#the ouroboros continues

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Tease

A comm for @fablepatron - A fun idea that spawned from a goofy conversation, and well, I always commit to the bit.

-

Routine offered a sense of security and order when life kept finding ways to stay interesting. When your day-to-day life had no peace, you had to carve out the space to hide it. You had to find the good ones among your allies, who had your back and made you smile. Drinks after missions gone south became just drinks and chatting became a weekly thing - unnamed for their own sanity.

Sure there were the faces made at each other when no one else was looking, the runs through the atrium that were less than professional, and then knowing where to find the other when shit went south. Lasky could find her in War Games and Palmer could find him somewhere you could see the stars. Lasky knew about the hole she had punched in the wall of her room and Palmer knew where he went when the nice guy schtick was slipping. They were Infinity Command, control was not something they could afford to lose. Appearances were everything in the UNSC.

But somewhere along the way, when Commander Palmer and Commander Lasky were suffering together under Del Rio, Palmer became Sarah and Lasky became Tom. And then Tom became Captain and things got complicated for all of 5 seconds. And then Roland came into the picture.

Loud, bright, and just enough of a nuisance to make even the most seasoned sailors smile.

And then the unnamed weekly thing looked a little more like date night with the usual levels of snipping about who’s turn it was to choose.

-

Sarah swaggers into the Captain's ready room, squeezes behind his desk, and finishes raiding his minifridge before Tom even passes the threshold. He keys the door shut, turning to chide her with his mouth already stretching into a smile.

"I thought you said you were going to wait up?" He asks as he watches her crack open a beer and sit in what was technically his chair.

"I thought you were going to walk faster." She replies, tilting her head and raising her drink in mock cheers. It would be more effective if the can wasn't comically small in her hand. Sarah had an almost dainty grasp on it, a word that was not often applied to the Spartan Commander.

He rolls his eyes and waves her off, sidestepping around her to get to his stash. Grabbing his own beer and the chair on the other side of his desk, Tom gets comfortable next to her.

“So, what do you think he has planned?” Sarah asks after a moment.

“I find it best not to guess. I don’t like giving him ideas.” Tom answers, head rolling against the back of the chair to look at her.

“You don’t like encouraging him.”

“I encourage him plenty, he’s always making suggestions. It’s just when he starts getting creative that I worry.”

Their conversation tapers off as the lights lower on their own. The room darkens to a comfortable level with a single spot illuminating the holodisk where Roland usually appears. Instead, there's golden stage curtains that billow with movement.

"He does love to show off." Sarah mutters into her beer.

Tom looks at her and mouths “creative” before knocking back his own drink.

Music swells from the speakers on the desk and walls before settling at a comfortable volume. Brassy jazz streams in with sax and piano in the forefront.

Tom and Sarah share a glance as they fight outwardly reacting too much. Eyebrows furrowing in unison, they both eye the display with some trepidation, waiting for the next surprise. Tom takes another sip and then crosses his arms, side-eyeing his partner for her reaction. Even Sarah’s discipline can’t keep her from smiling just a smidge. The corners of her mouth tugging upwards as she attempts to hide it behind her drink.

Tom leans over and whispers “Do you think he’ll want us to clap?” which further destroys her resolve. She snorts and lightly smacks his arm.

They watch as tension builds. Fond amusement on their faces while making comments under their breath to each other.

"Why did he choose music as well? I feel like I'm in a period piece."

"He's having fun and showing off, let him preen."

“And let his ego get bigger?”

A quiet snort sounds in response. 

They quiet as the curtains pull back to reveal a stage, a chair, and the man of the hour.

Roland’s facing away from them as the curtains part. He turns and looks over one shoulder that sways with the music. Tom narrowly avoids spitting out his beer and Sarah wolf-whistles as Roland turns and starts undoing his scarf. He throws one leg up on the chair as he unties the scarf, smug face on display to his captive audience. The fabric comes undone under his confident motions and a sliver of skin is now on display.

Tom swallows hard and coughs while Sarah grins as Roland performs. He’s bright with emotion and more than amused that he’s got their undivided attention. Gleeful, he looks them over and then refocuses on his performance. Roland tugs the ends of the scarf one at a time, shimmying the fabric back and forth from its place along his neck as he raises his chin to show off. Roland steps off the chair and turns, pulling the scarf all the way off with his right hand as he faces away. The fabric billows in a fake wind and falls limp from his hand. He is still very much covered by the harness and jacket of the flight gear.

"I want to see him make taking the parachute harness off sexy." Tom mumbles into his drink.

