#I really can only somewhat draw birds and lizards

[robininthelabyrinth]

Lao Nie and Nie Mingjue have a good day together and bond. What was their relationship like before the qi deviation?

Boys - ao3

“Two paths, hmm?” Lao Nie said, squinting at the road markers in front of him. “Well, I don’t see why we can’t go down this one to the right –”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because little uncle asked me not to let you meet any new dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue said, looking as serious as ever – only his little hands, swinging to the side, revealed that he was just a ten-year-old. Still a child, no matter how mature he tried to act. “And a place called the Springtime Ghost Valley sounds like it probably has dangerous women.”

“Hey,” Lao Nie protested mildly. “Who’s the father here, me or you?”

“If a-die wants a new wife, little uncle will find one that isn’t inclined to kill him.”

That sounded like a recitation.

“Then what’s even the point,” Lao Nie grumbled, and reached out to ruffle his son’s hair, enjoying how Nie Mingjue yelped when he did, glaring up at him with offended dignity.

In all honesty, Lao Nie had no idea how he’d ended up with a son as serious and sincere and earnest as Nie Mingjue – he himself hadn’t taken anything seriously in years. Probably it was his mother’s influence.

Now that was a woman.

Not that his foxy second wife hadn’t been woman enough to blow him away either…

Hmm.

Perhaps they had a point about his taste in women.

“How about men?” Lao Nie suggested. “If it really means so much to you, I could swear off of women entirely –”

“A-die.”

“Mm?”

“Leave Sect Leader Wen alone.”

Lao Nie cracked up.

-

Because Lao Nie was the father, however easy-going he might sometimes be, they ended up heading down the right-hand path regardless. They were supposed to be night-hunting, after all – it was the perfect bonding experience according to Jiwei, though Lao Nie suspected his saber of having selfish intentions there – and deliberately avoiding a place with ‘Ghost’ in the name was hardly appropriate for scions of a Great Sect like theirs.

Although the reference to springtime was admittedly a little worrisome.

If it turned out to be a brothel, with the ghost thing being just a clever if somewhat tonedeaf marketing ploy, Lao Nie was turning around and taking them both home at once. He wasn’t going to risk little Nie Mingjue turning out anything like that awful Jin Guangshan – or, nearly as bad, having to explain anything more about the joys of sex to those earnest little button eyes and dimpled cheeks with no time to prepare first. He still hadn’t recovered emotionally from the last few times Nie Mingjue had asked him a question like that.

When they finally reached the end of the path, turning a corner to behold a clearing that was probably completely ordinary during the daytime, Lao Nie found that he’d been both right and wrong.

“It’s a ghost brothel,” he marveled. He’d never seen anything like it in his life.

“Dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue reminded him.

“A-Jue! Let your father live a little!”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes.

Lao Nie virtuously ignored his slightly judgmental brat of a son. It wouldn’t do him that much harm to go visit for a while, with the risk of Jin Guangshan-ness being relatively minimal; they were ghosts, after all. It was the duty of every cultivator to fight against evil, wherever it lived, no matter its form –

“Fighting? Is that what it’s called?”

“Who taught you sarcasm?” Lao Nie asked, knowing perfectly well that the answer was himself. “I ought to smack them.”

Nie Mingjue crossed his arms over his chest and pouted at him. “Fine, it’s fighting, we’ll go fight them. Do you want me to start drawing ghost-repelling talismans?”

“Liberate first!” Lao Nie sang out. “Come on, let’s go see what they’re like – er, that is, I mean, see what grievances they have that are keeping them here, of course. There’s no harm in dangerous women. Just don’t let them eat your yang energy!”

“It’s not my yang energy that I’m worried about, a-die…”

-

The ghostly madame was an extraordinarily charming person and Lao Nie liked her at once.

Not liked her liked her – he’d fallen head over heels with both of his wives from the first word, and that hadn’t happened here – but still, conversing with her was an extraordinarily enjoyable way to spend time.

She was witty and clever, with a broad range of knowledge and a gift for keeping a conversation lively and exciting; she could meet every verbal riposte with ease, and looked utterly gorgeous and composed the entire time. Sure, she kept trying to lure Lao Nie into an orgy in which all of his yang energy would be slowly sucked out before his body was ripped to pieces and his bones cracked open so that the ghosts could consume the marrow within, but what a way to go, right?

Nie Mingjue spent his time making friends with the ghost prostitutes.

Lao Nie wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.

Well, he supposed he’d been expected a range of things – anything from Nie Mingjue getting suckered in by one of the ghosts and needing to be rescued by his father to Nie Mingjue just pulling out his Baxia and trying to stab them because he felt offended by their existence. He wasn’texpecting his ghostly conversational partner to suddenly frown mid-sentence and say, “What is he talking to them about?”

Lao Nie turned his head slightly and started listening.

“– just because you’re a ghost doesn’t mean you have to work allthe time, surely,” Nie Mingjue was saying, completely serious and earnest in the way he so often was. Lao Nie’s son had in fact inherited his sense of humor, only it tended to be buried fairly deep down and make its way up to the surface in an understated way in the most unexpected times; the rest of the time, he was straightforward to a fault, treating everything sincerely. “The birds in the trees, the animals in the fields – even among prostitutes, even the street-walking ladies know they need to take time to rest! I can’t believe you really have to work every single night. How long has it been since you had a night off?”

The ghost prostitutes around him had contemplative looks on their faces.

“Isn’t the whole point of becoming a vengeful man-eating ghost that you have more power than regular humans? I don’t know, it kind of seems like a bad deal if you have even worse conditions after all that –”

“I’m sorry,” the ghostly madame said, looking irritated underneath all her carefully painted smiles. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment…”

Lao Nie had to bite his hand to keep from laughing out loud.

-

“I think we’ve all learned a valuable life lesson today,” Lao Nie announced.

Nie Mingjue was pouting again.

“I don’t think we did,” he said, sounding profoundly skeptical. A filial child like Nie Mingjue shouldn’t sound so skeptical of his beloved father’s words of wisdom, really; if Lao Nie wasn’t so heartless, he might be offended. Of course, the skepticism might have originated from the heartlessness, so it was all six of one, half a dozen of the other in the end. “Those poor ghost ladies! They were still fighting each other by the time we left!”

“I’ve never seen a ghost pull another ghost’s hair before,” Lao Nie conceded. It had been brilliant. “One day, someone’s going to figure out a more reliable way to use ghosts to fight ghosts, mark my words.”

“Isn’t that demonic cultivation?”

“Oh, sure,” Lao Nie said, still cheerful. “If whoever it is does too much of it, eventually it’ll build up into a backlash that’ll kill them in some grossly horrific manner. Probably ripped into pieces by the backlash. And that’s not even counting how they’d be ostracized and hunted by the cultivation world first! But still, imagine how exciting it’d be in the meantime!”

“A-die…”

Lao Nie patted Nie Mingjue on the head again, earning another glare. “Immortality is a lie, A-Jue. We’re all here for a short time, each and every one of us, and only the length determined by fate and man. All that matters is what we do with the time that we have, and whether we’ve used it well.”

“To fight against evil wherever it lives, no matter its form?”

“To leave the world a better place than when we entered it, and to let our memories linger in the hearts of those that love us,” Lao Nie said. “Fighting evil is the best way to accomplish the former, and living a good life the latter. And you might as well have a good time doing it, if you can! Everything else is just extra.”

Nie Mingjue thought about that for a moment. “And a-die likes to have second helpings of extras?”

That was true. Lao Nie was a man of prodigious appetites of all sorts.

Despite that, he protested, “That wasn’t the point I was trying to make. I was being serious for once.” Seeing Nie Mingjue’s skeptical look, he made a face. “I can be serious, sometimes!”

“Can you?”

“It’s been known to happen! A date written on a wall will be right once a year.”

“Not if the wall gets painted over.”

“Ouch,” Lao Nie said. “I don’t even understand the metaphor you’re making, and I’m still going ouch.”

“Uh-huh,” Nie Mingjue said, utterly unimpressed. “You know, if you wanted one of the ghost ladies to be Third Mother, you would’ve been better off with the one playing the qin, not the ghost madame. She was much more powerful.”

Lao Nie arched his eyebrows. “Was she?”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “She had claws like a lizard.”

Lao Nie tried to remember which one of them had been the ghost girl playing the qin. He couldn’t quite remember at first – the women there were all surpassingly lovely, almost to the point of over-saturation – and then suddenly an image came into view, a beauty with a veil and sharp sword-like eyebrows, leaning over the qin with the shining pearl hanging in the center of her forehead dipping down.

And, yes, claws like a lizard.

“Hmm,” Lao Nie said. “That might have been a dragon, actually. You should be careful of those, they’re tricky.”

They’ll rip you and three dozen other cultivators besides into more pieces than can be picked up without blinking an eye, he meant, and you won’t even know what hit you. Avoid at all costs.

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said, blinking. “Oops.”

“…what do you mean, oops?”

“Nothing bad! If I’m not supposed to interact with her, does that mean I should go and give back the gift she gave me?”

“She gave you a – give me that,” Lao Nie said. “This instant.”

“But a-die, you said there’s no harm in dangerous women –”

“For me, you foolish child!”

-

“I suppose it’s fine,” Lao Nie finally concluded, having inspected the dragon pearl from all angles several times over. “I don’t know how you do this, A-Jue.”

“Do what?”

Lao Nie thought about how his foxy second wife had cooed over his eldest son with a (slightly disturbing) fervor that she otherwise reserved only for eating snacks, and how viciously she’d dealt with anyone who’d even thought of interfering with Nie Mingjue in any way. He was fairly sure he himself had only survived his second marriage on account of having such a charming son.

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally said, mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure how to explain – or if he even entirely understood. “Anyway, it’s nothing dangerous. Rather the contrary! Dragon pearls like this are given to baby dragons to protect them.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “What feeds on baby dragons?”

“…I think it’s mostly to protect them from themselves,” Lao Nie said, feeling a little uncertain about it himself. “And if it’s not, I don’t think I want to know, to be perfectly honest. There’s fighting evil, which is only right, and then there’s suicide, which is a waste – a wise man should know how to judge the difference between them. Anyway, that wasn’t the point I was trying to make.”

“It wasn’t?”

“It wasn’t, and you aren’t allowed to start worrying about the fate of theoretical baby dragons – I forbid it.” Nie Mingjue scowled. He’d probably started worrying already. “My point was actually that a pearl like this is a remarkably powerful protective tool for cultivators – one of those things that can only be found by chance and not made. Keep this on you, and you’ll never have to fear your opponent in battle.”

Nie Mingjue looked thoughtful.

-

“What do you want to do with that pearl, anyway?” Lao Nie asked after they’d gotten home and split up just long enough to take a nice long relaxing bath and gobble down dinner. “Do you want to put it in the treasury?”

Nie Mingjue blinked twice, which for him was practically the same as looking terribly shifty-eyed.

“You already did something with it,” Lao Nie deduced. “Something that isn’t using it as intended.”

“Oh, no,” Nie Mingjue said, looking shocked at the mere suggestion. “I’m definitely using it as intended.”

Lao Nie looked him up and down. “You’re not wearing it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t use it. Protection from your opponents in proper battle – that seems like cheating!”

Lao Nie felt a slight headache coming on. People who said they wanted a good boy for a son had no idea what they were getting themselves into, he reflected. Why couldn’t he have birthed a complete rascal instead?

“All right,” he said, instead of saying any of that because at the end of the day, bewildering as he might be, Nie Mingjue was his son and he loved him more than anything. “So what did you do with it?”

“I gave it to Huaisang.”

Lao Nie blinked. He supposed that really was using it for its intended purpose – protecting babies from themselves – although he suspected the dragon lady had been thinking of Nie Mingjue as the baby.

“Although…”

Lao Nie raised his eyebrows.

“…I think he may have swallowed it.”

My boys, Lao Nie thought, and had to sit down and hold his ribs because he otherwise feared he might split his sides from laughing so hard. Only my boys.

#mdzs #sect leader nie #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #boys

[transfemlogan]

💔, ❤️, 🐾?

YAYY thank u ^_^

💔 - Least favourite Side?

IT'S... PATTON.

He isn't a bad character and I do think he's 1 of the most complex (if not, /the/ most complex) character in the entire series. However... I don't like him.

I don't know how to phrase the next thing I want to say. The sides' actions are not based around being human, they're based around being metaphorical concepts. They're humanised, yes, and I think that it's important to understand that they are humanised (I've seen a few people talk about how it doesn't make sense to be upset over, for example, Thomas ignoring Logan because it'a just a metaphor for Thomas ignoring his logic, which yes it is, but also they're humanised. You are going to view them as humans.) But i ALSO think that you should acknowledge the fact that they are not humans when judging their actions.

I don't like Patton's actions, but I know that a lot of it is because he is morality and he is a morality that is not working with the rest of Thomas' single personality. I am not going to judge his actions, just like how I am not going to judge Janus for lying or Roman for being creative. Like that is his role. His role is morality and that's why he does some of the things he does.

But do I like his actions? Absolutely not. I hate him.

I think I could have elaborated better, but I just woke up. I am just hoping you can somewhat understand what I mean by bringing that up.

Patton is my least fave character because I think he's annoying and I don't like his actions and I think Thomas puts too much focus on him when there's 4 other characters (excluding Virgil because he gets to MOST focus) but that's a whole new topic. Also his arc can't apply to me, I can't relate to him at all and as an autistic perosn his whole empathy thing in POF upset me (not that it's his fault, it's Thomas' fault for including that). He's always been my least fave, I don't like him very much.

❤ - Most favourite Side?

Oh man, I wonder! /s

If you couldn't tell by my logan themed blog or my phone lock screen which has always been Logan or my bracelet that I wear every single day that says '♡ Logan ♡' on it or the fact rhat she is the only side I ever really draw or the fact that I literally have delusions about dating her

It's Logan. My favourite side is Logan.

She has always been my fave side, I love her SO much, she means everything to me.

While I personally am not excited for Logan's arc, because I don't like how it's being handled by the writers & Thomas, I do really relate to her plotline. I wish it was handled better, because I do think it could be an important topic to talk about (same with Patton's arc), but... I 100% think it's going to turn out badly (I AM ALSO WORRIED IT'S GOING TO BE BEFORE ROMAN'S ARC).

I like her personality and (some of) her actions and I'm utterly in love with her (and she's utterly in love with me) etc etc etc.

🐾 - What pet do you think each of the sides would have?

HARD... QUESTION.

Patton: dog or bird (or frog). We all know he likes dogs, but I do think he'd really like birds too! I don't know too much about birds, but I am sure he loves them. ALSO THINK HE'D OWN A FISH. PATTON WOULD GET A FISH AND FALL IN LOVE WITH THEM.

