#vague approximation of what a cat looks like

[forsythi-amitie]

i'd feel really awkward right now if i happened to be missing someone from class 3-A. Good thing i'm not.

[mousy-nona]

Chronicles of Cursed Cat Alastor

One day, the hotel woke up to see Alastor’s perpetual “on air” sign had been turned off. His room was empty, his coffee ice cold. 

And in the middle of the lobby was a cat. Or what seemed to be the approximate shape and size of a cat, but with the strangest, most evil face any of them had ever seen. It grinned up at them and wagged its little stump of a tail, which made Charlie melt into a puddle of happy tears.

“Isn’t he adorable?” She squealed.

And that was that. The cat joined their weird little family – and Lucifer secretly resolved to get his daughter to an eye doctor. Stat. 

—-----------------

“Charlie, are you sure about this one? There’s something weird about that cat.” Lucifer eyed the red thing warily. “It’s looking at Keekee like it wants to eat it!” 

“Don’t be silly! Mr. Montgomery is probably trying to be her friend!” She frowned. “It’s so strange. Keekee’s never been this skittish around other cats before.” 

A thin line of drool was falling from the edge of Mr. Montgomery’s mouth. When he noticed Lucifer watching, he sucked it back up and graced him with a freakish, utterly too human grin.  

—-----------------

Lucifer’s wedding anniversary hit him like a truck. That is, he didn’t handle it very well. He got up, fully intending to make a show of his utterly fantastic mood – haha, look how great I feel! Your mother didn’t crush my heart and set it on fire with a flamethrower after all! – but found it was all too much of a bother, and sat promptly back down. He laid his head on his desk. Just a few more minutes. Then I’ll leave. 

He didn’t even notice Mr. Montgomery had waltzed in until the abomination jumped up onto his desk. The cat loomed over him, his razor teeth inches from Lucifer’s nose. 

“Can I help you?” He sniffled. Couldn’t a man mourn the end of his marriage in peace? 

Mr. Montgomery tilted his head with a sickening crack, his neck nearly bending into a right angle as he studied Lucifer’s red eyes, the mountain of used tissues accumulating by the desk, the ring he was clutching in his hand.

Stretching leisurely (in the exact same way he learned from Keekee, Lucifer noted), Mr. Montgomery strolled over to a picture of Lilith he had on his desk – and smacked it off. He stared at him the entire time, as if daring him to do something about it.

“Are you…are you power playing me right now?” 

“Meow,” Mr. Montgomery sneered. 

“That’s it, you little freak! Come to Daddy!”

When Charlie got home, she found Lucifer with his six wings fully spread and the hotel half destroyed by angelic bolts, panting and wheezing as he tore a couch apart. 

“Dad, what are you doing?” 

He whirled around, his eyes wild as he zapped a vaguely cat-shaped shadow into oblivion. “It’s that monster! That cat! I can hear him in the walls!”

“Isn’t he behind you…?” Vaggie asked.

And he was. Mr. Montgomery was sitting on a shelf over the reception, licking his paw and yawning. 

Lucifer deflated. “Ah. I guess he is.”

“Dad, isn’t today…?” Charlie trailed off, blushing a little.

“Oh! Right. Yes, it is,” Lucifer said. He’d been so busy chasing Mr. Montgomery around, he’d completely forgotten about his anniversary. 

“Are you doing okay?”

He sighed and pulled her into a hug. “Yes, I’m fine. I was a little sad at first, but then I got distracted.”

“Burning down the hotel?” Vaggie asked. Mr. Montgomery meowed and started purring, looking as pleased as a cat that had gotten the cream.

—-----------------

“That cat is trying to kill me!” Lucifer roared, pointing at the wholly unrepentant Mr. Montgomery.

The accused murderer jumped onto Charlie’s lap and started kneading her lap. Everyone let out a collective awww! Charlie nearly teared up, and Angel Dust snapped a picture for his Voxstagram. Even Vaggie, the sole voice of reason, was making what the kids called heart eyes at the monster. 

Lucifer nearly tore out his hair in frustration. “He’s tricking you, don’t you see? That cat has it out for me! This is the third time he’s tried to kick rat poison into my food!” 

“Don’t be silly, Dad! He’s just a cat. Cats knock stuff over all the time!” 

“Rat poison? Three times?” 

Charlie looked around, frowning. “Who keeps putting rat poison on the shelves?” 

No one fessed up. Mr. Montgomery let out a loud purr and fixed Lucifer with the most hair-raising, devilishly smug grin Lucifer had ever seen. 

“Did no one see that? Seriously, did no one else see that?”

—-----------------

A few weeks passed before someone finally broached the question that was on everyone’s mind.

“Has anyone seen Alastor?” Charlie tapped her nose with her pencil, frowning a bit. “It’s strange for him to be gone this long.” 

“Oh, oh! I’ve seen him!” Niffty raised her hand and waved it frantically. “He’s right over there!”

Everyone turned – but all they saw was a furry red blob warming himself near the fire. 

“Niffty, doll, have you been sniffing the toilet cleaner again?” Angel Dust asked gently.

“Nooo, silly. The cat is Alastor!” Niffty chirped, clapping her little hands with delight. Mr. Montgomery – no, scratch that – Alastor blinked his left eye, then his right eye, and smiled blandly up at all of them.

“But…but…how?” Angel Dust stuttered.

She shrugged, her shoulders going all the way up to her ears. “Dunno. He’s got a few weird friends who like to play tricks on him. Isn’t it great? He showed up all fluffy and cuddly! Perfect for hugs!” 

Alastor the Cat looked remotely nervous for the first time since he’d appeared. 

“How do we turn him back?” Lucifer demanded. He would rather die than admit it, but he sort-of-kind-of missed the sadistic demon that made his life Hell. It was getting kind of boring without him around. 

“Dunno! Ask him!”

Once again, they all turned to the cat, who opened his mouth – “Meeeeow.”

[olichat-reads]

Mrow | Part One

Bakugou x roomate!reader

Summary: you've gotten yourself into a quirk accident & were now..?? a cat??

A/n: if there's one thing i like about the mha universe is that the existence of quirks make up so many plot possibilities to play with. i had a lot of fun writing this & i hope you enjoy reading too!

🌟

You were a cat.

Your day most certainly could not get any weirder than this.

You were chasing after a petty thief down the alleyway when it happened. You almost felt bad for going after what could be the most skittish crime offender you've ever encountered.

Then she struck you with her quirk.

The force of it knocked you to the ground & your sight went blurry. You vaguely heard her apologized profusely, swearing it was an accident & stammering that you'll be able to figure out how to undo it on your own, leaving you to slowly black out.

When you came to, you found yourself absolutely drowning in a mass of clothes that you soon realized was your hero outfit. Horrified at the discovery, you looked down at your naked body only to find out you weren't exactly naked.

You were covered in fur.

Cursing out in confusion, you heard your own voice rang through the alleyway. But it didn't sound like your voice & what came out was most definitely not coherent words.

Panicked you scrambled to get out of the alley, almost plopping face first into what seemed to be a ridiculously huge puddle, barely catching yourself as you fell on your furry butt. Peering into the muddy water, you felt your heart sank at the sight of your own reflection.

You were a cat.

🌟

You've sat at your front door for approximately 15 minutes, glaring at the wood, willing it open with your mind.

You decided quickly that heading to your agency will do you no good, already concluding you aren't getting a productive two-way conversation with anyone while you were in this form. Trying to alert other pro heroes on your way did not work out, unless them cooing & making baby voices at you counted.

The familiar sound of heavy boots approaching your door made you perk up. Your roomate was home.

You padded aside to make way for your roomate to open the door, you little body slumping in relief. You didn't notice Bakugou skeptically raising an eyebrow at your presence but saying nothing otherwise.

The click of the door unlocking had you sighing inwardly. Ugh. Thank fuck. You thought as you padded in tiredly. Curling up in bed after the day you had the only thing on your mind.

You barely made it two steps in before your feet were no longer on the ground, making you squeal in surprise.

"Oi."

You heard your own angry mewls as Bakugou grabbed you by the scruff, holding you up to his face.

"Who the fuck do you think you are waltzing in like you own this place?"

You wanted to scream. You were too tired for this shit right now.

Oh my god. Bakugou! I do own this place. Its me! Y/n!

You tried explaining to no avail as you thrashed in his hold. Bakugou muttered something about you being 'a loud little fuck too' & started heading for the front door.

This made you bristle in irritation even more.

There was absolutely no way you were turned into a cat & getting kicked out of your own apartment on the same day. Not fucking happening.

The moment Bakugou dropped you off out the front door, you launched yourself onto his pant leg before he could close the door in your face, clinging on to dear life as the blonde yelped in surprise at feeling your little claws dig into the fabric of his sweatpants.

"Are you fucking kidding me??" He yelled, swinging he's leg around, jostling you with the movement, trying to get you off of him.

No! Thats my line, you bastard! Don't fucking kid with me!

You yelled profanities at him. All of which, to your dismay, came out as high pitched wails while Bakugou stumbled around as he tried to pry you off his leg while you held on with all your might. In his struggle, he bumped into the front door, cracking it open just a smidge. Seeing this opening you leaped off of him & made a mad dash inside, hearing your angry roomate shout after you. You dove for the living room sofa, barely wiggling your way through the narrow space underneath, only just escaping the angry blonde's grasp.

You heard Bakugou yelling at you to get out, to which you yelled right back at him- non-threatening little mewls be damned. You weren't standing for this bullshit.

Fuck.

There was no way of communicating with him like this. Where the fuck was a convinient scrabble board game when you needed one.

🌟

"Oi. Come out. You must be hungry. I got you food."

No! You'll try to throw me out again! Out of my own home may I add!

You heard Bakugou snicker at your yowls from under the sofa, making your tail puff up in annoyance.

"Calm down, brat. I won't throw you out. Promise. Just food."

You contemplated your options for a moment before relenting to his offer. Bakugou chuckled at the sight of you poking your head out of your hiding place, looking up at him with doubts written all over your furry face.

You watched him place two saucers by the table, one of steamed fish, the other filled with clean water before moving on to set his own meal & take a seat at the table. Trotting over nervously, you looked up at him one last time, just in case he was bluffing, only to have him roll his eyes at you. "Hurry up. My foods getting cold."

You tilt your head at that.

His food? Was he waiting for you to eat together?

You wanted to ask but your tummy growling & confirmation that you could hold Bakugou to his word had you making your way to your dishes. Plus your questions would only come out as mewls & squeals anyway so.

Sitting on your haunches you meowed out a 'thanks for the food' before digging in, making the blonde laugh.

"At least you have some manners for a feral little thing."

🌟

You didn't have time to worry about getting kicked out after dinner, having seemingly become the least of Bakugou's problems after a phonecall left him agitated & fidgety.

