#Ideas to come from it. They are so weird

[teethbomb]

lupin but mostly Ami doodles. I was thinking about how being around a thief and a detective would bode for her career path and I REALLY liked the idea of her becoming a vigilante. (With a mask per request of zenigata)

[zephyrchama]

(Inspired by this song.)

Can you imagine the exchange program ending, and you have to leave the Devildom for the first time since you arrived there?

You're going home. Well, to your old home.

The rest of the student council and all of your closest friends - demon, angel, and otherwise - are there to see you off. They offer you a bouquet.

"We put all of our feelings into this bouquet for you," Lucifer says.

All of their birth flowers are represented in an almost chaotic medley of color. You struggle to see their faces one last time over the massive gift as petals and pollen tickle your nose.

"It's a little much, but please take it," Diavolo softly insists.

"How come?" you wonder. Your luggage is already filled to the brim with unforgettable memories.

"Don't ask why," Mammon says back.

"D-don't laugh, either! Just take it." Leviathan is a frustrated mix of sad and angry. He knows this separation will be tough. They all know.

Someone sniffs. It's not from the flowers. Your vision gets cloudy but, hopefully, nobody can see the tears beginning to form.

All eyes are on you for the last time on this exchange program. You grip the bouquet, crinkling its paper wrapper. "Thank you."

[kaiserouo]

let them use social media

[gammija]

ig another annoying thing about the 'this transcends language 😲😱' comments about the most obvious of cognates and literal english loanwords, is that it's another example of how native english speakers (and, by virtue of their population size, mostly USamericans) are the arbiters of what gets seen as 'universal' vs what's weird and foreign on the anglophone internet. cause to me as a dutch speaker, a lot of german compound words would '''transcend language''' - but the tweets that go viral about those kinds of words are about how they're silly little nonsense words to laugh at, can't be a real language, can you believe anyone speaks that!

[erinwantstowrite]

bear with me here because i'm gonna ramble about something i've been thinking about for a while... and i'm not complaining, i'm just noticing

sometimes i think we've leaned so far into the vigilante side of the batfam that we miss out on what really makes their characters: detective work. we need more mysteries in their lives that don't lead up to some big bad "we already know who's doing it" or an "end of the world" or "yet again: this fucking guy." we need more stuff where spy movie music plays in the background and dumb adventures that don't lead up to some huge grand event with a big name villain. the shock factor stops being shocking or interesting in any capacity if we're like "Gah! the Joker! ... Again!" or whatever

does that even make sense? like "yeah sure they're blowing up a building again and there's hostages. oh look they're gonna poison the water supply." these aren't bad and that's not what i'm getting at because obviously this is a classic for comics. you need to have characters/antagonists that show up more than once and who can make a story better by being in it. and i did say to bear with me- that's because im tired. so like i hope im getting this across the right way? it's just that sometimes i don't wanna see a huge explosion, i want these motherfuckers solving a regular murder or a disappearance or regular corruption in a local office without it being tied to a grand reveal like "actually this person knows you as a long lost relative" or "they were at that circus can you guess which night they went?" that kind of thing? if you get me? like... more of the small time stuff makes the big stuff important, it makes it stand out more. at some point, the format gets repetitive even if you're switching up the villains. you can make these situations/mysteries still fun to solve for the characters and fun to read for the audience if you do it right

the concept of a detective dressed as a bat and having a sidekick in traffic light colors is inherently goofy as hell??? but that is what is so charming about it??? i think we have lost the balance between them being silly while also being intelligent with important conversations that criticize the world as we see it and teach lessons and can go over dark topics. nowadays it's always end of the world problems or just straight up the most gruesome true crime you can think of?? or they can ONLY do the dark stuff and the criticism without offering a balance of the good in the world. or we keep coming back to the FUCKING JOKER-

like yes they are vigilantes and with that comes a different level of their work, but their brand should be a mix between a black and white detective film that can get very nitty gritty and a classic spy movie, that kind of thing. at the end of the day, it's what makes them so different from the superheroes. that's what appeals to me.

