You look gorgeous Y/N.” Peter would smile, before leaning in and giving you a quick but passionate kiss, making you melt on the inside.

“You look pretty handsome yourself there Parker.” You’d wink, your fingers trailing through his hair slightly, making his smile grow.

That was the night you two danced for hours.

And the night you told him you loved him, and he told you he loved you too.

Thus making homecoming a success, and by far the best one you’d ever gone to, and it was all thanks to the one and only Peter Parker.

Tags: @the-crime-fighting-spider