You watched Bakugou pace the living room back & forth, whilst holding his phone up to his ear, seemingly getting more & more frustrated by the minute as he grumbled under his breath ever time the call went to voicemail.

"Mrow?"

Bakugou barely acknowledged your presence with a glance before he's dialing the number again.

"She's not fucking answering."

Who?

"The other dumbass that lives here. She should've been home ages ago. Its getting dark."

Oh. Oh, he's worried about you.

Cursing under his breath at another voicemail, Bakugou muttered something about calling your agency again while you watched him barely contain his distress as he learns no one has seen you since your patrol.

"This fucking dumbass. Where the hell are you??" Bakugou growled while tugging on the boots of his hero outfit, the worry underlying his voice made your gut churn with guilt.

You scurried over to where he sat at the door, swiftly lacing up his boots. He paused when you meowed, peaking around his side.

Keeping your eyes on his, you tested the waters by perching up on his thigh, front paws on his tummy with those red eyes watching your every move. When Bakugou didn't push you off, you continued wiggling your way up his chest, his hand instinctively coming under your legs to support you.

Face to face with him, you see the distress on his face, the expression making your heart heavy. Pushing your little body on your hind legs, you bring a paw up to the wrinkles between his brows.

I'm right here, Bakugou. You mewled quietly.

The blonde huffed out a quiet laugh at that. "Whats with you? You're way too perceptive for a regular fluffball." You perk up at his words. Maybe he'd finally notice!

Thats 'cause I'm not a cat! Its me! Y/n!

To your dismay, he only chuckled at your frantic meows. "Alright, alright. I have to go now," he rumbled out with an amused grin overlaying his worry. He stood up slowly, picking you up in his large hands to set you on the ground. "M'bringing that idiot home so I can introduce ya. I'd bet she's gonna love ya."

You could only watch as Bakugou stepped out into the night to search for you, knowing he wouldn't find you out there tonight.

Part Two

[adnauseum11]

Check Point (John Price x Reader)

John makes dinner and you discuss decorating for the holiday.

1.1k words

CW: none - this is pure fluff. (Or is it?)

Feedback welcome!

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, the Masterlist is also pinned to my blog.

Masterlist

John is like the cat that got the cream the entire next day. He’s never out of reach, not exactly hovering, but staying within arms-length. He eventually talks you into watching football with him, which you do, curled around each other for a few hours. He’s only vaguely sorry about the bruises on your thighs, but mindful of them when jostling with you for position on the couch so you can’t get too annoyed with him. 

He offers to cook dinner, so you occupy yourself by dragging your box of Christmas decorations out. It’s not big, and half of the box are vintage glass ornaments you are too scared to actually hang on a tree, the glass thin and fragile and the ancient wire hangers rusty. You look up at John after carefully setting the vintage ornaments aside, trying to gauge how receptive he would be to going shopping this close to the holidays. His eyes raise off his task to meet yours, like he can feel the weight of your gaze. 

“I don’t have any of the hardware needed to get a tree darling, I think that may have to be a task for next year.” 

John speaks before you can say anything. You press your lips together to keep from smiling at his allusion to next year, something warming in your chest at his easy projection into the future.

“That’s alright, I was actually wondering if you would consider coming shopping with me tomorrow? I shouldn’t be spending more money right now but all my decorations are old and you have approximately…?”  

You hold up your hand to John, indicating he should fill in the blank you have left at the end of your sentence. He understands without having to be prompted. 

“None.”

“Right. Thank you.”

John sighs, going back to his task before replying.

“On a scale of one to ten, how necessary is this shopping? Worth dealing with the crowds?” 

You hum, thinking for a moment while you watch him work. You forget, sometimes, that John is a veteran with trauma. He’s so self-assured and confident that things like busy crowds and loud venues half the time don’t occur to you as potential triggers, just a normal course of life. A part of you knows that the landscape is different for John, last night being a prime example. 

“No, you know what, don’t worry about it. I can go on my own.” 

You cut him some slack, not wanting to put him through unnecessary hardship. That has him looking up at you again though, unexpectedly. He looks like he’s going to say something and then presses his lips together, redirecting himself to rolling a chicken breast around ham and cheese.

You don’t realize he’s still stewing on it until you’re setting up little reindeer figurines made of ceramics along the edge of the island where he’s working. 

“Do I get a say in any of this decorating?”

You look up at him, surprised. His face is serious, tracking your placement of the ceramic deer. 

“How do the deer offend, my lord?” 

You joke, unsure if John’s annoyed with the decorating itself or your choices. He shoots you a look that would probably have anyone else quailing. You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed with his grump and set the deer down in place firmly instead. 

“Don’t give me that look, what’s wrong with Vixen and Blitzen?” 

“Nothing.” He backpedals, but you aren’t having it.

“You wanted a say, let’s hear it then.” 

You gesture with your hand, encouraging him to come out with it. He straightens and looks at you steadily before surprising you again. 

“Why did you uninvite me?”

“Uninvite you? From what? Shopping?” 

You’re grasping at straws, trying to piece together what’s annoyed him about being let off from that particular task.

“Yeah. You asked if I wanted to go and then told me to forget it immediately. Is this because I don’t condone all that glitter?”

You can’t help the swell of affection that squeezes your heart, looking at him frowning down at you. His hands are held aloft, covered in chicken juices but you step into his side and wrap your arms around his waist tightly anyways. The snowman figurine with generous glitter had been a hard no from the former Captain when you had unpacked it. 

“No, it’s because I didn’t think it was fair to ask you to deal with the crowds. Your lack of festive spirit is a separate issue.”

“I can be festive.” He huffs, deflating slightly in your arms. 

“Say it louder so my snowman can hear you.”

He shoots you a look and you smile, patting his ribs before letting him loose again. 

“You can come if you really need to have a say, John. I just didn’t think it was worth putting you through all the hustle and bustle for just a wreath and some knick-knacks.”

“I know you; you say just a wreath and knick-knacks but you’ll be back here with more bags than you can carry if you’re unsupervised.”

That’s a fair point but you’ll be damned before you let John know that you agree. 

“Oh, well if I need saving from myself, I suppose you’re the man for the job.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, casually placing another deer in the line-up. He shakes his head, wisely, focusing back on his work, placing the chicken on a baking tray.

“Trying to save the flat’s limited storage space, love.” 

“Hmm…I suppose I can believe that.” 

You agree easily, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. He smiles to himself, carrying on to wash his hands at the sink. You watch him, the strong lines of his back flexing under his old t-shirt as he moves. You can’t help picturing the way his back would look as he moves inside you and feel your belly swoop and face heat at the image it conjures in your mind. He turns to dry his hands and catches you staring, face flushed. He raises his eyebrows at you and tucks his chin, a look you know well as an unspoken question. The slow smile that curls across your face is anything but innocent. 

“How long is the timer set for?”

You can’t help asking, the thrill of teasing John perennial in your life, now with richer rewards for your trouble. He’s able to read your thoughts just as easily as you read him apparently because his answering grin is savage. 

“Long enough.” 

Your feet are moving before he’s finished speaking. 

Next Chapter

Tag list:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch

Ao3

[coveey-s]

solaris

word count: 1.8k

paring: spencer reid x oc (but sorta y/n ish lol)

summary: spencer and ariana go to see a showing of 'solaris' (referenced in season 6 ep 14)

warnings: none?? just fluff lol

i don't really write fanfic this is kinda a one off so mb if this is a bit clunky 🤗🙃

Ariana Striker didn't really watch a lot of Sci-Fi. But ever since joining the BAU about a year ago and befriending a certain Spencer Reid, she knew more than ever before.

She was packing up her things for the night at the office after a case in LA when she noticed him talking on the phone at the desk over.

Ariana heard him mention something called 'Solaris'. What was that? A new planet he'd discovered?

Spencer hung up the phone with an odd look on his face.

"Who were you talking to?" Ariana asked, she couldn't help being curious.

"Emily, I was asking if she wanted to see Solaris in the theater with me, since she and I are the only ones who understand Russian," he answered, putting his phone in his pocket, "But she's busy with Sergio."

Her eyes widened, "Ooh, a new guy?"

"Her cat," Spencer replied, "But I thought the same thing."

"Oh," Ariana laughed, "Anyway, what's Solaris?" she asked.

"It's a Sci-Fi film made in 1972 that follows a psychiatrist sent to investigate the death of a doctor and the mental states of the cosmonauts in a space station orbiting a planet named Solaris." Spencer explained.

"Really? Interesting, a Russian sci fi film." she pondered.

"It's approximately five hours long, it's one of the greatest sci fi mediation films of all time." he added picking up his bag, "Well, bye," he started off.

"Wait," Ariana half laughed.

He stopped and turned raising his eyebrows.

"You didn't ask me about my plans?"

"Oh, what are your plans?" he asked.

"I was planning on eating Ben & Jerry's and watching 21 Jump Street..." she began.

"What's 21 Jump Street?" Spencer asked.

"You've never- you know it doesn't matter, point is the emphasis is on was. "

"What are you doing now?" he rested his hands in his pockets.

Ariana shook her head, "You know what nevermind, it's okay. Enjoy your movie, Reid." she smiled, slipping her coat on.

Spencer frowned, "I have a feeling I'm missing something."

She stepped out from behind her desk and walked towards him, "I was hinting that I could go to the movie with you but it seemed to-" Ariana made a woodshing sound and waved her hand over her head.

"Oh," Spencer said, "You don't understand Russian."

"Y'know for a profiler you seem to be highly confused by my behavior. I'm trying to make a nice gesture, so you don't have to go alone." Ariana motioned vaguely.

"You want to watch a five hour movie in a language you don't understand?"

She had to admit it didn't sound like the most fun, but maybe it could be, with him.

"Why not? I can probably pick up on stuff with the visuals and if you give me a quick explanation of the plot before we start ." Arriana shrugged.

"I can explain on the way," Spencer said enthusiastically.