Roman: maybe a lizard? Of course, I think he'd also have a dog, I think that's fit his personality a lot, but I think he'd love a lizard. Maybe a gecko. Idk I can see him cherishing his little gecko and loving them with his whole heart. I can only see him owning reptiles, which is kind of ironic considering he doesn't like Janus, but I think he'd be a proud reptile lover.

Remus: Hairless cat. I think he would own a hairless cat. I love hairless cats, there is nothing wrong with hairless cats they are my fave kind of cat, but they get bad rep a lot and I think he'd love and support them and cherish his weird little cats. I also see him owning a lot of bugs or parasites (like leeches), because they get a bad rep. I think he'd really appreciate animals that people don't like because they're "gross" or "scary".

And of course, rats, but everyone gives him rats, and as a proud rat lover and previous rat owner, I don't want to give him one.

Janus: I literally can't view him as ever owning a pet. He talks so much about self care and caring primarily about himself and being selfish, which is totally fine (I am like that, too), but because of that I don't think he'd own a pet. As someone who is very selfish and egotistical, I had a really hard time taking care of my rats when i had them (I am very glad I don't own them anymore, because I just literally could not take care of them as well as someone else could have) (and of course a lot of it had to do with the fact that I got my rats before I became disabled and then became disabled and it just made it incredibly hard to try and take care of myself with a chronic illness and take care of my rats).

Anyway, I can't see him owning a pet. The only pet I can technically see him owning is a snake, but that's because they aren't very "social" (unsure how to phrase it) and they're good pets if you're really busy because they don't expect a lot from you.

Virgil: cat, spider, dog, or scorpion. I think he'd be a lovely cat and dog owner, but I also think he'd like caring for spiders because they're pretty easy to take care of. I think he'd like owning a bunch and putting them on shelves like "decoration" (they're animals, not decoration, but I can't phrase it right). I don't know too much about owning scorpions, but I think he'd totally own one.

Logan: literally every animal on earth i don't even care (not literally, Logan would not support owning certain animals as it'd be bad for both him and the animal). I think Logan would totally own a dog or a cat, but also rats and mice! Or birds! Or bugs and spiders and parasites (like leeches!) Or snakes and lizards. Along with Remus, I think Logan would own animals even if they had a bad rep, because he knows that they're lovely animals. I love bug owner Logan, the concept of him caring so much for cockroaches or millipedes or centipedes means everything to me.

Logan loves the Earth and humans and everything on it, so I really think he'd love owning any pet.

Come ask me TSS questions

#THANK UUU 4 DA QUESTIONS #my BIGGEST fan /j #ask #these were fun ^_^ #and sorry 4 my confusing use of she/her & he/him for logan. when i am having a delusional episode or close to it I end up using different #prns 4 the sides because i view them as... real and they have told me they have different prns. so . i end up using diffrnt prns sumtimes #i hope it wasn't too confusing or weird. #sanders sides #blog tags -> #patton neg

[kabira]

07 | trust issues

pairing — spider-man!vernon x ofc

featuring — joshua, yeji (itzy), felix (skz), yangyang (nct)

word count — 3k

genres — spider-man au, marvel au, fluff, action, angst, humor

warnings — violence

go to fic masterlist | main masterlist

Vernon swung over the busy street that led towards Central Park, disgruntled by the surprise subunit. Nova flew alongside him, just a few feet before him—he could probably fly a lot faster, but Vernon knew he was flying this close to him purposefully, letting him know that Nova would always be faster than Spider-Man.

God, the little things about this kid irritated him even more than the big stuff.

He spotted Shocker through the trees, the lining of his suit glinting like gold in the afternoon sunlight. The villain raised his gauntlets and slammed them into the ground with a yell, making it vibrate with the frequency of his sonic blasts. Vernon flipped in mid-air, perching on the branch of a tree out of his blast radius.

“So what’s the sitch?” Yangyang asked, hovering next to him, and Vernon cast a glance around. Terrorizing civilians seemed like a bit of a stretch since there weren’t really many civilians around, and those that were had managed to find a place that was protected from the blasts. The cops had been driven back by the blasts, and the few shots they took were easily deflected by the energy discharges.

The ground shook with every hit, but since Shocker was on hard-packed earth instead of concrete, most of the force was absorbed. The terrain was cracked in places, deep trenches left in the dry ground from the explosions. The few people in the area had been driven up the bridge, but Vernon didn’t like their chances—Shocker might not have intended to hurt them, but he was getting dangerously close. One misdirected blast was all it would take to topple the side holding up the bridge.

“Stay out of range of the vibro-shock gauntlets,” Vernon told him. It wasn’t the kind of crime that required their immediate, undivided attention, since Shocker didn’t seem to be doing any real damage, but who knew how long that mood would last? “They might look easy to dodge, but they’re actually pretty deadly and have a large discharge radius, so steer clear of them. Try to stay off the ground.”

“And the takedown?” Even though he wasn’t happy about being stuck with Nova on this mission, Vernon was still pleased to see that at least the guy was listening to him.

“I’ll web him up, hang him upside down from a tree or something,” Vernon replied. “You should fly up there first, distract him so I can get up close.”

“Why do that when I can just take him out with one blast?” Nova muttered, and Vernon shot him a dark look. “But I don’t want to get back to school that early, so we’ll do it your way. This guy sure looks like he could use some fun.”

Vernon pursed his lips, not feeling so sure. He wanted to say that it wasn’t like Shocker to behave so erratically, but that would probably just make him sound like an idiot—how was anyone supposed to know what normal behavior was for a criminal?

“Go,” he breathed, and Nova shot from his side like a rocket—a human rocket, as he often liked to describe himself. He was on Shocker in a second, zipping around him like an annoying, oversized fly, getting all up in his personal space and confusing him. Shocker’s face was covered, hiding his expressions, but from the rigid lines of his body Vernon could tell the guy was getting pissed. He took his chance, diving off the branch and executing a low swing worthy of Tarzan, kicking Shocker in the chest with both feet and sending him flying into a tree behind, which cracked and splintered under the blunt force.

“Oh, Herman, Herman,” he tutted, as Shocker righted himself with an angered yell. Vernon moved with the speed and grace of a—well, a spider, dodging a powerful blast from his gauntlets by executing a perfect helical flip. “Haven’t you learned the hard way that fighting back is only going to make it hurt worse?”

“Spider-Man!” Shocker yelled, booting up his gauntlets, which glowed like lamplights from the charge.

“Yes, of course, who else would it be?” he asked, webbing the overhead branches and pulling himself up to avoid the incoming blasts. “Did you really think I was going to leave you here all by yourself?”

“If you’re so smart, you should have known to stay out of my way!” Shocker said, sending a concentrated blast his way. Vernon rolled out of the way, coming up in a crouch.

“I didn’t say I was smart, you did,” he said, flipping back onto his feet. “What’s gotten into you, Herman? I didn’t take you to be the terrorizing type.” He avoided another blast by leaning far right. “Why are you doing this? For funsies?”

He had succeeded in drawing Shocker away from the bridge, but the clearing was too small for Shocker’s blast radius. Vernon couldn’t contain him within the safe zone for long. “Nova!” he yelled. “Get the civilians out of the way! I’ll handle this guy.”

Nova jerked his head into a nod, flying towards the bridge to evacuate the trapped people. Vernon’s spider sense tingled, but he was too late to react—a blast caught him in the chest, sending him flying into the underbrush. He coughed out the air in his lungs, and pushed himself to his feet. Ow, ow, ow.

“You should know better,” Shocker said. His gauntlets glowed again, and Vernon’s eyes widened under the mask as he raised them both towards him, the light as blinding as direct headlights.

Nova swooped in out of the air, snatching Shocker up like a bird snatching up a worm (or maybe that was a bad analogy).

“Boring!” Nova yelled, carrying Shocker higher up in the air, preparing for a good old drop to let gravity do the rest of the work. Shocker twisted, jamming his fists towards the boy’s chest and sending a shockwave through him. Nova cried out in surprise, going flying through the air in the opposite direction and ending up dropping Shocker, who righted himself by aiming a blast towards the ground at the right angle, giving himself enough of a boost to be able to land on his feet.

Not too helpful, though, because before he had a chance to celebrate the little victory, Spider-Man was upon him, webbing his fists to his chests in a cross like an empty-handed mummy, if wearing highly enhanced vibro-shock gauntlets counted as being empty-handed. Vernon webbed the nearest tree trunk, pulling himself and the incapacitated Shocker along with him by jerking at his webstrings.

“It isn’t like you to behave this way,” he said, pulling himself up to a branch. He webbed Shocker’s body, turning him in the air with the torsion of each pull, until he had him all wrapped up like a caterpillar like a cocoon, leaving only his head out. Vernon lowered himself upside-down to face the man, cocking his head inquisitively. “Aw, come on, you can tell me. I can keep a secret.”

“You’re blind, Spider-Man,” Shocker spat.

Nova reappeared next to him, scowling under the mask. “Come on, web-head,” he said. “Leave the information-extraction to the experts. Bad guys never tattle.”

“Oh, you don’t know about us,” Vernon said, shaking his head. “We go way back.” He leaned closer to Shocker. “Don’t we, Herman?” He chuckled. “Remember the first time I stopped you from robbing a bank? Good times, good times.”

Instead of answering, Shocker thrashed around in the web trap, which was pointless, of course. Vernon sighed, dropping to the ground upright, and looked up at the dangling man who was now writhing like fish bait on a hook.

“Guess you’re not in the mood to talk,” he said, keeping the note of disappointment in his voice. “Maybe the Big House will fix that for you.”

“The Big House?” Nova scoffed. “This guy barely belongs in a regular prison. How long did the fight take? Ten minutes?” He shook his head. “Are all your villains this lame?”

Vernon shot him a look that he obviously couldn’t see through his mask. “You haven’t seen a single good one yet,” he said. “My villains are dangerous.”

“Oh, yeah?” Nova barked out a laugh. “Like that one guy with a huge hot glue gun? What was his name, Trapman?”

“Trapster.”

Nova snorted. “Yeah. Real dangerous.”

Vernon rolled his eyes. “I’d like to see you handle being stuck to a wall with the same disgusting gunk that’s leaked down your pants,” he said. “It’s not always so much about danger as it is about being able to handle the grossness.”

Nova grinned, obviously not believing him. “Whatever you say.”

“I’m not messing around,” he said seriously. “Can you imagine doing a stakeout mission in the sewer, waiting for a truck-sized human-lizard hybrid to come out? Not everyone has that kind of patience and tolerance.”

“Yeah, because they don’t need to have it,” Nova said. “My villains aren’t geckos.”

Vernon gave up, waiting for the authorities to arrive and pick Shocker up instead of gracing him with an answer. Shocker had gone limp, but remained silent as stone. Vernon regarded him contemplatively, still unconvinced by the tough intimidation act.

Something was definitely up.

At the end of the team’s usual briefing in the Helicarrier that day, Vernon pulled Nick Fury aside. “Uh, Agent Fury, sir?” he asked in a low voice, casting a precarious glance at his teammates, who were in the middle of leaving. Yeji, last in the line, looked back at him questioningly, but he shook his head minutely. She raised an eyebrow, but left. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” the agent said, in the process of shutting down the holographic display system. He looked up when Vernon didn’t answer. “What is it, Spider-Man?”

“This might sound like a stupid question,” he started hesitantly, “but do you know if Norman Osborn is secure?”

Fury gave him a searching look, movements slowing somewhat as he took in the question. “Of course,” he said. “Norman Osborn is nice and locked-up in the Raft.”

“And he hasn’t shown any…Goblin-y tendencies?”

Fury’s curious look intensified. “Not so far, no,” he said. “Look, kid, I’m only telling you this because you put him in there and deserve to know what’s happened to him, but I can’t release any sensitive details about his capture. Just enough that you can sleep tight at night knowing he isn’t breaking out anytime soon.”

“Thanks,” Vernon said half-heartedly. “But I just wanted to know if the OZ levels in his blood were—normal.”

“That’s what his scheduled test runs say,” he replied. “Parker, you don’t need to worry about him anymore. If there are any abnormalities, S.H.I.E.L.D. will take care of them. Rest easy.”

“And if he gets out?”

“Long shot.” Fury leaned against the table, frowning at him. “Kid, is there something you want to tell me?”

Vernon hesitated, thinking back to the Shocker incident. Herman Schultz’s behavior showed all the symptoms of a man under threat from a higher authority, and the last time he’d seen that happen was under Norman Osborn. Any irregularities were to be reported, since the city had only come back to normal recently after repeated attacks from multiple supervillains, but Vernon wasn’t sure if deviant behavior from a low-level criminal counted.

Plus, Fury had only just begun to hand him bigger responsibilities, and he didn’t want to destroy all that buildup by giving him a false lead as a result of Goblin-induced paranoia.

“Nope, just wondering,” he replied, pressing his lips into what he hoped was a believable smile. “You know, one of those things.”

The man gave him an unconvinced look, but let it go. Vernon turned back and exited the briefing room as casually as he could. The doors slid shut behind him as he stepped into the hallway, plunging him in a dimmed lighting. He exhaled, mind buzzing with thoughts.

“Norman Osborn, huh?”

Vernon turned, finding Felix leaning against the wall next to the door. He straightened as Vernon faced him. “Don’t tell me you honestly expected him to believe you,” he said, talking about Fury. “No person asks about their supervillains unless they’re worried about a comeback. What did you see?”

Vernon sighed, realizing there was no point in trying to hide his doubts from Felix. “Nothing substantial,” he answered, starting to walk down the corridor. Felix followed him. “Just some everyday robber acting out.”

“That Shocker guy you and Nova turned in today?” Felix asked, and Vernon nodded. “Why?”

“Scaring civilians for no reason…it’s just not like him,” Vernon said. “He does what he does for money, not just to strike fear into people’s hearts. Well, I guess that’s an added bonus at times,” he added, “but doing that without making money along the way doesn’t seem like something he would do.”

“So you think he was hired to take you out.”

“Not exactly…” Vernon turned the mask over in his hands, thinking. It was hard to put into words, but the sense of oncoming danger was there, like a very general, very muted version of his spider sense. The problem was, he didn’t know how to explain that to Felix. Not everyone understood how it worked. “He seemed kind of reluctant to kill me, too.”

Felix gave him an amused look. “You’re upset because a villain gave you the brush-off?”

“Very funny,” he said, but his heart wasn’t in it. “I kept thinking that was being threatened or something. Now, what for, I couldn’t say, but—”

“I get it. It’s like intuition,” Felix said, and Vernon nodded. “What does that have to do with Norman Osborn?”

“If you’ve seen him in his Goblin form, you’ve probably noticed that he can be very threatening,” he said. “But he couldn’t be behind this, because he’s in a maximum-security prison with zero contact with the outside world.”

“But you think he is.”

“I can’t think of anyone else who’d want to do this, since he’s been the only one who’s ever operated in this particular way. But I guess there’s no shortage of people who want to kill me.”