"Well, I want to see how many shirts he has on.” Sarah says, throwing an arm around Tom as Roland continues whatever the hell routine he had conjured up. She had to admit the stage was a nice touch, but not out loud where anyone could hear it though. Wouldn’t want to be too encouraging.

The scarf is laid on the chair and Roland starts shimmying out of the parachute harness slowly. He turns so they don’t see him fiddle with the buckle on the front of his gear, but they watch as he slides a strap off one shoulder with a wink. The other follows as he moves slowly. He sways with the music, horns and drums driving the beat on.

Again, he looks coquettishly over his shoulder, batting his eyes to the amusement of his audience. Tom’s face is screwed up like he isn’t sure if he’s going to laugh or cry. Roland turns as the music swells, hands holding the straps tight against his flight suit while he spins. Graceful, even in the boots and bulky flight uniform of a WWII pilot. He holds the gear like a dancer would hold her skirts and sashays a little before stepping out of the harness and draping it on the chair with the scarf.

“If he starts doing a fan dance I’m leaving.” 

“I want to know what he’s rendered under there. Maybe inspired by the nose art?”

“Let’s not bring that back up.”

The music swells, brassy horns punctuate his latest move to face the audience as piano keys accentuate the crescendo. Roland hasn’t made a move to remove his cap, and he still doesn’t. Instead, steady fingers find the zipper to his jacket and he unzips it slowly while the drums keep time. His opposite hand holds the clothing tight so nothing shows. He shimmies his shoulders in time with the music.

The stage lights change, beams of gold turn and focus as the mood changes and a sultry jazz piece starts. A muted trombone sets the scene while female vocals come in with an upbeat tempo.

Tom and Sarah hear the lyrics mention “burlesque” and their eyebrows climb higher in tandem.

Roland grins and poses. He spreads his stance out and meets the chorus with a flourish as he whips his jacket open and catches it on his upper arms while he dances. There’s another couple of layers under the jacket now visible. Something that looks like an inflatable life vest and a long sleeve heated flight-suit.

“Take it off! Take it off!” The vocals cry over the speakers. Sarah barks a laugh, drink forgotten while Tom coughs into his fist as the music picks up. He had thought it was safe to drink. Roland grins and shimmies the heavy leather jacket down as the song continues. He gets it around his wrists and flicks it around. It rests heavy on the chair on top of his scarf and harness.

Tom finally clears his throat and recovers from the surprise. Sarah is busy clapping, but she slaps him on the back and pulls him upright when he falls forward again.

“You both are killing me.” He says, wheezing slightly.

“Don’t be a baby, and sit up, or you might miss something.”

“Yeah, like another jacket.” 

With that comment, Tom sits up in time to see a small yellow life jacket go sailing off the stage at him and disappear in a sparkle of hardlight before it reaches his face.

Sarah snorts at the face Tom makes and the way Roland grins as the horns start up again. He sits dramatically on the chair, kicking a foot up and throwing off a boot. The other one follows over this shoulder. Then Roland does a little flamboyant twirl and shimmies out of the pants of the coveralls, throwing a wink at his audience as the bulky layer slides off and is added to the pile on the chair. It’s the least amount of clothes they’ve seen him in, and there’s another pair of pants under his pants.

“I might get another drink at this rate.” 

Roland sticks his tongue out at the comment and sits back down on the nearly covered chair. The bulk of the gear accentuates the slow revealing of his “actual” outline as he unplugs the heated flying shoes from the undersuit. The shoes join his boots in the pile, and Tom and Sarah are treated to a glance of socked foot and ankle as Roland pulls up the pant leg a bit and then does a little kick to stand. 

“Take it off, Take it off! You can yell like the rest!” 

The song plays on and Roland beams. He shimmies to the music, peeling off another layer. The heated suit that was covered by the flight coveralls comes off as the Andrew Sisters croon and cry. 

“Take her out when it's over, she's a peach when she's dressed.”

Tom and Sarah remain silent, enraptured by the scene in front of them. No whispered comments come as Roland teases and turns. He starts shucking another layer off, but pauses as he realizes he’s got their complete attention. 

“But she stops and always just in time, time, time.”

The song plays on but the energy has changed. There’s a new look in his eye as he slows his movements. The music shifts and Roland grins as brassy jazz floods the room from the speakers, piano keys tinkling and slowing things down to something more…intimate.

