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spookypete-94 · 8 months

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Beastie: Chapter #3 GhostXFem!reader

Slow burn, following MW2 storyline, eventually branching into my own. Warning for canon COD violence and language.

Part two

Part one

word count 2,186

Once they had Hassan, the plan was to stop at the Las Vaqueros base and regroup to be able to speak with General Shepherd and Laswell to plan a meeting where everyone could speak with, to, and about Hassan.

The entire helicopter ride back to the base was quiet. Y/N had awkwardly moved past Ghost to get out the door of the truck in the back... Ghost seemingly to refuse to go first. He had a knack of making her blood run cold constantly, his owl eyes refusing to blink or move off of her. She stepped down off the truck running towards the helicopter, looking to put distance between him and her. Alejandro helped her in first, next taking Hassan in. She had grabbed his shoulder pushing him down into the seat of the helicopter and strapped him in. Hassan had grumbled a few things at her but she ignored them. Soap choosing to sit on one side of Hassan and Ghost on the other. She took this opportunity to move to the other side of the helicopter, using the bag on Hassan's head to block Ghost from looking at her, feeling a little more laxed from being watched.

Alejandro sat next to her.

"Sure you're ok?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah," she gruffly nodded.

"We have medical back at base that can check you out to be sure."

"I really think I'm alright." she said looking up at him.

Alejandro sighed in frustration, "At least go, get checked out and make sure. You hit that truck pretty hard."

Finally she let out a big huff, nodding at him. "Fine." she said.

The rest of the ride was quiet, no one choosing to say anything in front of a kidnapped terrorist. It seemed to take longer for them to get back to base. She either did not realize how far away they had travelled, or her nerves making her impatient to land. Her knee slightly bouncing up and down quietly, grateful as she could see the base approaching.

The med bay was not very large, it seemed to be the size of a exam room in a clinic. She sat on the make shift cot as one of the medics checked her over.

"Wrecked a truck huh?" he asked her, Spanish accent running thick into his English.

"Yes," she said feeling his hands poke and prod her face, she figured he was looking for broken bones. Thankfully none of them hurt as he did, only towards her nose that had bounced off the airbag. She spoke in Spanish trying to show respect since he was willing to check her over.

"Well nothings broken..." he ran a flashlight across her eyes, "don't think you have a concussion... Headache at all?"

"Slightly, just enough to be annoying." The medic slid her some ibuprofen and a glass of water.

"If you feel worse, come back quickly, but honestly think you're going to be fine."

She nodded, standing up from the bed. "Thanks," she said opening the door and walking out. In the hallway into the main area of the shop of the base she met Alejandro, who was on a phone handing it out to her.

"Laswell," he said handing it off to her heading to the other's that still had Hassan tied to a chair awaiting orders still.

Holding the phone up to her ear, she spoke out to Laswell.

"Still there?"

"You wrecked a truck??" Laswell asked, her tone rushed.

Y/N sighed, something she was getting really good at on this mission. "I did, kept them from abducting Hassan from us."

"I sent you over there to assist, not to get yourself hurt or worse, killed."

"I had it under control," Y/N picking up an annoyed tone, surprised Laswell was talking to her this way.

This was Laswell's turn to sigh this time. "You've always been so stubborn."

The conversation seemed to of lighten a little making Y/N chuckle, "You're the one who hand picked me, you knew what you were getting into. What's the plan here?"

"Alejandro has a location in the desert, just waiting for Shepherd to be able to talk, sounds like you'll be heading out there shortly."

"Alright then, see you on the computer?"

"Yes, no more accidents."

"Yes Ma'am," she said flatly hanging up the phone walking back to Alejandro to return it to him.

"You good then?" He had asked her as she handed him the device.

"Solid." she said nodding smiling at him.

" 'Ey Lass, took that pretty well?" Soap asked walking away from Hassan, leaving Ghost to stand over with the other Vaqueros.

"Head like an anvil," she said said, earning chuckles from both men.

"Let's get headed out," Alejandro said, making everyone scatter. Some sticking with Hassan, others getting into vehicles.

"No driving for you," Ghost said stepping in front of her blocking her from the square body Chevy. "Get in the passenger seat," he said jerking his head towards the other side.

"I wreck a truck one time, and no one will let me drive?"

"Could have a head injury still," he said flatly, "stop arguing and get in, or stay here."

Wow, she thought her eyebrows raised, his attitude pissing her off. She turned to look at other vehicles seeing they were all occupied, leaving her to sigh and sulk to the other side of the truck, getting in with him.

The ride was quiet as they drove further into the desert, their convoy only a few trucks, but still intimidating enough if the man power was needed. Finally, they arrived, parking the trucks in a half circle to have enough light. Y/N grabbed a tote out of the back of the truck, the one with her laptop to be able to video in Shepherd and Laswell. She set the laptop on the tote not too far off of where Hassan would be sitting.

"There," she said sliding it to Graves ,"should be set up now." The live feed starting to activate showing her Laswell and Shepherd. Y/N stepped aside, over towards the truck she arrived in to stay out of the way. Alejandro and Soap brought Hassan out of the truck, forcing him into the sand, and removing the sack from his head.

"Ya'll got a clear picture?" Graves asked out to the other two.

"Crystal," Shepherd said.

"All set," Laswell answered right after.

"Do you speak Arabic?" Hassan asked

"No," Graves said instantly

"Farsi?"

Graves looked around like he had to think about if he did, "No." he then said quickly.

"Of course not... Then I'll speak your bastardized medieval English because you are uneducated street dogs."

Y/N couldn't help it and rolled her eyes.

"You brought a woman here?" Hassan asked noticing her. This made Y/N look at him harder, she wanted to spring forward and say something to bite back.

But before she or anyone else could say anything, Ghost's large figure walked over and blocked Hassan from looking at her, his arms crossing, and puffing his chest out... but more importantly it was Ghost's quiet way of intimidation, begging Hassan to say something else about Y/N.

Y/N burned her eyes into the back of his head, this gesture leaving her awestruck. Maybe he wasn't as rough as she thought he was? She watched has his hand leaned against the truck to better balance himself in the soft sand. She finally looked at his arms, realizing he was tattooed, his muscles strong (she already knew that but... seeing it up close is different right?) veins spidering their way around, showing her that he had been doing this line of work for a long time.

Y/N had a hard time hearing the conversation now since the wall of a man stood in front of her for her protection, but she could make out enough. "I don't care who he got the missiles from, I want to know where they are going!" she could hear Shepherd demand. This made her brows furrow, How could he not care to know where he got them from? the voice asked in her mind. Coyotes began to cackle, almost like they were there to show Hassan they were there to take him next.

And just like the random howls of the coyotes seemed, Hassan began yelling in his native language.

"I either want this bastard in permanent custody or looking up at the God damn grass!!" she heard Shepherd yell. Laswell could be heard explaining to Shepherd about how killing or keeping Hassan is an act of war and he needed to be let go.

Graves then picked up the laptop bringing it next to the truck that Y/N and Ghost were standing next to.

"Actual, let me finish this," his tone pleading.

"There is nothing I would like more, but Laswell is right. Without proof we need to turn him loose and see where he leads us."

Y/N blinked hard, looking down at her feet, then looking back up at Ghost who had turned around to look at her, clearly feeling the same way about this. Soap who was also upset about this approached the laptop quickly. All the work and men who died today, would be at the cost of nothing.

"He's right here, you can't be serious." Soap growled.

"I'm afraid I am, son." Y/N internally rolled her eyes into the back of her head, finding the use of the word of son to Soap over kill, like he was condesending Soap for feeling angry about letting Hassan go.

Ghost grabbed ahold of Hassan's phone off the truck. "Did we get anything from his phone?"

Laswell was then looking through the phone dump she had. "Affirmative, we got a hit."

"Now, take him back and let him go." Ghost nodded to Alejandro who recovered a smirking Hassan. Alejandro picked him up roughly walking him in Ghost's direction, Ghost slipping the phone back in his pocket. She felt the breeze of Hassan walking by her as Alejandro shoved him into the truck force near harsh. Soap got into the other side, Hassan in the middle while Alejandro sat on the other. Graves got into the drivers side, prepared to take them to God knows where.

Y/N gathered up her laptop heading towards the tote.

"You can go with them," she said looking up at Ghost.

"I'll stay with you," he said waving them on, watching the group drive off.

"You didn't have to," she said on one knee looking up at him gathering her cord and laptop to put back into the tote.

"And leave you to the coyotes? Nah," he said. His tone sounded a little softer to her then it had all day. She had a small smile on her face. She picked up the tote, but Ghost took it from her sliding into the back of the truck. "Thanks," she said feeling idle since he took her work from her.

They both got in the truck, doors slamming. He started the truck and headed back towards base. It was a few minutes before anything was said, making her think the drive back was going to be total silence.

"Was still a stupid fuckin' move," he said eyes still on the rough trail in front of them.

She looked over at him shocked he was still talking to her, but even more at the change of conversation. "Would you of done something differently then?" her tone taking on a higher pitch, but still firm. Her next statement lower, sounding like a warning, "You got something you want to say, say it."

"Shouldn't of been you," he finally said after a few quiet seconds, even though it felt like minutes to Y/N.

"Excuse me?"

"Shouldn't of been you, should of been me or Soap." He said looking over at her finally. Her breath hitched, but she refused to let him think anything otherwise right now.

She tried to understand how to take this, finally offense setting into her. "I'm not some little bird."

Simon diverted his eyes back to the road.

"You don't get to call it a stupid fucking move if you, or Soap would of done the same thing." Her tone still matching her last statement looking at him appalled.

"Yer' right... Sorry, it wasn't stupid, just it shouldn't have been you."

This statement confused her more.

"Why?"

"Just... just leave it, sorry I said it was stupid," his voice growing rougher, starting to be annoyed with her. She huffed, wanting to say more, but still not wanting to agitate the large man further.

The rest of the ride back to base intensely quiet, her head burning with further questions. As soon as the vehicle slowed down, she had the door open and was out of the vehicle before Ghost even had it in park. Door slamming behind her as she headed inside towards the base, leaving Ghost behind. Her plan was to head to the cot in the little room Alejandro had gave her to catch some sleep from the never ending shit show that was the day she just had.

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#ghost x reader #mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #simon riley #lovestory #war #Ghost #simon cod #cod ghost #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #simon and reader #simon x reader #beastie

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slusheeduck · 9 months

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Count Only The Happy Hours

PART I: [I][II][III][IV][V][VI][VII] PART 2: [I][II]

III.

“I-I have that metal sheet you needed, C-Councilor Sil.”

“Hm? Oh, thank you, set it down there.”

Vivec, busy sharpening his sword in the courtyard of their base, paused in his work to look up. Sil, as usual, was elbow deep in one of his metal beasties–this one was less spider-like and instead long and twitchy, not unlike a nix-hound. Meanwhile, the young mer who had brought the sheet did not set it down, instead dithering. He must have been a Dagoth boy, hardly older than Seht himself; the dark hair and angular face certainly gave him a Vorynesque air. He shifted from one foot to the other.

“Um…do you…do you need anything else, muthsera?”

“No. Thank you.”

Vivec closed one eye as he watched the scene, bringing the thumb and forefinger of each hand together before drawing them apart, mimicking an archer about to let his arrow loose. The Dagoth boy didn’t notice.

“I-I…you know, I-I’m actually, I’m really interested in what you’re doing,” he tried again, almost painfully eager. “I would love to hear you speak about it some time. O-or if I could help you with your work…?”

Hold…hold…

“I don’t need help. Thank you, sera,” Sil said in clear dismissal. He hadn’t looked up at the boy once through the whole conversation.

The boy’s eyes widened, mouth moving silently as he tried to figure out how to salvage the conversation. Finally, looking utterly crestfallen, he sighed and set the metal sheet down, then bowed to Seht and trudged away.

Vivec let out a ffwth through his teethbefore clicking his tongue, mimicking an arrow shot as he released his invisible bowstring. The sound was enough to startle Sil into noticing him. “That’s number eight.”

Sil frowned. “Number what?”

“Eight. That’s the number of shattered hearts you’ve left in your wake in the past three months, at least that I’ve seen.”

Sil let out a quiet, irritated noise as he rubbed his eyes. “Vehk, what are you saying?”

Vivec rested his elbow on his knee, chin in his hand. “Well, hla’daesohn, you’re at that age. On the market, as they say. And at least eight people have been bold enough to bid.”

Seht’s eyes rolled enough to send his slight frame swaying. “If you’re going to talk nonsense, I’m just going to leave.”

Vivec laughed. “People are interested in you, Seht. You’ve grown into a fine young mer, with a House and a high-ranking position to boot, and the throngs are noticing. Why, if I was your mother…”

“That’s a scary thought.”

“...I’d be beating off would-be wooers with a broom until your eighteenth birthday. Which, if I recall, is coming up in just a few months.” Vivec tilted his head. “And, as your dear older brother, it’s my fraternal duty to ask if any mer has managed to interest you.”

Sil gave a long-suffering sigh, and he returned to his work. “I really don’t think being in the middle of a war is conducive to relationships, Vivec.”

“Oh, that’s not true. In fact, I’d say that love found in times of strife makes for even stronger bonds.”

“From experience?”

“Perhaps. I don’t tell you everything I do.”