“So he’s tried to get small-time criminals to kill Spider-Man before,” Felix said. “Doesn’t sound to me like a good judge of strength.”

“To kill Vernon Parker, actually,” Vernon corrected. “He kind of…knows my identity.”

Felix frowned. “He unmasked you?”

Vernon stopped close to the end of the corridor, glancing back to see if there was anyone around, but the place was empty. Fury had probably taken a left. “Do you know how I became Spider-Man?” he asked Felix.

“Didn’t you get bitten by a radioactive spider?”

“It was an Oscorp experiment, bonding OZ to spider DNA,” Vernon said. “One of the test spiders escaped while I was touring the facility with my class, and bit me. The enhanced spider DNA bonded with mine, giving me powers. Except here’s the thing—Norman Osborn knew.”

“He did?”

“Him, and a couple of other scientists working on the OZ formula,” he said. “Figured it out by taking a sample of my blood while I was on watch in the hospital. He took the same formula and bonded it to his own DNA to enhance himself, but it messed with his brain.” Vernon studied a tiny web in the corner of the ceiling. Spiders, even up here in a S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier hundreds of feet in the air. “He told me all of this just moments before accidentally killing Harry. Turned himself in when he realized what he had done.”

“Oh.” There was a short, awkward pause. Felix came to stand beside him, following his gaze up to the tiny spiderweb in the corner. “I’m sorry.”

Vernon shook his head, turning away from the web. “It wasn’t your fault.”

They stood in silence for a few moments before Felix spoke up again. “Tell you what,” he said, making Vernon raise his eyebrows. “I’ll ask Yeji to look up both Shocker and that Rhino guy in the S.H.I.E.L.D. database. We’ll go over his record later, see if he has anything to do with Norman Osborn. If something comes up, we’ll report it to Fury. You don’t have that spider intuition for nothing.”

Vernon cracked a smile. “You mean my spider sense.”

“Same difference.” Felix smiled back, but it dropped from his face just as quickly. “Hey, I almost forgot to ask—did you tell that Joshua guy who you are?”

Vernon winced, sheepishly massaging the back of his neck. “Maybe,” he said, then added hastily, “But I was going to tell you soon.”

“Never mind that,” Felix muttered. “He figured out our identities already.”

“He told you that?” he asked, trying his hardest to suppress a smile.

“I’m pretty sure there’s some kind of protocol about it,” Felix said, “but I’m not sure. Plus, it’s one of those things you gotta deal with yourself, you know? I’m not great with the whole secret identity thing because Iceman is a public figure, but not that I’m some kind of undercover agent—” He shivered, which was a bit ironic, because Iceman and all. “You know being out could get me killed, right?”

“Because of your supervillains?”

“No, because mutant-haters.” He gave Vernon a meaningful look. “Like that girl Liz Allan in History.”

“Nah, that one’s all bark no bite,” Vernon said. “Besides, Josh isn’t going to tell anybody. He kept my Spider-Man secret for a year and still going strong.”

Felix looked at him curiously. “You trust him that much?”

“I’ve known him for years,” the brunet answered confidently. “I’d trust him with my life.”

“Well, if that’s what you think,” Felix said, “then that’s good enough for me.”

#kwritersworldnet #caratwritersclub #svtcreations #seventeen #svt #vernon #svt scenarios #spiderman #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #vernon fluff #vernon angst #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #vernon imagines #vernon scenarios #vernon fanfic #q

[elderbwrry]

Even if he doesn't say so - Chapter 2/?

Kylo/Hux/Poe Witcher AU

Chapter summary: The trouble with trinkets is they make people jealous. Or maybe that's just Kylo.

Chapter 1 here, 2 below or on Ao3, 3

Wordcount: 2029

Kylo raised his sword and brought it down fiercely on the horrible carnivorous vines he'd been hired to clear out of the local village's moor edge. The things had already munched their way through a cow and half a sheep, and the villagers were worried a child would be next. Perhaps to his own detriment, Kylo wasn't really all that interested in the reasons why he'd been hired; he was far more interested in the coin he'd get out of the experience, and the opportunity to really let loose some destructive energy.

Of course, Kylo had been trained well in fencing, dagger fighting, stave fighting and in hand to hand combat, but for his typical work, he favoured the longsword. The weight of it felt so right in his hands, the swing of it, the sharp edge or the blunt hit, the way it gleamed red after drawing blood. For most monsters, it worked perfectly well, but even then the necessity to dodge or force down some kind of potion usually took the pleasure out of the pure heft behind it. These vines, however, were easy game. They thrashed, shot out poisonous barbs, but mostly they stayed in one place. That meant Kylo could swipe the metal through them with abandon, and still be assured he'd meet his mark.

He hacked and slashed, let a furore course through his veins and out into his surroundings, over and over and over through whatever fleshy leaf, woody stem, fibrous buds he could reach with metal and intensity. When finally he let his sword drop to trail its point through the under-brush at his side, it was carnage. He went around the area, plunging the blade as deep as it would go into each root stump until he was satisfied that nothing was living, before stalking away from the destruction.

Chest heaving, he found a flat, dry piece of ground and lay down, looking up at the clouds and basking in the feeling of action still tingling through his arms, into his fingers, out into the earth and the air around him. He felt connected – to the ground he was lying on, to the source of his own power, without being worried he was lost in the force of a potion. This was all him.

Back in the village, when they'd described to Kylo what he was out to fight, Hux had listened carefully and given a fancy academic name for the vines. Kylo stuck with the common name, shrugging and standing to head off immediately. Hux had reprimanded him and delayed him until he'd found an anti-toxin potion to order Kylo to take before engaging the things, which Kylo had ignored. Now, looking down at his legs and seeing several barbs sticking out of them, Kylo again heard Hux telling him, “They have poisonous thorns, you know,” in exactly that tone that could piss him off just as much as it could make him want to pounce on Hux and make his annoyance known by ripping a few tunic seams in the process.

Still, the mage was right, as per fucking usual.

Kylo hauled himself up to sit, drew the potion out of a pocket and downed it, picking the barbs out while he waited for it to take effect. The pricks tingled a bit, but it wasn't anything too bad, certainly not to the severity that Hux's wariness had suggested. Though it was nice that he'd given him the potion. It felt like being looked out for.

He let his mind drift to how Hux and Poe would be doing. The mage was likely offering common-sense medical advice to the villagers in the most deadpan delivery possible, or flicking through one of the books he'd brought with him in his seemingly bottomless bags. Poe had been eager to do his usual thing and perform a little in the tavern. His voice was so wonderful, Kylo found himself thinking, the sparkle in his eyes as he reached the punchline of a bawdy tune, and the way he could command a room, tell a story better than anyone else before...

Well, Kylo should be getting back.

He stood, gave the area one last cursory look for any vines he'd missed, and, seeing nothing, turned to go. He was just sheathing his sword when he stopped, eyes catching on a clump of cheerful orange and white flowers which had managed to survive his visit, just on the edge of the carnage.

“Hmm.”

When Kylo returned to the village tavern and gave Poe those same flowers, Poe's face lit up with a smile. “Well, don't I feel special.”

Kylo noticed Hux eyeing them. Shit, had he done something wrong? “They're not poisonous too, are they?” he asked.

Hux seemed to snap out of some kind of reverie. “No, they're... they're just normal flowers. Excuse me,” he stood from the table he was sat at and made for the stairs.

If Kylo didn't know better about Hux's taste in “useless gestures” like flowers, he would have thought he should have brought Hux some as well.

[break]

They stopped at the next city. Kylo wasn't sure they should stay – there were no contracts of the style he took, and, in his opinion, staying pointlessly at a place like this was a recipe for trouble – but Poe wanted to get some supplies and try out a some new material with a more cosmopolitan crowd, and Hux claimed he had someone he wanted to visit, so stay they did.

Hux disappeared off into the bustling crowds early in the morning, and, later, Poe dragged Kylo off to the market. Kylo started to suspect he was only there so that Poe could make him carry things, which would grate on him usually, but he found didn't mind all that much, since it meant he got to spend time with the bard.

Poe was a people person, a fact which Kylo had always known, but it was never so clear as when he was not trying actively to entrance people as he did when performing – somehow not putting it on made it all the more obvious this was just him. He would flash charming grins to the women and manoeuvred through the crowds with an ease Kylo was jealous of.

For his own part, Kylo always felt the need to keep his hood low, to keep out of sight, even going so far as to cast a glamour some witch had taught him years ago. It was a weak thing, but eyes slid off him like water droplets off a bird. With Poe, however, he didn't need it; the man was so magnetic as it was, there was barely anyone who would bother to stare at anyone else. (Kylo included himself in that number.)

Finally, they came to a stand selling all sorts of gold and silver jewellery, pretty trinkets, gemstones on cords. One brooch caught Poe's eye – a dragon. “This is some amazing craftsmanship,” he noted, striking up an easy conversation with the stall keeper. When the man had to tend to another customer, he turned back to Kylo. “I'd love to fly. Do you think I'd be a good dragon?”

“You'd be great,” Kylo told him honestly. He was certain Poe would command the skies, given half the chance, and push back against the hunters until the entire Continent was dragon territory once again. The mental image morphed into one of Poe in front of a victory banner, the name of a great flying lizard no more than an epithet used by the forces he'd become leader of. It was a good look in him; he may not want to be in charge of his home kingdom, but with a cause like that, and people to follow him, he could be formidable. Lost in the daydream of Poe as some kind of dragon king of the skies, Kylo pointed at the brooch. “Do you want to get that?”

Poe looked at it thoughtfully, enough that Kylo could see the conflict in his thoughts. “Nah,” he said eventually, “it's expensive and... I have stuff at home.” He began walking away, and Kylo trailed after him, thinking it was a pity – the brooch would look so wonderful on him. “Maybe I could get Hux to transfigure me or something,” Poe mused, a glint of humour in his eye as Kylo blanched.

“I'm not sure that's how it works...”

“Imagine it though. Flap flap, blagh, I'm a dragon.”

[break]

A day after they left the city, they made their first camp at the edge of a copse. Kylo was checking over his armour while Poe and Hux were sat on a log opposite him, Poe cooking a fowl on the fire and Hux watching him do it. Kylo had let himself fall into a somewhat meditative state as he worked everything over, but a glint of silver and amber across camp hooked him out of it.

Hux had withdrawn a small pouch from his pocket, and withdrawn from that again a brooch. Another second let Kylo confirm – it was the very brooch from the city market. How had he known? Then he was handing it to Poe with a smooth, “I saw this and thought of you.” Bastard.

Poe was speechless for a second. “You shouldn't have,” were the first words out of his mouth.

“Well I can always-”

“No, I'll...” Poe reached to take it from Hux's hand. Kylo's jaw clenched as Poe's fingers lingered for too long. “Thanks, Hux. This is... wow.” He put it on, pinning it over his heart.

“It isn't straight.” Without waiting to be asked, Hux reached up with deft mage's fingers to fix it, smoothing out the fabric more than was necessary. “There.”

The leather armour in Kylo's grip creaked. Poe didn't hear it, but Hux shot him a look and... was that a smirk?

Then it hit Kylo; those flowers he'd given to Poe weeks ago must have made Hux jealous. It did not enter into Kylo's conception that Hux could simply like seeing Poe happy – happiness could be a part of it, certainly, but Hux was too cunning, too driven by ulterior motives for it to be that simple – or that Hux's feeling at seeing Poe like another person's gift could be any different to what Kylo himself was now feeling at seeing the same.

Well, if this was to be a game of one-upmanship, Kylo was sure he'd find a way to win. To make Poe smile like that, run a hand through his curls self-consciously as he now was – Kylo could do that just as well as Hux could. The rest of the evening, his mind was spinning with things he could give to the bard, trinkets of affection he could source the next time they crossed a place which dealt in such things.

The fire burned down and Hux retreated into his tent for the evening, Poe and Kylo settling on their bedrolls. They ended up facing each other, so Kylo, with his Witcher eyes, was not spared the view of Poe's finger fiddling with the brooch as he smiled to himself.

“He shouldn't have got it for me,” Poe mumbled again, as if sensing Kylo's train of thought, “It's probably gonna get broken.” Then, quieter, “I worry enough about whether you two will stay in one piece, I'd rather not worry about tiny things like this as well.”

Kylo thought about that for a minute. “You worry about us?” He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. Out of all of them, Poe was the one who should be being worried about – Kylo himself was nigh on destructible, and Hux would probably survive anything out of sheer spite, even discounting his magic.

“Shut up,” Poe chuckled.

Kylo watched him smile up blankly at the canopy. And... if Poe could be happy like that without being showered with gifts, if it would please him more to worry about them less, maybe Kylo didn't need to compete with Hux. Perhaps the three of them were good enough as they were.

#darkgingerpilot #armitage hux #kylo ren #poe dameron #kylo/hux/poe #kylux #darkpilot #gingerpilot #my writing #fanfiction #witcher au #fantasy medieval au #star wars #even if he doesn't say so

[tev-the-random]

What it Ursa took her children with her? - Pt.2

As we were saying:

Little over year has passed since the family arrived in Hira’a, and fateful news gets to them: Ozai remarried. His new wife is someone who is honoured to marry the Firelord and doesn’t mind the fact that his head is so deep up his own arse- anyway, and they are expecting a child, who is to be the Firelord’s legitimate heir.

Azula’s hopes and dreams are shattered. At age ten, she is quite literally being replaced in her beloved father’s life. It’s like she’s never even existed, and she can’t help but wonder what she did wrong.

Zuko is also upset, of course. All those years when Ozai told him he was unfit and worthless come flooding back. But somehow, he already expected things to turn out like this. Unlike Azula, he wasn’t so deeply feeding on hopes that things would go back to normal. He sees it more as a situation that was out of everyone’s control.

He convinces Azula it’s not her fault, and these kids will still be trying to understand and defend their father later down the road. There must be a reason for all of this, right? They start thinking of a reasonable scenario…

Ursa just feels sorry for the poor woman who has to deal with Ozai now.

So we get a timeskip: about three years came and went. Zuko and Azula – treated as kids and not as weapons – lead a peaceful and happy life whenever they’re not thinking of their father and everything they could be doing out there.

They have become known local troublemakers in their spare time. Kids know better than to challenge them, people know not to leave flammable goods out in the open – a strict policy regarding fireworks has been established after a chaotic incident – and failure to keep an eye on them this one time led to… well, let’s just say that the town is still unsure of whether or not they’re is being haunted by evil spirits.

They aren’t allowed anywhere near Forgetful Valley, but bold of you to assume they never tried. In-jokes arise.

‘No, I’m serious: that tree’s face looked exactly like yours, Zuzu. You really should befriend it,’ Azula mocks, remembering a particularly ugly tree they encountered in their adventure.

‘Sorry, I wasn’t looking at it. I was busy looking for whoever it was that asked you,’ Zuko retorts. ‘Since Forgetful Valley has all the kinds of crazy stuff.’