"Let's go," she replied, patting him on the shoulder.

~~~~~~~

When they arrived she was once again baffled at the way his mind worked, however she doubted if she'd retain all the information she'd heard.

"So what's the probability that there really is a water brain planet out there?" Ariana asked as she grabbed her popcorn.

"I don't think there's an exact probability, but only 0.05 percent of the galaxy has been explored so it's possible." Spencer reasoned.

"Wow, you don't have an exact stat for something?" Ariana teased, popping a piece of popcorn in her mouth.

"I know," Spencer said sadly.

"Popcorn?" she offered, pointing the bucket at him.

He shook his head.

"More for me," Ariana said happily.

The theatre was small and old, it still had the light box lettering on the outside and little red seats on the inside.

They took their seats in the back, despite Spencer's point that the best seats were technically in the middle.

"But back here, you get to see the full screen, and you don't get people hitting you in the back." Ariana remarked.

He seemed to accept that and settled into his seat as the beginning credits began to play.

Ariana pulled off her coat and leaned back. She glanced at Spencer who's brown eyes were trained on the screen.

Just as she looked away she felt his gaze on her. Ariana peered at him through the corner of her eye, and neither of them looked away for a moment. She smiled and he smiled before she focused her attention on the movie, hoping she wasn't blushing like a school girl.

The movie was interesting, but her sleepless nights at the hotel the past few days were finally catching up to her and she was struggling to stay awake.

She was abruptly pulled out of her daze when the movie stopped for an intermission. Thank god, she needed to stretch her legs and wake herself up.

Ariana stood and stretched her arms over her head, "I could do with some fresh air, come on."

Spencer followed after her into the cool night air.

"What do you think of it, the movie?" he asked.

"Good, very Russian." I answered.

He nodded and his mouth fell into that flat line like it always did.

Ariana thought for a moment, "You know what I can do? I'm really good at catching food with my mouth," she clapped her hands together.

Spencer looked at her puzzledly, "What?"

"You know, people throw peanuts or something and people catch them in their mouths?" she threw a piece of popcorn at him.

He watched it fall, "I see,"

"Here," she shoved the popcorn bucket into his arms, "Throw a piece, I'll show you."

"I have terrible aim," Spencer added matter-of-factly.

"Try your best,"

He threw a piece of popcorn in the air and Ariana successfully caught it.

"See," she said between bites.

Spencer laughed a little, "Cool."

"Now, your turn," Ariana took back the bag.

"No, I'm okay," he insisted.

"Just try, I'm gonna keep throwing popcorn at you until you do," Ariana threatened.

Spencer shrugged, "Okay, I'll give it a shot,"

She threw it up and he surprisingly got it, "Wow you're a natural, I've been honing my skills for years." Ariana smiled.

"It's more physics than physical ability, but thank you," he said earnestly.

"No, you're the chosen one." Ariana chuckled.

Spencer did too and they continued throwing popcorn until intermission was over.

Once they returned to their seats Ariana prayed for the strength to stay awake for another two and a half hours.

It didn't work.

Five minutes later, Ariana was out.

Spencer turned to her to see her fast asleep, head half resting on the back of the chair.

He laughed to himself and just watched her for a moment, she really was pretty. But of course that didn't matter. Spencer cleared his throat and shifted his arms against the arm rests.

Approximately fifty five seconds later, Ariana slumped down further, and her head rested against his shoulder.

Spencer's eyes widened, she was still deeply asleep, and her head was on his shoulder. Her head was on his shoulder.

He was never overly touchy, but his team was the exception, often sharing hugs with them. And Ariana, she gave great hugs.

So there was no logical reason as to why her head on his shoulder was distracting him so much. But it was.

He made an active decision to not focus on the warmth of her body against his or the smell of her conditioner, he would miss the movie.

For two hours and twenty eight minutes, Spencer didn't move his left arm, and found it to be quiet numb.

The movie ended and Ariana was still slumbering so Spencer made an attempt to wake her.

"Ariana," he muttered, "Ariana, the movie is done."

She stirred and then opened her eyes a little, squinting at the light. Coming to her senses, Ariana shot up.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," she motioned to his arm.

"It's okay," he said quietly, flexing his hands, trying to get blood flow back.

"What happened? Is the movie over?" Ariana looked around.

"Yes," he answered.

"Oh, Spencer, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," she said, rubbing her face, "I'm just a bit sleep deprived."

"Don't be, you got some sleep and I enjoyed the company." Spencer concluded, standing and grabbing his jacket.

"I suppose that's true," Ariana said as they exited the theatre.

"You've got a pretty comfortable shoulder," she added.

"Thank you," he said contently, "You've got a...nice head..." Spencer scratched the back of his head.

She chuckled at him, "Thanks. We should do this again sometime," Ariana proposed.

"There's a showing of Silent Running next week," Spencer replied.

"It's a date." she winked.

Spencer smiled at the ground.

"So," Ariana nudged him, "I gotta know how Solaris ended."

"So," Spencer began.

[senka-mesecine]

This may sound sooo weird but could I request some predator/prey play with Barnes? Thank u!

WARPAINT.

Robert Barnes x Reader

-

-"Dusk's settling. It's time."-

You remark standing on the threshold of the house looking out into the woods as you shrugged into your jacket, zipping it up for warmth there to ward off the chill of the great outdoors. The agreement was made. Was a done deal. Bob's impaled you on a stare from inside the house like he was hellbent on giving on a quiet head start and wordlessly intending to make sure you take it; in fact, those were the agreed rules of the game. You go on right ahead, start walkin', he said, and I'll be right behind'ya, because if I go at it right now, you won't make it past the front porch. And you believed him. Truly. You did. There was simply something quietly fascinating, perhaps a little daunting and curious how seriously he took this whole thing. Like it was an actual insurgence or ambush and not two lovers deliberately toying with one another. Like it wasn't mere foreplay, for lack of a better word. -"I'll just go out there and start strolling, alright?"- You carefully explain and re-explain as if though you weren't over this a hundred times before --- the whole cat and mouse thing? Needed to seem natural and spontaneous. Like you were truly someone caught unaware instead of a person genuinely chased. At first anyway. That was the impression that was meant to be projected. It was just that Robert was so very stern and grim looking you had the odd impression he already started the game, at least inside of his own mind, all while you were still here assessing the rules and preparing for it, fidgeting with your zipper, awkwardly staring out into the bosom of the forest. A distant pheasant shrieks somewhere in the bush and the sound nearly makes you shiver. God.

-"And please, come and find me soon, Bobby. I can't stand the dark."-

You borderline plead, disguising it, perhaps, as a tiny, mild mannered little joke especially once you pepper in an endearment for good measure, stepping off the threshold and across the porch, still talking to the man who hasn't even made a single move outside the house, merely assessing you, back leaning against the wooden pillar holding up the ceiling, almost casual in his body language. Something about his eyes relaying what you could only translate as him saying 'Bet' before you ran out down the trail leading into the tree lot, house becoming smaller and smaller behind you.

---

-"Robert!?"-

You call out, approximately what you could only deduce as a full hour later. Your voice echoes into the abyss, but no response comes. You vaguely pondered if bringing a wristwatch with you would make everything better or worse, but it was a moot point. You particularly cursed yourself for not having a flashlight, but you supposed you were the vulnerable, hunted party to exuberant degrees as it were. Didn't need to worsen your chances as much as you actually wanted to be caught prematurely, so Bob could take you back to the warmth of home so you could call it a night. -"You there!?"- You try again, understanding that the game wouldn't have you giving away your position this blatantly, but thing was you assumed he'd show himself sooner. After all, he's promised. Maybe he's changed his mind and you're merely being teased. You wonder. No, no. That wasn't Bob. When he set his mind to something he went through with it. This wasn't meant to be, in your mind, a chase in the woods at dusk, but you stumbling around in the dark, borderline as blind as a bat, your only relief of light coming from the half moon above head, careful steps following the pale ribbons of light squeezed through the foliage of the trees as you watched you step, the occasional dry branch or twig cracking underneath your feet, alerting an unseen hooting owl in the distance. Must've been ten at night by now, according to your vague assessment. Somehow, the gravitas of the situation settles in like a rock around your neck; if it was so scary, why was your heart thumping fast? Excited? Catching your breath on a downward slope you lean against the trunk of a nearby pine tree, leaning your back against it and using it as a momentary rest and refuge from sight. Love did make you do stupid things; if someone told you'd be in forests of Tennessee playing hide and seek with someone, you'd snort in amusement. You embrace your arms around yourself, around your torso and the jacket on it, keeping your warmth intact, imagining the hands were his. A distant echo cuts through the silence. You stir, breath hitching, calming only once you realize there was a silhouette between the pines; grazing in the distance in the moonlight, causing your shoulders to drop in relief. A deer. Just a deer that didn't notice you.

Scared the crap out of you.

It was late. You move, deciding you had to at this point, either heading further into the woods or back, towards home, following back the trail leading towards the house and hoping to God you'll run into Robert somewhere along the way only for the soul to jump out of your body, on the steep top of the precipice where the three lot started to thin above you, he was right there against the moonlit sky. You'd recognize the outline of him anywhere and before you can think, you yell, unsure if you feel happy or terrified to see him. Maybe both. How long was he there, how long was he there, long was he there and how on earth did you not hear him, your mind races, feverishly, looking for questions that didn't have any momentary answer and you feel it reflect in the way your voice comes out shivering like a leaf. -"Bob!? Where were you? I was waiting for you!"- You words crack in your throat, echoing all around you, getting no response back. -"What are you doing!?"- You inquire; sheesh, what took him so long? You watch his silhouette shift from one leg to another, leaning his weight sideways. He was about to taunt; you knew that stance. You knew that body language. It's just that you couldn't predict what he was going to say next no matter how cognizant you were of his mannerisms.

-"Deer huntin'."- He drawls candidly, stepping forward and shit ---

If you run, you run on pure instinct.

Your legs simply take off from under you like they were operating with a mind and a will of their own, rushing through a maze of trees, bushes and branches, making decisions independently from your brain and the rest of your body, giving you no time to process anything but the primal survival instinct that told you to flee. Flee as far as you can. You loved him. You understood that. But every atom in your body carried you as fast as it could out of there to the degree you couldn't even stop yourself. Even if you wanted to. If someone stopped you there and then to ask you if this was still only foreplay or if you were truly running from Robert Barnes you were convinced you'd have no precise answer to give with a head full of white static and noise, hearing his footsteps behind you loud and clear and swearing that it couldn't be him; must've been the frantic beating of your own heart in your chest, in your head, in your ears. The Robert you knew was too quiet for this. A moment of distraction is all that it takes. The sleeve of your jacket gets harshly tangled into a sharp branch, and with a volatile tug, the material rips, taking the fabric of your shirt with it along with some of your skin. You're scratched. You're bleeding. But, you're still running. The tattered remains of your jacket remain hanging limply and in tatters from a nearby pinecone riddled bough. Shit, shit, shit --- the pain's intense, even with all the adrenaline pumping through your system.