Sil gave him one of the flattest looks Vivec had ever received–impressive, considering how often he received them. “You know, most people don’t pride themselves on being hypocrites.”

“I’m not a hypocrite, I’m complex and wonderfully mortal. To be contradictory is…” Vivec’s monologue was, frustratingly, cut off by a pair of strong hands clamping down on his shoulders. He looked up, eyebrows raising as he caught star-bright eyes. “Alandro?”

“Excellent news, Vehk.” Alandro gave his shoulders an uncharacteristically friendly squeeze; Vivec had the feeling that he was not about to get excellent news. “You finally get the chance to do what you do best. You’re on entertainment today.”

Vivec frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Alandro patted his shoulders before sitting down beside him with a sigh. “Well, I only know half of the whole story–these damn House mer all seem to only half-communicate. No offense, Sil.”

“None taken,” Seht said, not even looking up.

“But, from what I can understand, it’s some House…”

“Vivec! Sil!”

Both Vehk and Seht looked up as they heard Nerevar call their names. He gestured for them to come over. Alandro let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank Azura. They can explain this House guarshit,” he said, then pushed himself up to his feet. “Come on, then.” He glanced down at Sil as he carefully pulled a tarp over his work. “Is that a nix-hound?”

“An approximation of one.”

Alandro half-smiled. “Maybe there is some Dwemer in you. You check to see if ol’ Kagrenac’s missing a kid?” he teased, giving Sil’s shoulder a friendly push as they made their way into the war room.

Voryn was already inside, sitting back with his arms crossed. He didn’t look smug, exactly, but there was a definite air of winning an argument surrounding him as Nerevar dropped into the seat beside him. Neht rubbed his face, waiting for Alandro, Sil, and Vivec to take a seat.

“So,” Nerevar started, lifting his head. “There’s a slight update to our plans. You recall we were supposed to speak with the Grandmaster of House Dres?”

“Yes, Grandmaster Elvasea,” Vivec said, sitting up. “Has something happened to her?”

“Something happened to us,” Voryn said, head tilting toward the door. “We suddenly gained an army of Indoril soldiers.”

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“That’s what I said,” Alandro muttered beside him.

Voryn looked around the room, then sighed. “If it hasn’t been clear in the struggle of getting Nerevar to become Hortator, the Great Houses aren’t exactly fond of each other. Some of it is due to old rivalries–House Dagoth and Indoril, for example, have never been very keen on each other. But sometimes, it’s a little more personal.” He leaned forward, long fingers steepling together. “Indoril’s last grandmaster wasn’t exactly popular among the other houses. He was combative, difficult to work with…” He paused for a moment, then shook his head. “He was a bloodthirsty, miserable old bastard, to put it bluntly. And he made more enemies than friends–including Grandmaster Elvasea.” He waved a hand. “So when word got out that House Indroril’s grandmaster was here, she tried to cancel our discussion.”

Vivec leaned forward. “But Almalexia isn’t her father.”

“That’s what I said,” Nerevar said. Voryn shook his head.

“That doesn’t matter. Grandmaster Almalexia hasn’t proven herself as being different than her father, so in the other Houses’ eyes, it might as well still be him in the seat.” He sat back. “My suggestion is that we leave the grandmaster and her forces here.”

“No, your suggestion is that we sneak out without telling her,” Nerevar shot back. “And I can’t condone that. Almalexia is our ally; we can’t just leave her in the dark, Voryn.”

“She won’t take our leaving her out of discussions well,” Voryn said coolly. “Considering she sprung an army on us and insisted on staying, she’s thus far proven that she is impetuous and stubborn. Which…” He held up his hand as both Neht and Vehk leaned forward to argue. “...is likely because of her age.” He looked to Vivec. “You, Vivec, should know best out of everyone here how important it is to leave out information. I don’t recall you writing about how we had to retreat at Hafnambir, or mentioning how many soldiers we lost at Citha Molkhun?”

Vivec pressed his lips together. “That’s different.”

“Is it? You don’t mention those details because it would decrease morale among the Chimer.” Voryn sighed. “As much as I may not like House Indoril, I don’t want to make an enemy of their Grandmaster. If we don’t tell her about the meeting–the one that we had planned before her entry, may I remind you all–then she has no reason to think she’s being left out.”

Alandro’s head fell back with a groan, and he pushed himself up to his feet. “You godsdamned House mer. Talking to people shouldn’t be a puzzle.”

“Well, I’m very sorry that we can’t all solve our problems by slashing at them like you do in the Ashlands,” Voryn snipped back.

Vivec looked between the two, then glanced at Nerevar as he rubbed his face. This, he realized as his stomach sank, was the exact same thing they had done with him three years ago, in the lead-up to their attack on Hofstaag. Even worse, though, were the words that came from his own lips: “I…agree with Voryn.”

All three older mer looked to Vivec, and he caught sight of Sil’s eyebrows silently raising. Nerevar frowned, but he leaned forward.

“Why do you think it’s a good idea?” he asked. The words weren’t challenging, and his pale blue eyes were genuinely curious as they fixed on Vehk.

“Editing is…essential in what we’re doing,” Vivec said after a moment. “Morale is high, but it wasn’t exactly easy convincing the Houses to make your Hortator, Neht. I may not know House politics, but I know people: Almalexia is young and still adapting to her new role. I’ve seen it in her. If we tell her ‘We’re meeting with Grandmaster Elvasea, but you need to stay here,’ it’s not unreasonable that she’d see it as a slight to her station and ability that we’re leaving her out of House talks.” He shrugged. “It could come across as treating her as a child.”

Voryn gestured to him. “Yes, exactly. It would do us no favors to tell her; whether she comes with us and Elvasea refuses to meet or whether she stays here, there’s a wounded ego waiting to happen. And that brings me to my next suggestion: Vivec and Sil should stay here.” As Vivec sat up, Voryn raised a hand again, adding, “And before your pride gets wounded, Vivec, I am only suggesting this because I genuinely think you’re able to smooth things over with the grandmaster if need be.” He crossed his arms. “You thought you were very slick with that story about her breaking up the mercenaries, didn’t you?”

Vivec grimaced, sitting back in his seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said weakly.

“Please. But, much as I hate admitting it, it was a good move on your part. It got her moving and ultimately got us more soldiers. And it’s a detriment to us; I was banking on you talking circles around whatever doubts Grandmaster Elvasea had with your exaggerations.”

Vivec had a feeling his ego was being played to, in a backhanded sort of way. But a compliment–two compliments–from Voryn was a rare occurrence for anyone besides Nerevar. And, admittedly, staying around the vibrant, fascinating young queen did sound much more enjoyable than having to spin words for an old grandmaster from a dour, stark house like Dres. So, after a moment’s deliberation, he nodded.

“All right. I’ll stay.” He tilted his head toward Sil. “Why have Seht stay, though?”

“Well, for one, it’s less suspicious if the two junior counselors are left behind,” Voryn said, then looked over to Sil. “And I don’t imagine you’d particularly enjoy having tea with a Grandmaster who no doubt would be trying to set you up with her eligible granddaughter.”

Sil, to his credit, did try to hide his grimace. “I think my time would be better spent working on the animunculi for the next battle,” he said diplomatically.

Voryn nodded. “So it’s decided. You two stay here, and the three of us will go to see Grandmaster Elvasea. And Vivec, you will keep her from figuring out what we’ve done.”

It didn’t set well with Vivec, having to lie to Almalexia, but…well, that was a war, wasn’t it? He dipped his head.

“I’ll ensure Grandmaster Almalexia is occupied. I’m sure she’s tremendously busy anyway.”

The sun was already up by the time Nerevar, Alandro, and Voryn left Ald’ruhn to meet with Grandmaster Elvasea. They weren’t going to be far; her retinue had arrived from the mainland the day before, in Seyda Neen, and they were due to meet halfway, in Balmora. But all the same, leaving early both ensured that they wouldn’t be late, and they’d be less likely to be caught by any Indorils.

Truthfully, Vivec hadn’t slept much at all the night before. He’d meticulously planned the day, crafting a day full of touring Ald’ruhn, talking to locals, endearing her to the mer out here in a way as close to Nerevar’s introduction to Vvardenfell had been. Not only would it endear the Grandmaster to the locals, but it’d also ensure Almalexia didn’t notice the absence of the three senior council members.

So, as he went to her tent once the sun had crested over the ashen hills, he was fully confident in how the day was going to go.

That plan had not included having a sword tossed at him.

He jolted in surprise, just barely catching it–thank the Three it was sheathed, or he might never have written anything again. He looked up to see the source of the toss.

If not for the fiery hair bound back or the sharp, golden eyes, he might not have realized it was the Grandmaster in front of him. Her armor had been left inside the tent, it seemed, and she was clad in the more usual style of mainlander Chimer–a tight, cropped jerkin, leaving her arms and midriff exposed, and a pair of breeches just loose enough to allow for movement without running the risk of being caught by a blade. Inky black tattoos covered her exposed skin, traveling down her arms and perfectly mirroring itself across the taut golden skin of her stomach. He wondered, for a moment, if they were significant, but his attention was drawn back up at the choking noise that came from Hlareni, who stepped out from the tent at precisely the moment Vivec caught the sword.

“Almalexia,” she hissed, walking over to the other woman. “You cannot throw swords at our hosts!”

“Oh, I’m quite alright,” Vivec assured, giving her a smile before he looked down at the sword. “It, ah, is certainly a way to make sure you’re awake. But I was just coming by to see if the Grandmaster would like a tour of Ald’ruhn.” His brow furrowed, and he glanced back up to Almalexia. “Though I am curious why you threw a sword at me.”

“Well, I did think you were the Hortator,” Almalexia said with a shrug. “You wear your hair the same. I wanted to spar with him; I’ve heard so much about his prowess, and I wanted to see how it matched with my own.”

Hlareni rubbed her forehead. “Alma, throwing swords at the Hortator is worse.” She blanched. “Not…obviously, Councilor Vivec, we don’t want to throw swords at you, either, I just…”

Vivec chuckled, unsheathing the sword. “Well, I’m afraid the Hortator is caught up for the moment. But I’d be glad to spar with the Grandmaster–I’m no Nerevar, certainly, but I’ve held my own on several occasions.” He gave a shrug, along with a lazy flourish of his sword. “I did, after all, train with Fa-Nuit-Hen.”

Hlareni gaped at him. “Fa…Fa-Nuit-Hen? Boethiah’s son?”

“The very one. I was very, very young, of course, so the details of his teaching get a bit fuzzy.”

Almalexia’s eyebrows rose, but her eyes narrowed at him, an amused smile on her lips. “He’s joking, f’lah.”

Vivec’s hand went over his heart, jaw dropped in indignation. “You’re calling me a liar, muthsera? I would never do such a thing, especially not to our esteemed guests.” He gestured toward the training area with his sword. “But, of course, you’re more than welcome to test me.”

“Then I will,” Almalexia said, lifting her chin with a smile as she walked over. “If the Hortator’s too busy, I suppose a student of Fa-Nuit-Hen will suffice.”

“You keep saying that like you don’t believe me.”

“That’s because I don’t, serjo.” She looked over at Hlareni over her shoulder. “You ought to go chat with Councilor Sil. He seems like the type to get busy.”

Vivec looked to Hlareni as he rested his sword against his shoulder, eyebrows raising. “You have something to discuss with Sil?”

Hlareni went stiff, and he could see the way she was trying to keep herself from going red; it wasn’t working. “Oh, ah, well, I…I just think his creations are fascinating, a-and I want to learn more about them. And he’s so very…tall.”

And here’s number nine, Vivec thought, but he smiled at her. “Extraordinarily tall, yes,” he said with a chuckle. “He’ll be glad to talk metal beasties with you, though don’t expect him to notice when you get bored.”

“I won’t get bored,” Hlareni insisted just a touch too emphatically. She stiffened, then quickly bowed to Almalexia. “I’ll…I’ll be back shortly, Grandmaster.” When Almalexia nodded, she turned on her heel and practically jogged away.

Vivec smiled, turning to catch up with the Grandmaster. “No one’s had luck with him yet, you know.”

Almalexia rolled her eyes, though the action was obviously fond. “Reni is…eager for love. Always has been. She’ll drool over Councilor Sil for a week and then get her head back on straight when he shoots her down.”

“You’ve known her for a long time, then?”

“Oh, yes, we grew up together. Her mother was my father’s favorite advisor.” She smiled. “She probably seems very flouncy and coddled to you, but she’s a great asset on the battlefield. And…she’s much better at being polite than I am.”

Vivec smiled. “I can sympathize with her. I’m the one who reminds Seht to be polite.” He chuckled as they reached the training ground. “They’ll probably get along marvelously in that case.”

“Mm.” Almalexia rolled her neck, then looked straight at Vivec. “Now, most people don’t give it their all when they spar with me. I’m insisting that you do, Councilor; if I can’t block your attacks, then I have no business being here.”

Vivec dipped his head. “Of course, Grandmaster. And, of course, I’ll be a terrible pupil of both Fa-Nuit-Hen and Nerevar if I can’t block yours.”

Almalexia grinned. “Excellent. To three hits, then.”

She gave him a bow, and he returned it, then they both lifted their weapons. There was a glint in her golden eyes, dangerous and bright, and it was all the warning Vivec got before she lunged. He barely jumped back in time, the metal of her blade singing through the air.