‘Maybe we should go back and look for your impulse control, then.’

‘None of you are going back in there,’ Ursa reprehends. ‘It was very irresponsible of you. Forgetful Valley is a dangerous place, you could have gotten hurt!’

‘Your mother is right, you know?’ Noren comments. ‘I’ve been to that jungle before, and it’s definitely not a playground. But I swear…’ He makes a dramatic pause. ‘I once saw Ursa’s sense of humour in there.’

The kids burst out laughing while Ursa sighs. ‘Since you can find such amazing things in the valley, dear, why don’t you go back there and find yourself actual funny jokes? I’m sure my sense of humour will be around the same corner.’

*More laughter*

(IDK, I write crappy comedy, ok?)

They still have a bit of a hard time making friends. I wouldn’t say they are shy, but they definitely have a talent to say the wrong things at the wrong times, and it’s hard to make deep connections. Sure, they would play with other kids from time to time, but in the end, Zuko and Azula are each other’s best friend.

They’ve cleared an area by the beach that any Hira’a resident knows to stay away from when they’re training.

Azula discovered a great passion for theatre. Not only are her acting skills fantastic, she also seems to be naturally aware of what makes a good scene. People say she’s Noren’s Little Assistant.

She hates being called Noren’s Little Assistant. She would much rather be called Ursa’s Little Star, because goddamn is she a good actress and she needs everyone to know that.

Zuko is more of a plant-lover guy. Unfortunately, he hasn’t inherited his grandmother’s green thumb, and despite Ursa’s best efforts to teach him, it seems like everything he touches dies.

He has grown to show a way with animals, however. Any variety of frogs and toads love him; lizards of all kinds are attracted to him like he’s a magnet; furry animals big and small adore him and any type of bird-like creature seems to think he is the best human being in existence. But his favourite animals are still the turtleducks.

Back in the palace, Iroh eventually learns of Ozai’s bullshit and how he got the throne in the first place. And you know what? The time has come for Iroh to draw a line in the sand. He confronts his little brother, who confronts him back by telling him that, should he try to tell anyone in the Fire Nation the truth – that Ozai was a top-grade traitor who actually had no right to the throne –, no one would believe him. Since his brother won’t be sensible, Iroh decides that’s it: he’s fucking out.

Now a fugitive from the Fire Nation, he somehow winds up owning a lovely traveling tea shop called the Jasmin Dragon. Most people don’t even suspect he is the fearful Dragon of the West, because he’s just so nice?

You can bet he serves blends of tea from all across the nations.

The tea shop is also a good cover up for his exchanges with the Order of the White Lotus. He gives and receives information, and does his best to help villages to either defend themselves or evacuate during Fire Nation attacks.

One day a member of the White Lotus travels to Hira’a for one reason or another and finds Zuko and Azula. This person then sends a letter to Iroh.

Iroh comes to Hira’a to visit the family. He’s glad to see they’re ok, even if he can’t stay for too long. But long enough for some Quality Time – these kids have grown so much!

Iroh doesn’t know of Ursa’s part in Azulon’s assassination, and only assumes she knew of Ozai’s plan. But now, it’s time that her children learned a couple of things, and he is willing to teach them, so that when the time arrives for them to meet their destiny, they should be able to choose wisely and face whatever comes their way. So he asks the children to accompany him in his travels.

Ursa doesn’t want to let them go. They’re children, they should be here living a peaceful life, not meeting some grand, dangerous destiny! What if something horrible happened to them?

Iroh understands the pain of losing a child. He doesn’t want to make Ursa spend her time worrying about losing two, so he respects her decision and soon leaves the town.

But the siblings are not about to just sit here when they know they’re destined for something greater. What incredible knowledge did their uncle hold? Did their father have something to do with this? They always knew there was more to their fate than just living in Hira’a for the rest of their lives, and this is their chance; it’s now or never.

Zuko and Azula are about to sneak out and follow Iroh when Noren spots them. But instead of trying to stop them – he is well aware that he can’t – he gives them two masks and some advice about never forgetting who they were.

Why yes, I am saying that they eventually take the masks and become partners in crime, Zuko as the Blue Spirit and Azula as the Red Spirit, because parallels.

They catch up with their uncle and adventures and shenanigans issue as Zuko, Azula and Iroh cross the Earth Kingdom.

Now imagine this trio: two of the most awkward firebending teenagers travelling with their old tea-loving uncle, who spits proverbs like he’s made of them. The possibilities for both hilarious and heart-warming moments are endless.

Iroh thinks himself a matchmaker. Whenever he thinks he sees some romance going on, he encourages his nephew or niece to make a move. His flaming cupid arrows do more damage than good, yet he only has good intentions at heart. Teens all around the kingdom encourage you to stop, sir.

Their new life is even more humbling than in Hira’a, since they are constantly travelling. But they manage, and they know their uncle is nothing but wise… even if Azula is still quite arrogant and manipulative, and Zuko is impatient and hot-headed, which can lead to a lot of conflict.

Iroh teaches them both how to create and redirect lightning. Zuko is better at redirecting than Azula. Creating it, on the other hand, is a bit more complicated, and both of them get their fair share of explosions while learning. Neither of them really gets a hang of it – although Azula is better at it than Zuko, that’s not saying much – for they still have a lot of identity-related turmoil inside them that won’t let them grasp the energy.

Guess who else teaches them? Other members of the White Lotus. Both Zuko and Azula get some swordsmanship Skills™ from Piandao, some different (and somewhat unwillingly taught) firebending technics from Jeong-Jeong and a lot of things from Bumi, including but not limited to: creative thinking, the art of patience, strategic planning, dealing with pirates and a surprising amount of rocks-related knowledge.

Bumi adopted Zuko and Azula and gave himself the role of Second Uncle. You cannot convince me otherwise.

So one day, little over a year after the siblings joined Iroh, they wind up in a city where this big circus is performing. Uncle Iroh decides to take his niece and nephew to see it. And oh, aren’t they surprised by who they see performing?

Even though Ty Lee was essentially the only one between her sisters to befriend Azula – and consequentially, the only one to periodically spend time in the palace with her –, Zuko and Iroh still have a hard time distinguishing her from the six other girls who look exactly like her, uncertainly calling her all different names before Azula snaps ‘you idiots, that’s Ty Lee!’.

The acrobat is so glad to see her friend again, because damn: it’s been nearly four years since they last saw or even heard from each other! And Zuko, I thought you were dead? This is such a neat reunion, there’s so much for them to talk about! And sure, the circus has to leave soon and so do the siblings, but Ty Lee reassures them that, if they ever needed her, she wasn’t hard to find. This isn’t the last we’ll see of Ty Lee.

Azula doesn’t let it show, but she resents Ty Lee a little bit for choosing to abandon her noble life. She really wishes she could have had a choice.

Uncle Iroh tells the siblings stories about the war that would have some day mesmerized them. But now, his opinions about those events and what he did as a prince general have changed; that, along with what the family sees in their journey – all the horrors brought to innocent people – gives Zuko and Azula a new perspective on what they used to think was a greater good. It will still take a while for Azula to understand that no, these people are no lesser than her and for Zuko to understand why any of that matters.

Iroh eventually tells them the truth about Azulon’s death. Or at least, what he knows of it: their father killed Azulon, banished them, took the throne by force and planned to gain more power at the expense of everyone. This is a lot to take in, and the siblings don’t quite believe it.

After four years thinking about it, Zuko and Azula decided to take their mother’s early words – they went to Hira’a to be safe – and formulate what for them was a reasonable scenario. They believe that Ozai never actually wanted any of this to happen. The whole family had to have been in danger, be it due to some political, social or personal threat, and Ozai wanted to take it all by himself to protect them. So he sent his wife and children away, concocted a plan with Azulon to cover for them and, once Azulon died and left him the throne, remarried to keep appearances. To Zuko and Azula, this makes perfect sense. And they thoroughly convince themselves of that.

They initiate an argument, thinking that Iroh is jealous of Ozai.

Their uncle sees these children are starting to stray from their path, but he knows this is a necessary journey for them. They will never be able to deal with reality unless they face it.

The siblings leave Iroh, planning to head straight to the Fire Nation capital and find out what really happened. Maybe now that they are older, it would be a perfect time to come back home; they surely could defend themselves from any threats.

Of course, they’ll be very disappointed to know that Ozai was just a bitch and never actually cared for any of them.

I don’t have a full formed idea about how their reencounter with their father would go down, but I say Ozai would officially banish both his children from the Fire Nation for trying to cause a commotion – which could easily be perceived as a threat. Not only that, but Zuko and Azula are the children of a traitor; cue for Ozai revealing what happened that night four years ago, confirming that he was the one to kill Azulon with Ursa’s help.

I also think that, after that day, the Firelord would have discreetly helped spread rumours about Ursa that would drag her name through the mud in the Capital – was she cheating on Ozai? Was she selling Fire Nation information to the Earth Kingdom? Was she planning a coup against the Firelord? Her crimes change from mouth to mouth. In the end, no one would take Zuko or Azula back unless Ozai wanted it. But he doesn’t. Not now, at least…

But Ozai also decides to play with his options: he plants a seed of doubt in his children’s minds; should they prove themselves useful later on, it would only take pulling a few strings for them to come crawling back to him. So he tells them that they needed to prove themselves for everyone to see that they weren’t traitors like their mother. They needed to prove their worth so that he could accept them.

Ozai goes a step further with Azula and tells her that, before his demise, Firelord Azulon had a plan. A plan to bring her back and put her in the leading, prestigious role she was always meant to get. But they needed to wait for the right time. There is a right time, Princess Azula. Your hopes were right all along, they will come for you eventually if you prove yourself.

The siblings have a lot to think about while they’re leaving the Fire Nation. They idolized Ozai so much all these years. But the undeniable truth came crashing down on their heads, spoken by the man himself. What would they do now? They didn’t think it possible, but their harsh actions made things so much worse: they couldn’t come back to their mother, they didn’t have many hopes of running into Iroh again, they can’t even set foot in their homeland anymore; Zuko and Azula are all on their own.

Maybe it’s time to turn a new leaf. It starts with them being fairly neutral, not completely loyal to either the Fire Nation or to the rest of the world. During this period, they would argue a lot about what to do or where to go next, getting separated and going their own ways before destiny makes them stick together again, over and over.

They manage to get a few deals and own a few favours here and there, become known thieves as the Spirits, and maybe meet up with Ty Lee’s circus every now and again. Life is hard.

But there is one thing that is about to be a beacon in their darkness…

Time to catch up to the show. Oh, you thought I wouldn’t go there?

Part 3 coming right up!

(I know I said this would be a two-parter, but it got ridiculously long, so I split it again. Three-parter now.)

#I planned on posting this much earlier #But I've been having some technical issues #I suppose it happens #This is still messy #And it will only get messier #It would be one long fanfiction #Avatar the Last Airbender #ATLA #canon divergence #Zuko #Azula #Ursa #Firelord Azulon #Firelord Ozai #(Bitchlord) #Uncle Iroh #Ty Lee #King Bumi #Order of the White Lotus #Part 3 should be up in less than a week if I get time to post it

[banalbones]

The Petite Prince: Chapter 5

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8

Chapter 5: The Treasure Hunt, Part 2

Summary: Roman is a child. Virgil and Logan lost him, and have been questing to find him for way too long. Remus loves his bro, but is feeling a bit more chaotic.

Words: 2485

Ships: Familial prinxiety, logince and Creativitwins. Eventual familial royality, roceit and DRLAMP  

Genre: Fluff with a side dose of angst

Warnings: A few swears, tiny blood mention, arguing, a mention of being unconscious, a dragon, falling, tell me if there’s any more!

Taglist: @pricklyfish777 @sunflowerblondeuwu  @itriedandimtired @draw-your-perfect-world @cemmy @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @nonbinary-lizard-2

_________________________

The ‘twins’ were doing karaoke with the birds.

“Love is an open doo-oo-oor!”

The song was perfect for the pair, an adorable ‘love’ song for Roman, and a Disney villain tune for Remus.

Roman was grinning madly, his gap tooth showing, as his sweet little child voice perfectly nailed all of the notes.

“You’re really good at this,” Remus commented, taking a break from the song. “But Elphaba’s better.”

Cue the *o f f e n d e d p r i n c e y n o i s e s*.

“She’s a bi- she’s a bird! How can she be b- be better?”

Remus cackled. Annoying his brother was fun, even when he was a child.

He probably shouldn’t be thinking that, but still.

Quoting Virgil, sometimes I just gotta be me-an.

The smol one wacked his leg with the stick.

(Remus truly didn’t know how he kept getting it.)

“You know,” he said, “We could decorate the stick.”

That was a thing kids did right? Decorating sticks? 

Apparently it was, as Roman squealed in delight and jumped around, whilst simultaneously summoning paint and glitter and smaller sticks and a whole lot of other stuff Remus didn’t bother to acknowledge.

I would have just gotten blood.

_________________________

“Are we supposed to climb this thing?” Virgil asked incredulously.

Logan wasn’t looking at the tower, so much as the dragon. It had shimmering scales, the color of the sea, covering the entirety of its lithe body, with accents of a bright gold littered throughout. The sunset colored wings however, were the things that stuck out most.

The dragon was quite beautiful and had cool wings, in an abbreviated sentence.

It also appeared to be asleep, which was definitely a pro in this situation of cons.

“If we wish to retrieve Roman, I believe so.”

“Well, fuck.”

_________________________

Virgil for all his faults, was loyal. Or so he told himself. Janus (?!?!), when the emo was still a part of the Others, had told him that dark sides were extremely protective of what they deem to be theirs.

So he supposed it made sense that he, the literal embodiment of anxiety, was about to climb a fifty foot tower with no safety precautions, just to save the little prince.

He turned to Logan and grinned sheepishly.

“So, uh, do you want to start?”

Just because Virgil was going to do it, didn’t mean he had to go first.

_________________________

The Dragon Witch smirked slightly as she rested her scaled head atop the tower’s black roof, gazing down at the two sides.

Looked like it was time to drop the ladder.

_________________________

Logan rolled his eyes at Virgil and began to reach for the tower, not sure what he was actually going to do when he touched it, when suddenly a pile of pili fell on his head.

“What the heck?”

The sub-astute teacher looked up to see… a rope of hair?

What?

“It’s like in Tangled!” Virgil said, somewhat excitedly.

“The Disney movie?”

“The Disney movie.” Virgil nodded.

“So what do we do, climb it?”

“I mean I guess,” The Supreme Dark Overlord of Negative Commerce (That’s a throwback) paused, “Because I don’t see any stairs.”

Logan, once again, rolled his eyes.

Might as well start climbing.

And so he did.

_________________________

Roman watched LoLo begin to climb through the fly-eyes. It seemed so fun!

