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Mama better be willing to pony up, have my notes young firebrand

YALYALLLL YALLLL YAL

MY MOM SAID IF I COULD GET 100,000 NOTES I CAN GET A DAGGER

PLEASE HELP ME

IM NOT ALLOWED TO REBLOG OR SPAM MY OWN POST SO HELP ME OUT GUSY

PLEASE I WANT A DAGGER

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I'm always down for new books

everyone who reblogs this before 03-30-2020 gets a book recommendation based on their blog in their inbox

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I like to think that the walls of Greyskull Keep are covered with motivational posters featuring Trinket

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I would argue that he spoke to Beau under duress. She did force him to tell her his backstory to get into the library (which was not the original agreement), and she was the one that spearheaded talking to the wizard, and he knows that she is a very forthright speaker who doesn't understand any need to lay low on other character's parts.

Beauregard “nobody’s first choice” Lionett was Caduceus’s first pick to accompany him into Yussa’s tower.

Beauregard “not exactly best friend material” Lionett was the first person to whom Caleb turned about his fears of Trent and returning to the Empire.

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why limit yourself between choosing between a pretty feminine aesthetic or a dark one? if persephone can be the goddess of spring & queen of the underworld at the same time so can you

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Why do witches like always wanna fatten kids up before they eat them?? fat is like the grossest part of meat

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Interns and Interims: Part 2

A steady beat of approaching footfalls distracted Tormund from his most recent departmental dressing down. Another Glortarn came into view, personal markings glowing a muted blend of bronze and blue. His four eyes narrowed on Tormund's red face, and his hide thickened in anticipation of yet another altercation with the Human.

"Tormund-of-Georgia, why do you have the entirety of engine four's maintenance crew before you? Are there not many other more productive matters to engage in?"

"Of course, Lieutenant Commander Lix'tt, our job is never done. However, I do need to know which of these uneducated hicks let the interns inside of the hazard bays wiring. Again."

"These crewman were deemed competant by Admiral Ridgeford himself, surely they are not as inept as you claim them to be."

"I assure you that they're worse than I've reported, Sir. These reprobates are behind the failures in the botany sector's saturation protocols, as well."

"Why did you not report the incidence?!"

"And have our lovely bunch of blood-thirsty pod people send the poor bastards out of an airlock while in hyperdrive through the void? I may not like our interns, but I don't want them dead."

Lix'tt sighed and waved the crew away, his four-digited hand rubbing along his temples to try to stave off an oncoming migraine.

'Alright Lix'tt, what are the facts? Just the facts.'

1. One of his more...inventive...and able engineers has come despairingly close to mutiny since the acceptance of interns was established aboard the Gle'ertas.

2. There had been a substantial and quantifiable increase in life-threatening malfunctions since their admittance to the crew's number.

3. Afore mentioned engineer has a disproportionate amount of influence within engine four considering the rank he holds.

4. When displeased, the crew ceases to be productive.

5. This past engine-moot was necessary, as it alerted me to underlying issues and incidences concerning the interns glaring performance issues.

6. The interns must be made to leave the ship, at the very least to maintain stability and cohesion among the unit maintaining engine four.

7. The botanists must never know who was behind their labs malfunctioning, and the airlock use protocols should be further restricted.

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TorR'x is back! If you want to count pre-spacegays.

Interns and Interims: part 1

"The hazard bays for ports one and five aren't sealing, Tormund."

"That's the third time this cycle! Which one of you limp dicks let the interns near the airlocks?"

And suddenly, suspiciously, the engineering crew for engine four of the intergalactic exploratory vessel Gle'ertas grew quiet. Not a whisper of sound could be heard from the gathering of Glortarn and Human and S'trr'lx entities. The gathering stood still, all with bowed heads, avoiding the gaze of the token red head of their group.