Well. He could see how Alandro was starting to warm up to her.

But he was very, very quick, his movements light and airy compared to her grounded force. She dove for him with heavy bladework; he flitted in her blind spots to look for an opening. She countered with ease; he wondered if she had been born with a blade in her hand, with how naturally her sword moved with her. He kept just out of reach—he was a good swordsmer, yes, but he was a late learner; his cuts were clumsy compared to hers.

It was well and truly a dance, each style complimenting the other’s just enough to keep blows from landing.

“One.”

He landed the first hit with a clever feint; the force of her blow toward it slowed her down, and he was able to tap the flat of his sword against her arm. He backed away to reset, smiling…until he saw the look on her face. The glint in her eyes blazed into golden fire as she looked over at him, and she set her jaw as she stood up straight.

Ah. This was not a mer who liked to lose.

He raised his sword, signaling his readiness, and she came at him with all the fury of He-Who-Destroys and She-Who-Erases. He fell to defense, just barely blocking her blows as she came at him with boundless stamina. It wasn’t a surprise when he floundered, rewarded with the hard slap of cold metal against his arm.

“One,” she said.

The next round he faired better. He knew what to expect with this renewed passion, and, accustomed as he was to opponents much bigger and stronger than he was, he could work around brute force.

“Two,” he said.

But she was catching on. If his movements were flighty and quick, then she was a sabrecat, prowling for him. She worked on wearing him down, goading him one direction and the next, following his movements with her fiery gaze.

“Two,” she said.

By now, they were both panting, skin dusty from the combination of sweat and ash. They circled each other, each waiting for the other to move first. A few coppery curls had escaped from Almalexia’s braid, brushing her cheeks. Vivec gave her a grin.

“Has anyone told you how very beautiful you are?” he asked. “Like a star blazing through the sky as it falls.”

Almalexia gaped, caught off-guard. He lurched forward, tapping his sword against her thigh.

“Three.” Vivec sheathed his sword, still grinning. “You see, Neht was right: I wield my words just as well as my sword.”

Almalexia stared at him, and he met her gaze. There was a moment where he could see fury at the trick boiling beneath her skin. But, like a fever, it seemed to break, and she let out a laugh.

“I would call that cheating,” she says. “But really, I should know better. Hollow compliments are all you hear in my position.”

“Who said it was hollow? I speak nothing but the truth, muthsera.”

“Mm. Like your egg? And Fa-Nuit-Hen?”

“Exactly. Regardless of what you think, it’s all very true to me.”

Almalexia’s gaze flicked up to him, a soft sort of curiosity in her eyes. For a moment, they were silent, an unspoken question hanging heavily between them. There were several options for what it was; Vivec was quite content to wait for it to surface.

But she broke the spell before it could, sheathing her sword. “Have you considered using a spear, Councilor?”

“Like the netchimen use?”

“In a sense. You like to stay as far away as possible from your target; I think a spear would suit you quite well.” She tucked a curl behind her ear. “I could show you, later. I’m trained in just about every weapon possible.”

Vivec’s lips turned up, and he set his hand over his heart. “I would be honored. In fact, I…” He went quiet, head suddenly turning. “Do you hear that?”

Almalexia frowned, striding over to him. “It sounds like…fighting. Is there training today?”

“No, it…” Vivec’s eyes went wide. “Seht!”

He sprinted back into town, immediately greeted with the smell of smoke and blood on the stones.

The streets were full of Nords, a surprise attack no doubt planned for when the councilors were due to be away. The Chimer, at least, were holding their own; from his quick glance as he ran, it seemed that there were more Nord bodies on the cobblestones. But their base…that’s where they were headed. And where he’d left Sil.

A few Nords tried to cut him down, but he was quicker. Each was slashed as he made his way through the streets, either dead or incapacitated; he didn’t care to check.

Smoke was already pouring out of the hall when he reached it, and he stood for just a moment too long as the worst possibility entered his mind. He reacted far too late as he saw movement in the corner of his eye, and a Nord—large and furious, eyes wild with bloodlust—lunged at him. Just as he braced for the deep cut of her blade, the Nord’s head, still snarling, fell forward, with her body following quickly behind. Vivec looked up to see Almalexia panting, blade dripping red.

“Go inside and get the survivors,” she barked at him, full of authority. She turned to the nearby Chimer, shouting commands and directing them against the onslaught.

Vivec wasted no time; he dove into the smoke-filled hall, eyes watering against it. As he ran, he stumbled on something, just barely affording a look as he caught his balance. The Dagoth boy, the one that had been mooning over Seht just that morning, lay motionless and pale on the ground, black eyes fixed blindly overhead and blood leaking into his dark hair.

Vivec breathed out a prayer to Azura, but he turned and kept moving. To the living Chimer he found, he yelled out directions to the exit, urging them to leave, NOW and find Grandmaster Almalexia.

Finally, he made it to the courtyard. There, in the center, was Sil; given the charred bodies around him, he must have been able to hold his own with his magic. But magicka was finite, and even from here, Vehk could see he had drained his reserves. He had a hollow look in his face, and for a brief moment as they locked eyes, he saw the very same boy he’d found in the rubble three years ago.

Vivec cried out as one of the bodies moved. A Nord heaved himself up, axe in hand, and lunged toward Sil. Vivec sprinted forward, blade up, but he wouldn’t be fast enough. Sil looked up at the Nord.

It was just two motions. One quick pull of the knife out of the sheath at Sil’s belt, and a sharp, sideways push into the Nord’s belly.

Sil left the knife in the Nord as he fell, and he nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get to Vivec. “There wasn’t any warning,” he said, words tumbling over themselves. “They just…they flooded the city. I didn’t have time to send my spiders out, I did what I could with my magic, but…”

Vivec took his face, looking him over. “Are you hurt?”

“O-only superficially. We have to get the others out.”

“They’re out. Almalexia’s in the city. Did Hlareni make it to you?”

“Y-yes, but I didn’t…once the attack started, I-I—Vivec, turn around!”

Vivec whirled around, eyes wide as a large Nord burst through the doorway. She wielded a mace as tall as she was, and she let out a bellow of fury as she locked eyes on Vivec and Sil.

“Stay behind me, Sil,” Vivec said.

“But…”

“Stay behind me, hla’daesohn.”

Adrenaline was singing through Vivec’s veins, but even so, he could feel the edges of exhaustion. His sparring with Almalexia had used up more stamina than he’d initially thought, and it was very likely that this would not end well. He took a breath, adjusting his grip on his blade, then gritted his teeth.

The Nord gave an unpleasant laugh and muttered to herself, no doubt something about “milk-drinking knife ears.” It was possible he could taunt her into a fury if she was talkative. It could buy Sil enough time to get out. He just had to find the right way to…

The Nord lunged. Vivec pushed Sil back, then sprinted forward. Silently, he prayed that the mace would crush his skull too quickly for him to greet his death. A coward’s prayer, maybe, but infinitely more preferable to feeling his brains spatter the courtyard.

But, rather than his death, he was greeted with a spray of blood as an arrow tore through the Nord’s neck.

He skidded to a halt, staring as several more arrows whizzed through the air. The Nord went down silently, and both he and Sil stared at her body for a moment. It wasn’t until they heard a breathless voice calling, “Councilors!” that they turned around.

Hlareni sprinted up to them. Her hair had fallen from its ribbon, and her finery was smudged with soot and blood. She still had an arrow nocked, and her blue eyes were sharp as she scanned the area.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “I-I’m sorry, Councilor Sil, I…I had to get to higher ground and…”

“Apologize later,” Vivec said quickly. “We need to get out.”

She nodded. “I’ll take the front. I’m not as good at short-range, but I can manage!” She nodded for them to follow her, and the three made their way out to the streets.

By the time they were outside, the Nords were already retreating, with a few more being felled by arrows and spells on their way out. Vivec’s head swiveled, looking for Almalexia. He found her in the middle of the street, holding an arm out to stop their forces from following after them. She stood tall, face stony and eyes blazing as she watched the retreat. Once the Nords were out of the city walls, she turned to the crowd behind her.

“These Outlanders have no place here!” she called to the mer behind her. “They attack our city, our homeland, as nothing more than an invasive blight on Resdayn! But we have driven them back like the vermin they are!”

A cheer rose from the crowd, and Vivec found his own spirit lifting. Well! She might be well on her way to becoming as popular as…

“Nerevar.” Sil gripped Vivec’s arm. “The Nords must have known that he would be gone. They wouldn’t have struck like that otherwise. Which means…”

Vivec’s spirits quickly dropped back down to his feet. “There may be another ambush.” He whirled around. “Grandmaster!” he called up to Almalexia. “Organize the remaining mer!”

Almalexia turned back to look at him, brow furrowing, but she gave a short nod. “Hlareni! Guide the soldiers to finding survivors! I’ll take care of the fighters.”

Vivec ushered Sil to the gates, another rush of fear giving his legs strength as they ran. They had to be quick—if they dallied too long, they could be too late.

He prayed, to the Three Good Daedra and any other Divine that would listen, that they weren’t already.

#tesfic #tribunal #vivec #sotha sil #almalexia #nerevar #voryn dagoth #dagoth ur #alandro sul #fanfic #elder scrolls #morrowind

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dusktarot · 1 year

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Hello I am curious about toki pona 👀

rubs my hands together evilly... teehee

ok so! the basics. toki pona is a constructed language made by Sonja Lang made up of around 120-150 words (depending on who you ask). the first book, known by toki pona speakers as lipu pu, which is a sort of an introduction to the language and basic reference document, has 120. the second book, lipu ku, which is a dictionary based off usage by toki pona speakers, adds 17 more words that are commonly used, bringing it up to about 137 "canonical" words. many low-use words exist, known as nimisins (literally "new words") or nimi ku lili (words that are in the second book but aren't part of those 17 common use ones), but these are often very situational and often not well regarded, because the point of toki pona is minimalism! i think linguistic minimalism's a lot more fun than most other kinds-- it forces you to really dissect what you're thinking about. but it also helps trim the fat! some people stick to the words in lipu pu only, which imo is a little wild. where would i be without kijetesantakalu..... (joke)

most words cover extremely broad meanings. soweli refers to most any animal, though generally it's referring to a mammal. something furry, beasty, something like that. waso refers to birds and perhaps other flying animals! i get into discussions about if a bat is a soweli or a waso-- my opinion is that if youre looking at its little mammalian face, or considering its other features rather than its flight, it's a soweli. if it's just something flying around at night, it can be a waso! or maybe even its a soweli waso, or a bird-like mammal.

toki pona's very context-sensitive, like i mentioned a bat can be either a soweli or a waso. what matters is what's important to the conversation. if im using a pencil to draw, it's an ilo, or tool. if i'm referring to the shape of it, it's a palisa, or stick-shaped object.

the name "toki pona" uses two of those very few words in the language-- toki, meaning talk, language, speech, etc., and pona, meaning good or simple. personally i think this conflation of good and simple raises some problems, but i've had this conversation with other toki pona speakers lol. ultimately, if you're speaking toki pona you should be able to see the good in simplicity, which is what makes the idea of pona work.

one of toki pona's selling points is that it's easy to learn. you could probably learn the vocab in a few weeks! but fluency takes more practice-- and one reason for that is that you're having to interpret each phrase and figure out what meaning's important... or you have to stretch your brain a bit to not care what kind of ilo someone is using, it's just important that theyre using some kind of ilo. if it was important what kind, they'd specify!

it makes for a really fun challenge and i call it sort of a "toy" language. it's not going to replace other languages or anything, but it's fun and makes the brain feel a bit better! not worrying about the specifics of things can really feel nice.

also one of the 137 main words is tonsi, meaning trans or nonbinary, so yaaaaay. mi tonsi. plus gender is completely optional in toki pona-- meli (female) and mije (male) are words that exist but quite frankly i rarely ever use them. there is one (1) third person pronoun. toki pona speakers may mix up their headnoun, though! basically all proper names in toki pona become adjectives instead of nouns-- for example, the US is ma Mewika, aka a place called Mewika (America). i use kili (fruit/vegetable) or jan (person, which is the standard/default for people), so im kili Temeke or jan Temeke!

as you can see words also get changed to fit into the acceptable sounds of toki pona, since it also has a very limited sound inventory and won't accept consonant clusters/consonants at the end of syllables except for n. this is also to make it more accessible to speakers of many languages, since all the sounds are quite common cross-linguistically!

#toki pona #long post #unleashes the autism.#babble #ty for asking!!

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noirandchocolate · 1 year

Text

Semifinal comments time!

Match 1, Vimes vs. Granny

I think this one would go down to the wire. Yes running away is a victory condition, but hwo is faster on the draw. Granny stopping him from running with headology, or Sam Vimes' notorious thinking feet. This one goes down like a showdown at high noon, with both of them having already planned out their moves and just waiting for the bell to ring. But Granny didn't expect Sam to think with his feet. So his head is like oh no but his feet say let's run. So Sam wins it.

--@kane-dream

They do not fight. They sit together and have a civil conversation. Granny sipping tea. Vimes smoking. Very calm but everyone has cleared out a 100 yard blast radius in terror. no one will ever know what they talked about. And then Granny emerges victorious.