-"Mhmm-hmm! Lettin'ya flag get captured, girl."-

You hear him from behind you gloating like he knew something you didn't, almost humming in contentment, and when your own frenzy briefly allows you to throw back a glance across your shoulder, Robert's there, standing some twenty odd feet behind you, the dark outline of him anyway, holding up the remains of your sleeve like they're a trophy. He either moved like the wind, soundless and as fast as a hurricane or you were much slower than all of this subjectively felt and your mind was playing tricks on you. He could've caught up to you right now, you concluded, but he didn't want to. He wanted to hunt. You envied that deer from earlier just now, grazing in the dewy forest grass. Envied and understood it. Wanted to be quite as lithe and fast it probably was and slip into the night, never to be found again. The only thing that slows you down is the burning sensation stemming from your scratch; the fact that the blood was trickling down your elbow and that you could feel it pooling in your coiled fist, dripping down into the foliage. You stumble back like a wounded domestic animal, forehead lined with cold sweat. You ain't got no fuel or air left in you. You breathe, loud and ragged and desperately fast only to find him there, leisurely striding in your direction down from the hill, inspecting a blood stained piece of cloth with pursed lips like the sight of it almost entertained him in ways you couldn't comprehend.

He dips his finger into the bloodstained material, maintaining eye contact.

Bringing it up to his face and drawing a straight crimson line across his cheek.

Slowly, almost leisurely, like he wasn't in a tremendous hurry whatsoever.

Then repeating the exact motion with the scarred side of his face.

It was makeshift warpaint.

Warpaint made out of your blood.

A trophy made out of your own sleeve tucked promptly into his belt.

-"Bob, you're scaring me."-

You gulp hard, you exposed bit of skin erupting in goosebumps as you were holding up your hands defensively, speaking as fast and as firmly as your hyperventilation and lack of breath allowed you, catching yourself flying. It was a bold faced lie and you knew it even as it was spoken. Or perhaps a half-lie at best. You weren't just scared. You were aching. You were aching to stop running, walk towards him, give yourself up and let him do whatever he wanted with you here and now and be wholly content doing so, which was mad. It was insane. He was the most horrifying sight you've ever seen so to want this meant that, the way Robert himself would put it, you've gone dinky dau. Totally unhinged. You wanted to escape and never return here again just a second ago. Now you wanted him to fuck you. Were was the logic in any of this? God forbid some trekkers, mountaineers or hunters come this way and spot this scene; they'd think you're both unhinged or that you're about to be murdered. -"Hell's bells, so run, then, if'ya so scared."- He shoots back and judging by the harshness of his voice you felt like he was giving you an order and disbelieving you at the same time. It's like your mind's been read; he knew how turned on you were right now and how guilty you felt about not feeling guilty about it. -"You're talkin' the talk and not walkin' the walk, darlin'."- And there it is; he's taunting you again, stepping forward soundlessly, hit by a ray of moonlight, faced adorned with your own blood. He was right. You could've started running again by now, instead, you were here listening to his soliloquy, mesmerized. -"I'd reckon,"- He begins. -"y 'thought it'll be all fun an' games out'ere and the fact that it ain' made'ya feel alive."- There it is; hitting the nail right on its head, as always. At that point, you feel your thighs practically pulsate with need, your lurching guts tying themselves into a million tiny knots. -"And you want me for all my horrible self."- He tilts his head smugly. You were like a deer in the headlights. Just bleeding and not even being able to deny what he was saying. You were prey wanting to get caught. -"You ain' 'fraid of the dark neither. You thrive in this shit."- He takes your very own words, reformulating them and so deep is his influence that only once he tells you, and you know the words are coming, do you actually start sprinting again.

God, what did he do to you?

He was in charge of your very soul. You were literally obeying commands.

Robert wasn't hunting wild, untamed big game tonight.

He was hunting his domesticated, well-trained house pet he personally set loose.

-"Go on. Run, bun. I know y'love me."-

He quips with a hard, raspy baritone that shakes the forest and you attempt to run finding yourself clumsily stumbling about instead through the bushes, practically sobbing up; exhausted, hurt, burned out, you practically hear yourself whimper with every move. He catches you. Does so effortlessly. Could have done so ten times by now, but the fact he does it now when you're weakest sends a little wail past your quivering lip. -"No!"- You sniffle as his hand halts you in your tracks mid-movement practically having your whole body haul itself back like you were lighter to him than a feather, his index finger and thumb holding you right above your bleeding scratch; you hiss instinctively, captured. The last feeling in the long list of sensations you needed now was pain.

-"Oh, god, please."-

You moan, begging as he lifts the arm he had his vice grip around up, poking the wound with an index finger, almost as if inspecting it, or perhaps intending to cause you some unease in a bout of sadistic inspiration, no more than you could handle, right before he leaned his head down with eyes still on you in the dark like daggers, taking his mouth to the blood and sucking on it, tasting you, hot saliva cleaning away the dried ichor of your fresh scar and whatever specks of dust and dirty got caught in the surface like it meant nothing to him. You throb and your mouth parts as you cry out, more so when he lets go, done with savoring, hands around your waist once your back gets pressed into the trunk of a nearby pine tree, held in place by him, causing you to go lightheaded with exhaustion, never even noticing he's wrapped your own ripped sleeve tucked into his belt around your gash instead of a bandage or that his other hand produced a knife, doing away your sweat drenched, wet blouse, cutting it down the middle with a ripping sound no differently than cutting through paper, using his knee pushed between your legs to keep you from falling over, maintaining your thighs parted. You were certain you were as wet as a person can be by now. The prey's been caught.

He kisses you rough enough to bruise, all grunts and desire.

A kiss with the aroma of rust and metal; the lingering aftertaste of blood.

Leaving you no space to breathe.

You moan into the contact, your blood smeared over his face smearing back unto yours along with the potent cocktail of his sweat mingled with yours, feeling his hands everywhere, rough, heavy and calloused; ripping at the thin strap the held your bra together in the front, on your throat, squeezing, around your waist, pulling by the hair and yanking back rough, grabbing your jawline, puckering your face up, biting your cheek and leaving behind teeth marks you could feel like he really intended to fucking eat you alive, not a bit of finesse or poise to him, bloodshot, feral eyes glazed over, angry yet blank, seeing the moon and nothing but yourself reflected in them, finding his stare simultaneously hollow and beaming with something primordial. Around these parts people used to gossip how sometimes, if you look carefully enough, that Barnes guy, as they called him, had eyes that shine red in the dark and right about now, you believed them regardless of how much you never enjoyed them talking shit about your man, the rut that ensues being rough, crude and quick --- hungry --- without preparation or maybe this --- all of this --- was all the preparation you needed as he fucks you against the dark pine bark, back scraping against its surface. You were a hole. Just a hole for him. In this neck of the woods, here and now, anyway.

Would you be able to walk or stand up straight after this?

You had to wonder.

Probably not seemed like a plausible answer.

-"You animal."-

You whimper and gasp as you're grabbed with both arms, practically thrown on the grass, him standing over you, his legs on either side of his body as he loomed with his head against the pitch black sky, your clothes torn, flesh exposed here and there and everywhere for him. He was magnificent. Holding his cock in his hand pulled out through the zipper of his slacks and undone belt buckles like it was a barrel of a rifle about to shoot. Appearing like he wasn't offended by the moniker that slipped past your lips unwittingly, more as a statement of the truth than an actual tease; in fact, he smiles even though he smiled so rarely, his scars embossed into the surface of his skin reflecting the pale light of the moon, making his face appear like it was smashed to pieces, centered only by his teeth on display, still red from the blood he practically drank from you. He kneels over you as you catch your breath from being hauled down as you were, spreading your legs even further, deciding it seems he prefered to have you on the cold hard ground, rather than standing up. Your feeling, aching fingers coil into the dirt, bracing yourself. Deer about to be slaughtered and displayed above the mantlepiece. Bob? An animal? More like a whole zoo. This was going to be a long night. He leans down with his visage still drawn out with the scarlet fingerpainting camouflage for a second time, speaking so closely to you you feel his breath in your nostrils caressing you, all heat, liquor and nicotine. His tongue proceeding to trace the inside of his cheek like he was itching to chew into his own flesh, spitting on the nearby soil, frustrated and wild,

Right next to where your jacket lay discarded and forgotten by the root of an old tree.

Places his hand covering nearly your entire face against your mouth.

He liked doing that as a habit from time to time, containing your moans and screams and keeping them all to himself, like he didn't like to share even the faintest echo of your desire with the world, letting it wash against the skin of the palm of his hand like a muffled, trapped cry instead; not unlike something he could close around his fist and keep like a tangible thing long after he's done with your body. It was his. All his. Every part of you was. Your soul and the very breath in your lungs.

-"Animal?"-

His expression is raw, lips crooked to the side as he cocks his head.

-"Darlin', you ain' never seen what an animal is. Not half of it."-

[cyanide-latte]

Get to know my TWST OCs pt. 3

Copper's Backstory

💫💫💫

Figured maybe doing a series of posts like this would help friends and mutuals get to know my OCs better!

Part 1: What Are They Twisted From? | Part 2: What Nicknames Do They Have?

Special thanks to @blithesharem for prompting me to do some basic character backstory write-ups for you all, starting with Copper~. Apologies in advance, this gets a little lengthy!

Warnings: child abduction, references to emotional manipulation/abuse and malnourishment of a child, references to deadnaming and misgendering, implications of animal abuse

While I try to keep all of the above mentioned mostly vague, I completely understand if you do not feel comfortable reading any of it. So please don't feel obligated to do so, you are allowed to nope out.

We open one stormy night in early May many years ago, on the stoop of an orphanage, where a child is surrendered, the person who brought them fleeing into the night before too many questions can be asked. The only real information known about the infant is that they were born in late April and are only two weeks old, and their birth name was written as Helena B—., the surname having run in the rain to the point of being unreadable apart from the first letter.

The child is raised for the first ~6-7 years of their life in the orphanage, generally keeping to themself and not making many friends. (Why bother when most of them are likely to just be gone at any given point in time due to getting adopted?) They're rather sharp-minded for their age, and pick up rather quickly that they're less likely to get adopted the older they get, as well as the fact they're often passed over for other children who fit the look or the personality that would-be parents are looking for, furthering their loneliness. The only solace they find is in the kindness of the elderly gentleman who helps with the upkeep and work of the orphanage, a cat beastman the children refer to as "Old Flynn". Flynn often takes the time to comfort and reassure the child, teaching them a rhyme to encourage them to have faith that they'll find their place and their family soon enough.