"Did I stutter, Altii, when I said to keep the interns away from necessary functions or couplings or processes or anything at all required to keep this ship safe and in peak operational form? Did I not speak clearly when I said that this latest batch of cream puffs from Central were here on some desk jockey's say so, with no practical experience concerning anything to do with maintaining a deep space vessels functionality?!"

"No, sir. You did not in fact stutter, though your voice was raised past your usual vocal range for pleasant speech."

"You're god's damned right it was! This is the third incident! In two cycles! You were told to throw them an outdated spanner and into a padded room with a program to write for changing the color of the lights in the John!"

"I did not think you were speaking literally, sir."

"I was. I'm sure that now you know why I told you to treat them like toddlers, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then. Two questions remain. Where are those pea-brained idiots now, and who left them near the hazard bays?"

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So, writer's block is a bitch, but what else is new? Here, have some word vomit.

I've never been one of the cool kids. The popular, jocular, always-down-for-a-good-time guy.

I've never been liked, most definitely not like-liked. Teachers, peers, and cousins met twice look once and away. Elsewhere there will be more interesting peoples and places.

I was never exceedingly bad, nor notably daring. Not likely to make a scene, infamous or otherwise.

I was not quite a wall-flower, they who were striking catchers-of-the-eye in their statement silence. In their serenity and stability, the watchers of the passing eternities.

I blame my parents for my mediocrity, may I? There were four of us. The youngest, sweet-subtle-mischief. The others a pair like-unlike and an army of them against the rest. The three younger, made needier and innocent by affection and adoration.

I was made unworth her gaze at five. Grown at ten and left to myself long since. Left to look after her favorites that were fed-bathed-happy-loved.

If time was to be had, after them, always after them, then I would see to my needs.

I was-am-will be alone. I was not raised to be otherwise.

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Antivenom

have you ever stop to think that we don’t just synthetize antivenom, but we fucking brew it from the venom itself? like, oh, you got bitten by a rattlesnake? fear not, here, inject a bit more venom which have been scienced to antagonize itself. 

and it is not just that- we science venom for medicinal purposes. we take stuff that is uber toxic to us, science a bit with it (well, it takes years and a great effort from our scientists) and TA DAH, here is a brand new uber effective drug against blood clots. 

heck, we BREED venomous snake to extract their venom to use for medicinal purpouse!!!

it is the same principles at the base of vaccines - take what’s dangerous and use it to make yourself stronger. 

this is the most DeathWorlders thing I can think of. aliens don’t stand a chance. 

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wait….are any americans aware that the cia overthrew the democratically-elected premier of iran in 1953 because he wouldn’t concede to western oil demands….and how that coup was the reason for the shah’s return to power, the iranian revolution, and the resulting fundamentalist dictatorship…..like, america literally dissolved iranian democracy and no one knows about it???

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A story by Terry Bission As published in Omni, 1990.

THEY’RE MADE OUT OF MEAT

“They’re made out of meat.”

“Meat?”

“Meat. They’re made out of meat.”

“Meat?”

“There’s no doubt about it. We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through. They’re completely meat.”

“That’s impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars?”

“They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don’t come from them. The signals come from machines.”

“So who made the machines? That’s who we want to contact.”

“They made the machines. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Meat made the machines.”

“That’s ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You’re asking me to believe in sentient meat.”

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in that sector and they’re made out of meat.”

“Maybe they’re like the orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage.”

“Nope. They’re born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn’t take long. Do you have any idea what’s the life span of meat?”

“Spare me. Okay, maybe they’re only part meat. You know, like the weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside.”

“Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads, like the weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They’re meat all the way through.”

“No brain?”

“Oh, there’s a brain all right. It’s just that the brain is made out of meat! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“So … what does the thinking?”

“You’re not understanding, are you? You’re refusing to deal with what I’m telling you. The brain does the thinking. The meat.”

“Thinking meat! You’re asking me to believe in thinking meat!”

“Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you beginning to get the picture or do I have to start all over?”

“Omigod. You’re serious then. They’re made out of meat.”