Maybe he could do that one day…

If Remus would let him.

Roman giggled.

He probably would.

_________________________

Remus had wanted to add a thorn bush at the bottom of the tower, to be true to the original, ya know? But the smol one hadn’t wanted them to get hurt.

Again.

So instead, he had come up with an ingenious compromise that Logan would have been proud of.

Put vines at the bottom, but make them look like thorns!

It would be so funny to see Virgil panic and try even harder not to fall, especially with the armor-

Oh yeah!

“RoRo, do you want to give them the armor now?”

The little prince nodded enthusiastically, his face scrunching up in concentration.

And then…

“I did it!”

Little did the prince know that Remus had done a slight flick of the wrist, ensuring that the metal protection would… weigh them down.

He may be my brother, and I still love and will protect him at all costs, but I am always a chaotic rat man.

_________________________

I can’t believe you acknowledged that you were a chaotic rat man.

I can.

_________________________

Patton hummed softly, twirling around as he made the brownies.

He had tried checking on Roman in his room, but the princely side hadn’t answered.

So, he decided to make brownies to give to Roman when he felt like he could talk to him again!

If he ever felt like he could…

Patton shook his head quickly, dismissing the thought.

He would! It was Roman, after all!

Patton swallowed.

It was Roman, after all…

_________________________

Logan was halfway up the tower (and the hair) when he felt a weight be placed on his body. A very heavy weight.

The logical side was now extremely glad he had made Virgil stay on the ground.

Gravity tugged a little too hard on Logan for his own liking, and then he was falling.

And falling.

And f

           a

                 l

                      l

                           i

                               n

                                       g

                                            .

Into a pile of thornbushes?

Logan inwardly groaned. It was like in the Grimm Brother’s version of the fairytale.

The prince fell into a bunch of thorns and got blinded.

I’m already blind enough, come on!

He barely registered Virgil screaming out his name through the rush of air and thoughts.

And then he landed.

________________________

Virgil screamed as Logan fell.

He was gonna die!

Could sides even die?

He didn’t think so, but what if they could?

The emo’s mind was so filled with what ifs, that he barely registered the dumping of heavy metal on his shoulders.

It was like a weighted blanket but five times heavier.

“Oof.” He was pulled to the floor, just as Logan landed… in a pile of thorns?!

How had he not noticed that?

“Holy shit! Logan!”

He heard a groan.

“Ow.”

Virgil breathed a sigh of relief.

At least he was alive.

_________________________

You fell off a tower?!

Yes. I just said that.

How did you survive?

We’re getting to that.

_________________________

The teacher figure groaned as he opened his eyes. He wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t bleeding.

That was a good sign.

It seems I have not, in fact landed in a pile of thorns.

“Holy shit! Logan!”

Logan attempted to move his head. A fall like that could not be good for his neck.

He managed it, if only slightly, to see a raccoon-like side running, well trying to run, towards him.

“Hello, Virgil. Before you ask, no, I do not know how I am alive.”

“Are you-”

“Yes, I am indeed hurt,” Logan interrupted, “I fell twenty five feet, what did you expect?”

“I don’t… whatever. How come you’re wearing armor?”

Logan responded with a dry “You are too,” before craning his neck (ow) to see that he was, in fact, wearing a bunch of bulky metal.

It was very blue. Or indigo, depending on how specific you wanted to be.

“Why is it so heavy?”

“That’s because of Remus,” a very familiar, lilting voice answered, as weapons materialized in the boys hands.

“Oh shit,” he heard Virgil mutter.

Logan looked up (once again, ow) to see the dragon that had been sitting atop the tower flying towards them.

It let out a roar.

To mirror Virgil’s earlier words, oh shit.

_________________________

Roman stood proudly, brandishing his stick for all to see.

By all, he meant Remus and the birds, as they were the only ones left to see it.

(The other forest creatures had to go, they had told Roman, it was almost dinner time for them.)

Apparently, birds had really weird eating schedules.

Big me had a really weird eating schedule too. He only ate during the night.

That, along with the fact big him never slept at night either led to the little prince forming a rather intelligent conclusion.

Big him was nocturnal!

Like an owl!

Wait…

If Big him was nocturnal (or an owl)…

Did that mean ReeRee was too?

…

“ReeRee… are you a- you an owl? Or noc- or noc-tur-nal?”

The Duke turned.

“Also, do yo- do you li-li-li’ my stick? Its glitty-ery!”

The tiny royal’s big brother looked confused.

“No? Why? Your stick is splendiferous, by the way.”

Now it was Roman’s turn to be confused.

(He was happy with the reaction to the stick.)

“Big me is. How co-how come you aren’t?”

Maybe the lack of sleep at night isn’t something that owl’s do.

Oh! Elphaba’s leaving! Byeee!

The petite prince was so caught up in his train of thought that he didn’t see Remus’s concerned gaze.

Bye bye birdies!

_________________________

Virgil stared at the bedazzled dirk in his hand, the onyx gems glinting in the light of the fire.

Wait, fire?

The emo turned to see a large green dragon (?!?!) diving towards him, flames spewing out of its mouth.

A dragon?

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit

“Virgil! Move!” he heard a voice shouting.

But for a moment he was paralyzed.

Then, in a way that was opposite his regular behavior, he let out a battle cry and leapt towards the reptilian rapscallion (Roman would be proud), brandishing his weapon.

The dragon roared as Virgil threw one of his dirks, the sharp metal burying itself in a shimmering teal scale.

No blood emerged.

One weapon wasted.

“What the fuck are you doing, you inbecile? Run!”

For some reason, Virgil decided to ignore the admittedly good advice.

The dragon swiped at the anxious side, knocking him into the hard brick of the tower.

The scaled beast crept forward.

It poked Virgil’s head, slamming it back into the stone.

And then the world was fading to black.

Well, he knew that wasn’t good.

_________________________

Logan shut his eyes, restraining a groan of frustration.

WHY did people (metaphysical people) never listen to him?

Virgil was the smallest of the sides (apart from Roman, at the moment) and though he was fight or flight, the anxious side really didn’t know how to defend himself, especially against dragons. It also didn’t help that he only had a tiny daggers and a leaden suit of armor to protect himself.

Logan took a deep breath.

…

When the logical side’s eyes reopened, he was subjected to the view of Virgil being yeeted (slang words) into the tower.

Virgil was quickly climbing up the idiot list.

Very quickly indeed.

_________________________

Where am I on the list right now?

The same place as you were when this happened.

Where was I?

That is not important.

What? Yes it i-

_________________________

Remus was concerned. Which was weird for him.

What did the smol one mean?

An owl?

Nocturnal?

Was Roman secretly an owl? Or did his twin have a really unhealthy sleep schedule that led to negatively affecting his mood, energy levels and attention span, making him lash out in even the slightest of stressful situations whilst simultaneously causing his metaphysical human being-like health and mental health to deteriorate?

Nah, he was probably an owl.

And with that (most of) Remus’s concern washed away.

His brother was an owl.

_________________________

Roman was watching the battle through the fly-eyes. Well, battle was an over exaggeration. It was really just VeeVee getting smacked into a wall by a dragon (who looked suspiciously like the Dragon Witch Big him had killed a while ago).

The prince looked to where Logan was.

The nerd looked reeeeeally annoyed.

Probably because now he had to defeat the dragon all by himself.

What’s he gonna do?

Roman watched as the logical side got up, a broadsword appearing in his grasp.

The prince summoned a bowl of popcorn.

He should throw it. Mama should definitely throw it.

Logan threw it.

And missed.

The sword didn’t even get near it!

Come ooooon, Mama.

The dragon roared and pounced on Logan, baring its teeth.

Roman leaned forward, a handful of popcorn nearing his mouth.

This was getting good.

A drop of saliva dripped onto Logan’s face…

Aaaaaannd…

He was whisked away from the fly-eyes view by a pair of grimy hands.

“ReeRee! No fair!”

“Sorry RoRo.”

The little prince pouted, and Remus held something out to hi.

“Look I made a stick!”

_________________________

Did it work?

Did what work?

The stick. As a distraction.

It wasn’t a distraction, I just really wanted to show him my stick!

Liesssss.

It was also a distraction.

_________________________

Patton was becoming concerned.

Roman usually would have come out by now.

Maybe he decided to talk to someone else.

But who?

Definitely not Janus, for obvious reasons. Maybe Virgil?

I should check. Just to see if he’s okay.

I’ll bring the brownies.

Just in case…

And so the walk to Virgil’s room began.

_________________________

Do it for the child.

That was the mantra that Logan was repeating in his head.

He truly did not appreciate being carried through the sky in a dragon’s claws, especially since it had caused his glasses to fall off of his face.

For the last time, I’m already blind! Why is it always me?

It also didn’t help that every single part of his body was aching.

_________________________

Do it for the bean.

That was the mantra that would probably have been repeated in Virgil’s head at this moment, if he wasn’t unconscious.  

_________________________

Patton frowned.

Virgil wasn’t there.

Maybe Roman and his dark strange son were with Logan!

And so the walk to Logan’s room began.

_________________________

Remus giggled.

RoRo had forgotten about the fly-eyes almost immediately, being too distracted by the glowing stick.

He waved his hand.

A visitor (or two) was about to drop in.

_________________________

Patton furrowed his brows.

Logan wasn’t in his room either.

Were they all together?

Who else could they be with?

Remus?

It was worth a shot.

And so the walk to Remus’s room began.

_________________________

Back in the dragon witch’s claws, a fully healed, very confused Virgil awoke, and Logan felt all of his physical pain disappear, along with the stupid heavy armor.

And then they were thrown through the window of the brick monstrosity,

----------------

As Patton twisted the door handle,

-----------------

As Virgil and Logan crashed through the floor of the tower,

-----------------

As Remus looked up to see the ceiling falling in,

-----------------

As Patton pushed open the door,

-----------------

As the left brain boys fell into the Duke’s room.

Oh boy.

_________________________

Roman looked up from the stick to see ReeRee grinning like a madman (That’s pretty normal), VeeVee and Mama sprawled on the floor (Yay! Why’s the ceiling broken?), and Da- Patton glancing around the room with a plate of brownies in his hands (ohnohonohonohonohonoh).

The petite prince was feeling slightly overwhelmed.

“Wha?”

_________________________

Thanks for reading this chapter of the Petite Prince!

(And by the way, at the time of the stick distraction, Roman is around five. If you’re confused, don’t be scared to ask.)

Any and all feedback is appreciated!

#sanders sides #thomas sanders sides #tss #the petite prince #baby roman #roman sanders #ts roman #remus sanders #ts remus #virgil sanders #ts virgil #logan sanders #ts logan #patton sanders #ts patton

[dreamlanddoll]

Your headcanons on the part of Cedric's life between the time he graduated Hexley Hall to the time he first met Sofia?

Cedric’s Life Between Graduation and Meeting Sofia 

Upon graduating, Cedric was immediately pulled into training by his father to become Enchancia’s next Royal Sorcerer

There was a lot of pressure on him, more than he could handle. Cedric wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to live up to his father’s standards, or that of the future King’s 

Cedric was already somewhat accustomed to his fathers workshop, but since it would soon become his own, Goodwyn was obligated to show him how to operate everything in it (without letting him touching anything)

“And that is the crank you use to bring down the ladder- NO DON’T TOUCH IT!”

He knows how accident prone his son is and would rather not risk the mess (or injury)

One day, while doing regular apprentice chores in the workshop with his raven Wormwood at his side, and as his father was brewing potions, a small, unsupervised potion bottle on a stool nearby caught the young adults eye, and seeing that his father wasn’t paying attention to him, Cedric figured it couldn’t hurt to inspect it, right?

As he approached the stool, broom still in hand, all whilst his familiar was shouting at him to not do it inside his head, he heard his father ask, “Cedric, could you hand me my-?” causing him to startle and trip, knocking into the stool and spilling the potion all over the floor- as well as himself.

Lucky for him, Goodwyn turned his head just in time when he heard the crash to see what had happened- and before his very eyes was his son- now a small green lizard- helplessly freaking out on the ground.

Goodwyn rolls his eyes and mutters the spell to reverse it. In a whirl of magical dust and some, 18 year old Cedric re-appeared, knees tucked into his chest and hands on the floor to support his tense shoulders. He looks up at his father sheepishly. “Ehhh.. sorry father.” he chuckles. 

Goodwyn loudly sighs and runs a hand down his face. “What did I say about touching anything?”

Cedric looks at the floor, embarrassed. “Not to do it…”

“That’s right, son. Go take a break while I clean this up… then maybe I can finally get some work done in peace.” 

Cedric sadly retires as his father points him out the door, slouching all the way out 

“And straighten your posture, Cedric!” 

And so, the green-vested lad is sent to slink around and roam the castle halls aimless and bored 

Cedric grumbles to himself in a mimicky tone, hands shoved in his pockets while he glares at the marble floor. “Straighten your posture Cedric, don’t touch anything Cedric, cut your stupid bangs so they aren’t as curly, Cedric! G’ah! ” He grips his head, stopping at a large decorative mirror placed on the wall, examining himself sadly while playing with one of his wavy eye-length silver bangs. Recalling all the horrible memories of mummy attempting to dye them back to their original colour, and Goodwyn attempting to cast a cutting spell on them any chance he got. Cedric liked them long, thank you very much.

He sighs and looks at the ground. “Perhaps I’m just not cut out for this…. maybe I should’ve allowed Cordellia to be the Royal Sorceress instead. She’s older than me after all, I don’t see why she didn’t get it.”

He turns to his faithful raven. “What do you think, Wormy?”

Wormwood squawks in response, but to himself he was saying “I think we’d be better off as starving bards.”

As the years go by, and as Cedric grows and matures (kind of), at age 25, Goodwyn is finally ready (well, more like legally obligated) to pass the job onto his son 

Goodwyn gives him about a thousand reminders and responsibilities re call before handing him the key to the workshop.

“Make sure you hide this in the RIGHT Gargoyle claw, not the left one.”

“I know, father.”

“And don’t forget to dust the bookshelves weekly!”

“Yes yes I will.” (he doesn’t)

“And you mustn’t EVER open the window while casting a wind spell.”

“THAT WAS ONE TIME!”

Of course during his first week on the job, Winifried was constantly checking up on him to see how her Ceddy-kins was doing, to which he always replied “Just fine, thank you mummy.” But his first day … Cedric’s first day as Royal Sorcerer is… tricky, to say the least 

not only that, but it was Roland’s coronation as well, and Cedric was expected to perform spells immaculately under the training he’d gained 

it doesn’t go all too well  

he ended up accidentally causing the curtains in the throne room to collapse, which caught onto the candelabra which caught the carpets and the curtains on fire as well as the thrones while everyone retreated away from the scene, panicking and putting attention into making sure the the future king was protected while servants attempted to douse the growing fire 

Cedric though, in his typical Cedric-y manner, wanted to fix it. He nervously scrambled in his words for a water spell, or an anti-flame spell, or something that would help! 