There’s nothing left but the long underwear and whatever he has underneath it. Roland sits and hikes up a leg, showing off a sock and garter combination with a waggle of his eyebrows. Tom chuckles and Sarah whistles as they watch what is probably the end of the show. Maybe. The tension is palpable as Roland exercises a patience he is most certainly not known for.

The chair, once bare, is now comically covered in all his previous layers. A veritable mountain of gear in the shape of a seat that hides his movements from his audience and makes them wait for a peek. The socks, garters, and long pants come off. The pile grows and then a look. Long golden legs on display, the soft flesh of his thighs barely exposed from the other side of his seat. It looks as if he’s not wearing anything – save for the pilot cap, of course.

His audience is enthralled. Drinks forgotten, Tom and Sarah watch with wide eyes. Roland fixes them with a look one might describe as a pout, eyes smoldering. A wry smile disappearing as he peels off the last bit of long underwear with the shirt going over his head. He’s left then – apparently bare – behind the mountain that is the chair. 

He shimmies his bare shoulders and they can make out two thin straps near his throat. Delicate and thin, an amber against his gold. Roland stands gracefully. Tom and Sarah make surprised, choked sounds as the air leaves their lungs. Sarah recovers first with a disbelieving chuckle, but Tom might truly be broken with how oxygen seems to refuse to work with his airways.

Golden skin draped with amber lingerie stretches out in front of them. Garters that hug thighs and sheer mesh that leaves very little to the imagination. A belt accentuating his figure while the top near sparkles with its see-through, shimmering fabric while hiding nothing. All on display over a pilot’s physique, there’s muscle and fat on a frame built for maintaining an aircraft in wartime. Only now it is no longer hidden away under pilot gear and safety features, but wrapped in simulated silk and satin and parading about.  

“So he decided what he wanted under all that gear.” Sarah murmurs and it’s Tom’s turn to elbow her side.

Roland dances with the last swell of the music and then takes a dramatic bow. The stage dims the lights and the curtains close on his performance.

The audience claps. Nothing wrong with a little encouragement. Tom even calls for an encore. Roland pops his head out from between the curtains with a broad smile.

There’s no encore, but Roland does come back out and start redressing. He could just as easily blip the layers back on but he’s committed to the bit. Tom and Sarah both notice the lingerie strap under the long underwear as Roland puts on his kit with efficient movements. Guess he’s keeping it then.

“So why no parachute? You have the rest of the gear, Mr Historically Accurate.” Sarah asks, hands on her hips, head cocked and a smile on her lips.

“Did you want to add another fifteen minutes to the show?” Tom mutters as he tosses their drinks into the trash and shuffles over. He throws an arm around her waist and peers curiously at Roland.

"Personal choice. I made my avatar and it felt right. Besides, it would cover my assets." Roland says the line with a cheeky grin and a wink.

[pleuvoire]

i said it before but so many people style themselves as being a cool logged-off lgbt who is too busy having genuine lgbt experiences to do tumblr discourse but they don’t even realize that having these pretensions is its own type of tumblr discourse

[zytes]

8.4.23

[mantisgodiveblog]

(Part 13 is here)

Back at it again, boys. This time: The House.

Nothing changed after Isa's confession, or with picking the Very Clearly Not Looping Option, rather than the "still". As the orbs scene is still the same, and none of the pillars seem to have unique dialogue, we've skipped right to the Sadness - though calming Mirabelle's nerves is valuable, we're fairly sure that the tutorial won't have unique dialogue, and even if it does, we can come back to see it later. Test us getting things blatantly wrong, et cetera.

This way, we can also potentially set the pace for later on - if we can get into a headspace where we can force the party to Proceed, rather than lingering, we might be able to trigger the party into simply Going Forward with the Death Hallyway, rather than dallying and potentially setting off a time-based trap. Set the momentum, keep it moving. Though this might make things worse in the short term, it'll keep her from getting worse in the long term - cutting it off by simply doing it, we can avoid the anxiety spiralling by fear of what might come, and cut short the ramp up. Oftentimes, after all, the fear of could is worse than the fear of actually doing it.

And there we go. Cut it off, nice and clean. This will likely affect the atmosphere later, of course, but in the moment... we can test variables later.

Anyways, a note, while going through profiles - Mirabelle requires more experience to level up than the rest of the party! Quite interesting, honestly. Now...

THIS is interesting as well. For the floor-jumping, we assume? So, if we grind, it'll be recorded as well, we assume. There IS that one achievement for getting all party members to max level, if we recall correctly - so that won't just be an Ouroboros Gambit? It'll remain, if we save it? Interesting. VERY interesting. We wonder if it's the FIRST variant you save with it, or the highest... something to experiment with, to be sure.

