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wisherbysharlight · 4 years

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I Wanna Get It, I Didn't Get It, Til Now

Word Count: 4084

Pairing: Analogical

The second in a series of different pairings being capital O Oblivious because that’s a trope I will never ever get tired of.

Virgil sits at the same library table every single day, alone, until one day, Logan needs a seat.

They are both kind of idiots.

Warnings: none that I can think of

AO3 Link

Virgil loved his library table. He would get there after his work study shift in the registrar’s office, around 7pm on weekdays and 1pm on weekends, and the section on the second floor would be mostly clear. Second floor was quiet but not silent, so it didn’t feel oppressive, and he didn’t feel insecure about whether his headphones were too loud or not. His favorite table was just to the left of the water fountain, had an outlet built into it, and the chairs were adjustable enough that he could lean back and press his knees against the side of the table while he typed. He loved his table so much that he’d come even if he didn’t have homework to do, just to scroll through endless Tumblr pages or work on his personal writing. He’d had his table for 3 months with no problem at all, which was why he was baffled when someone came up to him while he was reading and stood expectantly next to the table, overly full backpack hanging off his shoulder.

He recognized the other man immediately, he was another library regular who usually sat two tables away, always messing with his hair and adjusting his tie pushing his glasses up his nose and drawing Virgil’s eye with movement. He took his headphones down and put them around his neck, though he could still faintly hear his music, “Hi? Can I help you?”

“The outlet is broken on my table, and I was wondering if I could join you and utilize the other half of yours?” mystery-man asked, gesturing to where Virgil was only using two of the four outlets.

“Oh sure, of course, go ahead. Sorry about your table,” Virgil offered, brandishing his hand vaguely at the chair across from him.

“You have nothing to apologize for, of course. I appreciate your amenity. I submitted a work order request, hopefully it will be repaired soon,” the other man took the seat and set his things down before extending a hand across the table, “Logan Perry. I believe I’ve seen you here frequently so this is at least a good opportunity to get acquainted.”

Virgil blinked a bit, trying to process, then hurriedly pulled his hand out of the makeshift paw he’d made out of his sweatshirt sleeve and shook Logan’s hand so he wouldn’t think that Virgil didn’t want to, “Um. Yeah. I’ve seen you around too, I think. Virgil Storme. Nice to meet you.”

Logan tipped his head to the side curiously when Virgil leaned over, as though he was listening hard, then adjusted his glasses, “Hmm. Interesting melody. I appreciate the solid bass rhythm. Who is the artist, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“The... Artist? Oh, you mean the band I’m listening to?” he picked his headphones up but only put one ear on, “It’s Arctic Monkeys. They’re like, known, for solid bass lines, which is probably what you could hear.”

Logan hummed like he was intrigued, then began pulling books out of his bag and… wow. That was a lot of books, each one thicker than the last. Chemistry I, Physics II, Theory of Numbers, Discrete Mathematics… Virgil had a headache just looking at the titles, “Uh… Wow. That’s some collection you’ve got there. What year are you?”

“I am a first semester sophomore. I struggled choosing a major, so I opted to dual major in Math and Physics and minor in Philosophy and Conservation Studies. Also a minor in Astronomy, but that came with no extra courseload, just strategic choices in electives. I enjoy learning quite a bit, so I opt to stay during break semesters, and I am on track to graduate on schedule with no more than 18 credits a semester,” Logan rattled off, like he’d gone through the spiel before and was expecting certain questions and wanted to head them off, “And yes, before you ask, I do take breaks, I am not a hermit with no friends, and as far as I know I am not a robot.”

Virgil blinked dazedly again, trying to absorb the bucketful of information being thrown at him, “Cool. Sounds like you’ve got it under control then. I’m dual-major too, but creative writing and interactive media design have a bunch of overlap.”

Logan nodded, pulling out what must have been the notebook he was looking for with a triumphant noise, “You want to be a game designer then? Very lucrative career to choose, especially with the current market for such employs.”

“I wanna write books, actually, but like you said, markets good for game writers and I wanna have a fall back in case everything sucks, ya know?” Virgil admitted. He’d been told his stories were good, sure, but there was always a chance it would all go to shit, and the only way to account for that was to put 110% in and have a backup plan for his backup plan’s backup plan.

Logan gave him an indecipherable look that passed in a moment before he went back to his neutral expression, “Understandable, I suppose. If you would ever like a second opinion on a piece, please allow me to offer my aid. I may not be as fluent in creative ventures, but I am a fan of such works, and my roommate often uses me as a sounding board for his own ideas.”