But before he could, the servants had taken care of it while he remained speechless, embarrassed and body inverting with cringe as his put a hand to his mouth, it was like Cordellia’s ball all over again! 

“Some Royal Sorcerer.” he heard come from a lady in a mocking tone.

“Doesn’t he have a sister that could’ve done this? I’m sure she would’ve handled it better.” Another voice, one of the male servants, uttered to his buddy. Who seemed to nod in agreement.

“Oh…” Cedric muttered, looking at the floor. “Merlin’s Mushrooms.” 

Later in his workshop, as he sulks over his desk with Wormwood attempting to console him, he sniffles. “That’s it, I’m quitting. Pack your bags Wormy, I’ll write to Cordy and tell her a position is open if she’s willing.” Cedric reaches for a loose sheet of paper he finds tucked between two of his books on the shelf, but one falls out and opens up on his desk to a very peculiar page. 

“What’s this?” he mumbles, leaning over to get a better look at the drawing of the large purple tear-drop shaped jewel that was on the page. There was small handwriting around it as well.

Wormwood squawks in curiosity, prompting Cedric to read aloud.  

“The Amulet of Avalor?” he read slowly. His eyes continue down the page. “The Amulet of Avalor is an ancient jewel with unlimited magical powers, carefully hand wielded by Maruvien sorcerer’s of the time, said to hold the power of all magical being and spirits of the Mystic Isles themselves…” Cedric said in a breathy, awe-strucken tone. He didn’t think such a thing could exist! But here it was he supposed, right inside a master spell book that his father almost nearly relied on in his day. 

Cedric internally scoffed, where could he possibly find something like that? And what on earth would he want with it? It’s power? …. Well… perhaps, it would be a big help with his spell casting he reckoned. 

Wormwood squawked once more, nudging the page over with his beak and turning Cedric’s attention to it.

“It says here that the Amulet of Avalor is powerful enough to create tornadoes, move mountains, and… concur entire empires?” It was then that he remembered something, an idea forgotten long ago after his younger days. Back when… the incident, first happened, little Cedric thought if he could become King, he’d be able to prove how great he could be! He grew out of that over time- obviously, but now, knowing that this jewel was out there somewhere… it didn’t sound like all too ridiculous of an idea anymore.

“Wormy… do you realize what I could do with a magical object like this?!” He turned to his raven excitedly, to which the bird tilted his head. 

“It means I could finally prove what a great sorcerer I really am!” 

Wormwood squawked happily, liking where this was going as he saw a mischievous grin creep onto his master’s face for the first time ever.

“We are going to find that amulet someday, and in the meantime, start thinking of ways that I can finally take over the Kingdom!” Following his deceleration was a long over-due, good old fashioned evil laugh, with his menacingly dark raven cawing along. 

From then on, they were scheming buddies. Cedric and Wormwood, an unbreakable pair of evil geniuses- well, at least Cedric thought so. 

The more he planned, schemed, and connived however, the later he decided to stay up, and the later he schemed into the night, the deeper his eye bags grew. Same with the creases at the sides of his mouth (though genetic), it was getting concerning..

Even Roland, now a proud King with two children on the way was growing concerned for his old friend- even though he didn’t act like it 

Upon the Queen’s death, it was hard on everyone- Roland more than anyone of course. But even Cedric became a tad depressed, out of everyone in the castle, the Queen was always the nicest one to him..

He stopped scheming for a while, feeling kind of bad. How could he plan on doing something so terrible to a ruler so kind- one that, now that he thought about it, took for granted?

Eventually Cedric gets back into the groove of his evil ways, but still carries a bit of guilt with him 

Refuses to interact with the children from age 1-5- not for any emotional or depressing reason- he just detests young children. Well, especially James and Amber- the spoiled little things. With their sticky-grabby hands, loud voices, no sense of personal space or boundaries, or caution for other peoples things- G’OH he just can’t STAND them! He actually doesn’t permit Roland bringing the children into his workshop, he either leaves them with Baileywick, or stays a step or two outside the door. It becomes a rule

 Once they get a little older and more self aware, they’re allowed inside- just no touching anything 

If they do though he doesn’t get angry- or even frustrated- something in him just goes “no, you mustn’t yell at them or they’ll cry and when they cry then you’ve got a bigger mess on your hands.” 

Cedric does not know how to deal with crying children- he still doesn’t to this day. He’d probably just start panicking and screaming 

He lets them kinda waddle around the place if Roland runs out of ways to keep them occupied. But he needs to keep a close eye on them- it’s very boring for him. 

However he gets the occasional inquiry about certain magical items- which he is most fond of answering for them. 

Amber and James actually liked Cedric a lot as kids though- with all his cool spells, different hair and funny clothes. Once Amber complimented him on his ‘dress.’ He would’ve corrected her- but she had no mal intent, so stopping himself he pats her head and says ‘thank you.’ 

He just hoped she’d learn it was actually a robe when she was older

Little James was always down for a mini magic show- and the wonder in his eyes and smile on his face whenever Cedric casted his spells was sometimes almost enough to make him turn good again.. but it was simple, trivial ones that he did easily in front of the children because they were.. well.. children. Kids are entertained if you flash a red dot on the wall. Or wait, perhaps that’s cats. 

Eventually Amber grew brattier and more superficial- interested in all the finer things royalty had to offer, and James grew more independent and rambunctious. Cedric had that coming, they were both 11 now after all. 

He greeted loneliness with open arms once more for a good year or two… until one faithful day. He was informed that King Roland was getting re-married, and along with his new wife was coming her 8 year old daughter- Sofia. 

Cedric groaned in annoyance. Delightful- he thought sarcastically. More small children. 

#phew! i really went to town with this one #sofia the first #sofia the fandom #cedric the sorcerer #cedric the sensational #cedric the sorcerer headcanons #sofia the first headcanons

[shadows-of-almsivi]

[3, 6, 8! :3]

((3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory?

Moraelyn would claim to have had a perfect childhood. How true that is, or whether it’s due to a couple of centuries’ worth of rose-tinting, is hard to say. There was a lot of social pressure on him, as the third-born child of an Indoril family living within Hlaalu territory; you would think this would have eased off a little as he grew into his Vimeri identity, but if anything, it only grew more intense. A lot was always expected of him, even when very young, and that’s without even taking into account the specifics of his parentage. Any Ordinator’s child has an image to live up to, or live past, and the spectre of his father’s actions within the Order of the Inquisition spread very far; there were always those who’d view him with suspicion or fear, and he would not realise for years that they thought him to be his father’s eyes and ears. The offspring of an inter-House marriage, too, carries quite a stigma, even when that marriage was carefully-arranged and legal. His late childhood and adolescence brought with it the responsibility to be the model studious Indoril and allow no one (especially no Hlaalu mer) to find fault in him, and by extension in their family. It’s unsurprising that Moraelyn developed three common traits in House children: an almost reverent attitude to memorised etiquette and manners, a deep well of hidden anxiety, and also a weirdly-persistent rebellious streak somewhat bordering on the perverse.

By and large, though, he was mostly happy: his brothers loved him, his friends were usually loyal, he adored his little sister, his parents were tender and even somewhat indulgent by Dunmeri standards. His family was not exactly rich, but he had enough resources available that he never wanted for food or clothes or books (so, so many books). He went to his Temple classes and played in the river-mud and hit his brothers with sticks and let his sister eat beetles. That’s not a bad life, for a kid.

He has a vast wealth of fond memories, some of which I will present now in no particular order:

His brothers sitting with him on the front step of the house in the evening, teaching him how to carve corkbulb, soaking the chunks in ashwater so that the sharp knives slid through like butter.

Climbing the rocks and old trees out by the edge of town with his friends, catching little lizards and bugs to take home in a jar to show his mother, and the first time he pulled himself all the way to the top of the tallest rock formation: he’d never seen out so far, and it was just as sunset was painting the landscape in so many beautiful colours that he forgot how to breathe for a minute.

His uncle, Endalyn Thavas, letting him ride a retired Redoran Guard cavalry guar, thinking it would be quiet and sedate; it took off at a dead run into the Ashlands and they didn’t find it again for two hours. Moraelyn, still clinging to the saddle, immediately wanted to go again. This might have been the start of his ongoing love affair with absurdly-fast mounts.

Bad memories… Sadly, yes. No childhood is perfect.

The parents of one of Moraelyn’s best friends ‘having done something bad’ and ‘having to go away to learn better’. It was an open secret in Balmora that Moraelyn’s father, Savaryn, was the Ordinator who took them; mask or no, everyone knew him well enough by the back-pain stiffness of his gait. While Savaryn did try to explain things to his confused and upset little thirdborn, it wasn’t good enough for the vanished mers’ child. She hated Moraelyn for the rest of her life.

Being stuck overnight in a kwama den. While playing in an old mine he’d often been told not to play in, Moraelyn was trapped underground by a tunnel collapse, falling through a weak spot in the cave floor. It was only after he’d dusted himself off and started trying to climb out that he found that the mine was far from empty, and that the chamber he’d fallen into housed the colony’s queen. He spent the night in there, burying himself in cave dirt and eggshell in a corner to try and avoid the kwama’s notice, very aware that they could kill a grown mer with horrific ease. He’s never quite been the same about caves and tunnels ever since.

Being threatened by a furious ghost as a small child. The Ithren line bears many Ordinators, almost a family profession going back centuries. In an ancillary Ithren family tomb, there is a maddened ghost forced into permanent guard service, the spirit of a corrupt Ordinator who betrayed their post and oaths to House Indoril; the specifics were rarely, if ever, made clear, though they exist in certain Indoril ledgers from the period. Though bound by powerful magic never to harm any of Ithren lineage, Moraelyn was utterly terrified by them as a small child. He would hear the ghost’s muttering, snarling voice, whispering monstrous urges and horrifying secrets that no one else could hear. Sometimes he still does.

Almost being abducted by some shady mer who might have been a part of the Camonna Tong. It’s hard to say whether they truly were or if they were just plain bad mer of no affiliation, but they scared him nearly to death. They’d seized him and intended to drag him away before a guard heard his struggling and came to his rescue, killing one of the mer in the process.

6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate?

Moraelyn was one of those odd children who loved schooling, the sort who would ask for additional homework if given the chance. The Temple library was his very favourite place, spending long hours enthralled in stories and sermons even back when he still needed to have them read to him. He was chattersome and engaged, for the most part, though he always found mathematics dreadfully boring. He sometimes drew pictures for the instructors he liked most. He also sometimes drew pictures of the instructors he liked the least, which sometimes got him into a lot of trouble.

He finished his basic education (the freely-available curriculum of basic literacy, numeracy and Tribunal doctrine provided freely to all citizens of Morrowind, don’t @ me about this, check the commoner and pauper dialogue if you don’t believe me) long before his tenth birthday, and continued in one branch of Temple instruction or another until his early adulthood. He likely would have stayed that way, content to be an eternal student, were he not eventually drawn inexorably into true Temple service (then to the specific positions of the Order’s Vimeri priesthood), so whether Moraelyn ever really finished his schooling is mostly a matter of perspective. Certainly, his long and varied schooling puts him at a more tertiary level of education than most.

Of all the subjects he learned during his smaller years, his favourite would probably be advanced literature studies, which also encompassed calligraphy since Temple education tends to conflate the two; after all, what good is it to learn how to construct the perfect poem or analytical essay if no one can read it? He filled slates and pages with rivers of words, a habit that continues to this day after a fashion. It wouldn’t quite be correct to say that artwork and iconography replication was also a beloved subject, since he had been drawing and painting at home since he could hold a stick and draw in the dirt, and as such it never felt like real schoolwork to him.

He never did learn to enjoy mathematics, though. Sometimes he wonders if that’s vaguely heretical in some ill-known, Seht-sphered fashion.

8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals?

Answered here, so let me tell you about Moraelyn’s bird-watching. Moraelyn has a high-intellect, low-resource approach to most of the interests and hobbies he’s gained outside of Morrowind, by which I mean he’s very dedicated but very resistant to actual instruction. Sometimes, it’s because there just aren’t any written sources available or people learned enough on the subject to teach him; other times, it’s just because he’s stubborn and usually refuses to take anyone’s word for anything.

His bird-watching hobby is an excellent example of this. He’ll take detailed notes, sketches, collect feathers, and likely have a very good grasp on the species and habits of birds in his immediate vicinity. However, due to a variety of reasons (language barriers, lack of written notation on the subject (because who needs to write down what a perfectly common bird is, right?), recent arrival to the province, outright derision for what anyone tells him, etc), he doesn’t always know what their actual names are. So, he does what he’s always done with languages that aren’t his own: take the parts he does know, and force them into more fitting shapes with enough conviction that they might sound like real words in their own right to someone who wasn’t paying very close attention.

He knows what pigeons are, but not doves. He knows what sparrows are: small, roundish birds that eat seed and steal breadcrumbs. Therefore, all small, roundish birds, if they can be plied with seed or breadcrumbs, must be some sort of sparrow; yes, this also includes pigeons. He’s pretty sure that quail, pheasant and grouse are various types of wild chicken (he’s actually not that far off). He knows that hawks are birds of prey with large talons and a hooked beak, and that falcons are like that but smaller and can be made to sit on your arm with some training, therefore ‘hawk’ and ‘falcon’ are more general size classes in his mind than real species types. He thinks owls are probably some sort of falcon, and does not believe eagles exist. Don’t try to convince him.))  

#sorry it took so long #I made it extra for you to make up for it #thank you! #hope you're okay too I worry #Temple youth #childhood #vvardenfellcat #asks #askmemes

[autisticandroids]

Siskarak, of course.

-who cries when someone dies in a movie

okay look. i love ben sisko very much. he is cool and collected in a lot of serious situations, and in situations where he can’t keep his cool, he redirects his emotions mainly into righteous anger. but watching a movie is not a serious situation. it is a very much not serious situation and honestly? ben sisko is a sentimental person in a lot of ways. i think he would get attached to characters enough to be sad when the Bad Thing happens, whatever that is. and imo ben believes in healthy expression of emotions. i doubt he would prevent himself from crying if he wanted to and was in a safe place to do so. and like, watching a movie is a safe place.

also, since having a teenage son he can no longer watch horror movies where the teenagers die.

-who wears the ugly holiday garb

both but in different ways. ben’s holiday garb is.......... what you would expect from benjamin sisko’s holday garb. remember, we are preeeeeeetty sure this man is the one responsible for jake’s bus seat era fashion statements. 

elim, on the other hand, doesn’t celebrate many holidays as i doubt cardassia has many, and while he would participate in ben’s federation traditions, i doubt he would go particularly all out. BUT come Cardassian Patriotism Day, which arrives once per cardassian year, elim is Ready. he has an outfit, that he only wears on that one day. it’s a long robe, metallic silver, representing the cardassian military, and embroidered carefully (by elim) around all the hems with whatever the cardassian pledge of allegiance is. it’s knee length, and he wears matching silver pants under it, with a ton of gaudy rings too.

it looks like he’s wearing tinfoil.