--@myidealhousehaschickenfeet

This one was HARD. I would love a good story where they met and respect each other in their own silent grumpy way. Sorry Sam Granny wins, she has the wrath of a celestial body and the world bends around her.

--@chaosnail

Sam gives in because he knows if he wanted to win it would take so long he wouldn't make it home in time to read to Young Sam. Which as we all know is just something that you do not miss.

--@msmeiriona (OKAY now I'm picturing everybody attending this bout in the park and then it strikes 6:00 and Vimes calls a time out and Sybil brings Young Sam over and then all the city-based contestants help read the book for him because they Know while at first the outsiders are like '????????' However they quickly catch on and start improvising their own pages. Susan does the Voice for a Death of Rats SQUEAK, Mrs. Gogol surprises everyone with an uncannily accurate crow for Legba the rooster, etc. Rob is soon delighted to yell 'It goes, CRIVENS! Tha' is a Nac Mac Feegle, ye ken! Tha' is no' my coo-beastie!' line. And as @onwardsandsideways said it, 'Nanny wins here as she becomes an honorary grandmother to Young Sam by the time the match ends.')

Match 2, Nanny vs. Angua

Angua deals with Nobby on a regular basis. So I don't think Nanny's usual embarrassing tactics will work here.

--@missnotlob

Rather than her usual embarrass them with bawdy jokes tactic, Nanny employs a make em feel self conscious by being just the sweetest old lady tactic and then presses hard. Angua regardless of her usual temperament suddenly finds that she doesn't want to risk not getting sweets from nanny by being so impolite as to beat her to a pulp. Nanny could hold her own better in a brawl than anyone would first think looking at her but she's a witch. And knowing when to just be something approaching normal about things is broadly what separates witches from wizards after all.

--@violetren

Angua's only true defense is that her relationship with Carrot prevents her from becoming a daughter in law. That is NOT enough.

--@nerdomancer

Much as I love Angua she is simply and distincly outclassed by the Old Witch Who Fucks.

--@twofoursixohjuan

Angua would be absolutely flummoxed at first but would get led down the pub by Nanny, with the promise of stories. Nanny, who knows a werewolf in need of a drink when she sees one gets the gel off the street and away from the coppering nonsense for a spell.

--@batsonthebrain

Now there's naught left but the final! WHICH OLD LADY WILL REIGN VICTORIOUS?

#terry pratchett #discworld #discworld fight club 2023

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shkika · 1 year

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I LOVE ALL THOSE POINTS I also never really knew about the terror area that's so cool wtf!!

Anyway I definitely agree with like everything I find it really silly about how moon, despite how soft-spoken she appears to be-, talks so bad about the ancients while five pebbles being the one on the meaner/blunt side speaks so highly of them I LOVE that the iterators are their own people like they have their own opinions rather than just being machines..they really feel like they have that biological aspect to them :]

Most of my musings are based around fp (i miiight be a little biased) but I love the thought of exploring even more in depth with his relationship with the ancients ...like the way he interacts with artificer?? The way he considers her to be one of his citizens is so silly (I wonder does he find a source of comfort in that??)

Like... I wonder how did he feel about the ancients all ascending, he seemed to admire many of them and he must have felt some sort of emptiness at that (STARING at the posts of ancient talking to him like siri) like especially with the cities on top of the iterators too, like i wonder wonder wonder what daily life was like for the ancients

Aghghgh adding on even more I wonder does he ever feel rage towards the ancients, like surely he must feel some way abandoned, like yes ascension is such a big thing for them but still like how EASY it was for them to just get up and leave him behind

ALSO THAT ECHO THAT YU FIND NEAR MOON THAT MENTIONS THE RANDOM GODS it must've been so nasty to hear yur literal parents talking so badly about you. Like it wasn't the iterators fault they couldn't find a solution and it wasn't their fault they lost themselves to time but the ancients still seem to blame that stuff on them

As for cycles that IS really silly I think like it seems at first just like death but it goes so much further in such a weird way, I love games with vague ass lore but AUGH GODD

For having like everything based around those cycles there really is such little information on them........maybe nobody really figured it out? That's unlikely though considering how everyone talks about them

I've just started really playing the game so I have yet to get into every little thing but I really enjoy the broadcasts u find as spearmaster I love the like conversations I love how much further it pushes the previous thing of iterators being their own things but I'm sure they had so many limits put on them too

It's also pretty late for me forgive me if this is really rambled but yuhyuh

OH HEHE ALL THIS FOR ME YUMMY!!

moon is the kind of person whod smile passively agressively at you when she wants to strangle you and she has no mouth! so nobody ever noticed <3

I adore Pebbles attitude towards Artificer actually. It’s incredibly funny. She posesses an ID of a citizen and it’s attached to her. So like.. what is he supposed to do??? Yeah. she is one ig..

He even at some point tells you that he has absolutely no power to kill or kick you out (probably an ingrained taboo!) because of her id! which is why you can hit him with spears and rocks all you want and get him to yell at you. (did that for 30 mins <3).

My personal hc for him is that he wanted to kill this weird cat so bad. Wasn’t allowed to. and now shes his emotional comfort beastie (awful garbage dweller)!! shes part of his city, tending to it even. A citizen if you ask me! (the overseers literally give her ads i lost my shit at that). Ancients seem to share similarities with us!! They have campfires and festivals! (info from moon) They get copius amounts of ads, they have neat little shopping lists!!!

I think Pebbles is a deeply lonely little man who got stuck being Moon 2 (he was built to house her people in the first place) even though she doesnt even like them. Grew to like them himself and got then abandoned. I think the idea he feels deeply betrayed and hurt by the ancients leaving him really shows in the conversation with Suns. He can hardly believe all he was ever made to do is be.. uh.. some useless little bug. He wants to escape.

I also really enjoy thinking he loved the attention and loved feeling important. Them leaving was confirmation that he was not actually. (then we decided we’re gonna be the next sos actually). He also believed he had to go through everything alone. Pebs constantly asks to be left alone up until riv campaign. him acknowledging that maybe he doesnt have to be, so he probably got to share his last functional cycles with moon has me in tears!!

As for the echo!!! I can understand the anger partly. I’m pretty sure the karma gates and building complexes on the ground imply that not all ancients were fortunate enough to live on the back of an iterator. (Shaded citadel people did not!) That echo iirc was a worker I assume. Imagine wasting your entire life building a god that never even fulfilled their purpouse. They just crumbled on the ground you built them on!! Not to mention you had to suffer the rain if u lived on the surface (jeez Moons rain siren sounds horrifying btw!!!)

Hopefully cycle lore gets cleared up in rw 2 (cope)

Also also the logs for spearmaster are incredibly interesting and show that iterators are in fact very diverse little discord people that like gossip <3 and that nsh is horrifying i think <3

#HEHEHE #hope i commented on everything #feel free to hop in my dms if u ever wanna ramble about lore!#i love loove lore #and i love how pathetic pebbles is #ask #pinkavtomation #fuck i didnt tag the last one with spoilers #rw spoilers #downpour spoilers #i dont know if jt matters because this blog is NOT spoiler free to begjn with #but yeah yeah!

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kickflipkidd · 11 months

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Ok ok tell me about Ash, I'm curious 👀 (Also, I have an oc named Ash and I want to see the difference too. It's a good name)

Thanks so much for the ask aaaaaaaOkay! So Ash is an OC pretty heavily under construction but I will tell you the things I do know about her!

-her maternal grandmother is Inuit and Ash spent a lot of time with her growing up and a lot of time around her sled dogs, who she helped raise (there is a lot more research I need to do to be certain I portray things accurately and respectfully but that is the basis I have at the moment, it's something I came up with when I was a lot younger and now want to actually flesh out)

-her father was in the army and when she was around 14 he got assigned to a base on the east coast so they moved from Alaska which Ash was Not Happy About

-but that is where she met Mickie, fell hard for them, and they took off together as soon as they were both 18, living in Mickie's car and busking/conning their way across the united states until they made it to the west coast and enrolled in a community college music program together

-Ash is a skilled drummer, she started learning when she joined jazz band in middle school and would stay after school to practice and teach herself the drum parts to her favorite metal songs. in high school she was center snare in marching band her junior and senior year (which in case you didn't know is basically the drumline section leader)

-she's a huge metalhead, it's by far her favorite genre, and behind that is punk. her favorite band, however, is... the Beastie Boys. her parents really liked them and she has a lot of nostalgia for them. she will defend their terrible music to her dying breath

-she struggled a lot with anger and discontentment growing up. got in a lot of fights, snuck out a lot. started smoking weed in high school to be rebellious but found it actually helped her mellow out a bit so she still smokes, but not nearly as much as she did as an 18-20yo

-she has waist length black hair with a side shave/undercut style. her fashion is what I want to call gothdykepunk? think black combat boots, worn and torn cargo pants, shredded metal band tees overtop of fishnet armbands, a sickass dragon necklace, a necklace made of safety pins, sharpie colored nails, and her dad's old army jacket atop everything. she's so much cooler than me

-in her efforts to be less aggro as she gets older, she ends up becoming pretty quiet in general (where she used to be accurately described as "loudmouthed") but remains the same amount of intimidating (MAJOR resting bitch face and vocal tone issues, and she's very blunt), so people tend to be scared of her on first impression. but she really isn't mean, she's just intense

-being a skilled drummer, she's strong as fuck and has very well devloped arm and shoulder muscles (aka my fucking weakness)

-she's so cool she really is but man. she's also just a big nerd. loves complicated board and card games and wants to make all her friends play them together and will explain the rules into the ground. the beastie boys as I mentioned. don't hand her the aux cord unless you like melodeath, bad 90's whiteboy rap, and the alt country songs that make her think of Mickie (Mickie plays banjo and accordion and grew up listening to early stadium country and Johnny Cash so they are particularly into the alt country scene and dragged Ash in with them)

-Mickie and Ash are queerplatonic life partners - Mickie is aroace, Ash is an allosexual lesbian who occasionally (with conversation and consent from Mickie) pursues casual sexual relationships with other partners (including a longterm friends with benefits relationship with Kit, a friend they make in college who basically becomes the third wheel to their gay little tricycle), but these two are in it together, ride or die, they love each other so much

-in the fantasy setting I'm working on writing, Mickie and Ash are both bards who travel together conning people and eventually join up with a group of revolutionary bandits and I just love them a lot okay

I sadly don't have any art of her yet but someday I will, there are definitely more things about her floating around in my head but those are some basic facts! as I said, under construction but I love her very much! thank you for the ask!!!

#oc tag #ash

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straycatboogie · 10 months

Text

2023/06/27 English

BGM: Beastie Boys - Hey Ladies

Once I read Koutarou Sawaki, a Japanese popular journalist, and found this question in his writing. "Men and women. From which have you learned the important things in your life?". Of course, now is the diversity age so this kind of "too simple" question can be uncool or "out of fashion". Can we divide the human beings as men and women simply? ...But I like this question so try to answer. My life, who have influenced it a lot until now? When I was a child, I had been hated and bullied by girls. My generation was not the one which is based on any diversity, so the people had thought as "Men should be men" and "Men have to support/save women". That was the common sense of our era. I was not masculine, and also really poor at doing sports so the girls had treated me as a creepy creature. They treated me as a sissy boy with laughing. They also said to me as "creepy" and "wacky"... so I don't have any beautiful/sweet first love memory. I have never thought that I had a licence to love someone else... although this is like a story of the Smith's bangers.

And the time has changed... I had started working at the current company. My female boss had treated me terribly. I had to face various miserable events. Although I always think that misogyny is just a crap, at somewhere in my mind I might think as "Women must be suspicious" and "They have two faces. One is the dutiful face and the other is just a bitch". Yes, this is not any realistic or rational stance of thinking, but I tend to think that "Women are bothersome to go with"... But life is fair. I can remember that the women had helped me a lot when I had been in troubles deeply. The woman I met in my 30s. She suggested me that I am autistic. And in my 40s I met another woman, who changed me by her severe and honest comment "You shouldn't blame yourself in such a terrible way anymore". Now, I am working with a job coach woman who has been one of the precious mentors for me... It seems my life has been rolled with that connections with various wonderful women. Now I am enjoying communication with a Russian friend, Victoria. And also I am enjoying the host woman in an English saloon. Unbelievable!

On Twitter, I learned that a friend of mine I trust and respect weaved his best 10 books in the first half of 2023. I started weaving that list in my way... At the first half of this year, I had to quit my work. It was really hard time. I had to face my "beasty" and "lusty" mental and physical desire... And I read Junichiro Tanizaki's "Naomi" and Vladimir Nabokov's "Lolita". I also thought/weaved my own dream in this period. I also read Ryuichi Sakamoto's autobiography because of the news he had passed away. I enjoyed Haruki Murakami's new one (it is great). I weaved that "I wanna be a bridge person who connects Shiso city and the world". It was a big, great, important change in this half. I am living with the attitude of "Don't Look Back In Anger" somewhere in my mind. But I need to do this kind of clearance/inventory. It must be important for me.