seeing them in the big superhero groups is fun, don't get me wrong. it's always funny to see them standing next to people who are so powerful they never really fit in with anyone but each other, who chose to step up and use their powers for good. the Bats' specialty is Gotham and yet here they are stopping a god or whatever. and they do stop the god or whatever, all the while being an important leader and strategist to their teammates. they're important to have in these cases. but if there's a world ending event every time i pick something up, it's not as fun

the fact that they are so very human and not fantastical is why i like reading them. it's what makes the joke of people, even Gotham citizens, theorizing about them being cryptids, funny. they're fucking weird but that's because they're detectives. people who love to solve mysteries usually have a fatal flaw of curiosity. they forget the bounds between social interactions sometimes because they're used to working through problems or being intertwined with partners that understand them. but they're very much human. so human that it hurts them in many ways. and idk i've just been thinking about it lately and idk what point i'm trying to get across actually

it's just that in my eyes that's how it really is for Batman- a black and white movie narrated by a very serious man who took up a job to help people, one that has a deeper commentary on the world and viewed outwardly as pessimistic but actually has a deep hope for his city and who tries to help even the people who have wronged others. He's a stationary man in the belief that him being a constant can serve to soothe others and help them move forward. He stays in the middle of the path so he can tell everyone what is up ahead. he blends into the Gotham rainy night to serve justice but in a way that saves both the victim and the perpetrator. (the way he tucks a Robin into his cape is the same he does for Gotham with his mere presence.) and his background is actually so important to his story and yet people still somehow gloss over the lesson from it? he lost his parents because of a man who was on the opposite end of the spectrum to where he was in life. and yet he chose to help the people like the man that killed his parents. he could have done anything else with his power and money, but he instead is choosing to bring as many people up with him as he can. He's Mr. Serious that no one else can get a read on. and yet he walks into a room and he's already piecing together your life and what you're going through because he thinks it matters. he comforts people who have lost something or someone or themselves. I picture Batman and I don't picture a man trying to save the world, I picture a detective walking around a crime scene and trying to save at least one person every time he puts on the cape. and he put on the cape and became a vigilante because then he could go out of the bounds of what laws have been set up- and specifically, Gotham has other people in power who are corrupt, keeping the system that way. that's why Batman being a billionare and throwing himself into helping people at the risk of his own life is so important. he knows that if you are alive, you have something or someone to lose, no matter who you are. the dude is a bleeding heart but he doesn't know how to express it, in fear that if he gets too close, if he moves down the path with them, he'll be lost again

and then he's met with someone who should be a complete opposite, but isn't at all, because they're two sides of the same coin. his partner in crime, his son, a boy that is nothing like the black and white world that he sees. and that's the point in his life where he first sees that potentially getting lost is worth the risk. Robin is color and passion that needs guidance to move forward, but can not do so unless the stationary man learns to move with him. the kid is loud and reckless and you'd think he's from a different genre from the detective but they aren't so different, really. not when you look close enough. Dick grew up moving from place to place and seeing the world, knowing so many different people from different cultures. He's been learning to fly and jump and embrace the free fall his entire life. He's clever and he's sharp, and he thrives in the action and adventure. it's that perspective that compliments the stationary man. one is steady and the other pushes. he's the same genre but a different generation. and Batman introducing him to the way of life he chose for himself was another way he could save someone. because let's be real for a second? Dick would have gone down a very dark path had he not had Bruce, who understood, who saw not just himself in the kid but also saw who the kid has been his entire life until now. he saw Dick's parents, he saw the family he had in the circus, he saw the joy he had in what his family was doing. he saw the grief and the fire and the color that Dick's world was made of. because to Bruce, it always matters. Dick had to come to terms with Bruce's perspective to help anyone who they come across, to always give more chances, and it kept Dick from losing his color

what gets me is that the man who lives in the black and white world can actually see many different shades of gray (because black and white always needs the medium), whereas the boy in a world of color and light can get so focused on the bright that he can become single minded. and yet the boy sees a world of color and delves deeper into the lives of the peolle they come across and can be much more open minded, and the man in the black and white world sometimes forgets the shades of grey are right there. they are just like each other. they can exist without the other, but do they want to? because the black and white can be built up into the colored image, like the inking and shadows drawn on a comic book page before the colors are added in. they meet in the middle to complete each other. Bruce has been passing the story over to the next generation for a long, long time, even before his story was complete. and just like with the first Robin, it was so for every Robin afterwards. they each color in the lines differently, but that's what makes Robin so special, so unique. they are an art style that branches into their own life, but can not forget where they started: tucked into Batman's cape and the inky black of his world

and so detective work really frames their hunanity to me. the mysteries they get their hands on, the glimpses into the lives of Gotham citizens that they swore to protect, it's fascinating. it's what makes their story stand out compared to the people who can lift trucks or cast spells or run around the world in seconds. so yeah ig that's what i'm trying to say? that i want to read more of that? in both canon and fanon. cause even the small time villains we see can be like. AWFUL people and it takes out the fun of their gimmicks. and if it were any other day this would be a more coherent post but alas, it is not any other day

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts - Halloween Town

[lorebird]

In which Ford struggles so badly to relate to other people that he wonders if he’s really human at all. The more isolated he becomes, the harder it is to reconcile with his own humanity.