-who pays for the meals

nobody, because the federation is a communist utopia. although actually when they go out to latinum restaurants, probably elim, because while ben has a job that WOULD be higher paying than elim’s if they were on the same standard, ben doesn’t get paid for his job except in prestige. all he gets is the same small latinum stipend that every federation citizen gets in case they encounter a place with a mostly latinum economy (like ds9). elim, although he is but an artisan, actually has more money than ben in general because he’s not a federation citizen and is therefore subject to capitalism. although once they get married and elim IS a federation citizen, elim stops working so much. he still does fancy commissions, especially for people he likes, but he can afford to be choosy about the work he takes on, so he is.

-who slams the oven door and who plays the trombone

decisions, decisions..................... symbolically? elim plays the trombone and ben slams the oven door, because elim is, as a person, more likely to start dumb shit.

realistically? i actually never wondered whether either of them could play a musical instrument, so i’m not sure. elim i’m pretty sure definitely can’t play anything, unless they forced him to learn something *classy* at Cardassian Upper Class Finishing School For Boys which he was definitely sent to. when would he have had the time?

ben........ hmmmmm. ben could’ve been a band kid but like, seriously. have you heard avery brooks’ voice? he was clearly choir. clearly. and never the twain shall meet. he might’ve even gotten singing coaching. 

i don’t know if i can see ben like... seeking out music lessons outside a school context. he’s too focused on his career and family, i feel like he’d sink all his time into his career, his family, and things he can share with his family like baseball. so i imagine if he does know an instrument, it’s self-taught, and probably the kind of instrument that’s good for a family singalong. but i mean, the trumpet can be good for that.

anyway, realistically, ben plays the trumpet and elim slams the door.

-who brings home stray animals

okay look the thing is, ben is a dad, but he’s not a Deeply Impulsive Person. he’ll put out milk for local stray cats and give them pets, but he wouldn’t like... bring them home unless he went through like... an exhaustive level of Am I Kidnapping Someone’s Pet checks.

elim grabs sad looking stray cats off the side of the road and runs off with them. the number of cats in the sisko-garak household is getting out of hand. that’s the other reason ben doesn’t bring home strays.

-who leaves the bathroom door open

honestly gross? but elim does this. i really am attached to the idea that cardassians have somewhat looser nudity taboos because of basking, and also, they would probably have buried their feces and uric acid (cardassians, as desert lizards, are probably uricotelic. in simple terms, you know how birds don’t pee and instead excrete that white stuff? the white stuff is called uric acid and cardassians excrete that because it conserves water. follow for more piss headcanons). so i doubt that they would use similar bathroom facilities as humans or have the same bathroom etiquette.

-who tells the 'dad jokes'

benjamin “i know it says ‘Lafayette’ on my I.D. but my real middle name is actually Dad” sisko

-who wants kids more

please consult answer to previous question, and also on a more serious note remind yourself of the fact that elim garak was abused as a child and probably does not have a great view of childhood in general.

-who travels more

like, once they’re together, i feel like they would stick together. ben might occasionally go on business trips but like. elim is a clingy lizard and would probably get separation anxiety. no fun at all.

-who spends more cash

elim, again. even after they’re married, he still has more money than ben, because he still maintains a bit of business on the side, whereas like i said, benjamin sisko does exactly zero paid work, everything he does is for the federation. they merge their finances, of course, but elim is simply more used to having and using money. ben carefully supports as many businesses as he can on the promenade, but it’s still weird to him. elim has been buying things all his life.

-who buys the things in infomercials

the federation doesn’t have infomercials, because of space communism. ben has almost never encountered them in his life and is honestly..... kind of intrigued. he kinda wants to buy that never-needs-to-be-sharpened kitchen knife.........

-who draws in the dust on their cars

ben, absentmindedly. elim is still too trained in the habit of leaving no tangible trace behind. 

-who starts the snowball fights

okay, look, elim is a Nasty Boy, but he would not do this because snow is cold and he would rather not touch it. also, ben is a dad. it is the universal rule of dadness that dads start snowball fights.

once the first snowball is thrown, though, elim will fight to defend his pride. he is a master of the “handful of snow down the back of the neck” dirty trick.

-who throws away the directions to things

okay they would both do it, but ben would do it because he didn’t realize they were important, and elim would do it because clearly, he can figure this out on his own, thank you,,,

-who puts up holiday decor

elim, i think. ben decides what holidays they celebrate mostly but elim has more free time and an eye for design.

-who is more likely to forget to bathe

elim, since “bathing” isn’t really an essential part of cardassian culture since they come from a desert world. they do sand baths instead. and besides, cardassians don’t sweat. the only time their skin gets gross on its own is when they’re shedding.

-who gets more obsessed about things

BEN!!!!!! okay i’ve made noises about ben being autistic before but like..... he is specifically Special Interest Focused autistic. he gets really into stuff.

-who sings in the shower more often

benjamin. once in a choir, always in a choir.

#siskarak #elim garak #benjamin sisko #ds9 #star trek #thank you for sending this :3c #benicebefunny

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 14 - Meditations

With one fashion show already under his belt, Jack approaches his second with much more equanimity. Ok, he's maybe still a frazzled mess, and both Anne and Charles have both kidnapped him on several occasions just to get him to take a break. But he's really handling this show much better than the last. He is.

He's gotten most of his designs mocked up in muslin, knowing now that his strong suit is doing and not planning, even if it's only in this one thing. Charles and Anne have both made fun of him for getting too wrapped up in his head, for coming up with grand plans and schemes and tricky plots when a boot to the face would be nearly as effective and vastly quicker. But that's the thing. Jack doesn't want nearly good enough. He wants perfection. He wants to be the best – and that requires careful planning.

But there's a saying that perfection is the enemy of good enough. And Jack certainly values the balance Anne as his partner and Charles as his second in command (and isn't that a change of circumstances that Jack is still getting used to) bring to their little team. Because Max too is a planner and if it were just the two of them, they might get bogged down in the minute details and miss valuable windows of opportunity. Or literal windows, like the one Anne climbed through into the posh bedroom of one of the city planning commission bigwigs to gather conclusive proof of his tawdry extramarital affair. And if Anne helped herself to some of his top shelf booze and cigars, well Jack likes a drink and a smoke of an evening as well as the next man. Except for Charles, who'd complained that the whiskey went down too smooth, but Charles would drink paint thinner if left to his own devices, so Jack is firmly NOT taking his opinion into account.

Although he thinks at least half of Charles's stubborn refusal to be domesticated is a front. Because honestly, who would rather live life at the ragged edge of survival when they could be safe and comfortable and happy? Who goes out to beat the shit out of other people nearly every day – and have the shit beaten out of them in turn – when there are a million other much more pleasurable ways to spend one's time? Idiots, that's who.

It all just smacks of the kind of hypermasculine male alpha bullshit that Jack has never had particular interest in. Obviously.

But despite their differences, the three of them – well, five if you count Mary and Max, the latter of which Jack has learnt never to disregard – they all make a pretty great team. Jack might think rather highly of himself – too highly, if Anne's to be believed – but he would never be able to pull off the con they're attempting without Max. Without her connections, yes, but it's more than that. She has a clarity of vision he hasn't known since Flint ran a crew, and it's a vision far less likely to cause them to wind up dead or incarcerated.

And Mary has been invaluable helping out with the social media angle of their little venture. So much of what they are doing rests on public perception – and a positive public perception at that. Both Flint and Vane had run crews on the power that fear gave them. But that has never been Jack's angle. Sure, he's ruthless – violent - when he needs to be, but it isn't his go-to method of garnering respect. But even for him, this is a great deal farther along the path of respectability than he's ever trod before. And Mary has helped guide them all down it with a keen eye to social mores and outside perceptions that Jack can't help but admire. Even if he dislikes his work being interrupted for an hour while Mary stages the perfect “candid” photo for his Instagram.

Speaking of his work, it also helps having Christine as an assistant this go round at creating a fashion show, since Fashion Week is somewhat more important than his debut show. Jack has a lot of eyes on his design studio, and those eyes want to see sketches and drawn out designs – proof that he can hack it in the cutthroat world of high fashion. Which, Jack ran a street gang for two years, he's got this covered. But he is garnering a fair bit of interest from the British critics for this new show, as well as some international interest and it serves their agenda to keep those guardians of haute coture appeased., since Max is banking on further exposure for the next stages of her plan.

Sewing the seeds of an international criminal empire is not the only goal, however. Jack is also supposed to be using this show to help Idelle become even more entrenched with Councilor Featherstone. Max has gotten a fair bit of insider information off the esteemed councilor through Idelle's rather pointed pillow talk. Nothing actionable at this stage, but they're still laying the groundwork, both through her efforts and with Jack's own weekly tennis dates with the man. Not to mention the occasional double dates he and Charles have been dragged on, usually to the poshest and most upscale of restaurants – where Charles still doesn't deign to button his shirt more than half way. And expecting him to wear a suite jacket is a complete lost cause.

Not that Jack particularly minds. And he doesn't think Idelle does either.

Frankly, the councilor's not much to look at. Sort of quiet and mousy. Even after all these months and months of trying to draw him out of his shell, Jack doesn't feel like he's been all that successful. The man's more withdrawn than a turtle faced with whatever the fuck eats turtles.

Some kind of bird maybe? Or a lizard? Jack's not a biologist, all right? Or any kind of scientist.

What he is is a conman masquerading as a rich idiot fashion designer. Who's been tasked with making a prostitute look upper crust enough for the nouveau rich government official they're conning to start thinking marriage, not just fun fling.

Because one of the side effects of Jack “befriending” the councilor is that he starts complaining about his life problems. Which is exactly what Jack wants to happen. He can't very well give Councilor Featherstone his heart's desire – fix all the little botherations currently vexing him – if he doesn't know what those botherations are. But God is it dull. His largest problem is an overbearing mother who constantly wonders why he hasn't settled down yet.

And so Featherstone has been agonizing lately over whether or not Idelle is the capital-O one. The real deal. The love of his life. The one he wants to spend forever with – or as much of forever as middle-aged rich fuckers care to believe in.

And for the sake of the con if nothing else, it's Jack's job to make Idelle into the councilor's one true love. His soulmate. His reason de etre.

And that means taking a corner girl and turning her into an upper-middle class enough woman that she can be a wife and not just a hot trophy girlfriend, to be used and then discarded when a newer, shinier model wanders into the councilor's view.

Jack's getting flashbacks of watching My Fair Lady – terrible musical and with a completely different ending to the book. Although the sugar sweet Hollywood ending, with enough romantic nonsense to start rotting teeth, is exactly what they're after.

And Jack is nothing if not adaptable, as evidenced by his turning the whole Flint debacle into something positive. So this go round, all the clothes are rich brocades and just dripping in jewels, like the whole fucking royal treasury is out on the catwalk. And the clothes are not exactly modest, not with the amount of cleavage Jack's showing. Idelle's got great tits and it would be a shame not to feature them prominently. But there's no skin tight latex or side slits up to the waist or plunging necklines that end at the groin.

No. It's respectable.

He's respectable. Which isn't a word Jack often uses to describe himself, much less Anne or Charles. But here they are.

--

Anne is having a great fucking time. Like sure, she knew being rich had to be better than starving on the street. And the kind of money they've got is enough to let them weather storms of a magnitude she can't even fully comprehend.

But just the day to day stuff, it's ridiculous how much that shit's changed.

Anne's got people to clean her bathrooms. Hell, Anne's got a bathroom – and all to herself, she don't gotta share with anyone if she don't want. She can close and lock the door and lay in the gigantic bathtub, full of some perfumy smelling shit she swiped offa Jack and just exist for hours.

No one can get in and bother her. No one can judge her for using up all the hot water. Or for being unproductive.

Or for being girly.

Cuz Anne's not really one for frills and lace. Ain't never been one for dresses or high heels or makeup. But there's something to be said for having the freedom to do all the kinda girly shit she'd thought was stupid and weak and no way to get respect – and to find out that some of it's kinda fun.

Like the bubble baths. Or the tea parties she and Max and Mary started having, as a way for Anne to see Max at least weekly, but they've sorta turned into their own thing.

None of them are posh, and neither Anne or Mary want to put on the flowery sundresses that the event seems to call for. But Max'll put on a just fucking gorgeous dress with her hair piled up on her head with jewels in it like she's a queen or maybe a goddess like from Greek myths or some shit. And Anne'll put on a poet shirt and highwaisted pants and boots, cuz Byron might have been a syphilitic jackass but he had good fashion sense at least. And Mary'll put on a real sharp suit. And they'll sit out in their fancy garden and drink sparkling fruit juices with booze in them or tea nearly white with cream but still so much better than the dishwater they'd used to drink and eat finger sandwiches and fancy little cakes and just take the piss out of all the fucking rich pricks they've had to put up with all week. And sometimes, Charles will even join them, which is extra funny cuz he never even bothers to change out of his usual wardrobe of ripped jeans and leather and just so much testosterone you could choke. But he'll stick his pinky out when he drinks tea and gossip with the best of them, cuz he knows Anne'd give him endless shit if he didn't.

It's a whole hell of a lot of fun, is what Anne is saying, all that silliness and camaraderie and, and civility. She's glad she gets to live a life where she can do all those things. Where she don't gotta be the fiercest and the toughest and the ballsiest fucker in the room just to prove she belongs there.

Though she's also glad she gets to live a life where she can climb through a rich fuck's window to commit espionage and petty theft. Cuz life'd be pretty fucking boring if it was all just bubble baths and tea parties.

#black sails #max/anne #charles vane/jack rackham #i travel troubled oceans #chapter 14

[cutemonstercare]

Do Tarantulas Sleep? Not Really!

You might have seen your tarantula in the same position for hours if not days and wondered if it is hurt, cold, unhappy or maybe sleeping? Well, one thing we know is that tarantulas don’t roll onto their sides or backs to take a quick nap, but they do rest.

Do tarantulas sleep? Tarantulas don’t sleep the same way that mammals do but they do have cycles of movement and respite. Tarantulas reduce their activity level, lowering their metabolic rate in order to conserve energy.

We really don’t know much about spiders and their sleeping patterns and there is still much for us to learn about arthropods in general, but spiders definitely go into some or other rest mode.

Considering that tarantulas don’t have eyelids and thus can’t close their eyes, it must actually be quite difficult for them to catch some z’s! Or is it?

Tarantula’s Mimic Sleep

Sleep, as we humans understand it, is not the same type of forty winks tarantulas will catch. Ts will reduce their activity level and this will lower their metabolic rate which in turn conserves energy.