This evening I had an English conversation class. There, today we enjoyed the topic of the lesson of "your dream summer holidays" a lot. How many days/months do you want as summer holidays? If you could get, then what you would do? (you choose staying home to enjoy reading/watching? Or you would go traveling?). At my workplace summer is the busiest season in the year so we can't get any summer holidays. If I could get, I would take a week trip to my parents' house. I want to eat eels with my parents (we Japanese eat eels and rice as great summer food). If I would go to somewhere, I want to go to Taiwan and Hong Kong. A friend of mine on MeWe had recommended me to go to New Zealand and I have been interested in. After that conversation/lesson, we enjoyed a game. "Two truths and one lie". This is the one that a participant says three things (two truths and one lie), and the other member try to answer which is correct. I said to everyone as "I graduated Waseda", "I had been worked as a HOST", and "I have never seen a ghost". They got confused... and I answered "TBH I have never worked as a HOST". They got surprised a lot. But, then which was the thing surprised them? This truth as "I have never worked as a HOST"? Or another one as "I graduated Waseda"?.

#diary #english #journal #online diary #tumblr diary

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canary3d-obsessed · 3 years

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 13, second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Distractions)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

This Fucking Turtle

The rock that Wei Wuxian and Wen Chao are standing on starts to move, because of course it does. It’s a tortoise shell, sort of. There are some problems with this ostensible tortoise.

First, Murder Turtle a tortoise is technically a turtle don't @ me doesn't look anything like a turtle. I try really hard not to project my western mythologies onto Chinese works, but god dang this thing looks like the Loch Ness monster.

Second, its shell wobbles a bit, but there's no indication that the creature can move around the cave until much later. During an extended fight with several tasty cultivators, it stays put and just moves its head around.

The immobility problem aside, it's not a terrible monster. After the hell dog, I'm relieved to have a normal CGI beastie where some things are done really pretty well. Its eyes and skin are particularly good.

What's not good are the teeth. When Murder Turtle closes its mouth, its long pointy upper teeth have nowhere to go, so they pierce its lower jaw and just sink in there. No wonder it's pissed off.

Its relationship with its shell is...well, let's save that for the next episode.

Irons in the Fire

Meanwhile, Wang Lingjiao (Wen Chao's girlfriend) decides she's in the mood for barbequed MianMian, so she grabs a hot iron to burn her face.

Wei Wuxian to the rescue! He shoots three arrows at once and hits all three of his targets, in a move that he'll repeat with even more arrows at a later date.

Wang Lingjiao decides to throw the iron at MianMian, who decides not to duck, while Wei Wuxian leaps into the path of the iron and gets deeply burned on the chest through his clothing. This is absolutely definitely how time, things flying through the air, and branding irons work.

(more after the cut)

Jiang Cheng and Wen Zhuliu start fighting again. These two can't quit each other, almost like they have a date with destiny in their future. Jiang Cheng shows off his purple bloomers while he and Wen Zhuliu try to outspin each other.

Camera operator: Why you gotta take it out on me?

Wen It’s Time To Say Goodbye

The Wens decide to dip, heading up the rock face and cutting the ropes behind them, which would be super inconvenient if several of the cultivators didn't know how to literally fly.

But they also put a bunch of rocks in the hole, while Wen Qing begs them not to do it.

Down at the bottom of the cave, everyone sits and chats, while Murder Turtle wishes it had legs so it could chase them. Oh wait, it does have legs, it just isn't ready to get out of the bath yet

Call the Waaambulance

MianMian is crying over all the nonsense the writers have put her through in this episode, and Wei Wuxian tries to cheer her up by talking to her like she's a toddler. On the plus side, he'll be a great dad for a toddler one day.

Jin Zixuan: I'm used to women crying around me, is that not typical?

Lan Wangji has got no time for cheering up crying girls, and starts heading back to the turtle bath, because he has figured out how they can escape.

He and Wei Wuxian show off their mind reading abilities, where Lan Wangji explains absolutely nothing and Wei Wuxian perfectly understands him. See also: “Fortunately.”

Rather than try to swim for it, the other cultivators want to hang around and wait to be rescued, or just generally feel like staying put and whining.

Wei Wuxian takes charge through sheer force of personality, and makes Jiang Cheng go find the way out while he himself distracts Murder Turtle with fire.

Wei Wuxian can make talismans without 1. ink 2. a brush or 3. paper. He just needs his flesh and his unusually sharp incisors. He's so far ahead of everyone around him; how is a dude this talented ever going to be anyone's right hand man? He’s already on track to creating a new talisman-based school of cultivation, even if he never gets around to the whole necromancy thing.

Swimming in the Pool, Swimming is Cool

The main group of cultivators go swimming while Wei Wuxian lights fires to keep the tortoise's attention. For some reason he just stands there when it's about to eat him...maybe he's mesmerized? Lan Wangji flings him out of harm’s way and gets his already-busted leg chomped on.

Wei Wuxian pulls Lan Wangji to safety and tells the other cultivators to get going. Jiang Cheng doesn't want to, but Jin Zixuan convinces him.

For fans of homoerotic screen caps, this episode is a gold mine.

Murder turtle suddenly remembers he has legs, but Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji instantly find a room he can’t fit into, so they’re okay for the night.

Owie Owie Owie

Now we have an extended hurt/comfort session with our wounded heroes. Lan Wangji is bleeding, so Wei Wuxian...puts a splint made of sticks directly onto his unbandaged lacerations, and ties it with his pristine headband, which will remain pristine. Then he puts medicine on the lacerations.

This seems like a situation where the script said "broken leg" and the makeup department said "MOAR BLOOD" and nobody changed the direction to the actors. In any case, the sticks seem to help and bandages are not mentioned.

What is mentioned, of course, is the dreaded stale blood, which plagues many a c-drama hero, and has to be driven out through strong emotion. This is totally how the human circulatory system works. To be fair, there is probably a perfectly reasonable underlying concept in Chinese medicine that has been exaggerated for dramatic effect, so that every possible ailment or injury results in vomiting blood, sometimes sexily.

Wei Wuxian clears up the blood problem super quickly by offering to show Lan Wangji his dick, not to put too fine a point on it. Alas, he retracts the offer once the crisis has passed.

Once they settle down, Lan Wangji takes the opportunity to put some medicine on Wei Wuxian's burned tit, and to chide him for letting himself get injured. It's like he doesn't even know him.

Wei Wuxian: I had no choice, because I am psychologically driven to sacrifice myself for other people at every opportunity. Get used to it, cupcake.

Wei Wuxian points out that MianMian is pretty and that it would be bad for her to have a mark on her face. Lan Wangji points out, not quite in so many words, that Wei Wuxian is pretty and now HE has a permanent mark. Before Lan Wangji ever got to see his bare chest, too.

Wei Wuxian says it's cool for men to have marks on their bodies. Preferably hickeys and rope burns, but scars are okay too.

Lan Wangji: you're going to love my future body mods, then.

Then Wei Wuxian waxes poetic about having a pretty girl remember your heroism, and Lan Wangji gets jealous and cranky. Wei Wuxian misinterprets this, but not unreasonably, considering that Lan Wangji was putting his own body between MianMian and harm not all that long ago.

After some extended eye fucking followed by laughing and saying "no homo" for the censors, the conversation moves to a more serious place.

Wei Wuxian engages in a little WangXian meta analysis, noting that Lan Wangji can tease him now, and is talking to him slightly more. Falling for a high-spirited, popular extrovert has been hard on Lan Wangji, but Wei Wuxian is also struggling with falling for a nearly-silent, crushingly-shy introvert. Wei Wuxian really does find Lan Wangji boring on one level, at the same time as finding him utterly compelling on other levels.

Wei Wuxian starts to say something about the Lans and stops himself with this charming gesture. I've seen it here and there in c-dramas and I assume it's a thing in China. It's a perfect way for a hyperactive talker to say "I'm shutting up now" without using even more words to say it.

Lan Wangji finally, FINALLY tells Wei Wuxian - briefly - what happened to his home. Wei Wuxian, in one of those moments of empathy that they have more and more often as time goes on, asks about his loved ones, and forgoes any other questions.

Lan Wangji tells him that Lan Qiren is seriously injured and Lan Xichen is missing. Wei Wuxian is extremely concerned about one of these people.

When Lan Wangji falls asleep at 9pm on the button, Wei Wuxian tenderly covers him in his own robe, offering physical comfort in place of the emotional comfort Lan Wangji won’t let anybody give him.

Then Wei Wuxian gazes at him like a lovestruck dope, before settling down beside him for the night.

Soundtrack: Peter Gabriel, I Go Swimming

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #the untamed spoilers

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sif-the-tsunami · 3 years

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Freyja Dag

Notes: I’m feeling romantic, a little bit witchy and I have baby fever like a mother. It is presently Friday the 13th, 13 is the number associated with the goddess Freya, Friday (in English anyways) is named after her as well. I also miss Norway, I want to be back there more than any place else in the world. This is half written, I wanted to make it naughty but it was getting there, I just had too many distractions, and I had to push it out today

Pairing: Henry Cavill x reader.

Warnings: fluff, impregnation implication, witchcraft?, shenanigans,

You got off the plane in Oslo, and for the first time in what feels like years, you take a deep breathe. The beautiful clean lines, and warm wooden details welcome you home. The airport was bustling, you make your way to customs, then to baggage claim. You pop up to the little snack shop near the train ticket terminals and get your favorite treats for the ride south.

“I think Kal can tell you’re in the same country as him again, he won’t calm down. We missed you, Sunflower.” You smile down at your phone. The train ride is blissfully uneventful. Four hours from the airport to Tonsberg but it is worth every minute. Your Henry is filming a period piece in the more rural countryside, but you knew his love of history and adventurous spirit would get him excited this area. When he was walking Kal near the harbor one day, he sent you photos of a replica Viking ship. You knew you had made the right choice staying there, even if he did have to commute to work.

“Are you sure I can’t have someone pick you up from the train station?” He texts you again.

“If the public transportation is good enough for the Royal Family, it is good enough for me.”

Your mind wanders for a while, you had some time to kill until you got to the apartment you were renting. Two days ago, you were at the doctor’s office, she made a comment in passing asking if you were going to be trying to have a baby any time soon. You told her that you stopped your birth control a few months ago. She seemed hopeful but the comment she made before you left stung slightly You knew that you weren’t as young as you used to be. The aches in your shoulders and knees told you this when you woke up in the morning now. Another strong vibration in your pocket brought you back to present.

“I only want the best for my Queen, about to go back on set, I’ll see you tonight. Baby Bear and I love you.”

You make it to the house he’s been staying in one piece. The building itself was over two hundred years old, had been a boys orphanage prior to the first World War, and had a couple of cute little cottages in the back yard. One of the sweet older ladies that stayed on site, saw you and waved from her kitchen window. Henry had been curious about why you picked this house out of all the available apartments. The first couple of steps in the hallway echoed, you breathed in deeply the smell of multiple layers of oil based paint and climbed the stairs. The apartment was cozy. You liked to call it your tree house.

You had searched for apartments endlessly, but this one seemed to call your name. When you were finally able to tour it, while he had been walking around and looking at the bedroom and kitchen, you walked out onto the balcony.

“Henry, come look.” There were a row of ancient trees growing beside the road they drove up to the house, and another one growing directly in the line of sight for the house next door. Besides the obvious privacy, the most breathtaking part of the view was the fjord.

“You found us a great hideaway, my Sunflower.” He said quietly, and kissed your shoulder.

You had a few more hours before Henry would be home. On the dining table was a box with your name on it. When you open the box you find there is a bottle of wine, a jar of lavender honey, shortbread cookies, sweet smelling candles, a dusty rose colored night gown in your size and an envelope. Inside the envelope is letter and a sachet of tea.

The letter reads

My darling friend, When we spoke last, you told me that you had been trying to conceive, I thought I might make you a kit to help. You have returned to your beloved on Friday the 13th, a day sacred to Freyja, the Norse sex and fertility goddess. Go take a shower then brew yourself a cup of tea, sweetened with the honey, put on the nightgown. When Henry gets home, share the wine. Place a cookie with honey on it outside on your balcony before you go to bed. Light the candles with good intentions and make it like two teenagers trying not to get caught. If this works, awesome, if not, you two should have a really great night anyways. Love, Sif

You take care of the list, and patiently wait for your dearest to come home. When he finally does, you are napping on the couch, cuddled up with one of Henry’s hoodies draped over you. The snuffling of that beautiful beasty woke you from your dream. You smile at Kal as he makes his happy snorts.

“He says, Mama I missed you, Daddy and I took turns cuddling with the sweater you left.” Henry said while Kal tried to jump on the couch, the giant fluffy dog knocked the sweater you had across you off. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go out and grab some dinner, but I think you aren’t dressed for it.”

“No, not really. Not all the hungry either.”

“No?” He raises a suggestive eyebrow, “What would you like to do instead.”

You bite your lip seductively and tell him, “Well, a friend of mine sent us this really great bottle of wine...”

He looks over the bottle and chuckles, knowing fully well what happens after you have had a couple glasses. He leans down to you and kisses you deeply. “Alright, you talked me into it. I’ll let the bottle breathe a little bit, and you can tell me about your week.”

The wine and cookies had been enjoyed, the conversation had been satisfying. No one else gets this side of him, the funny, soft side that makes obscure World of Warcraft and Warhammer references. When you explain what your friend did for the two of you, he lets out a deep laugh and slaps one of his legs. He looks over the letter, giggling.

“Want to let me in on the joke?”