[marlynnofmany]

Mysterious to You

Usually, in the space courier business, the things we’re given to deliver are packaged well. In containers that stay shut. Usually.

“Where does this one go?” Mur asked, dangling a cloth from one blue-black tentacle. “It’s got to be for childcare, right?”

Eggskin took it, buffed their scales briefly, then said, “Nope. This one’s for cleaning kitchenware. See the logo?”

Mur draped a tentacle across his squiddy head in annoyance. “See it, sure; recognize it, no. Here, this definitely goes in the childcare box. That much I know.” He passed a plastic-wrapped bundle of diapers to me. “It’s even your species.”

“That it is,” I agreed, placing it in the correct box. “And the package didn’t rip in the spill, which is good.”

Mur gave me a suspicious look. “Those are only smelly after they’ve been applied to an infant, right?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “It’s all the horrendous befouling that happens next that stinks, not the material of the diaper itself. I was more concerned about the diapers getting contaminated with something.”

“Well we can’t have that,” Mur said, picking up several more items with multiple tentacles at once. “The baby humans should only befoul the cleanest of disposable clothing.”

I boxed a pack of wet-wipes and a rattle. “Do your people not do diapers?”

Mur made a wet snort. “Our littles swim in regularly-filtered water until they’re more than old enough to poop in the correct place,” he told me. “Any befouling done on land is due to intestinal problems, not youth.”

“Sounds convenient,” I told him (narrowly avoiding saying “handy” to a guy with no hands). “I’m sure many human parents would be jealous.”

“As they should be,” Mur said, sorting a case of silverware, a stack of cups, and a package of napkins into the kitchen box. He double-checked the napkins.

Eggskin held up a flat ring of green rubber, textured with a scaly pattern that wasn’t too different from their own arm. “Now this one I don’t recognize,” they admitted. “Is this for bundling tools together? It’s grippy enough.”

“Beats me,” Mur said. “Something for the disciplinary sector? Is this one of those ‘handcuffs’ I’ve heard about?”

I smiled and held out a hand for it. “No, handcuffs open and close so you can’t wiggle out, and they’re not this soft.” I squeezed the dense rubber. “Yeah, this is a teething toy. 100%.”

“Ohhh.” Eggskin cast their eyes upward. “Of course it is. I forgot how vicious human young ones are about that.”

“Teething,” Mur repeated, sounding suspicious. “I seem to have missed that fun fact. How are young humans vicious about teeth?”

I set the teething ring on top of the diapers. “We’re born without visible teeth, then when we’re old enough to try solid food, the teeth gradually push through our gums until they’re free. Babies chew on things to help their teeth cut through faster.”

Mur’s alien face wrinkled into mild horror. “Why? Why not just have them out from the start?”

“Well, then the babies would bite their moms when they’re nursing. I understand the teething period is pretty painful.”

Mur turned his horrified face toward Eggskin, who nodded sympathetically.

Eggskin asked gently, “You remember milk? The first food they eat?”

“But all those milk foods they talk about come from another animal!” Mur objected. “The things with ‘cheese’ are from those ‘gows’ — I forgot humans make it themselves too!”

“Cows,” I corrected.

Mur shuddered, tentacles rippling, then composed himself and picked up more items from the pile. “That is gross,” he declared. “On par with diapers. What’s this one?”

“Childcare,” Eggskin said, plucking the pacifier from Mur’s grasp and handing it to me.

“Yup,” I agreed.

“Do I even want to know?” Mur asked.

I said, “It’s a thing for babies to suck on when they’ve already eaten but still want to nurse.”

“Yeah, I didn’t need to know that. How much more of this stuff is there to sort through? I can’t believe no one else is free to help. Wait, wasn’t Paint supposed to be here too?” Mur looked toward the door.

Eggskin said, “She chased off after something that rolled away when the boxes first opened.”

“Bah.” Mur sorted a few more things. “Still can’t believe those idiots didn’t seal the boxes properly. You’d think they never shipped anything before. If this was some young fool living on their own for the first time, sure, that’s to be expected. But isn’t this for a colony somewhere?”