Virgil tried not to let his surprise show, he didn’t want to offend his new… desk-mate? Acquaintance? Study partner? Whatever Logan was to him now. “Sure, uh, that’d be great. I don’t know if I can offer the same, since, ya know, science is really not my strong suit, but I can try?”

Logan pushed his hand through his hair and pulled a hairtie off his wrist to pull it up into a slightly messy bun that kept his hair out of his eyes. Virgil noticed it actually looked more red than brown as the light hit it, and was so distracted he almost didn’t notice Logan offer a genuine smile, green eyes sparkling and catching Virgil off guard yet again with just how attractive he actually was, and flipped his laptop open, “That would be much appreciated Virgil. Thank you.”

They worked together in silence for the next hour and a half, then both headed back to their dorms. Virgil felt even more productive with just Logan’s presence and aura of concentration, and he found himself hoping the work order took a while to be completed.

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The next day, Virgil arrived at his table to find Logan already there, two coffee cups in front of him, studying a tome of a textbook raptly. Still, he looked up when Virgil took his seat across from him and pushed one of the coffee cups his way, “I made myself a tea downstairs and figured I’d make a second in case you wanted one. It’s a vanilla flavored English black tea, not the garbage they serve in the dining halls.”

Virgil grabbed the cup greedily, “Oh shit this is perfect, I had an 8am and desperately needed caffeine.” He took an experimental sip and groaned a bit as it hit his tongue, closing his eyes as the warmth passed through him like a calming fire, “Thank you, Logan, it’s delicious.” He thought he heard a choking sound, but when he looked up, Logan was looking back down at his notebook. He thought he saw a slight flush to his face, “Hey, you alright?”

“Oh yes, I’m fine. I just needed to clear my throat,” Logan insisted, though he did not look up from his book and his cheeks got even brighter. Virgil supposed he was probably a little embarrassed since he was normally so poised and put together.

“Ok, if you’re sure!” He opened his laptop and checked his to-do list, and was thrilled to realize he didn’t have anything urgent in terms of schoolwork. He opened his novel document instead, and immediately remembered why he’d left off where he did as the frustration resurfaced. Well, he thought, now was as good a time as ever to see if Logan meant it when he said he was willing to help. “Hey, Lo, could you help me find a word for what I’m trying to say here?”

Logan finally looked up from his book, sticking a bookmark in and closing it before adjusting his glasses and giving Virgil his full attention, “Absolutely, I could do with a break from formulae. Go ahead.”

Virgil felt a little off balance with the full weight of Logan’s stare, and his brain suddenly chose this moment to remind him that he was very, very gay. He cleared his throat and looked back down at his laptop so he wouldn’t be distracted, “Oh. Um. Thanks. So this guy is looking at his friend who he hadn’t really noticed in a romantic sense before, but i need a word for ‘‘momentary gay panic at how pretty he is’ without saying it like that. Like more poetic? Or just less casual.”

Logan cleared his throat, face flushing again, and Virgil had a moment of alarm when he realized he didn’t even know if Logan was ok with LGBT stuff, and oh god, what if he was a homophobe and yelled at him or he just made him super uncomfortable or - “While romantic language is typically much more my roommate’s forte, I can certainly, er, relate, to the situation you are describing, and attempt to describe it as Roman would.”

Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, relaxing once he realized the source of Logan’s hesitation was not derived from intolerance but instead from hitting a little too close to home. Then, in a moment of emotional whiplash, his breath caught again as he realized it hit a little too close to home and that meant Logan was likely attracted to men and that was nerve-wracking in an entirely different way. He forced himself to relax, knowing that Logan was likely waiting for an answer, and stammered out, “Y-Yeah, that would be good. Anything would help.”

“I believe a good way to phrase it would be ‘Suddenly caught unaware by the realization that he may be attracted to this man’. You could also describe side effects of the feeling itself, such as flushed skin or quickened heartbeat or what I believe my friend Patton calls butterflies?, rather than spelling it out explicitly.”

Virgil couldn’t hold back a grin as the inspiration hit him, “Oh! Duh! Show don’t tell would work perfect here, thank you Logan you rock!”

He didn’t miss the way Logan looked momentarily shell-shocked and made a mental note to be sure to give him more compliments in the future, if he was that maladjusted to them.

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Virgil hissed as his pencil broke again, clicking the end to get more lead a bit more aggressively than he probably needed to. Calculus was the devil, he’d decided. He was in hell and series and sequences were his instrument of torture.