“Sure, after you go put the cookie on the balcony.” He smiles, with a devilish look about him. When you step back inside, he lifts you up, and hoists you up over his should, loudly proclaiming “Sex for the sex goddess! Nighty for the nighty thrown!”

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #my apologies to henry cavill #fluff

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hannaheiizabeth · 3 years

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How to catch a beast (updated)

Y/n x mr beast

Authors note: sorry I haven't posted in soooo long! My boyfriend Trent hit me with his Tesla and I had to get surgery. But I'm back now better then ever! Big thanks to my love Trent for being so supportive through my recovery ❤️‍🩹 anyways, here's how to catch a beast a story I wrote based off of my inner self, enjoy! 🥰

"What a lovely day it is today!" Squeaked y/n as she gracefully got up and out of her bed. Her waist was thin as a pencil, her hair golden dirty blonde. First and foremost, she immediately slid into her workout clothes and did a waist a butt workout, although she already has a 20 inch waist and the roundest badonkadonk in the whole world. Once she was finished she got in the shower and used her amazing Victoria's Secret rose body wash. When she got out she threw on some sweatpants and a cropped top because she'd rather be comfy then try to look elegant like the other girls here. Oh did I forget to add? Y/n lives at an orphanage because her mom Kylie rose Kendall left her for a famous movie star that was up for adoption 20 years ago....y/n has been alone in this rigged place since. Anyhoo! Y/n then tittied down the staircase and she overheard a conversation. "OMG Jessie did you see mr beasts new video? He's getting a girl from THIS orphanage and paying them to pretend to be his wife for a video!" Liliana explained. "WOW SO COOL!" Jessie screeched". "I hope he picks me..." "no he's gonna pick me!" The two gals began to rumble. "Woah I can’t believe mr beasty boos gonna pick one of us! He would never pick me....I'm too quirky and smart....🥺" y/n preached. "Oh well! Breakfast time 😏"

UPDATE COMING September 27th at 8:00 pm edt FOLLOW ME TO STAY TUNED

#fanfic #mr beast #dsmp #y/n #scenarios #headcanons #celebrities #writing #fiction #imagines #gaming #karl jacobs #chris tyson

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hollyhomburg · 4 years

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tonight im thinking about a vmin au kinda based on the tictok song that goes “i always thought i might be bad now im sure that it’s true” where jimin is the angel on the readers shoulder and taehyung is the devil and they both fall in love with her (and also each other) and it’s kinda a quandary because all you need to do as an demon to become a human is to kiss your true love but angels have to sacrifice themselves for a demon to become human.

all of this combined with witch reader with kitty familiar yoongi- who got turned into a cat by a curse. vmin who bicker and the reader pretends she can’t see them haunting her until they have like- some sort of witty af banter and she actually bursts out laughing and says “sorry i just couldn’t keep it in” both of them staring at her dumbly as they become fully corporeal without meaning too.

the reader thinking she feels someone running their fingers through her hair while she sleeps (jimin) and another running his fingers over her jaw (tae) while she sleeps, their conversations lulling her to sleep. Taehyung defending her against burglars one night by showing his true form, all nine eyes and his clawed hands and everything. and she’s kinda like “good beasty” running a hand over his shoulder to tether him to you, and his human form. maybe he does something like “now do you believe im actually as bad as i say i am? do you hate me now like you should” and she just kinda kisses his cheek, her lips coming away red because yeah- taehyung is a demon and he cries blood when he gets angry. “never my little beasty” and taehyung just sort of melts. because he actually had been worried she wouldn’t love him if she saw his true form.

Yoongi licking his paw idily by the windowsill- “the three of you are hopeless”

meanwhile angel jimin is the same kind of horror- thousands of eyes and too many wings to really be anything other than...ugly. but you never make him feel bad about the days when he just can’t look human anymore, needing to curl up in his actual angelic form underneath several blankets. he can’t feel the warmth of the human world when he’s like that- but he still likes the illusion.

both angel!jimin and Demon!Taehyung watch over the reader in different ways. jimin might be the one who keeps you from tripping into oncoming traffic, but tae is the one who makes ill will befall those who would bring you harm. one night after a particularly bad day, jimin and taehyung shrouding you with their wings, tae’s fluttering a little when you kiss him. and jimin's coming close to wrap around both of you- wider and fluffier than taehyung's. your devil and your angel.

#vmin x reader #park jimin #kim taehyung #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #bts #bts fluff #demon taehyung #angel jimin #bts fanfic #bts au

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thebluestbluewords · 3 years

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nobody look at me I don’t know where this fic came from either

“....eggs?” Mal says doubtfully. “I’m pretty sure eggs are involved.”

Evie looks horrified. “You need to do a little bit more research than just the idea of blood magic and eggs before I let you go rummaging around inside me!” she says. “I want— diagrams, or charts, or something! Get me proof that you aren’t going to scoop out my organs and then I’ll let you do your dark magic.

“Aw,” Mal says, deadpan. “you wouldn’t let me hold your heart in my hands?”

Evie looks very nearly physically ill at the thought. “That’s very sweet of you babe, but no.” she says, “I do not trust you to open my body up without extensive documentation showing me why exactly it is a good idea to let you go rummaging through my body.”

“We’re making a baby together.” Mal says, earnestly. “You should trust me. It’s important.”

“Yes, I know that.” Evie says with a long-suffering look on her face “and I do trust you, Mali. I just also want some proof that you know what you’re doing before I bare my literal organs to you.”

“Babies are really, really cute.” Mal tries. “It would be your baby.”

Evie sighs, although it’s more dreamy than exasperated this time. “I know.”

“You’ll be able to go all gushy over it,” Mal wheedles. “and it’ll have all three of us as parents this way. Equal rights, you know?”

Evie reaches over to grab Mal’s hands. “You just want to have my babies,” she says. “It’s very understandable. I am the hot one.”

Mal swings their joined hands in the space between them. “Yeah.” she says, maybe a bit mushier than she meant it to be. “I do.”

Evie sighs, and gives Mal’s hand a little squeeze. “Get me the research,” she says, “and then you can harvest my eggs, okay?”

“Okay!” Mal says brightly, without hesitation, and with the distinctive air of someone who already has a stack of medical anatomy textbooks leftover from art school on her desk.

Ben, tucked halfway behind Mal on the couch, pokes her teasingly. “Do I even need to be here for this?” he asks.

“Yes!” Evie says immediately. Ever the responsible one, that’s her. After much practice, they’re learning by now, the three of them, that their relationship conversations tend to go better when all of them are at least in the room. Having one person (Mal) recount the initial debate back to her other partner (usually Evie, because even after four years of art school and growing as a person, Mal still has a weird need to try and fit the status quo, and she generally does sleep in the same room as her royal husband) tends to end up with some miscommunication. “Yes. For sure.”

“Pshh, no.” Mal responds just as quickly. “You’re extra, beastie boy.”

Ben wraps an arm around her. “Oh, I see how it is. My own wife doesn’t need me here. I get it, I’ll go—“

Evie drops one of Mal’s hands so that she can reach out to Ben. “No, no no no babe!!”

Mal snort-laughs. “Bye,” she says, settling more securely into her husband’s arms. “Go on, get. Goodnight.”

Ben drops his forehead to her shoulder for a moment, before lifting it again to look at both of his girls. “Joking, it’s my kid too. What do you need from me during this?”

“Your eternal support and gratitude?” Evie suggests. “Maybe chocolate?”

Mal hums. “Nothing, I don’t think?” she says. “Just be there.”

“You don’t think?” Ben asks. “Should I man the phones in case things go wrong?”

“No!” Mal says, loudly. “Absolutely not! It’s not going to be like a full magic operating room. Nothing is going to go that wrong. I can’t properly hold cells in stasis while I physically transport them from one being to another, so it’s not going to be anything gory like that. I’m basically going to do a find-and-replace between Evie’s egg cells and mine. I’ll get an idea of her blood signature from her menstrual cycle, and then it’s just a matter of locating the correct structures, and I can just—“ Mal makes a schlorping gesture with her free hand. “schoop an egg from her body to mine.”

Ben looks unfortunately fascinated by both the process and the gesture. “Wild.”

“Right?” Mal says, clearly thrilled to have someone ready to appreciate her bloodlust. “I’ll need you afterwards for like, the usual bit, but it’ll be Evie’s genetic makeup inside my body.”

Evie makes a considering kind of noise. “Is blood type going to be an issue with this?” she asks. “I feel like it might make things more difficult.”

Mal shrugs. “There’s wards that should help with that. Plenty of people have assisted pregnancies without using any sort of magic at all, so it should be fine.”

Ben leans his head against Mal’s shoulder again, looking mildly distressed. “Are you going to cast a ward on yourself?”

Mal considers. “Mhm,” she says finally. “I think a sigil would work better, actually. More chance of sticking that way. Probably something with rosemary, for that healing and fertility energy.”

Evie leans in. “What about oak? I think the tannins could really lend some longevity to the process, might be easier than recasting every week, especially if you’re, y’know-- expending your energy elsewhere.”

Mal scrunches her nose. “Red oak makes me itchy, but maybe black?”

“Of course black, what am I, new?” Evie scoffs. “Black oak and blackberry balm as a base, I think. It would certainly make it easier to apply if it’s got that extra stickiness to the resonance.”

“Uh,” Ben breaks in, before the talk can devolve too far into magical logistics. “Can we go back to the part where we talk very slowly about the basic steps for this? Cause I’m not sure if I get it.”

Mal thunks her head backwards, and doesn’t quite hit her husband in the face. “I’m going to do dark magic to produce you an heir, your highness.” she says, teasing. “It’s the fairy magic, you know. Very traditional.”

“Hah. Hah.”

Mal does laugh, because she’s a jerk sometimes. “For real. I’m going to use one of the spells that my mother used for transformations as a base, and I’m going to transfer one of Evie’s eggs to my body, and I’m going to carry a baby for us.”

“And you’re not going to hurt yourself during the process?”

“Magic is never one-hundred-percent safe, babe, but yeah. It should be easy.”

“The magic part of it should be easy.” Evie adds. “Mal knows what she’s doing.”

Mal looks slightly ill for a moment. “Yeah,” she says. “Easy-peasy.”

#my fic #descendants fic #descendants fandom #its.....mostly malvie but also there’s marriage that’s mostly for tax purposes #nobody @ me about this #by which I mean PLEASE TALK TO ME ABOUT MY POSTCANON BABY FIC IDEAS #it’s about the complicated experience of parenthood when you’re also recovering from childhood trauma #not that they’re children in this #it’s set about five or six years post canon I think #it’s also about the experience of queer parenthood and that desire #and not wanting to be put into a heterosexual relationship mold even though your relationship looks a certain way to outsiders #anyway hello all my fb friends are starting to get married and do the adult relationships thing and I think I’m processing that through fic

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

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Good Omens - “Tricked and Treated” (Rated G)

Summary: Aziraphale and Adam bump into an intriguing man and his son while out Trick or Treating. Of course, it is Halloween, and nothing is quite what it seems ... (3415 words)

Notes: This is one of two stories I wrote for A Big Spooky Fan Zine. Be sure to check the rest of the collection for some amazing spooky works from other wonderful fandom creators :)

Read on AO3.

Knock-knock-knock-knock!

“Trick or Treat! Smell my feet! Give me somethin’ good to eat! If you don’t, I don’t care. I’VE GOT PURPLE UNDERWEAR!!”

The chorus of tinny voices dissolves into giggles as a multitude of pint-sized monsters, ghouls, and superheroes wait for the door to open. If it doesn’t … they won’t do anything. Not a one of them is older than nine, and their parents are standing a few feet behind them. But the song is tradition, even if they do tweak the lyrics a bit every year.

Last year, the preferred modifier for underwear had been ‘dirty’, and even though that isn’t age-inappropriate, per se, the parents are thrilled the quorum decided upon a color this year instead.

The group falls silent when they hear heavy footsteps approach from the opposite side. The brass knob turns, and the door pulls in. The children know what to expect, but still, they take a tentative step backward. It’s an old house, but a familiar one; that always has carved pumpkins on the patio at Halloween and handmade wreaths on the door at Christmas. A house that generations of children have run up to on October 31sts past and knocked on its door. Those children grew up and bring their children here to visit the same bubbly lady who never seems to age, always has a smile on her face, and a tray of homemade caramel apples wrapped in wax paper at the ready.

The door creaks open.

The children gasp in anticipation.

Then, she is revealed: a red-haired woman in a flowing, floral kaftan beneath a cozy pink peacoat steps out with her gentleman behind her, dressed in olive drab and menacingly pointing, of all things, his right index finger, as if he thinks it will protect him from the beasties gracing their porch. The woman looks at the crowd of masks and made-up faces surrounding her and gasps in mock fear.

“My goodness!” she says, putting a hand to her mouth. “Look at all these frightful goblins and ghouls at my door tonight! I don’t suppose any of you like caramel apples, hmm?”

“I do! I do!” Hands shoot up, eager to be seen. The woman smiles.

“Mr. Shadwell! Put your finger away and bring me that tray!” she scolds, grabbing up apples on their sturdy wooden sticks when they come her way and handing them out one at a time, receiving a grateful and excited, “Thank you!” with each one.

“I do believe everyone’s parent is present,” she says with a glance towards the ring of adults manning her garden gate, “but if they’re not, you let them know that these apples came from Tracy Shadwell’s own kitchen, so they’re safe to eat.”