“Thank you. Finally. Yes. They are indeed made out of meat. And they’ve been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years.”

“Omigod. So what does this meat have in mind?”

“First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the Universe, contact other sentiences, swap ideas and information. The usual.”

“We’re supposed to talk to meat.”

“That’s the idea. That’s the message they’re sending out by radio. ‘Hello. Anyone out there. Anybody home.’ That sort of thing.”

“They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?”

“Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat.”

“I thought you just told me they used radio.”

“They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat, it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat.”

“Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?”

“Officially or unofficially?”

“Both.”

“Officially, we are required to contact, welcome and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in this quadrant of the Universe, without prejudice, fear or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing.”

“I was hoping you would say that.”

“It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?”

“I agree one hundred percent. What’s there to say? 'Hello, meat. How’s it going?’ But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?”

“Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can’t live on them. And being meat, they can only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact.”

“So we just pretend there’s no one home in the Universe.”

“That’s it.”

“Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you probed? You’re sure they won’t remember?”

“They’ll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we’re just a dream to them.”

“A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat’s dream.”

“And we marked the entire sector unoccupied.”

“Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?”

“Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again.”

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He nods in Elvish. It’s just… a sexier version of a Common nod.

(via outofcontextdnd)

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Prompt Fill: All Grown Up

For thesaltofcarthage. The eternally patient, kind, wonderful, understanding internet invisi-friend I’ve had since I had a dream of space gays. It’s finally done, and I hope you get a kick out of this. Also, is kinda long…

“Dad. I told you that I wanted to find a job on my own.”

“I know, sweetheart, but I don’t think you understand how difficult it is to get a job out of high school. You can get your feet wet working for me, build some confidence, get some experience, and then in a year or twenty you’ll be ready  and able to find something on your own.”

“I have never wanted to work at the Embassy, you know that. It’s bad enough that you bring your work home for us to ‘bond’ over.”

“But you’re so good at it, and I just want to help you better yourself. Please? Just for a year, and then you can leave your dear old dad to wither away in his old age.”

“You are such a drama queen. No wonder Mom left.”

“That was uncalled for, young lady. And you didn’t like her either.”

“…She was a bit of a bitch, wasn’t she?”

“Language!”

“Oh no, don’t think you’ll get away with that at work. The whole point of this is to embrace adulthood, and you scolding me is so not a part of that. Also, I want to work in Mrs. Blacktail’s department.”

“Can I scold you at home?”

“Only on topics unrelated to work or coworkers.”

“Deal.”

Appara never really enjoyed working at her father’s embassy. The constant ringing of the bell above the entrance and the self-important squawking of its patrons never failed to give her a migraine by 10 AM. On the dot. Her first argument with her superior-not her father-was over her coffee pot from home being present on her desk. Unprofessional, he claimed, unseemly and untoward, presumptuous even for Daddy’s-Little-Girl. Necessary, she argued, unlike your constant whining about being a babysitter for spoiled rich kids wanting to leave the nether realms.

He lost that argument, and his job, when a ghoul from the second level tried to check in for an appointment with the Department of Leisure Cullings and was accosted by the furious manager. On film. With witnesses. Appara kept her coffee pot, and offered the ghoul a cup while he waited to be seen.

The days passed into weeks, and eventually two months went by. Her duties mostly consisted of directing the nefarious citizens of the seven hells to their appropriate departments and appointments, handling her father’s data entry-seriously, he has his own secretary for this!-and coordinating follow-up appointments, travel times of their patrons, and which forms needed to be filled out for what request and so on. And so forth. It was easy. And boring.

The ghoul from her first week on the job dropped by at least twice a week with a coffee in hand. Yes I know you have a functioning pot just by your elbow, Appara, he would say-sigh, rolling his eyes all the while, but I made this just for you and I even found some virgin tears to sweeten it. At least twice a week, the same song and dance with coffee and shared smirks and him perched on the counter beside her as she went about her day. The regulars, the ones who worked for a week at a time on the other side, grew used to his presence at Appara’s desk. They thought it sweet how oblivious she was to her young suitor’s intentions.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do we have any virgin’s tears on hand?”