Trouble comes when a shady pair of individuals start sniffing around the orphanage claiming an interest in possibly adopting a child, but refusing to go through the appropriate channels to do so, instead trying to approach the children when they're outside at play. It's during one of these moments when, having learned the approximate times the children are called back inside, that they abduct the child named "Helena" and vanish long before her absence can be noticed. Even after this, police efforts to find the missing child are quickly abandoned in favor of suggesting "she ran away" despite the evidence of suspicious characters. Only Old Flynn retains any certainty that "Helena" was abducted and worries for them.

The abductors—a failed mage and failed performer, Gorgania Stone, and his business partner, Hiram Lurk—take the child with them to dilapidated riverboat Lurk owns, anchored in a place called The Devil's Bayou [not too far removed from the Twisted Wonderland version of New Orleans] and guarded by Stone's pet alligators, Augustus and Octavian. Though frightened, the kid makes it quite clear they're strong-willed and have a defiant streak, and when Stone eventually gets around to indicating they want the child to work to find missing valuables from other wrecks and various sites in the bayou, he's surprised by the kid's attempts to bargain his way through the whole thing. But children aren't too difficult to deal with if you've got a way with them; make them like you, make them trust you, and have the right leverage, that's all it takes to keep them in line.

And that perfect leverage makes itself known when the kid argues they are a boy, not a girl. While Lurk is prepared to try to argue with the kid, Stone sees the opportunity to make the boy pliable and promises that if he stays with them, behaves and does as he's told, he is allowed to be a boy and pick his own name. After all, he has no guarantee that even if he is adopted that a mother and father would let him do that and be himself, now does he? This tactic works, and the boy agrees, elated at the chance to be himself, and picks the name "Copper".

Over the next ~10 years, Copper is repeatedly made to track down lost valuables in the bayou that Stone and Lurk have difficulty in reaching or uncovering due to their size. This results in a lot of withholding meals as a means of keeping him smaller and capable of navigating tight spaces and various wreckage. Along the way he's found to be ambidextrous and double-jointed in most of his fingers, resulting in Stone gradually teaching him various little skills to "help him". In addition, the more lost valuables and treasures Copper uncovers, the more Stone is willing to give some leeway, bringing the boy books to help him along with his education, including tomes of magic once Copper shows an aptitude for it. (Never enough to truly empower him though.) In secret, Copper also practices his magic and befriends several animals that live in the bayou, gradually learning to speak with them and not ever realizing how his skill as a mage is developing.

He makes numerous attempts to escape Stone, but he's repeatedly caught (usually by Augustus and Octavian, with whom he gradually develops a bond and can communicate with, to Stone's increasing ire,) and his attempts are hampered by his inability to swim. Typically he has to be craftier than that. He often tries to slip away on the occasions he's dragged into town to assist Stone or Lurk with something, though these efforts are more half-hearted, quickly thwarted, and more for a show of defiance than anything. The trips to town allow him to gradually develop more of a connection with the culture there, as well as allowing him extra time to plan a more solid escape.

The one major attempt at escape comes during an afternoon when he's 14, during a particularly dry summer. With Mr. Lurk napping and the alligators seeking cool shelter, Copper manages to navigate enough dry and shallow spots to find his way out and into town on his own. Frightened and high-strung, he tries to find help, only to stumble across a community of people who offer him kindness and a chance to partake in their meal. (It's from them he takes the surname Benoit, to always remember and honor the kindness they showed him.) Touched by this and reminded of Old Flynn, Copper has a brief moment of hope that perhaps these people can help him with his escape, if not possibly find him a place to stay among them, only for Stone to arrive and charm his way through them with a vicious smile in order to drag Copper back out into Devil's Bayou. Though he makes no effort to physically punish Copper, Stone has no issue weaponizing other means of keeping him in line, referring to him as "Helena" and "girl", and revealing he knows about the animals. The old books of magic are removed, no new ones are ever brought there, and that same night all of the animals Copper had befriended disappear, never seen again.

After this, Copper is far more cautious and careful in everything he does. He begins to develop a Signature Spell/Unique Magic in secret, one he so closely guards he refuses to even consider the mechanics of how it works or how it reflects his inner resilience and desire for freedom. Over time his constant living with fear morphs into a fear-response where he intentionally starts to taunt or aggravate whatever is frightening him most, in an attempt to see how far he can get in worsening the situation before facing consequences. Stone quickly catches on and opts to ignore this, taking it as a point of teenage rebellion and contenting himself with the fact that if backtalk is all Copper is going to do, he'll live with that. The boy still has his uses.

It's those uses and his unusual gift for turning up lost pirate treasure from so many locations in Devil's Bayou that cause the turning point. The boy has no small talent as a mage, but pirate treasure is often protected by blood magic, and won't just surrender itself so willingly to someone without pirate lineage. Remembering this at last, Stone's frequent trips away from the riverboat increase as he tries to track down evidence of Copper's family tree. While he refuses to share his findings, he comes to the conclusion based on what little he is able to uncover that the boy might be descended from a legendary pirate captain. Which means there's a chance he can uncover a much larger, more valuable find.

Here's where we get into some shared universe world-building with my friends; @inmateofthemind made a post here about the first bit of lore for this, but the idea is that at some point the various arcane academies used to run something of a student exchange program following their winter break schedules, in which students of participating schools are shuffled around to one another in order to build better relations. Crowley decides to try revitalizing the Arcane Exchange for this reason. And during this period of the Arcane Exchange, Night Raven College also becomes just a touch more accessible to former alumni as well.

Stone, who has long suspected that the Headmage of his old alma mater is secretly keeping a legendary pirate treasure hidden somewhere in the depths of Night Raven College, gets wind of the Arcane Exchange and sees an opportunity: drop in unannounced for a visit under the cover story that he would like to spend some time there with his ward to see if Night Raven College would be a good fit for the boy. After all Crowley will be hard-pressed to turn them away, Stone can take this as an opportunity to use Copper to trespass and find that treasure to make him immeasurably wealthy, and perhaps if the boy is allowed the false promise of possibly attending NRC to learn magic should he behave, he'll be better about falling in line.

However, Stone underestimates Copper's capacity to both find and cause trouble, his desire to be free, and especially his eagerness to make friends with other teenagers who have just as big a knack for trouble as he does. And everyone might be also be underestimating the role Scarabia's Housewarden is going to play in all of this.

There is more but as I'm writing most of the rest of this story out in a series of oneshots and short fics, I think I'm going to stop here for now (hopefully this will give me a reason to eventually post the fics I've been writing.)

Taglist: @blithesharem @inmateofthemind @ramshacklerumble @tixdixl @simons-twsted-children @elenauaurs @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @rainesol (Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!)

[deimos-awaits]

Ironsong Initiate Two

Some time has passed and Theophilus is more advanced now

Theophilus Attaliates was no longer a child. He was now a psalti, having undergone years of training, blessed indoctrination, and the ritualized surgeries of the Ironsong. He could recognize himself now in the morrow when he looked, violet eyes flaked with brown and a shaved head. He couldn't quite remember what he looked like before the neural ports and other changes that had happened to him.

Theophilus Attaliates was scared. He remembered vaguely how that felt but now mainly just recognized it as something to be categorized and put away for later. “Fear Cat 2 - mortal peril, useless at current moment to be felt fully later” After all it would be silly not to be fearful when orks were firing in your general direction. “Arrogance Cat. 1 : orks might be lucky and shit my armor. Would hate to have to do my purple paint if it gets scratched.” All psalti were required up to a certain degree to care for the upkeep of their armor and were taught various rituals to placate its machine spirit.

The psalti was not alone. He was operating with the rest of the advance squad. Nine of his other brothers and sisters as well as a small detachment of mechanicus ground troops. He had worked before alongside mechanicus skitarii rangers before. One of the principle lessons that the Ironsong strove to indoctrinate into all recruits was the benefits of cooperation on the battlefield and as such their neophytes often went side by side with scouting units from their closest allies.

He turned to look at the hooded ranger. “Distance to objective?”

The blue robbed skitarii blurted out a string of static that hurt the ear. “Annoyance Cat. 1 Can't the tech priests just let them speak still?” His helmet translated it to, <<Approximately 42 kilometers Psalti-Hypostrategos Attaliates.>>

At roughly 17 standard years old, Theophilus was the most advanced and oldest of the psalti he had been leading. He already by this point had most of the supplemental organs installed and had gone through that strange misma that affected all the Ironsingers. Thus he was the leader of this group. Theophilus once heard another of his number refer to it as the oldest child leading children which wasn't exactly wrong but also left him feeling some sort of way.

He had talked to the Strategos of the Themata regarding this point of view. Siderenia head dispensed some decent amount of wisdom that while it was true, some soldiers also even space Marines needed ways to reduce stress and humor was a window to that for some.

Theophilus smiled. He was not one given to rousing speeches at least not yet nor was he given to suicidal charges. He looked around at the other aspiring members of the Irosong chapter. Words reportedly attributed to both Commissars Gaunt and Cain came to mind. Heros of the Imperium them both. “Children of the Omnissiah!” For that is what they were, even him with solely his metallic hand, “Do you want to live forever!’

“No, sir, no!” Came the chorus of replies. It was after all better to die for the emperor then to live in cowardice.

“Then let's go! Skitarii Ranger Alpha RAX-XIX, provide cover fire!” Theophilus made sure that his bolter was loaded. You made one quick look from behind the shelter that they had taken behind a set of crumbling walls. Their mission was to help place down sensor arrays as close to enemy lines as possible and report back the size of the Waaaaaagh. The skitarius let out a burst of static that Theophilus knew by well meant yes or affirmative translation was not the easiest but he was definitely familiar enough to recognize what it meant.

He would ensure that both objectives were done. He led the charge into the breach of what was one some kind of manufactorrum while galvanic rifle fire pelted the air around the squad. Theophilus did not need to look back to know that his squad mates were following him; the footsteps behind were proof enough. Theophilus felt worried. “Worry Cat 3 if this does not go well then most of the squad will be eliminated or worse by Orks. Their geneseed and implants would have been wasted.”

Theophilus did not like fighting orcs if he could be said to enjoy fighting xenoa at all. T’au weee perfidious and unhonorable, Votann Leagues woul just like backstab him, and Eldar strangely had a more than negative relationship with his chapter though he had not ever been informed as to why. He had never fought dhrukari and did not think that he wanted too. Most of this was based on what he had been taught as well. He'd only ever seen orks.