Logan cleared his throat and Virgil’s head shot up in surprise. When had Logan gotten there? Oh good, tea, that was always welcome. He grabbed the cup Logan extended towards him and started chugging before Logan could even give him the usual background on what kind it was like he had every day for the past month. The other table was definitely fixed by now, but the two of them had gotten so used to the company that they’d just kept sitting together. “Virgil, are you… alright?” Logan asked tentatively, and Virgil looked up again, guilty and a bit crazy eyed.

“Fuck that was so rude. Yes. Yes, I’m fine, sorry, thanks for the tea Lo, I’m just stressed about this godforsaken calc II exam I have Monday. I don’t understand any of this stuff,” he gestured to the packets and notebook and textbook spread out on the table.

“That’s quite alright, I’m familiar with the stress of midterms. Though I may be able to help alleviate some of yours? I am a junior TA for Calc II, I could potentially provide assistance,” Logan offered.

Virgil let out a breath of relief, twisting one of his rings in an attempt to quell some of his nervous energy, “Oh that would be incredible. My Grad TA’s office hours are during when I have work, and he’s kinda a dick anyway.”

Logan exhaled heavily like he was trying not to laugh. “Chad, I assume?” he asked and Virgil nodded, “Well I can definitely be more helpful than that glorified orangutan.” It was Virgil’s turn to be startled into laughing, “Here, let me see what you’re working on....”

An hour and a half later, Logan was watching him work carefully and when he tentatively circled his final answer he gave him an encouraging nod and a smile, “You’ve got it now. See, it’s all about the rules and the patterns.”

“Oh Logan I could kiss you,” Virgil enthused, still looking in amazement at his own work, “You just saved my entire life, thank you.”

Logan cleared his throat and turned away, though when Virgil looked up he could see that the tips of his ears were red. Ugh, you’d think after a month he’d be used to being complimented by now. “Well, if that was all, I, er, I need to work on some of my own assignments.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, I can do more practice myself,” Virgil told him, waving him away with a smile, “You’ve absolutely helped enough, I’ll get you that jam you like so much or something. I owe you so much.”

Logan mumbled something in return but when Virgil asked him to repeat it he stammered, “I’ll be right back!” and ran off to the bathroom. Virgil shrugged and went back to puzzling through the rest of his study guide.

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“-so, theoretically, there could in fact be another planet in this solar system, but it would need to be far enough away or small enough to not affect the gravitational pull of Pluto’s moons in a significant way or just in a way which is balanced by another gravitational pull which forced our equations to not identify any irregularity.”

“Well shit,” Virgil breathed, “So, theoretically, how possible are aliens?”

“Damn close to guaranteed,” Logan told him with a grin, “Intelligent life, that’s another story, but I still believe they are highly likely-”

Virgil set his head in his hands, pushing his work to the side so he could simply listen.

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“I’m going to head down to the cafeteria to make another cup of tea, would you like to join me?”

“Sure thing, Lo, I desperately need to not look at this anymore.” Virgil felt a teeny bit of pride when Logan choked on nothing in what Virgil assumed was shock as he stood up to stretch and revealed his outfit, his heels giving him the extra three inches he needed to be what Remy called scary tall, which was actually enough to effectively tower over Logan, and the confidence to leave his sweatshirt unzipped over a mesh crop top and ripped jeans that he knew looked good, as he had been assured so around 100 times before he agreed to go to the library in it in the first place, “Sorry, forgot you got here after me, my friend’s playing a show tonight after this and I told him I’d hang with his boyfriend and make sure no one gets obnoxious. So I got a little dressed up, cuz I didn’t wanna have to go back to my apartment in between. Besides, when I’m this tall no one fucks with me in general, not just in the mosh pit.”

“That is… certainly an outfit,” Logan wheezed, then took a sip of his water in an attempt to wash it down.

“You ok L? You’re all red, I don’t need you dying on me,” Virgil asked, concerned his friend was actually drowning on his own water bottle.

Logan waved him off, gulping water down like he’d been stuck in the desert for days. “Yes, yes, just a little, erm, parched. Got a bit too focused and forgot to drink and you startled me.”

“Whatever you say, Professor,” Virgil teased, stretching his arms up to try to roll his shoulders, “Just don’t get too enthusiastic there. Last thing we need is you to choke to death cuz you were thirsty.”

Logan seemed to make a concentrated effort not to choke again, adjusting his tie and turning on his heel quickly to head down to the cafe, and Virgil considered it a win.