“I don’t think so. I got you a phial last month, are you out already?”

“…Maybe.”

“Those aren’t cheap, honey. This is Hell, there aren’t many untouched around here. I’ll pick some up at the end of the month, but maybe ration them a bit better this time, ok, sweetheart?”

“Thanks, Daddy.”

Four months passed quickly enough for Appara, her desk now littered with personal daggers of hers and a few poisonous plants sh found particularly fetching. Security tried to limit the number of blades she kept on hand, until she threatened to lace Franklin’s tea with asphodel if he tried to take them. He never quite forgave her for that, nor the bundle of it she placed just outside of his office door.

The ghoul, Chax, continued travelling between Hell and Earth. He left for a week every month, coming back covered in blood and claiming leisurely misconduct, vacation time, recreational immersion. He never failed to bring back a token for Appara, once a shrunken head from Brazil, another month the rifle used to assassinate Lincoln. Her father approved of the gifts but made it clear that Chax’ company was not welcome. Appara ignored her father on his more ornery days, doing her job as was expected, paging ‘Wendonai, your 2 o’clock is here to see you’. 

Six months in and Appara was ready to murder anyone who set off that damn doorbell. The constant jingle and the pushy hellions it announced were near to driving her to insanity. Franklin, the werewolf in security, took a particular pleasure from her frustration and made sure to be stationed at the front desk on especially busy days at the Embassy. Chax was never far from her on those days, and her father had no idea how many murders were averted due to his presence. He took many a knife to his undead chest in an effort to stop her from disemboweling the legions of the underworld. 

“Look, Mr. Sludge. I cannot approve your request to go topside for another year.”

“Appara, darling, what’s a little maiming between friends? No humans were involved this time, just approve of my request and we can put this nasty business behind us.”

“Mr. Sludge. I cannot approve anyone’s request. You need to see the Department of Waste Disposal and the Department of Human Affairs to get your request approved. I can tell you, though, that it will be denied as soon as Thelmar receives it, considering that you have another year-long restriction to the nether realms on file due to your inability to remain discrete. The director had to personally speak to the heads of three different top-side nations in an attempt to keep the peace between our realms. If I were you, Sir, I would make myself scarce until my probation ended. Good day.”

“Your daddy doesn’t scare me, little girl, and neither does your little bitch here. I will be going to the top this month, and you can either help me and keep your job, or deny my request and lose said job when I report you to your supervisor for causing a loyal patron undue distress and hassle.”

“You can damn sure try, but right now my ‘little bitch’ is going to have some fun with you while I apprise my superior of the situation. Have fun for me, Chax.”

Appara dialed Mrs. Blacktail’s extension to the sweet sound of Mr. Sludge’s wailing as Chax divested him of his many and useless limbs, gathering his bloody tears in a favorite mug of her’s.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Blacktail, but there’s been a disturbance in the foyer. Would you be ever so kind as to help me sort this mess out? No, there’s no need to call my father. I’m not in any danger.”

While speaking to her boss, Appara tossed a favorite knife of hers to Chax and watched as her favorite guard, Jugo, held Mr. Sludge still while her friend tried his hand at carving flesh. Mrs. Blacktail arrived soon after the call was ended, her opaque body gliding serenely over the blood-stained carpet of the entrance. She did not even glance at the spectacle before her, but nodded approvingly at Appara handling another patron amid such excitement.

“Hello, sweetheart. This morning hasn’t been too kind to you, has it?”

“No Ma’am. Mr. Sludge wanted me to disregard his probation for the third time this month. He resorted to threatening me today.”

“Oh dear. Thank goodness Chax was here, he’s such a good lad to take care of such nasty business for you. A lady never dirties her hands over such petty things.”

“I am very grateful for him being here. I can take care of myself, but I confess it is nice to not have to worry about sullying my hands with unpleasant bodily fluids today.”