This is very useful, especially for web-building spiders; they depend on food to come to them and often, the wait between meals is a long one.

Tarantulas are also referred to as pet ‘rocks’ because they do spend a lot of the daytime just chilling in one spot as a survival mechanism since birds and other predators looking for a snack are more likely to be active during the day.

If you’ve been a tarantula hobbyist for a while now, you will know that Ts are like computers in sleep mode; when there’s no movement for a while, the computer will postpone all activity and reduce energy.

But, as soon as you push a key, the computer will come back too life. The same happens to tarantulas; when there’s some stimulus, the T will become active quickly.

Some T owners have experienced their tarantula staying completely still when nudged a little, but after disturbing them once or twice again, they go into a slight panic without any idea what is going on – much as humans do when we are startled awake.

Since tarantulas are mostly nocturnal, we as keepers usually interact with them while they are in a rested state: we might try to feed it or move it into a container for cleaning purposes.

This will be met with inaction at first but after enough sensory input, the T will then suddenly bolt, flick hairs or lunge towards your hand.

This definitely indicates at least a period of rest, if not sleep. You can call it a stand-by state if you like and during this time, tarantulas may shut down some of its vital parts of the brain to save energy.

Judging by their quick return to reality when disturbed, it seems some selective parts of the brain stay on in order for it to ‘turn on’ immediately with the correct amount of stimuli.

Much like humans, actually, except when we sleep, our bodies go into healing mode, something which likely does not happen when a tarantula sleeps.

Tarantulas’ Brains Are Too Primitive For Sleep

Although tarantulas display behavior that looks like sleep, for example, loss of muscle tension, no movement and delayed responses to stimuli, entomologists believe that a T’s brain is too small to require actual sleep.

It’s claimed that the larger the brain, the more sleep is required to recharge it.

That being said, sleep is universal and almost all organisms require it in one form or another. Take lizards, for example, recent studies have revealed ancient roots to the human REM cycle.

Even though the electrophysiological study of sleep in small invertebrates is a complex and somewhat problematic endeavor, fruit flies have been found to sleep and any disturbance of its sleep leads to a decline in cognitive functioning.

I’m not here to compare brain sizes between tarantulas (although Ts do have quite large brains for their size) and fruit flies.

I will leave you to draw your own conclusion, but since tarantulas have some of the most condensed central nervous systems of any invertebrates, you can safely expect it to have complex neurobiological sleep patterns. Someone just needs to decide to research it!

Tarantulas And Defining Sleep

As mentioned earlier, the tarantula’s nervous system is so different from that of a mammal, we can’t really be certain if their version of sleep is the same as ours.

The first major difference would be their sleep cycle; Ts and other spiders are usually more active at night, whereas most humans go about their day and enter Lalaland at night.

But let’s look at what the experts define sleep as.

The criteria for sleep according to a recent paper on jellyfish and the sleep-like states exhibited are:

An inactive state with reduced activity.

Decreased responsiveness to outside stimuli.

Reversibility of dormant/restful state

The above study did not only cover jellyfish but other inverts such as roundworm and our trusty fruit fly as mentioned above. The fact that so many animals with tiny brains ‘sleep’, shows that sleep evolved in early animals and has remained conserved in most, if not all animals.

And, when we consider how brainy tarantulas are, we can assume that they do indeed hit the hay in some manner of speaking.

Also, the fact that tarantulas have some sort of circadian rhythm (daily activity/inactivity), shows that there is a period of rest involved.

The times when they are inactive are usually characterized by withdrawing to a hiding spot or shelter and a drop in metabolic rate. No, studies have however been done to measure the period of time spent active vs inactive or what different species do during these times.

Interesting fact: Spider species (including tarantulas) that live in the desert, retreat into their burrows during the hottest part of the day. As it gets dark and cooler, the spiders will come out.

Tarantulas And Hibernation

Some of our follicle-enriched spider friends ‘overwinter’, meaning they go into hibernation. This usually happens in colder climates where the tarantula will plug up the openings of their burrows with dirt and webbing and ‘go to sleep’.

They draw their legs into their body, drop their metabolic rate and remain huddled until it warms up outside.

This ability to go dormant for such a long period of time shows that it may be part of their everyday cycle – of course just for shorter intervals. Very little is known about what exactly spiders do during this time, but if you ask me, it can be seen as a form of sleep or rest.

Okay, the most important thing that comes from knowing that your T most likely goes into periods of rest, even though we can’t really call it sleep as we humans define it, is the fact that tarantulas are nocturnal.

So, all the times during the day you’re walking over to say hi to Mr. Grumps, or lifting the lid to see if Sally is doing okay, or digging around to see if Spikey will come out, you’re actually disturbing their rest.

Put yourself in their fuzzy feet; how would you like it to be talked to in a squeaky voice, nudged or worse yet, sprayed with water while you were in dreamland? I didn’t think so!

#Animals #Pets #Spiders #Scorpions #Terrariums

[natiashakirkwood]

Were the scaly T. rex paintings of the 90s right after all?

Well, I have to admit it. It was tempting to draw large tyrannosaurs with a heavy coat of feathers. It proved VERY tempting. But I stuck to my guns and held out on it. Why? I wasn't convinced the evidence would favor it. I had already seen pictures of skin impressions attributed to the neck and chest of T. rex, and they were scaly. But this wasn't published and therefore people were casting doubt on it (I wonder if they did the same when Yutyrannus photos showed feathers, before it was formally published and described?). Now some may ask what I have against feathered tyrannosaurids, since that is the new orthodoxy in much of paleo-art (just as lizard-like restorations were orthodoxy in the time of Knight and Burian). The answer is actually: nothing. But when talking about giant tyrannosaurids there was no actual evidence of feathered skin. Not only that, but being roughly 1.5 times the length of the still taxonomically controversial Yutyrannus, the largest T. rexes at 12 meters were over twice the mass, and in addition they were living in a time with warmer global temperatures and increased SO2 and volcanic activity. I maintained for years that if T. rex had any feathers as an adult, they would probably be in very limited areas, for display. Something that big would not need them for insulation, and as a warm-blooded predator in the Maastrichtian epoch with rising global temperatures, it would likely overheat with a heavy coat of downy insulation feather, and obviously had no use for long-quilled flight feathers. Now we have a paper just out confirming that big tyrannosaurids were probably scaly over the majority if not all of their body surface - and that feathers were lost relatively early in the evolution of true Tyrannosauridae. rsbl.royalsocietypublishing.or… And this isn't some fringe paper in a fake journal by creationists or BANDits. It's Royal Society, and Phil Currie, Bob Bakker, Darren Tanke and Pete Larson are all among the co-authors. You don't get more solid in credentials than that. I don't even think Jack Horner would take issue with their scaly conclusion, given his historically conservative approach to dinosaur biomechanics and metabolism.

Interestingly, not only are the skin impressions scaly, but the scales are tiny. Bead-like, almost. So most likely these are from a softer part of the body, possibly the undersides, but due to decomposition the skin may have become desiccated or detached, and rolled around to the dorsal portions of the body, which are apparently the positions in which the skin impressions were found. Now I can imagine some people having nightmares over their entire post-dotcom idea of a poofy T. rex being overturned. So what does this really mean for the big picture of tyrannosaurs? Does it suddenly mean they were cold-blooded overgrown alligators? NO. Warm-bloodedness is not dependent on feathers or fur, especially not at those sizes. Does it mean that they were unrelated to birds and we need to rip up the theropod family tree? NO. The paper states that the tyrannosaur lineage lost their feathers, not that they never had them. Does it mean that all the old pre-Bakker images of sluggish tail-dragging T. rexes were correct? NO and no. These certainly weren't the only unfeathered tyrannosaurs ever drawn or painted, and definitely not the most anatomically informed (Burian was even famous for notlooking at fossils or estimating proportions). There's no reason to throw out 40 years of gathered evidence of warm-blooded, fast-growing bone texture in tyrannosaurs. Tyrannosaurs were still active, fast, warm-blooded hunters. They just weren't drowning in feathers at 40 feet long.   But this doesn't mean that I favor Jurassic Park's ugly monsters either. And simply favoring scaly T. rexes doesn't make you some obsessive JP fanboy. It simply means you listen to the evidence - several scaly impressions in 5 different tyrannosaur genera, and not one feathery impression from any of them. Interestingly, none of these impressions match the big, bulky crocodile-like scales and heavy wrinkles in the Jurassic Park T. rex. Yet I already see and hear some hurt naysayers claiming that everyone who questions the unproven notion of T. rex feathers is somehow a Jurassic Park fan with an agenda who hates feathers. It couldn't be further from the truth. I was never a big fan of the Jurassic Park franchise, and even now the scale evidence doesn't support their big alligator-like scales or heavy baggy wrinkles on their T. rexes. What's more, the JP 'rexes had obvious errors in their facial appearance, including the lumpy 'gator-like orbital horns and huge triangular jugals, and the "cutout" sections of the lower jaw that they fit into... As if somehow having any overlap of the upper jaw around the lower was a sin to Spielberg, as if they had to close perfectly interlocked like a crocodile. We know that the scale impressions show much smaller and finer scales than anything in the JP franchise. My reasons for questioning the idea of giant 8-ton tyrannosaurs being feathered have nothing to do with a hollywood movie. And everything to do with (a) the evidence, and (b) the simple fact that they were giant 8-ton tyrannosaurs in a rapidly warming Hell Creek climate. So they did have scales over several parts of the body, and the scales in the hip area indicate it's highly likely the torso was scaly as well. You just don't see scaly hips in any feathered creature, even flightless birds have feathers on the hips and tail (or what's left of it). Of course this doesn't change anything about dinosaurs that we know either had feathers or were likely to have them - like dromaeosaurids ("raptors"), ornithomimids, oviraptorids, caegnathids, etc. A scaly tyrannosaur doesn't negate these animals being feathered, nor does it have any effect on feathered specimens of controversial species sometimes labeled as basal tyrannosauroids, but which may not be (i.e. Yutyrannus). In fact, the paper's argument is that tyrannosaurids evolved from small feathered ancestors, but likely later lost the feathers as they evolved into giant top-tier predators.

In that case, knowing that the scales were very small, and nothing like the baggly wrinkles and 'gator scutes in Jurassic Park, we can now ask: what is the most accurate T. reximage, based on these scale impressions? It would obviously have to be something post-70s, when Bakker and the Dinosaur Renaissance were gaining steam, and anatomical accuracy really began to matter.

You might say Greg Paul's version. And you'd have a point. Though many of the visible scales here look a good deal larger than the ones in the impressions, not all the scales are visible, and some patches on the underside look like a good place for much finer scales. If the rest of the body was covered in similar, if somewhat larger scales, you would likely have the smooth, tight, and only lightly wrinkled skin you get on Greg Paul dinosaurs.

T. rex pair by Greg Paul. 1988. Based on the AMNH specimen. Used for educational purposes only.

However, Brian Franczak's slightly less "vacsuit" version is another contender:

Brian Franczak's T. rex and Edmontosaurus. 1991. Used for educational purposes only.

There's not much surface detail in Franczak, aside from a few veins and light wrinkles. That's just the style. But overall the anatomy looks solid here and the skin smooth enough that those tiny scales in the impressions would be right at home. The legs are a bit more bulky here, but still not like in JP. The head looks oversized in the far left animal, but that's just a perspective trick for dramatic effect. Another great rendition of accurate, fine-grained T. rex skin is in Larry Felder's painting of a juvenile 'rex, which was the cover image for the book In the Presence of Dinosaurs. You can almost feel this is a real live animal breathing next to you. The scales struck most people as too tiny, the skin too smooth and "cute" - but after seeing these skin impressions with some scales only a couple of millimeters wide, it's hard not to wonder if Felder had some kind of sixth sense for these things.

Larry Felder's young T. rex from the book cover. Not based on a particular specimen. Educational purposes only.

But if you were to ask me which painting of T. rex looks the most like the actual textures and scale shapes in the skin impressions, I'd have to give it to this long-forgotten gem:

T. rex by Dave Marrs. Apparently based on the Wankel/MOR specimen. Used for educational purposes only.

Now I don't know how many of you are familiar with Dave Marrs' work. He did a large number of paintings for the TV series PaleoWorld in the 90s, which is where I was first introduced to the art of Greg Paul, Brian Franczak, Mark Hallett, David Peters and many others (back then Peters was solidly popular as an artist, and followed the best cutting-edge science of the day, almost like a second Greg Paul - and there wasn't anything too unusual about his paleo-images at that time, even the pterosaurs). Marrs also did some unrelated images for a series of Jurassic Park trading cards, which were largely concept art for the movies. Apparently Marrs got into legal hot water when he closely copied a number of images from Paul and Peters, robbing both to pay himself and not getting permission to copy copyrighted images. Some of these "re-skinned" copies were also featured in PaleoWorld, most notoriously his Estemmenosuchus, which was a ripoff of Peters' original. But, it must be emphasized, not everything Marrs did was a fraud. He also had many original paintings and no doubt he proved his skill as an artist. Probably his best painting was the one above of a blue T. rexwith relatively thin, basal lips and some VERY detailed scalework. The facial scales are a bit on the large side, but those on the underside of the neck are downright tiny. And this matches the look of the skin impressions almost perfectly. Now given, there are some flaws with the oversized teeth and the jaw proportions, but some of this is due to perspective distortion and stylistically it's a very good painting. And if the skin impressions are any clue, this is easily the most accurate skin in a T. rex painting. Too bad more isn't known about this image, it really does stick with you. From a distance, some vintage "Dinosaur Renaissance" paintings, like Greg Paul's Daspletosaurus, even did away with extensive scale texturing on the majority of the skin altogether, leaving it to the viewer to imagine what those tiniest of scales looked like up close.

Daspletosaurus by Greg Paul. Based on holotype CMN 8506. Updated version with revised supinated hands. Used for educational purposes only.

Now in the future someone might find skin impressions in other parts of the body of a tyrannosaurid, that indicate the presence of feathers. But so far there are none, and 100% of the few rare skin imprints found of tyrannosaurs thus far, are scaly. The trend to put feathers on tyrannosaurs was always a speculative one, with no actual tyrannosaur evidence to back it up, the closest analogues used being only distantly related and much smaller theropods like Guanlong, Dilong, the maniraptora, and the possibly non-tyrannosauroid Yutyrannus, whose size has often been overestimated. The new paper shows that the five best-known tyrannosaurid genera were scaly over at least several parts of the body, and it's unusual to have feathers limited only to the torso or other regions lacking skin impressions. Even flightless birds today don't have naked hips or tails. Which brings up an important thought - perhaps the scaly but nevertheless sleek and hot-blooded "Dinosaur Renaissance" T. rexes of the '80s and '90s are not so far off the mark after all. Aside from the pronated hand postures common to that era, they pretty much got it right.

Were the scaly T. rex paintings of the 90s right after all? published first on http://paleoking.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default