“Yes, ma’am!” the kids answer obediently. Most everyone in the neighborhood knows Mrs. Shadwell and her famous caramel apples. For those who don’t, she ties a pink tag at the base of each stick with her name and telephone number embossed on it in gold, should anyone want to verify.

And while she hands out her wares, she looks over each child and comments on their costume – the hand-crafted along with the store-bought – with nothing but the highest praise. As the crowd thins, two boys approach, patiently awaiting their turns. Mrs. Shadwell spots the first of the boys and hands him two caramel apples. She knows him - and his chaperone - very well.

“Why, Adam Young!” she coos at the boy dressed in white satin brocade. “What a stunning costume! Another one from your grandfather’s collection?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy replies proudly. “French Revolution era. I’m a political prisoner, about to get my head chopped off!” He drags a finger across his throat in a slicing motion, tilting his head to one side and sticking out his tongue for greater emphasis. His eyes pop as he remembers the best part. “Look! Here’s my head!” He fishes around in his candy bag and pulls out a childishly executed but morbid prop - a bleeding papier-mache head on a stick. It vaguely resembles Adam, having the same hair color and skin tone, but drenched in fake blood and with X’s over the eyes. “I wanted to slather blood all over my neck, but my grandfather said no.”

“I can understand why!” Tracy chuckles. “That costume must be expensive! It looks quite handsome on you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Shadwell,” Adam says with a dignified bow.

“You’re very welcome.” Her gaze lands on the boy standing beside him. “And you! Another scary vampire!” The corners of her mouth tug down as she struggles for a name. “I can’t seem to recall your name, dear. Would you be so kind as to help an old lady out?”

“I’m Warlock,” the boy says, speaking with a pronounced lisp and spitting his consonants, courtesy of the plastic fangs crowding his mouth.

“Here you go, Warlock.” Mrs. Shadwell hands him two apples as well. It wouldn’t be right to give him only one since he’s seen Adam get two. Besides, thanks to her husband’s help, she has a whole army of apples sitting in her kitchen, waiting to be doled out. “Thank you for stopping by so I could see your costume. Give your parents my fondest regards.”

“Yesh, ma’am,” the boy slurs, trying his best not to spit again. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The boys wave politely as Mrs. Shadwell closes her door. They turn together, stepping down from the porch, eyeing one another’s costume as if the two of them are catwalk rivals.

“That belongsth to your grandpa?” Warlock asks, looking Adam’s shimmery outfit up and down.

“Yup.” Adam holds his head high and gives the boy a spin so he can view it from all sides. “Your costume is cool, too. Did your parents buy it? Or did someone make it for you?”

“It’sth vintage,” Warlock explains, tongue tripping over his teeth. “It wasth my father’s when he wasth a boy.” He holds the ends of his cape out wide, flapping the wings it creates.

“Awesome!”

“That’s right, Warlock,” a tall man says, receiving both children when they reach the wooden gate. “It belonged to your ancient, elderly father.”

The man standing beside him chuckles, reaching a hand out to Adam as the boy walks through.

“Well, despite its interminable old age, it really is a smashing costume, Mr….”

“Crowley,” Warlock’s father supplies, extending a hand in greeting. “Anthony J. Crowley.”

“Aziraphale,” Adam’s grandfather answers, taking Crowley’s hand and shaking it. “Aziraphale Fell. This is my grandson, Adam.”

Crowley nods at the boy who is less concerned with the subject of adults’ names as he is with comparing his haul with that of the boy beside him.

“I believe we’ve lost them!” Aziraphale laughs as Adam and Warlock dive into their sacks.

“Bound to happen,” Crowley concurs. “We’re nowhere near as entertaining as chocolate. At least, I’m not. Not to be rude or anything but aren’t you a little young to be a grandfather?”

Aziraphale grins hard enough to make his cheeks ache. “That’s very kind of you to say, but I am much older than you might think.” He narrows his eyes at the man tousling his son’s black hair - suspicious considering his own hair is red. Flame red. Of course, that could come from a bottle. Not that Aziraphale is judging. It looks rather fetching on him. “Forgive my saying so, but I don’t think I’ve seen you or your son around here before.”

“Is that so strange?” Crowley asks, his grin growing tight, but not terribly.

It seems Aziraphale may not be the first person of the evening to mention it.

“No, not really. But we’re a tiny hamlet. Everyone here knows everyone else.” Aziraphale leans in a companionable inch. “All their secrets, too.”

“Ah, well, we’re not from around here,” Crowley admits with a sheepish grin.

“Gotcha.” Aziraphale winks. “It’s no secret that we’re one of the few neighborhoods around that gives out full-sized candy bars by the handful and real popcorn balls – not that stale, store-bought crud.” Crowley’s lips quirk, in shame it seems, and Aziraphale rushes to elaborate. “Not that we mind visitors!” he says, waving his hands as if to wipe away any doubt. “As long as the children have a pleasant time, that’s all we care about. It’s nice to see some new blood around here.”

Crowley stares at Aziraphale, his face blank for a second. His lower lip quivers. He sputters, then he laughs out loud (harder than necessary, Aziraphale feels).

“What?” Aziraphale asks self-consciously.

“Nothing,” Crowley says, reining in his laughter with a snort that Aziraphale can’t help but find adorable. “It’s just been a while since I’ve heard that term. But to be honest, we’re here strictly to socialize. We don’t eat candy.”

Adam, totally engrossed in his conversation with Warlock, catches that last part. His head snaps up, jaw dropping to the ground, utter disbelief written on his face.

“Don’t eat it?” he moans with regret on his new friend’s behalf. “Why not?”

“I’m on a special diet,” Warlock says, looking down at his pregnant bag of sweets.

“A special diet?” Aziraphale looks from Warlock to his father.

“I adopted Warlock from a hospital overseas,” Crowley explains, distracted momentarily by a new wave of Trick-or-Treaters headed their way. “He has a rare blood-borne illness that they were ill-equipped to handle.”

“But … is he okay now?” Aziraphale gazes at the boy’s face, particularly his large, sleepy eyes, dark circles underneath made all the more prominent by his pale skin. Crowley watches the way Aziraphale looks at his son, examining him with an expression of genuine concern, and smiles.

“There is no cure, but we’re managing it the best we can.” Crowley puts a hand on Warlock’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “It helps when you don’t have to worry about trivial things like money. Heartbreaking for those parents in dire straits who don’t have an excess of disposable income. A lot of tough choices to be made when you find yourself in that position.”

“Aren’t you the lucky one?” Aziraphale teases, knocking Crowley playfully on the shoulder.

“It’s old money,” Crowley replies, that sheepish smile from before making a comeback. “I like putting it to good use.”

Aziraphale looks up when Crowley does and meets his eyes – boundless amber eyes that catch the surrounding street lights and flickering Jack-O-Lantern candles in a mesmerizing way, as if with a single blink he could read Aziraphale’s mind.

Or hypnotize him into doing his bidding.

They don’t look human. Snake-ish, more like - slit pupils and all. They can’t be real. They have to be contact lenses. Fake or not, there’s something about them that makes Aziraphale shiver. Crowley notices, grinning devilishly. Aziraphale laughs.

He’s letting the magic of the evening get to him.

Or the magic of this charming man.

From the corner of his eye, Aziraphale catches Adam yawn. He fishes his watch out of his pocket and checks the time.

“Oh my goodness!” he exclaims. “Look at that! When did it get so late?”

“We’re not going home now, are we?” Adam asks, whining the way tired children do while fighting back a yawn.

“I’m afraid so, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “You’re just about dead on your feet, and I can’t carry you all the way back to the house. Besides, I promised your mother and father I’d have you tucked in before they got home.

“We’d better be heading out as well,” Crowley says, wrapping an arm around his son’s thin shoulders and holding him close.

“Do we have to?” Warlock asks, sulking into his father’s embrace.

“I’m afraid so.”

“All right.” Warlock turns to Adam, who yawns again, shaking his head to dislodge the exhaustion from his brain. “It was nice meeting you, Adam.”

“It was nice meeting you, too,” Adam says.

“Do you guys …?” Aziraphale starts, not eager to see this captivating man disappear so quickly. “I know you said you aren’t from around here, but …”

“We’re in Mayfair,” Crowley says, anticipating Aziraphale’s question. “About two hours give or take, as the bat flies.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale casts his eyes down dejectedly. “That’s quite a distance to travel for conversation and candy you can’t eat.”

“We’re also visiting family. Family that we’ve been looking into visiting more often, maybe even moving closer to, so who knows? You could be seeing us around?”

Aziraphale nods because if that question implies what Aziraphale hopes it does, the answer is definitely yes.

“Who knows?” he echoes, hoping Crowley catches on to the fact that he’s flirting. It’s been a while, and he was never very good at it to begin with. “We might end up neighbors.”

“Maybe,” Crowley says, the word a vague promise but a promise nonetheless. It leaves Aziraphale with the feeling that if those plans to move fall through, he may still see Crowley again. “I could take you out for a bite?”

Aziraphale smiles, cheeks flushing red and not from the chill in the autumn air.

“I’ll take you up on that.” Aziraphale reaches into his pocket and pulls out his business card. “You can reach me at this number. I have a bookshop in Soho. I’m there most of the time … even if the sign on the door says closed.”

Crowley takes it, slipping it from between Aziraphale’s fingers and sliding it into his inside breast pocket. “Clever of you, really. Who wants to be bothered by a bunch of busybody customers anyhow?” He smooths down the front of his jacket, patting the pocket keeping Aziraphale’s business card safe.

That subtle touch of his palm to the spot makes Aziraphale tingly inside.

“Here …” Warlock, watching the exchange between the two men, holds out his bag of candy to Adam “… I want you to have this.”

Adam’s eyes grow big as saucers, his face lighting up at the offer of a sack of sweets as big as his own. “No way! Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Warlock says with a sad, one-shoulder shrug. “I wasth gonna hafta throw it out anyway.”

Adam looks up at Aziraphale, eyes pleading. “Can I?”

“I don’t see why not. It would be rude to turn down such a generous gift.”

“Yes, it would,” Adam agrees, reaching for the bag and taking it reverently. “Thank you, Warlock.”

“Don’t make yourself sick eating all that candy in one night,” Crowley says.

“Oh, I won’t!” Adam assures him. “I’m going to share it with my three best friends! Hey! If you come back, I can introduce you!”

“You would do that?” Warlock asks.

“Of course! There’s always room for one more in our group.”

“Now, you see, you must come back,” Aziraphale says when he’d meant to say ‘We’ll see, boys. We’ll see.’ He doesn’t want to appear pushy. He doesn’t regret it an inch, though, when he notices the new look in Crowley’s eyes - the one that says he’s prepared to move heaven and earth to make that happen.

If it’s because of the promise of new friends for Warlock or to see him again, however, remains to be seen.

“I guess we will,” Crowley responds.

“Have a safe evening, Mr. Crowley. Warlock.” Aziraphale raises a hand and waves good-bye, backing away, pulling Adam along with him.

“And you as well, Mr. Fell. Adam.” Crowley waves back, turning down the street with Warlock in tow.

Crowley and Warlock weave through several pods of children racing up to houses and knocking noisily on doors. They walk against the flow of revelers, ending in a dark street with no lamps lit, no decorations on the porches, no Trick-or-Treaters anywhere to be seen.

“Did you have a good time?” Crowley asks.

“Yesh.” Warlock reaches up and spits out the false teeth that had been covering his fangs, glad to be rid of them at long last. “That was a blast! Adam and his granddad are really nice. Don’t you think they’re really nice?” Warlock asks, vibrating with the enthusiasm of … well, an eight-year-old on Halloween.

“Yes,” Crowley agrees, turning one last time, using his supernatural vision to find the man and his grandson walking down the street. Crowley doesn’t believe for a minute that Aziraphale is that boy’s grandfather, but he couldn’t get a read on him … as in he couldn’t read Aziraphale’s mind like he can with other humans. Adam’s neither, which makes the two of them that much more enticing.

Aziraphale looks over his shoulder and bites his lip as if he knows he’s being watched. Crowley eyes the dent his teeth make in his skin, lingering on it and licking his lips. If his heart were still beating in his chest, it would be racing out of control by now. “They were great. With any luck, we’ll be seeing them again.” Crowley puts a hand over the pocket with the business card hidden inside and smiles. “So,” he says, clapping his hands in front of him, “are you ready to give it another try?”

“Yes.” Warlock sounds confident, but he looks ready to puke. “It’s just … I’m not as good at it as you are.”

“It takes practice,” Crowley says, and with a snap of his fingers (which is entirely unnecessary - he does it solely for dramatic effect), he changes - shrinks down, sprouts wings, keeping only his serpentine eyes and a tuft of his red hair.

Crowley transforms effortlessly.

Warlock manages the feat with a little less finesse and a frantic snapping of fingers, but even though he’s only done it about a dozen times, he makes a handsome young bat. Father and son circle the neighborhood once to stretch their leathery wings and then rise high into the air. From this height, they can see everything, the whole of London stretched out beneath them. Crowley manages to spot Aziraphale and Adam one last time, then heads towards the ocean, disappearing into the night.