I said, “A little one. More of an offshoot of an existing settlement.” The briefing hadn’t gone into much detail.

“Still, you’d expect them to behave like real adults.” Mur shook a toy with ironic vigor. It was a miniature version of himself with paler blue coloring, and a layer of fluff that he definitely didn’t have. He passed it in my direction.

“There are idiots everywhere,” I said philosophically as I took it. “You know, it’s cute that your little ones have snuggle buddies like this too.”

“They don’t,” he said.

Eggskin glanced over in amusement. “Pretty sure that was made for your species.”

“Oh.” I looked down at the plush toy. “That explains the fuzz.” It really was nicely soft. I stroked it a couple times before putting it away.

“Aha!” Mur said. “Now this I recognize! That colony does have a Strongarm population after all. Somebody’s going to love this.” He held out a small object to me: oddly-shaped and smooth gray.

I turned it over in deepening confusion. It was roughly fist-sized, with cavities and crevices and a few seams that said it might come apart. I wasn’t quite curious enough to risk damaging it by testing that. “What is it?” I asked.

“A puzzlecave,” Mur told me, taking it back. He stuck tentacle-tips into some of the dents and rotated it like an alien Rubik’s Cube. That opened up a passageway clear through to the other side — he wriggled a tentacle out the other end, then pulled it back and reformed the thing into its original shape. “First it’s a cave, then it’s a puzzle.” He gave it back.

Still baffled, I asked, “How is it a cave?”

Eggskin cut in, holding clawed fingertips close together. “Newly-hatched Strongarms are about this big,” they told me. “And they like hiding.”

“Oh!” I looked down at it in a new light. “You get to grow up and use your old hidey-hole as a puzzle? That is wild.”

“Not as wild as any of that nonsense with teeth,” Mur said.

I shrugged. I couldn’t really argue that.

Footsteps approached in the hall, then the door slid open to admit Paint and the thing she’d apparently chased halfway across the ship. It was huge.

“I got it!” Paint exclaimed, wrestling a hollow sphere through the door by its handles. She looked like a cheerful orange fence lizard who had caught a soap bubble … which had handles for some reason.

“Well done,” Eggskin said. “That was quite a chase.”

“It rolled down into the engine room!” Paint said, maneuvering it over to a mostly-empty box. “Mimi had to help me get it out. It got stuck. He wasn’t happy.”

“I bet,” I said. “So, question of the day: what is it?”

“No idea,” Paint admitted. “But it came out of this box.” She rotated the box to see the label. “‘Peacekeeping Division’?”

Mur looped a tentacle over the side of the box like it was an elbow. “Remember how I didn’t know what handcuffs look like?” he asked.

“Yeah?” I said.

“That’s because when a species doesn’t have hands, and everybody can wriggle out of confinement, you stuff your troublemakers into these.” He pointed at the ball, which did have tiny air holes now that I thought about it.

“That’s fascinating!” Paint said. “It makes sense! Is it uncomfortable, though?”

“I wouldn’t know; I’m not a troublemaker.”

Eggskin told her, “I understand they’re not kept in there long-term. Just enough to get them from the scene of the troublemaking back to regular confinement. And Strongarms are famous for fitting easily into tight spaces.”

“That we are,” Mur said proudly.

“Well, you know who else likes that sort of thing?” I said. “Human children. I hope the people receiving this stuff know to keep that hamsterball out of reach, or else somebody’s going to have a lot of fun before the grownups notice.”

That led to a dramatic retelling of the long and ill-advised tradition of climbing inside truck tires and rolling down hills. None of my alien coworkers thought this was remotely reasonable, but none of them were surprised that it was a thing my species did.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[carpbait]

beefers + co

[weskie]

Imperfectly Perfect (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader) - Lover, Leader, Liar

700 words, non-chronological/plotless one shot, s.t.a.r.s. wesker, wesker yearning, mentions of corporal punishment, flashbacks (kid wesker), may count as some degree of angst, part of the lover leader liar series | Fic Directory

To ache for the idea of it...

He's breaking the rules. 

The heat of the flashlight prickles his skin, but he must continue on. The blanket conceals precious little of his infraction, though he'll only be caught if one of the wards enters the dorm. 

Or if one of the other boys rats him out in the morning. 

The skritch of his pencil is the only audible sound save for a gentle snore here or there. His eyes ache. 

But he must fix his error. 