Those thoughts were distracting him from the current mission ahead he categorized them aside for later just as taught in the hypno conditioning. Now you had to face accuracy was never their strong suit however they more than often made up for that in sheer volume of fire. Thankfully his allies had much better aim volley after volley of galvanic fire was clearing out all visible orks in the manufactorum.

Words from the Forge-Priests came to him, to not allow arrogance, pride, or hubris consume them. Theophilus slowed as the entrance to the rubble was discovered. The skitarii processing cover fire quickly advanced with a mechanical precision he was jealous of admittedly. “Jealousy Cat 1 other servants of the machine god are blessed in ways I will never be. Forge-Priest Justinian's words, that we too are blessed by the machine god to be a unison of flesh and steel in our own myriad ways.”

Theophilus made a simple hand signal to one of his squadmates. Psalti Anastasia Thermopili used her vox array to signal back to the base that the way had been cleared. As of yet in this sector the ork Waaaaaaaaaagh did not seem to have large forces present in this area. They had taken down twenty full sized boyz already. It was a slog. They seemed to be contained to the first floor of the ruins.

From then on it was a relatively simple mission climbing to the top of the ruins and with the precision fire eliminating any orks that laid in wait. When they were about halfway up the building, Theophilus turned back to look at his troops. Most of them seemed to be in good spirits. The skitarii were as always silent, most likely communicating through the noosphere. Their goggles were cute. “Unclear emotion Cat 3 warmth in chest observing skitarii’s actions.”

He looked at Anastasia. The strange warmness did not go away. “If the biggest issue we have from here on out is climbing then, I think we shall be asked to be spared from the battle feast honors, no?”

Anastasia laughed. It was like her voice: deep and beautiful. Theophilus liked it almost as much as he enjoyed watching her shave her face. See of course could not see her face due to the helmet she was wearing but he's seen it enough times before. The rest of his squad laughed with her as well. The skitarii stayed silent as they did often throughout most missions.

Anastasia was the only one to respond back, “I hope not sir! We have bolters blessed to kill xenos! Besides, sir, battle feasts are always the best!”

As they continued up to the roof of the factorum they began to receive scattered updates with regard to the greater battle. Ork forces had pushed forward in a charge most suicidal and therefore for them fun and directly into the line of Fourth Themata artillery. As the battle kept going, orks became sparser and sparser in this part of the front line. They ran towards the obvious sounds of fighting. The small squad of scouts and rangers was able to mount the box array on the top of the ruins providing full data for the local airspace.

Theophilus felt so very scared in the feast hall though he did not know why.

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

Tbh the reason AI can't replicate reality in a realistic way is simply because you can't recreate reality. You can simulate reality, sure. But to properly recreate reality isn't possible. The reason that is is because there are no lines in real life. Images are made up of pixles and real life is made up of billions of hyper-complicated things. I can very easily see the distance of the doll on my desk to the wall. Can I tell you *what* the distance is? No, but I can see how far the doll is from the wall. Computers can't do that. They think in numbers as they are forced to decipher *flat* images. To get an AI to create an even semi realistic reality would be ung_dly expensive because you would have to teach the AI using real life distance and form, not just letting it calculate how far or what form is what from a flat image. But again, cameras can't see distance and form in the same way human eyes do. Cameras can only capture a flat image and have to decipher through said flat image. AI doesn't understand the complexities of how things move, look, or even sound because it can't look at it the way a pair of eyes could. I *know* how much I have to extend my arm to touch something, because I can see how far away it is. I know where my posters begin and end, not because of *just* a color difference or hue change, but because I can *see* exactly where they end. Computers will never be able to replace artist, maybe in the mainstream industry BUT they are still going to have to hire real artist to make their content because AI can't produce exactly what you want because it can't think like a human brain. There are companies who've tried to use AI to replace certain aspect and it's proved to be so frustrating that these animators are forced to reanimate the ai work, because it just *isn't* what they wanted or need for the project.

AI assistant tools can certainly be helpful to artists, especially in the industry. But the fat cats in Hollywood already know they can't *actually* get rid of us, because their silly robots just don't do it right.

all of this is true yes and I think moreso even without questioning the reality of human perception there is just the fact that ai doesn’t think in the same way a conscious being does. text algorithms don’t generate compelling (or, let’s be real, comprehensible) narratives because they work by stringing together words one by one — every singular word is followed by the most likely next singular word based on whatever database the model is using. ai can’t write unique characters or dialogue or even navigate most plot holes because it doesn’t have a memory of what it’s said beforehand and even if it did it wouldn’t have a larger context to place its writing within

the same goes for image algorithms. sure, an ai can give you can approximation of a knight, but the armor is going to be completely nonfunctional if you examine it even a bit. an ai can give you a room with the prettiest color palette in the world, but there’s also going to be a hole in the ceiling with a branch going through it because it doesn’t understand the concept of skylights beyond knowing vaguely what they look like. regardless of whether or not what it’s doing counts as “thinking” (though I do think there’s a pretty clear answer to that), what ultimately matter is that an ai is incapable of thinking critically. you can give an image algorithm a prompt like “add flowers in foreground” yes but you’re never going to succeed with a prompt like “follow the laws of physics”

[chungledown-bimothy]

don't mind me, just having an existential crisis because they grew living rat neurons, attached them to a computer, and taught them to play doom.

logically i know, essentially, how brains work. i know what neurons are and the broad strokes of what they do and how. but i struggle to square that applying to me.

everything about me, who i am not just physically but as a person, is billions upon billions of electrical signals. that's it.

which makes, for example, the jeremy jordan obsession feel even sillier. like, there's not some deep thing to it- the way he looks and sounds triggers certain sequences of signals that i happen to very much enjoy. and i don't understand how or why that reaction is so much stronger to him than anyone else.

i really, really get why people believe in souls and such. it would be comforting to believe that there's more out there, more to me than electrified... meat? goop? idk man i googled if brains are meat and apparently people have been arguing about it forever and it also depends on if you mean it in a culinary or biological way.

but i don't. so i'm trying to take comfort in the knowledge that humanity isn't special. that, on a fundamental level, we run the same way every other animal does. no one's saying cats have some sort of higher purpose, or that they have to aspire to greatness. it's totally cool that they just want to live a comfortable life. so that can be enough for me, too.

i know how this reads. i know how much this sounds like a load of stoner bullshit. which is fair- i am a stoner and full of bullshit. but i'm currently sober, just fully spiraling in this existential crisis. i just wanted to watch a video about turning gatorade into meat before going to bed.

this maybe isn't even comprehensible- i'm not editing shit. this is purely stream of consciousness vent babeyyy this is a vague approximation of the parts of what it's like inside my electrified goopmeat that i'm able to put into words.

[pickerelstripe]

ClayClan’s Mythology

ClayClan has a developed religion!  They believe in six gods, who made the world and have power over it; Silverpelt, the place where dead Clan cats reside; and various other myths and folk heroes. Their culture has no hell equivalent, as cats barred from Silverpelt are instead believed to remain on earth after death as ghosts. Note that, in-story, the nature of ClayClan’s mythology is vague - I’m not confirming or denying it as a true force in the world, but it does impact the characters through their faith. 

Below the cut: Notes on the gods, patrons, the origin of ClayClan, death and the afterlife, blessings and curses, bobcats, and more

The Gods, Patrons, and ClayClan’s Origin

ClayClan’s pantheon is made up of six gods. The gods are considered genderless - they use a special set of pronouns, shaf/shafs, and may be referred to with molly, tom, or jack depending on the story. The imagery associated with a god is not what they truly look like, it’s just what Clan cats can approximate about their appearance - the exceptions to this are Yiaow, who is literally considered to be a bobcat with the head of a Clan cat, and Rhurr, who is literally considered to be a long-haired cat with a magnificent mane and flowing tail.

Rhurr God of the sun, moon, stars, and wisdom. Represented by a longhair cat with a great mane, sitting with its tail over its paws. Prayed to for knowledge, leadership skills, and important desires. Often seen as the leader of the gods. Parent of Hyaash and Mrrha.

Chikik God of seasons, natural change, and cycles. Represented by a snowshoe hare with its ears laying down against its back. Prayed to for good seasonal conditions and safety against negative change. Also prayed to for healing, as they’re associated with the cycle of life. Parent of Fulgurr.

Fulgurr God of clouds, rain, storms, snowfall, and travel. Represented by a bald eagle. Prayed to for good weather, protection against natural disasters, and for safety on physical journeys. Often seen as a protective spirit over messengers. Child of Chikik.

Hyaash God of hunting, fighting, and teamwork. Represented by a longhair cat with an open mouth and unsheathed claws. Prayed to for good hunting, good fighting, and to solve disputes between Clanmates. Seen as a protective spirit over apprentices. Child of Rhurr and littermate of Mrrha.

Mrrha God of creativity, clay sculpting, and community. Represented by a longhair cat laying down with a kitten tucked in its belly. Prayed to for good luck in life and for familial or romantic relationships. Child of Rhurr and littermate of Hyaash.

Yiaow God of the ocean, predatory animals, and all things unknown. Represented by a bobcat with the head of a Clan cat. Prayed to for safety against physical danger. Often depicted as having a strict sense of justice, or enforcing “an eye for an eye” - this contributes to a healthy fear towards them.

Living cats cannot contact the gods, but sculpting their image is said to appeal to them or bring their favor upon whoever prays with the sculpture (for more information, see my entry on sculpting). It’s believed Silverpelt ferries messages between the gods and the living; these messages manifest in omens and dreams. 

While cats respect every god, some cats will have a patron, a specific god they feel close to and pray to more often. It’s common for a cat’s patron to change over time - for example, a captain whose patron is Hyaash may switch over to Rhurr after becoming deputy.

It’s said that the first three gods were Rhurr, Chikik, and Yiaow; Rhurr and Yiaow as opposing sides to the same leaf, with Chikik as an in-between force of change. Chikik’s child Fulgurr came to be around this time. Rhurr eventually led the cats of the world to form ClayClan to keep them safe from Yiaow’s dangers. The cats didn’t know how to live in a community, so Rhurr bore two kits, Hyaash and Mrrha, who taught the cats how to live properly.

Death, Killing, and The Afterlife

When Clan cats die, they ascend to Silverpelt, a mythical afterlife represented by the sparkling night sky. This is a direct result of their connection to the gods - due to this, it’s believed that cats only go to Silverpelt if they’re buried on ClayClan territory. This custom is kept tightly by the living and has led to a dedicated graveyard. If a cat disappears or is presumed dead without a body, the acolytes sculpt a clay rendition of them and bury that instead, out of honor.