***

“Here we are, Adam,” Aziraphale says, opening the door to the Young house and ushering his charge inside. “If you hurry, get yourself washed up and into your nighttime clothes, you can sort your candy until your parents get home.”

“Can I have a piece or two?” Adam asks, gripping hard to the handles of his bags. “Or seven?”

“Three,” Aziraphale counters.

“Five?” Adam negotiates hopefully.

Aziraphale bobs his head back and forth, taking his time on purpose.

“Four,” he decides. “Final offer.”

“Deal!” Adam takes it. No need to tempt fate any further. He races off towards the staircase, burdened by roughly sixteen pounds of sugar weighing down his arms, but stops at the bottom step. He looks at Aziraphale thoughtfully for a moment before he speaks.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“Warlock and his dad … they’re vampires, aren’t they?”

Aziraphale smiles to himself and nods. Crowley and Warlock are as much humans as he and Adam. Aziraphale is an angel, tasked by the Almighty Herself to care for the Antichrist, ensure he never comes into his power and brings about the end of the world. He’s been on the lookout for demons since Adam was born.

Which should make striking up a conversation with a vampire inadvisable.

But Aziraphale doesn’t believe Crowley meant to do them any harm. He didn’t come across as the dangerous sort of evil. For one thing, he didn’t seem to recognize Aziraphale and Adam for what they are at all. And a vampire adopting a son? Aziraphale has never heard of such a thing. Vampires tend to be opportunists. What could Crowley possibly have to gain by doing that? Still, Aziraphale can’t let his guard down, not for a minute. He isn’t sure what Crowley was trying to pull, but he hopes he gets the chance to find out. “Yes, I believe they are.”

“Cool,” Adam says with an awe-consumed grin. “I hope we see them again.”

Aziraphale pictures Crowley in his mind: his fair skin, his steep nose, his red hair, and his snake-ish eyes. Aziraphale has seen his share of demons, but they’ve all been wretched. Not Crowley. Crowley takes pride in his appearance, that’s for sure. It reminds Aziraphale of the sad state of his wings. He must groom them as soon as time permits.

“So do I, Adam,” he says, planning for later tonight when young Adam is asleep. Wing grooming is a messy business, one he’d prefer to do in private. “So do I.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #crowley

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kinetic-elaboration · 3 years

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May 10: 2x18 The Immunity Syndrome

Finally another TOS episode. I missed it. I miss Star Trek in general, I need to... get back into obsessing about it on the regular. It makes me so happy but I haven’t had room in my brain for it lately.

Anyway, I didn’t remember too much about this ep until halfway through, but I enjoyed it a lot!

Hilarious to me that as Kirk says “Some lovely...planet” he’s obviously supposed to be looking at the pretty woman who passes by his line of sight, but the camera also takes that moment to pan out far enough to show Spock for the first time. Who is implying what??

Poor Spock... The Intrepid dying was the thing I remembered most about this ep, because, like, obviously, a whole group of Vulcans on a ship. But this is such a sad moment. But at least his best friends come to see if he’s okay.

Lol Kirk, when has there EVER been another starship in the area? I feel bad for the crew; their vacation has officially been cancelled.

The space amoeba was hungry.

“A deep understanding of the way things happen to Vulcans.” I really like that. I like this whole Spock and McCoy conversation.

Also, damn Spock. I feel like he read not just McCoy but the whole human race. But also like what a hypocrite, because the Vulcans were pretty violent.

Kirk’s thinking face. Like the human embodiment of the thinking emoji.

I feel like this ep is inspired by people’s curiosity about black holes in the 60′s.

Mccoy’s go-to is always the stimulants. That should solve everyone’s problems.

“You’re the science officer! Do the science!” Basically an exact quote.

Star Trek Into Darkness

Oh no, they’re penetrating the Zone.

“The stars are...gone.” Whoops, guess we’ll have to rename it “Trek.”

“Kindly tell me what happened to the stars! How can I have a romantic nights on the observation deck if there aren’t any stars, tell me that, Mr. Spock?”

Is this one of those eps where Kirk pushes himself too hard, and everyone else, too?

“Are you trying to be funny, Mr. Spock?” I mean like in his defense, that was pretty funny. An also, Spock definitely knew it was.

“I recommend survival.” That’s it, put Bones on t100 now.

I’m sorry, but how do people not love and respect Kirk? He just wants to explore, he is so brave, and he always knows what to do.

Drink every time someone says “unknown.”

I feel like Spock is the only one not bothered by all this.

“If it went against the rules of logic [to do everything opposite], would Spock suggest it?”

Also love that Kirk’s like ‘well worst case scenario, it doesn’t work, and I can use this incident to make fun of Spock until our inevitable oncoming death!’

Bones has been hitting the stimulants pretty heavy, I see.

And Spock stays behind for a moment alone with Jim...

I love this take on Vulcans!! They have never been conquered. They don’t understand facing the unknown. At the end, they felt astonishment.

This acting is amazing. Make me believe you’re being thrown about bbs!

Oh, no, it’s like a virus... I don’t like that one bit.

Kirk’s like “I remember my biology. The biology... of Vulcans, right Mr. Spock?”

It devoured the Intrepid extra fast because it was hungry.

Oh no, Spock and McCoy are having a martyr-off. And insulting Jim’s science skills too lol. “Stay out of this, yellow shirt.”

Oh I remember this now. Kirk has to choose between his two bros.

“I have two science personnel in front of me, but only one photo in my hands.”

This is absolutely a classic reality tv show style fake out. “I’m sorry, Mr. Spock... you’re going on the death mission.”

Spock’s shade as they’re walking down the hall. “Sorry I’m better than you at everything, Dr.”

This Spock & McCoy scene too!! How McCoy should wish him luck. Let me have my Vulcan dignity. And then he does wish him luck but only when Spock has left... They’re both so savage here but I guess they’re both stressed out and tired. And Spock’s in mourning too. This is like Spones Unfiltered.

“And Dr. McCoy... you would not have survived it.” Why does that hit me so hard?

“He’s kicked it in the side to let us know!”

Destroy! That! Organism!

Spock getting a jab in at McCoy even now: “You should have wished me luck.”

Attack! The! Germ!

That beastie.

This score is going so hard.

The amoeba would just like phasers. Lots of energy. Yum yum.

Lol I thought Spock was going to dictate an actual will but he was just being extra. I mean... he does have a lot of property.

I love that Kirk asked for one tractor beam and Scotty was like “I think that’s a bad idea” and Kirk’s like “okay TWO tractor beams.” He’s going to save his space husband, Scotty, it’s not negotiable.

Captain McCoy. So sassy.

The power levels are dead, Jim.

Spock is bringing back data for McCoy as a gift! How sweet.

How does McCoy know he messed up the tests?

“Some..lovely planet.” For real this time.

Okay, that was a great episode and I really enjoyed the whole thing: the concept of the giant space cell virus, the Enterprise then becoming a sort of virus itself to destroy it, Kirk’s excellent leadership abilities, the triumvirate scenes and especially the Spock and Bones relationship, the reference to the Vulcan ship--but it did not stick the landing. We didn’t get to see Spock return? More importantly, we didn’t get to see Kirk totally collapse from the stimulants? Okay, maybe that would have been bad. Bb can make it to Starbase 6. I just didn’t want it to end I guess.

I feel like Spock was especially savage today but then it also makes sense. He was probably as drained as everyone else. Plus, I think losing the Intrepid must have been very difficult for him. Like he told McCoy, he felt all of it. Poor Vulcan as a whole; that’s a lot of people. Also, I suspect, based on their pacifism and also how upset Sarek was about Spock joining Starfleet, that they are probably underrepresented generally in the service. That was probably the only all-Vulcan constitution class vessel in Starfleet. And you know Spock knew some of them personally.

Anyway now that I’m thinking about the Intrepid... I so desperately want to know what an all-Vulcan ship would be like. Just 400 Vulcans. At first I suggested they had a meditation room but that’s too private an activity. They probably do a lot of jamming out in their rec room. Also all their cabins must be extremely decadent.

Current plan is to watch another episode on Thursday to make up for missing last week, but the next one is A Private Little War, which is just so depressing so... we’ll see.

#the year 2021 #2021: star trek #star trek tos

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wolfjessedragon · 3 years

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MTF Unit Zeta-1 “After-school Club” Preparation Files Part 2B

Twenty days until First Class… Part 2

It had been an hour since D-911 had been sent into the cell of SCP 738 and from the view of the observation crew the negotiations are still going strong. Senior Researcher Wolfshire once again steps into the port just coming back from her lunch break when she notices the sight within the observation window. “Man the two of them are still going at it?” Jordan asked out loud to which Assistant Researcher Forester replied “Yes ma’am just as before the entity is still trying to undersell but luckily D-911 has yet to give in.” “That's good I figured Mark would be the right guy for the job considering that he used to work at a pawn shop before his first arrest, the guy could’ve a lawyer had he had the resources. Thanks Kenny, by the way I brought you and Opal some lunch.” Said Wolfshire as she held up two paper bags before saying “I didn’t know what to get you Opal so I got you the same thing as Kenny here, hope you like elk burgers and if not you’re free to go get yourself something.” To which the young guard Opal opened the paper bag, unwrapped the foiled covered burger and took a bite before saying “Wow ma’am this is really good!” “As always Doctor Wolfshire” Forester added “Thanks, meat came from a bull elk the pack and I took down Sunday, you guys enjoy while I take over, okay?” Jordan said as the assistant researcher and young guard dug in.

While enjoying the lunch her supervisor provided Opal couldn’t help but stare curiously at the beastie researcher to which her coworker took notice. “It’s the tail isn’t it?” Assistant Researcher Forester said blatantly “I’m sorry what?” Opal ask with confusion “You had the “what is up with this” look on your face while looking at Doctor Wolfshire and I guessed it was cause of her tail Private Kekoa” said Forester to which Opal responded nervously “Oh no well maybe part of it but that's not what's causing me to give that look you described Mr. Forester, sir.” “Then what does? And you don’t have to call me sir I’m like only two years older than you, heck you can call me Kenneth or even Kenny if you want Private Kekoa.” Forester said to ease the young guard “Sorry sir, I mean Kenny, a bit of a force of habitat, and you can me Opal if you want, it's just my last supervisor wasn’t as… ” “Friendly? I’d imagine, I mean it was Doctor Nomita after all, the guy can be a bit of a jerk.” Forester said, finishing Opal’s sentence “You’ve read my file?” Opal asked “Yep, Private Opal Kekoa, age nineteen, younger cousin of Doctor Sapphire Kekoa, graduated from military school with top marks, was hired by the foundation soon after, and had worked under Doctor Nomita for the first six months of employment.” “Wow you did, so I’m guessing you’ve also had contact with Doctor Nomita too huh? Considering our mutual disliking of the guy” said Opal to which Kenneth replied “Uh-huh Doctor Wolfshire especially, lets just say your predecessor Sergeant Nick Hawkins, has had to use a dog whistle serval times to stop Jordan from and I quote “tearing Nomita’s arm off and sticking it where the sun don’t shine”, those were his words not mine.”

A comment that made Private Opal Kekoa do a double take glancing at Senior Researcher Wolfshire who was still observing the action in SCP 738 before resuming conversation with Assistant Researcher Forester. “We are talking about the same Doctor Wolfshire right?” Opal asked Forester to which he responded “Yeah, I know what you may be thinking, based on what you saw today Jordan must not have a violent bone in her body, and for the majority of the time that’s correct. Despite her intimidating appearance Doctor Wolfshire is a compassionate woman who does her best to treat others with respect, it doesn't matter if there are her superiors or subordinates even D-Class, hell she’s even like this a number of SCPs.” Forester paused before continuing “However even the sweetest of dogs and cats can easily become violent under the right circumstances, and Doctor Wolfshire is no exception.” Just as he finished the cell’s alarm started going off causing both Forester and Opal to advert their gazes at the sight before them.

In the cell housing SCP 738 D-911’s right hand was trapped in a handshake position as it was being sawed off by an invisible force, Senior Researcher Wolfshire had entered the cell trying to pull a screaming D-911 away but whatever had him wasn’t letting go. “Guys get in here and help me!” Wolfshire exclaimed to her subordinates. Try as they might the three foundation personnel weren't able to pull the D-Class out until the hand was completely sawed off causing the four of them to crash into the opposite wall. There was little time to recover as blood started pouring out of D-911’s wrist. Jordan says as she takes off her sash “We have to stop the bleeding or he’s gonna die from blood loss, Kenny call the infirmary and tell them we need a medic!” “Yes ma’am!” Kenny responded as his superior was using her sash and Opal’s nightstick to make a makeshift tourniquet. Once they got the flow of blood to slow down Jordan spoke again “Hang in their Mark, Opal see if you can find the hand they may be able to reattach it” to which Opal cautiously approached the desk only to be shocked at what was there in place of the missing hand.

On the desk were ten blood red ball point pens along with a parchment note that said “It's been a pleasure doing business with you Mark, I hope your boss likes the pens. Sincerely, -B”

To be continued...

Previously... https://wolfjessedragon.tumblr.com/post/640043317870149632/mtf-unit-zeta-1-after-school-club-preparation

#scp fandom #scp 738 #deals gone wrong #crazedhopelessromantic #scpkiddos #wolfjessedragon #preperation #web series #scp fanfiction

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