Penmanship was no laughing matter. How could he ever hope to be taken seriously one day if he failed to carve eloquent lines, perfect in their mimicry of the template, onto paper? Of all things, this is where he suddenly falters. He'd already broken the need to rest writing utensils between his pointer and middle fingers, having been reprimanded over and over by the teacher until he, like the others, utilized the space between his thumb and forefinger. 

The right way.

He chews his tongue as he traces the intricate curvature of a cursive A, looping slowly into an L until, suddenly, his first name stares back at him. 

Albert. 

To be etched upon document after document, form after form, contracts upon contracts… 

“Captain,” you greet him, awkwardly entering his office as you always do. Afraid to disturb him, you've said – consideration even if you were there on his orders, even if to surprise him with your kindness. You've grown accustomed to his subtleties, picking up organically on the nearly nonexistent nod he gives to enter. 

It is strange to feel known. 

Paperwork, he assumes before you've even reached his desk. You no longer clutch the stack to your abdomen as you once did, devoid, now, of the nerves that once rattled your ability to approach him, the ever intimidating Captain Wesker. 

“I've got those reports you asked for.” You hum, extending them to his waiting grasp. 

He makes sure to look away upon taking them. It diffuses any suspicions as to why he always manages to brush his fingers against yours. 

How else is he meant to feel such a jolt zap through his very being if not by sneaking this part? 

“I appreciate you.” He says, tone firm and proper, never wavering despite the smile that threatens to cut through his cool demeanor. Ah, but he could let it. Observe and take note of how you react to such an uncommon occurrence. You looked about shell shocked the last time he let one slip. 

His glasses touch the table with a soft click. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. The coffee mug's warmth seeps into his fingers even through the handle. 

You're caught off guard, it seems. Your lips part to accept his appreciation, but you simply blink. 

Most find his gaze uncanny. Too cold, too calculating - sharp and cunning in a way that cuts into their minds and leaves behind the salt of unspoken threats. 

“I, uh…” you stammer, eyes blinking rapidly as if to return yourself to Earth. “Y-you're welcome.”

You'd left him with an invitation for lunch. He'll certainly be taking you up on that offer, but first he's got to tear his eyes away from your delivery. 

He's meant to be reading this, interpreting the details and checking for errors. All he can do, however, is trace a finger over the etch of your words, digits just barely registering the sensation of the fine-point carve left in your wake.

You are imperfect, he instantly concludes. Your letters are all wrong, slanted here and there, inconsistently joined in one instance and broken in another. Your writing changes periodically, telling him exactly when your mind had been pulled elsewhere and left you starting again with a renewed flow. 

You are nothing like him. 

His touch traverses the submission details. You've etched his name into the sheet. It hovers slightly above the line, dipping down beneath with the sharp tips of the A and W. 

His penmanship teachers would have labeled you unfit and chaotic. Your knuckles would be split with their rulers over and over again until you were naught but a simple reflection of their ideals. 

But you aren't. 

You are a contradiction to all that he is meant to find worthy. Despite this, you've begun to bleed into him. He should find you no different than his teachers would. 

Instead, as you poke your smiling face in the door, he finds you otherwise. 

You are radiant. 

AO3 LINK

[sysig]

Growing closer than expected (Patreon)

[sonknuxadow]

really bad sonic take that i still remember every once in a while because of how outrageously awful and out of character it was is that sonic would be ableist and mock people with mobility issues for being slower than him . he would NOTTTTTTT fucking say that

[wantonlywindswept]

Definitely True Facts About Commander Vertex #3

He has negative Force bacteria.

[forgotten Fox AU tag]

"Midichlorians," Patches said, for the third time, his head in his hands. "They're called midichlorians."

"Tiny little buggers that live in your body," Jek scoffed. "I might have barely scraped by my biology modules, but that sounds like bacteria to me."

Patches whimpered.

Jek grinned and reached over to pat his babiest of brothers on the head. Their youngest medic really was too easy to rile up. 

Still, at least Patches was capable of taking a break on occasion, even if it was just to sit at Jek's bedside in the medbay while he recovered from a round of Force cleansing. He always felt a little like the mess hall slop after every session, squishy and mostly-liquid, though the effects had been lessening as the treatments went on. 

Turned out that working in close proximity to an evil Sith overlord for an extended period of time could be 'damaging' and 'harmful to the spirit', and as soon as the Jedi got the okay from Marshal Commander Thorn they'd instituted regular healing sessions for the Guard. Some of them weren't overly affected--the ARF division hadn't been allowed in the Senate Dome that often anyway, and the medics rarely left the infirmary, much less Guard HQ--but the majority of them were on rotating schedules to get their minds checked for Sith residue or whatever.