“Too right, darling. Well, as your friend seems to have him well-reprimanded for his disrespect, I’ll just have Jugo transfer our guest to my office, we will have this sorted by the time your lunch hour finishes up. Take your young man out to eat, I’ll see to your duties while you’re enjoying yourselves.”

“Would you like anything brought back, Mrs. Blacktail?”

“That’s sweet of you to ask, but you know I don’t eat. Or drink. Or breathe. Or sleep. Don’t trouble yourself.”

“You’re a miracle worker, Ma’am. Thanks for sorting this out for me.”

“You just keep up the good work, yes?”

Another three months passed in a similar pattern for Appara and Chax and Mrs. Blacktail. Wendonai was at loose ends with the seemingly endless threats to his daughter and was begrudgingly thankful for Chax’ presence and interference during the more physical altercations. Appara took to keeping a dagger in hand whenever a customer so much as side-eyed her. She found a way to intimidate almost anyone itching for a fight, and she deterred a great many disturbances by doing so. Her coffee pot was always fresh during this time, she ran out of her virgin’s tears faster than ever. Chax eventually asked permission to see her after work for stress relief. Mrs. Blacktail had nothing but praise for Appara’s  work ethic, but expressed concern for her mental state if something didn’t change.

“Wendonai.”

“Mrs. Blacktail.”

“When did your daughter last request a day off?”

“She hasn’t.”

“Mhmm. And she’s been with me nine months now?”

“You know the answer to that. What do you want?”

“Shame that the poor girl’s father didn’t even bother to give her weekends off, like every other employee in the company is allowed.”

“You never take days off, Mrs. Blacktail. She’s your employee, she works when you do.”

“I am dead, Wendonai, and your daughter is not.”

“Is there a point to this meeting, Mrs. Blacktail?”

“Give Appara a week top side with that lovely young man of hers. Paid leave.”

“A week?! You want my blood-thirsty, stressed, overly antagonistic daughter and her plaything to remain unsupervised on Earth for a week?! You have lost your mind,”

“I would thank you kindly not to question my faculties, Sir, especially when I have your daughter’s best interests at heart.”

“They’re going to be alone. Together! Also, what would you do for a week with all of her work and yours?”

“Need I remind you that I am dead, Wendonai? I was doing her work and mine for three centuries before she came to me. I don’t have to sleep and the break has been nice, but there are too many hours in the day spent uselessly due to mine and Appara’s efficiency. Give her the time off, let Chax accompany her, and she will come back to you relaxed and thankful for her Daddy’s blessing and understanding of her needs.”

“I want you to know that I am unhappy with you Mrs. Blacktail.”

“Of course you are, dear.”

Just as Mrs. Blacktail predicted, Appara returned from her trip refreshed and at ease and mischievous. Chax followed through the portal with a smirk and an easy hand on Appara’s hip. He signed them in at Mrs. Blacktail’s station with a wink and settles their tab for services rendered.  Appara left him to visit her father with a kiss to the ghoul’s cheek and a saucy sway of her hips. It had been a good trip.

“Daddy, I’m back!”

“Hello, sweetheart, did you have fun?”

“Definitely. Chax knows how to entertain a girl.”

“Appara!”

“Yes?”

“I did not need to know that about your relationship.”

“You do realize that he wasn’t my first, right?”

“Darling, you are barely one hundred years old, can we agree not to give me a heart attack until you’re a thousand? Please?”

“Where is the fun in that?”

“Sometimes speaking to you is like speaking to your mother.”

“Well fuck you too, Daddy dearest.”

Her first year at the embassy passed relatively quietly after their trip. Chax kept his habit of bringing her expensive and wonderful drinks. She had taken to maintaining two days off a week, which she spent with Chax at his home in the second level. Wendonai was resigned to his daughter’s growing up, and while he mourned her dependence on him alone he was proud of the hellion she was becoming. Frank cheered obnoxiously when she announced her departure from the company, claiming a need for a career of a more violent bent. Chax’ family welcomed her with open arms into their own business, a leading venture in acquisitions.