[dishsaop]

does anyone have recommendations for fictional media that has like. actual lesbians in it. not like supergirl Two White Skinny Girls, One Blonde and One Brunette Kiss media, or "its implied lesbianism!!!" but just regular fucking lesbians

[bidokja]

yoohankim really is just

kdj exists and meets yjh and hsy, hsy writes wos and creates yjh, yjh lives to reach beyond the story and his story (wos) keeps kdj alive, kdj copes with life by dreaming up a universe where wos is real and so becomes the oldest dream which keeps all of past/present/future creation alive by continuously witnessing every story, hsy is part of that universe kdj created and maintains, and she goes on to create yjh, who goes on to live in order to meet kdj, who goes on to die in order for everyone to live, and yjh and hsy go on to jeopardize all of that to bring kdj back-

[whositmcwhatsit]

[defiledtomb]

yet another thought: ditch the 100% save rate and let hunter go after Leith only to find the signs of struggle but not them. hunter made a choice and none of the people they care about were saved. they made a mistake again that cost their friend/crush (Id) their body and their partner is most likely dead now because they were not fast enough. they failed people they care about once again and now they have no one.

conclusion: no matter what choice does hunter make their loved ones will suffer because of their decisions and the hunter will never know peace!

Indeed.

[boyfridged]

there's a part of me that would say: by now, a natural trait of these characters, and subsequently, a huge element of their appeal is that they are always stranded at the peripheries of the narrative and cannot ever be genuinely heard. therefore, they should remain in that position. and there's another part of me that thinks: making them break the binds of the narrative and putting them in the center of the universe would fuck so hard and should be done.

[crocodile-carousel]

and now im gonna act like im normal and didnt spend four hours straight drawing

[flaming-shapeshifter]

oh to be back on campus and able to scream in the deserted quad in the middle of the night when a story gives me too many emotions

[razzle-zazzle]

Hey, I think you made a mistake in your Orobouros fics? Mirtala's unicorn plushy is describe as unnamed in one fic and then has a name in another. Unless it was named inbetween the fics?

Hey! This isn't a bad ask by any means, but I think the thing you're missing is perspective. The lines I'm guessing you're referring to are written for Dion's

And Mirtala's

perspectives, respectively. Though my narration style is not always strictly third-person limited, I still do let the perspective character's thoughts and feelings shape the tone and wording of the narration itself. If one character knows a detail about something, like a name, it will be reflected in the narration; if a character doesn't know that detail, then the narration will reflect that until they learn it.

So I suppose the question that might bring up for you, then, is why doesn't Dion know Francis III's name—and furthermore, why would he assume Francis III is nameless?

[fatphobiabusters]

Theres something really insidious about how gastric bypass advocates deny that essential organ mutilation is unhealthy.

"I've lost so much weight I'm so healthy" your stomach is mutilated.

"My doctor is praising my progress" your stomach is mutilated.

"I fit in so many more clothes now"

Because an essential, life sustaining organ in your body was cut up and your digestive system rerouted.

Health isn't the end all be all of value, humanity or importance but I feel like there is a huge lie here when this is "healthy" and it's just ignored.

Sorry to just bring this up out of no where but I was reminded of how little this is really talked about in bypass circles. Like, no matter what, you are now unhealthy. The spector of health continues. The Ouroboros is unbroken. Only this time it's doctor approved.

-mod squirrel

[felikatze]

continued playing triangle strategy and for the first time i wanted to pick a story choice frederica opposed, except by now serenoa had so many liberty points from me playing him as a wifeguy that it was impossible for me to convince anybody of a choice opposing frederica

[gh0st-4ss]

Ouroboros

, emblematic serpent of ancient Egypt and Greece represented with its tail in its mouth, continually devouring itself and being reborn from itself. A gnostic and alchemical symbol, Ouroboros expresses the unity of all things, material and spiritual, which never disappear but perpetually change form in an eternal cycle of destruction and re-creation.

[feather-bone]

Something different! I painted Ouroboros over the last couple days bc my shoulder has been all jacked up and it hurts to draw digitally rn.

I think a lot about Ouroboros when it is especially difficult to be alive. All things end, the universe continues, etc etc.

[ID: an acrylic painting of a white dragon eating its own tail. It is furry and has six bird legs, and is curled into a circle shape in a colorful sky. Roiling clouds surround the dragon, but it's a little clearer through the circle formed by the dragon. In the foreground, a willow tree and white flowers obscure several blue houses and telephone wires. End.]