Killing is mandated by the gods under specific conditions; cats may kill prey and predator, but only when necessary. Killing beyond these boundaries upsets the natural way of things. Killing another cat is majorly frowned upon, but killing a Clanmate is downright sinful, and a surefire way to get cursed by the gods (see the next section for more info). The concept of killing in self-defense applies only to non-Clanmates.

Blessings and Curses

The gods may bless or curse living cats based on their actions. 

Blessings and curses take the form of events in someone’s life. Blessings may manifest as especially bountiful hunting, completing a difficult task, etc; curses may manifest as losing something important to you, being injured, etc. They’re very up to interpretation.

Curses are generally brought down upon someone for committing acts against ClayClan or the gods. Two examples are murder and faking omens - murder because it disrespects the proper way of life, and faking omens because it is both pretending to know the gods’ will and deceiving your Clanmates into thinking that as well.

These concepts come into play in the story primarily through Pickerelstripe (who lied about being blessed) and Cootfeather (who killed her former mate).

Bobcats and The Ocean

Bobcats have a dedicated spot in ClayClan’s mythology, despite rarely venturing into the territory. They’re seen as uncanny, devilish figures - like cats, but not quite right. Myth states you can sell your soul to a bobcat... you’ll receive an incredible bounty in life, but when you die you’ll be cursed to become a bobcat yourself, barred forever from the gods’ light in Silverpelt. 

The ocean also has myths surrounding it. It’s seen as the end of the world; as far as ClayClan is concerned, it stretches past the horizon forever. Being around or in the ocean is incredibly dangerous.  Though ClayClan is technically near the coast, cats would have to walk for a day or two before hitting the ocean. its reputation for danger and association with Yiaow mean that nobody really attempts this.

[pikachugirltits]

Asks for catgirl! Hana, what do you look like in y'all's headspace? And do you have any particularly feline mannerisms that appear when you're fronting?

Hmm...kind of like a modern skater AU Izutsumi from DunMeshi would be a close approximation? But with anime T-shirts. My ears and tail are a tortoiseshell pattern, a mix of black and orange. And like...sort of Japanese? Maybe like half-Japanese. Lexi is white, so I don't really see myself as actually Japanese but I think a lot of her love of anime and maga got mixed in with me because I view myself as vaguely anime inspired, if that makes sense?

The others have said I have some very cat like tendencies in how I sit and lay, and I seem to be more flexible than the others...but nothing else we've noticed so far.

-Hana 🌸🐱

[bottomhaztoplou]

Tabby's Writing Game: Day 31

WIP Title Exposure!!

Welcome to the final day of Tabby's Writing Game! Today I'm going to expose myself for having too many WIPs... and give you a little blurb or a couple of tropes/tags with each of them. Look forward to them!

A/B/O fics (all omega Harry, of course + alpha Louis unless otherwise specified):

Modern Cottagecore AU - Harry has a little cottage he inherits from a relative and spends his time looking after his gardens with his cat, Delphine, or blogging. Louis is a writer that Harry bumps into at the local grocery.

"scent fic" - It's common courtesy to wear scent neutralisers in public. Harry, however, doesn't like to. One day, he smells the most enticing alpha scent whilst on public transport and ends up making a tit of himself sniffing around to find out just who it is.

"breeding/pregnancy kink fic" - exactly what it says on the tin, plus a little surprise kink that I'm not listing. ;)

chastity's not the devil, but an angel in disguise - omegas are put in chastity as soon as their first heat ends, to protect them from bad alphas. Harry, the son of florists, meets Lord Louis Tomlinson, the Duke's son, when he stops by looking for flowers for his parents' springtime ball.

Duchessrry #5 - a 10+1 fic of little timestamps between when Louis met Harry and their marriage (which takes place in Duchessrry #6)

"ribbon fic sequel" - Harry is pregnant. Louis stays with him as he gives birth to their first litter of pups. More ribbons are involved. (Note: this is finished already, so technically not a WIP, but it's not posted yet and won't be for a while.)

petal - male omegas are very rare, with approximately one born out of every 100,000 pups. Louis is an alpha, but to his misfortune, he's gay, and male betas just don't do it for him. But then Harry falls right into his lap - quite literally.

you've stolen my heart (but you keep it safe) - ANR (adult nursing relationship) fic. O/O as well. Louis is mated to an alpha at first and has two sons, but their mating is crumbling. Harry is an anxious uni student and they meet at an omega centre for the Adult Nursing Program there.

Two Hearts In One Home - posting now! you can check it out HERE!

Put A Little Love On Me - Harry's father passes, but an omega can't legally run a pack without an alpha mate in this universe. He's forced to meet eligible suitors from all over England and ends up discovering that there's a lot more in store for him than he ever thought possible. (name subject to change)

BDSM/Kink fics:

"broken-armed daddy dom" - possibly-canon fic where Louis breaks his arm, but even though he's injured, he still doms his baby. (name subject to change but tbh I kinda like it as is lmao)

Disability/Injury/Sickfics:

Little Bird - autistic Harry and ADHDer Louis grow up together. (note for those concerned: I am autistic and have ADHD as well.)

Media-Inspired fics:

i think you and the moon and neptune got it right - Pokemon Sun and Moon fic, with a twist.

these points of data make a beautiful line (and we're out of beta, we're releasing on time!) - Portal AU, with Harry as Chell and Louis as an added non-canon character. Follows the canon storyline, for the most part. (Note: this is finished already, so technically not a WIP, but it's not posted yet and won't be for a while.)

Portal 2 AU - Harry and Louis go through the events of Portal 2 in a mostly-canon fashion, with a non-canon, completely original epilogue after their escape.

Tangled AU - Harry is Rapunzel. Louis is Flynn Rider. That's all you need to know :D

Strawberries & Cigarettes - inspired by the song. Bad Boy teen Louis, average teen Harry.

Mythical Creatures fics:

"dragon x prince(ss) fic" - this is very vaguely inspired by ads I've seen of that webcomic "No More Princes". Harry is a carrier prince who all of England wants to marry and Louis is a dragon prince who protects him under vow. Of course, the one person the two of them aren't allowed to fall in love with is each other.

"flower fairies fic" - inspired by @jaerie's flower fairies series. Flower fairy Hydrangea (better known as Harry) has always been a little too curious about humans. When Louis moves into a secluded cabin for a writing retreat nearby, Harry can't help but watch him - until he gets caught. (I realise that this sounds like a voyeurism fic from that description, I can promise you that it is not lmaoooo)(Also, thank you to Jaerie for letting me use your flower genitalia thing! And to @sadaveniren for asking Jaerie because I was too scared to >_<)

Strawbharry and Blouberry - Harry is a strawberry fairy. Louis is a blueberry fairy. They live across the meadow from each other, but that doesn't stop them from becoming friends. (Inspired by @larry-hiatus' edit!!)

Historical fics:

"scandinavian arranged marriage fic" - probably the dumbest temp title I've created but oh well. Louis is from a warm, southern country called Alastarza (think Italy). Harry is from Farfinie, a cold, northern country (think a cold northern European country like idk Finland? is Finland cold? Brain is not working). They're arranged to be married, and so Louis must travel north for the wedding.

Witches and Wizards fics:

"winter solstice fic" - Genderqueer Witch Harry and Cowan Louis dealing with the grief that comes in wintertime, which, several years prior to this fic, was when Harry's Familiar, their cat Shadow, passed away. However, a new kitty comes along, and she's just as special as her ancestor... (part one of Witchrry and Company)

"Other" fics:

tinyism - Harry wishes desperately that he was shorter than he was.

23 fics... not including all my planned sequels that I haven't started yet. Can you tell that I have ADHD? :'D

Thank you again for joining me for TWG! I may do it again in the future... maybe with different prompts, too, if I think of any.

Have a great rest of your dayyyyyy! <3

[ofpokemon]

@earth-master said: There's something decidedly familiar about this individual Giovanni brushes past, enough to make the ex-Rocket leader pause in his stride, alongside Persian. The big cat almost doubles back to take another look at the green-haired man. [Do you feel that?] she asks. He's not sure what he's picking up on, other than an approximate feeling of familiarity. But whether or not it was having met before, or something else, he couldn't place. "She seems to like you," he states instead, turning back on his heel to face the other. Persian seems to purr in affirmation, stretching her paws out in front of her. "She doesn't care for many out of hand."

A chance meeting, nothing more. As he passes the other man, going opposite he can't help but hear his Pokémon's voice. He turns to look at her, and before he can reply he is face to face with the man.

There was something about him, N felt, something that almost made him on edge. What it was he wasn't sure. Perhaps just intuition? Or was it the confidence the other held?

Despite it he offers a polite smile, as he holds a hand out for Persian, where do you itch? that one spot on the back of the neck perhaps?

"Ah I tend to have that effect on Pokémon." he states more vague then he had in the past. Over the years he had learned to not be so open with his ability, should he be used for it again. "Your Persian, she looks well cared for. You can tell by the luster of her coat. You two must be very close. May I ask how long you have been partnered together?" as he asks this his eyes flick from Giovanni to the Pokémon, as if he was querying them both.

[gumy-shark]

Tango Gets an ID

happy birthday, @cuuno!

Summary: A couple months ago, Impulse, Skizz, and Zed found themselves beta-testing a Smart House-style AI named Tango, who they eventually befriended, “liberated” (stole), and transferred to a cobbled-together robot body, before all moving out together. However, Tango can’t put his name on a lease if he doesn’t legally exist, so somehow he needs to get an ID- and fast. Enter Xisuma, a hapless/humble employee of the Hermiton DMV (nicknamed the Evil Empire by his brother, the manager).

Wordcount: 1852 words

Generally, Xisuma would say he enjoys his job at the Hermiton DMV- or, at the very least, he certainly doesn’t hate it. Sure, it can be tiring or frustrating at times (as in: most of the time), and sure, his manager/brother can be a bit difficult to work with, but on the whole he doesn’t mind it.

Today… today’s weird, though. On a normal day, the building would be so full of people that there’d be a line forming outside. Not today, though. Today, the building’s completely deserted. Xisuma checks the “Hang In There!” cat calendar hanging by his desk, but there’s still no holidays or anything, just like there weren’t the last three times he’s checked. The place is just… empty. He wonders if something’s about to hap-

The door swings open, very rudely interrupting Xisuma’s internal monologue. It’s probably just Wels, coming in for his shift approximately… 45 minutes early- except no, it isn’t. Instead, it’s a big guy, wearing a black t-shirt with a yellow “i” emblazoned on it, who Xisuma vaguely recognizes as a friend of a friend of a friend, met at some party or other. Oh, what was his name again…? Insulation? Impulse? Insurance? Xisuma wants to say “Insurance.” Yeah, that’s probably right.

Insurance also seems to be dragging- is that another person??- behind him, someone who Xisuma has absolutely and 100 percent never seen before. The stranger has spiky blond hair, lots of piercings, a leather jacket, and for whatever reason seems not quite right, walking around like he’s not quite sure how to move like a human being. Odd. Probably fine, though!

The two visitors walk up to Xisuma’s desk, and the slightly unsettling blonde speaks first, with an almost tinny-sounding voice.

“Uhh… Hello! I’m Tango, of the TEK model, he/him! Uhm, I was wondering how I could get an ID, Mr… Uh… Void?” (Xisuma jumps for a second, before remembering that he is in fact wearing a nametag.)

For about five seconds, Xisuma wonders if “model” is some sort of new slang word he isn’t caught up on yet, before remembering that he is being paid to answer exactly these sorts of questions.

“Yeah, sure! It sounds to me like you’re just looking to get a standard ID card, is that right?” Tango looks over to Insurance, who nods at him, before turning back towards Xisuma and replying.

“Yep, that sounds right!”