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Shaken

Directly follows ‘Absence’

“A human, you said? I have not seen one, myself.”

“No, I have never seen a human this far from Earth.”

“There were humans? Here?! When?!”

“I have not seen him myself. But if you do find him, I would love to be introduced. He sounds like a handsome one!”

“Lieutenant, the natives of PV-382 who were scheduled to be on-site with Engineer McLear are also unaccounted for.”

“I am not surprised to learn of this, Ensign Vir. What have you gathered from the work site?”

“No signs of struggle or activity were present, Sir. Someone made  sure to hide their actions. All of the personal affects of the missing crewmen were yet contained within their personal lockers. The abduction was sudden, and well-practiced, Sir.”

“Ensign Vir, I need you to locate the liaison in charge of this particular work effort between the Continuum and PV-382. I believe the Captain has been in contact with a group of three concerning the distribution of labor efforts while top-side. Ascertain just how well supervised the operation concerning Engineer McLear was. Who oversaw construction. Who managed and distributed personnel. Who the engineers reported to. Where the liaison was during the abduction. Their activities by the half-par for the six sol our crewmate had been on planet.”

“Yes Sir.”

Seven par-sol elapsed before Ensign Vir reported back to his commanding officer. Seven par-sol had frayed his Lieutenant’s nerves until the Glortarn’s hide was a riotous mess of blue and grey, flashing  a sickly, anxious yellow with increasing frequency. It did not appear that his superior’s investigation had gone as planned.

“Lieutenant R’Xniir, I apologize for the delay.”

“Accepted, Ensign. What have you to report?”

“The Pteinar, Sir. The beings from PV-361 that our Captain dismissed as non-sentients? They have semi-regular raids upon PV-382. Our liaison, a native going by the moniker ‘Seive’, did admit that he was aware that their reliable four cycle time-frame for a raid had been reached the sol previous to Engineer McLear’s descent from the Continuum.”

“And did Seive have any other pertinent information on the matter? Perhaps how the Pteinar choose their quarry?

“The natives of PV-361 prefer to claim gatherings of beings-no less than four, no more than twelve. Open spaces are their preferred hunting grounds, a distance of at least three clicks from any hub of civilization.”

“How long have these raids taken place for that the natives of PV-382 have created a calendar to plan the events around?”

“I cannot say for certain, Sir. But considering that we are the only ones trying to recover our lost man? A very, very long while. Measured in star-cycles, I am sure.”

“I need information, Ensign. Ages of those taken, sorted according to frequency prevalent in each abduction and percentage populated in each raid. Demographics represented in all incidences and whether a trend appears for a particular grouping. Recovery percentages, if any. Every relevant byte of information concerning Pteinar culture on raiding and prisoner rights and allocations. That thrice-damned calender back at minimum four star-cycles and our liaison in my presence. Now.”

“Already prepared, Sir. I took the liberty of including documentation pertaining to the actions taken by the local government to educate the beings in their care fully of the threat and proactive measures to ensure the threat is as minimal as possible, including outreach towards greater militaries and organizations to help eradicate the threat. There are concerningly few resources on the matter.”

“Excellent work, Ensign Vir. And Seive?”

“Waiting for you in a secure location under the watch of Lieutenant Commander Lix’tt.”

[coxswaincoxout]

the universe: okay, you’re a human. I gave you free will and a conscious mind, so you’re free to do whatever you want. So what do you wanna do?

human: GO FAST

the universe: well, you’re a perfect pursuit predator but if that’s the way you want to evolve, go ahead.

human, climbing on a horse: GO FAST

the universe: wait what

human, inventing the carriage, the car and the bullet train: GO FASTER

the universe: I IMPLORE YOU TO STOP

human, trying to figure out lightspeed travel: FAS T ER