It was even worse for the Force-sensitives.

No one was more surprised to find Force-sensitive clones than the clones themselves, and a frankly unsettling percentage of the Guard tested for above-average midichlorian counts. That was just those who agreed to submit to the assessment, too--a lot of the Guard refused to do even that. It wasn't like they could be Jedi, and with the war over, what did it even matter?

(Except it did matter, a lot, because apparently evil Sith overlords could also drain the life force from sentients around them, and particularly enjoyed ones with the Force. Palpatine got a little tasty burst of power like they were some kind of energy snack, and it wasn't like the Guard weren't already exhausted anyway.

That kind of siphoning left even worse traces of Sith influence; Jek's cleansing sessions made his bones feel like wobbly gelatin, but Glitch's sessions hurt.)

"I bet Defib's m-count is the highest in the Guard," Jek mused absently as he watched their CMO stalk around the medbay between the beds--and the Jedi--with a scowl on his face. 

Patches lifted his head to give Jek a horrified look.

"Don't say that where he can hear you."

Jek, who lacked both bones and a sense of self-preservation, merely shrugged. Defib had refused testing, scoffing that he didn't need the Force to heal, but he wasn't named after a defibrillator for nothing: he'd brought more than one brother back from the brink of death against impossible odds.

Jek had his suspicions about Patches, too. 

Even with Defib hovering suspiciously over their shoulders, the Jedi healers--there were four of them, led by Master Rig Nema--moved around the medbay with an almost unearthly poise. Jek was more familiar with ordered chaos in the infirmary: medics shouting across the room to each other, rushing back and forth to see how far their meager supplies could stretch. The Jedi were quiet, coordinating with each other soundlessly while still seeming to be aware of everything else happening in the room.

The mesmerizing little dance wasn't even interrupted by the main doors opening, which drew Jek's attention to Commander Vertex stepping into the medbay. The commander had his bucket tucked under one arm, and sharp eyes surveyed the room in a quick glance.

Patches waved at Vertex, because he was adorable. 

Vertex waved back, because he was a sap.

Defib immediately veered off his self-appointed task of looming to intercept Vertex before he got too far into the room. They ducked their heads together in a brief conversation with far too much angry gesticulating on Defib's part, and the calm competency Jek had come to expect on Vertex's. Jek watched, fascinated, as Vertex managed to settle the fuming medic with just a few words and a gentle touch to his shoulder. 

Defib made a bitchy face, but he did seem to lose some of his protective bristling; at Vertex's nudge he sidled over to his desk in the corner of the medbay, dropping into his chair to finally take a break and...to angrily chew on a ration bar?

Incredible.

The Jedi, meanwhile, had continued on with their Force nonsense, which lasted up until Vertex tapped one of the healers on the shoulder and their serenity shattered with a resounding squawk.

The poor Rodian who made the noise spun around, flailing wildly, and would have fallen back onto one of the beds if Vertex hadn't grabbed her to keep her upright. The other three Jedi's heads snapped up in eerie synchronicity, startled expressions on their faces, and Master Nema took a jolting step forward before seeming to register what had happened.

In the frozen stillness that followed, Defib's sullen crunching took on a distinctive note of glee.

"Apologies," Vertex said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"When did you even..." 

"How can we be of assistance, Commander Vertex?" Master Nema asked, stepping away from her patient to take the place of the still-baffled apprentice healer. Both she and Vertex smoothly ignored the disbelief radiating off the other Jedi, who were looking at Vertex like they didn't know how he had appeared. 

Jek wondered that sometimes, too, but it didn't bother him.

"Hey," he said, nudging Patches with his elbow as the two bigwigs conversed, "What do you bet that Commander Vertex has negative Force bacteria?"

Patches stared at Jek like he'd kicked a baby massiff, and then slowly sunk lower in his chair with a low, despairing whine.

So easy.

[asvidema]

finally sat down to sketch henry of skalitz, blacksmith's son, and his lord, hans capon of pirkstein from kingdom come deliverance

[queerofthedagger]

sometimes. what i like to read or write in fic or just generally play around with.... is different and, dare i say, sometimes even contradicting to what i think the canonical reading is offering. like yeah he would not fucking say that but every once in a while i do like to indulge. sue me

[chewyhanniebug]

knew that skirt looked familiar