“Okay, and do you have a DMV account already?”

Tango’s face is bright as he blithely chirps out a “Nope!”

Xisuma sighs internally, but outwardly is still all smiles as he directs his strange customer to “just head over to that kiosk over there to make an account!”

Tango does indeed head over, Insurance at his heels, and Xisuma is left to wonder exactly what it is about the blonde that sets off that little “uncanny valley” feeling. The two friends giggle at the kiosk for a bit, and then Tango calls Insurance- no, Impulse, by name. Xisuma is such a derp.

It is also very weird that, other than himself and his two odd guests, the DMV is still completely empty. Where is everyone?

(NOTE: There is no way for Xisuma to know this, but the DMV is empty because just outside the building, Zedaph and Skizzleman are doing magic tricks to distract the crowd. Team ZITS had originally planned to do a heist to get Tango an ID, but this plan was foiled by Xisuma’s complete failure to notice what was happening outside. Now, back to the show.)

Tango’s voice rings out across the room as he calls out a question for Xisuma.

“Hey, let’s say, for the sake of discussion, that I am a robot pretending to be a human.” Impulse’s snickers can be heard distinctly, but Tango presses on. “Would I be allowed to click ‘no’ on the ‘Are you a robot?’ thingamadoodle?”

Xisuma, ever the helpful employee, valiantly pretends that he doesn’t hear Impulse and Tango laughing as he ponders the question. It’s a serious one, one that he hadn’t considered before. Finally, he answers.

“Well, I think no, probably? I mean, the captcha is kind of there specifically to stop that sort of thing, I think.” (It really isn’t, but of course the question is hypothetical, right?)

Tango nods and politely thanks him. He then slides back, exaggeratedly gesturing to the kiosk, and the still-laughing Impulse steps up to take his place. Impulse presses the “no” button for his friend, and then backs up, allowing Tango to return to the signup process. Wow, they’re sure taking the bit pretty far, huh? Not that Xisuma really has any room to judge, seeing as how he’s taken his own bits much further in the past. Som rather than wasting even more time trying to figure out what is up with those two, Xisuma elects to make mournful eye contact with the poor, dangling kitty on his calendar, and wonders why he ever let his brother talk him into his job, He could’ve been a dentist.

For the second (third? He’s lost count) time that day, Xisuma’s train of thought is derailed by one Mr. Tango Tek, as the man(?) innocently asks him another question, prompting an exchange that goes something like this:

TANGO: Hey, it’s asking for my Social Security Number; what does it mean?

XISUMA: [amused] Well, that’s kind of obvious, innit? It wants your Social Security Number!

TANGO: [dead serious] Yeah, I know! What is it, though?

XISUMA: [incredulous] What?

TANGO: What’s a Social Security Number?

At this point, (and oh, joy, Impulse appears to be filming the whole thing on his phone,) Xisuma barely makes it a few words into his painful explanation of Social Security Numbers before Tango suddenly stands up, ramrod-straight. In a stilted voice, he announces that he needs to use the restroom, and walks off in exactly the opposite direction from the (clearly-marked! restrooms). Xisuma considers telling him, but then he notices Impulse’s completely unconcerned face and the look in Tango’s glowing(!!) red eyes, and promptly decides that discretion is the better part of valor. (As Tango leaves, Xisuma could swear that he sees sparks flying out of the blonde’s elbows.)

And then it’s just him and Impulse standing in an otherwise empty DMV lobby. The AC’s whirring is almost deafening amid the suffocating silence. Eventually, one of them breaks the silence, and, with the awkwardness that only comes with speaking to an acquaintance/friend-twice-removed, they manage to strike up some semblance of a conversation.

“So… how’ve you been?”

“Can’t complain. You?”

“Same here, I guess.” More silence. Xisuma shifts in his seat. The air conditioning seems even louder than before.

“Is it okay if I ask you something kinda weird?”

“Sure, I guess? As long as it stays family-friendly, of course.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. It’s just…” “It’s just what?”

“The manager here- my brother, actually- they’re into crypto and e-commerce and all that stuff. Like, really into it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And, well, he was saying that he’ll buy McDonalds for whichever one of us-” Xisuma gestures halfheartedly to the empty desks around him. “Has managed to sell the most of his Derpcoin by the end of the month. So, uh, maybe…?”

“Sorry, man, I’m not really interested in crypto stuff.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” “Good luck with your McDonalds thing, though.”

“Thanks!”

Their conversation trails off once again, and once again Xisuma finds himself

shuffling his feet and glanding around the room to avoid making eye contact with Impulse (who seems to be doing the same). The clock says it’s 1:07 PM- only 32 minutes until Wels is back from his lunch break.

And then, after what seems like hours (but is actually two minutes, max), Tango, whose eyes are definitely not glowing red and if they are then it’s just a trick of the light, finally returns, albeit through a door that, as far as Xisuma knows, is the only way in or out of a storage closet and is definitely not the door Tango had left through. The red-eyed man waves, and does a little half-jog over to where Xisuma and Impulse are still standing.

Tango says something that’s probably along the lines of “Hey guys! Sorry I took so long!” and Xisuma and Impulse probably tell him that it’s fine and that it’s no big deal. Honestly, Xisuma is only half paying attention at this point- he’s too distracted by Tango’s strange manner, and the slowly intensifying feeling of uncanny valley. And so, as his two customers return to the kiosk and continue entering in information, Xisuma stares off into space and wonders about Tango’s inhumanly red eyes. Are they contacts? It’s certainly possible. Or, what if they’re not? Xisuma’s pretty sure he’s heard somewhere that weed can make your eyes red- what if it’s that? Is Tango a weed-guy?

Finally, Impulse and Tango finish up at the kiosk, and head back to the desk. Xisuma takes Tango’s picture, in his daze only barely remembering how to work the camera, despite using it every day. When that’s finished, he asks the two to sit down for a second while Tango’s temporary ID prints. After what could’ve been years (likely just minutes, though), the temporary ID papers are ready to go, and Xisuma calls them back up to his desk, cringing a little as he does it. It feels so weird to do all of this with only three people in the building (still! What is this?)- but Impulse and Tango don’t seem to mind, Impulse gesturing for Tango to walk over. The printer spits out the papers that make up Tango’s temporary ID, and Xisuma gladly hands them over the counter. They stand in silence for maybe a second before Xisuma remembers, Oh, right, customer service script. 

“Thank you for coming to the Hermiton DMV! You’ll need to pay a fee of $33. May I have the address to your place of residence so that we can mail you your permanent ID? Or, if you’d prefer, you can come back in a couple of days to pick it up.”

Tango and Impulse seem thoughtful, quietly debating which option to choose. Xisuma silently prays that they choose to mail it in instead of coming back- he knows it’s rude, but honestly this day has been stressful enough that he kind of hopes to never see these two again.

For once, whatever god(s) are up there take pity on him, as the two customers opt to have Tango’s permanent ID mailed to the address Impulse happily provides. As they turn to leave, Xisuma wishes them a nice day, and means it.

(On his way out, Tango trips over nothing, and catches himself on a nearby chair. Xisuma doesn’t notice, or if he does then he pays it no mind. Still, when his shift is over and he is finally free to leave, he’ll wonder how the chair’s (admittedly cheap) plastic could’ve splintered so quickly, and find himself slightly baffled at the smell of iron, oil, and static electricity that still hangs in the air.)

As he rests at home, Xisuma receives a message from his coworker, Beef.

BEEF: Hey X, Zed just told me he’s hosting a get-together at his new place next week, wanna come? He seemed really excited about it, said something about having someone interesting he wanted us to meet. XISUMA: Sounds fun, count me in!

[vaproductions]

May Writing Challenge Day 3

One thing I really like doing in my writing is to write based on movies or tv shows, often just dropping characters in and molding the world of the show/movie to fit around them. This is based on season 3 episode 1 of Jessica Jones and mixes in James Potter and Severus Snape from Harry Potter. James is in the role of Jessica while Severus is a vague approximation of Trish. There shouldn't be any spoilers for Jessica Jones because I think I changed enough, but there definitely aren't any for season 3. And finally fuck JKR and all of her transphobic rhetoric/friends. Transwomen are women, transmen are men, and we all deserve basic human rights.

James shoved into the dingy hotel room, scowling at Severus as he shoved everything James had unpacked back into his black duffel bag.

"So Riddle’s experiments worked then?" James noticed the small twitch Severus gave in response to the name, but ignored it, "When were you planning on telling me that?"

"Well, it’s a little hard to tell you things when you’re ignoring my calls," Severus was now gathering all the trash he had left around the room, shoving it into a separate plastic bag, "and it didn’t seem like the kind of thing you say over voicemail."

"Alright so what the fuck do you think you were doing in that guys apartment?"

"I’m helping out a friend," Severus was now looking under the bed, searching for god knows what under there.

James scoffed, "You cat burgle for friends now."

"It‘a none of your business James. What happened to never speaking to me again?"

"That guy had a gun!" James couldn’t help but to raise his voice, hoping to make the other man understand, "You could have gotten yourself killed."

"I knew that!" Severus shouted back, "I’ve been tailing him for weeks, I needed something that he kept in the safe, it’s why I set the alarm off, so he would open it and grab his gun. I didn’t need you to save me." Severus abruptly stopped, standing and rubbing a knuckle at his eye, "It doesn’t matter, he’s gone now. Is there anything else you need or am I free to go? I’m late for work."

James ground his teeth to stop any disparaging remarks from coming to the surface, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a brown leather journal, "What does this mean?"

Severus froze momentarily before relaxing, happening fast enough that if James wasn’t intimately familiar with his body language he would have missed it, "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

James scoffed, opening it up to the page he wanted immediately, "Sometimes I think about telling you the truth, but then I realize that it wouldn’t matter. We haven’t had that connection for a long time. You believed Malfoy without fight and sometimes I hate you for that." James snapped the journal closed, "That’s what I’m talking about."

Severus was glaring now, an ugly look that made it hard to believe that he was ever popular on tv, his body as tense as a coiled spring.

"That’s private."

"It has my name on it," James snapped back without missing a beat, "What the fuck does it mean, what else have you been hiding from me?"

The silence stretched between them for a long moment, long enough that James thought Severus would try and go through him to get to the door, but eventually he relented.

"Malfoy lied," Severus clenched his jaw before defiantly facing James, crossing his arms over his chest, "I didn’t volunteer for those experiments, you dick. He was working with Riddle and someone else who drugged me and took me to the lab where Riddle kept me sedated until it was time to start the procedure."

James felt cold, "Who?"

"It doesn’t matter," Severus started to gather his couple of packed bags.

"Who, Sev?"

Severus was bent over his things for a moment before he straightened up and James already knew he wouldn’t like the answer, "It was Harry. There was nothing for you in Mexico, James. He was going to kill you, steal your identity, and marry his boyfriend."

"You’re a fucking liar."

"I told you," Severus said simply, moving towards the door, and James had to stop himself from stopping him as he passed, plucking the journal from James’ loosened grasp. "Goodbye James."

James was tense as he listened to Severus leave behind him, his mind racing as he tried to process what Severus had said. He moved away from the door for the first time and sat heavily on the bed, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees and bury his face in his hands as he thought. 

God, everything was getting more and more fucked.