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There was someone else at their table. The new man was broad shouldered, with dirty blonde hair that had just a bit of a beachy wave to it, skin tanned perfectly like he’d never spent a day out of the sun. How was that even possible? They went to school in Massachusetts and it was January. He was gesturing wildly while he spoke and Logan was doing that half-laugh he did when he thought something was funny but didn’t want to admit it and Virgil felt… something… pang deep in his stomach. Of course, Logan was ridiculously hot, Virgil had no chance at all, even if he’d been starting to feel like there was something between them. He definitely didn’t have a chance if Logan wanted someone that looked like that. He couldn’t help but be a little vindictive though as he plastered a smile onto his face and headed over, setting his bag down with a resounding thump, “Wow, this quiet corner just keeps getting more crowded, huh?”

Logan startled a bit, and Virgil could have been imagining it but he thought he saw a flash of hurt at Virgil’s tone, “I-I suppose. This is Roman, he needed some assistance with his screenplay and I suggested he come here, but we can go back to our apartment if it will be too much of a nuisance for you.”

Virgil would have eaten his own shoe to take back his original words, but he couldn’t, so he covered up as best he could, “R-Roman. Your roommate. Of course. Hi, I’m Virgil, you can definitely stay. Sorry, just had a long day at work, I’m a little - er- cranky, or whatever.”

Roman gave him a smirk that was just a tad too knowing for Virgil’s taste, “Don’t worry, Mr. Prince of Darkness. I’ll be out of your hair soon and you two can get back to doing whatever the hell it is you do every day. Just need the human thesaurus here to help me out a bit, and it’s not like he’s ever home anymore with how often he hangs around here for your little study-”

“Roman,” Logan hissed quickly, and Virgil saw Roman shoot him an unimpressed look.

“Study sessions.” Roman finished, “Now come on Pocket Protector, what’s another word for pining. I’ve already used it twice, and longing and yearning are both not quite a right fit.” Virgil had a momentary thought that Roman should be very glad looks couldn’t kill, with how Logan was glaring him down. “Nothing? How about some flowery language for black hair or blue eyes, hmm? Think you can help me there?”

“Roman Michaels.” Logan bit out, and Roman gave him a bright, shit-eating grin.

“No? How about helping me with a sweatshirt sharing scene, how about that? I mean, it’s a cliche, sure, but I’m sure we can put a spin on it, like make it clearly well used and important...”

“I will dye your hair fluorescent orange in your sleep Roman, I swear,” Logan seethed, and Virgil was stock still, eyes wide as they darted between the two roommates.

”Maybe some music recommendations then? Those are slightly less cliche…”

“Destroy your conditioner and hide your blow dryer, add cheap hair gel to all your shampoo,” Logan continued, attempting to speak over him.

“I know you’ll suggest a height difference, I believe I can fit that in,” Roman’s voice was rising too, and the new occupants of Logan’s old table were firing dirty looks at them.

“Guys?” Virgil asked quietly and both of the roommates stopped immediately, turning to him with fire in their eyes, “Um. I guess this is like... a touchy subject? But people are staring cuz you guys are sorta… loud.”

Roman and Logan both flushed brightly, turning to give awkward waves to the other table while Virgil tried to comprehend what had just happened, “So like… Logan you’re pretty passionate about Roman’s screenplay, huh?”

Roman groaned dramatically and shoved his laptop in his bag, standing abruptly. “I can’t believe there’s two people as oblivious as you,” he muttered like a curse, then almost literally flounced off with a clearly meaningful look shot at Logan that Virgil couldn’t quite figure out but made Logan flush brighter.

It was silent for a couple minutes, just the taptaptap of Virgil’s pen against his notebook sounding out through the space between them, before Virgil couldn’t take it and spoke up, “You wanna talk about why that was a thing for you or nah?”

“Y-You don’t know? Seriously?” Logan looked incredulous, then laughed a little to himself, “Virgil. He was teasing me.”

“Teasing you? About what?” Virgil asked, trying to think through what it could possibly be, “You that against, like, cheesy romcom cliches?”

Logan shook his head, still looking like Virgil had amazed him in some way, “Virgil. Please. Think about it. Black hair, blue eyes, height difference, well-worn sweatshirts and music recommendations. You don’t have any idea what he could possibly be mocking me for?”

Virgil’s brow creased in thought, and suddenly it hit him and he audibly gasped, making Logan swallow nervously, and the word pining soared to the front of his mind, “Y-You. You mean?”

“I am… Interested in you Virgil. Romantically. I have been since far before I ever sat at your table, the broken outlet just provided a good excuse for me to finally attempt to talk to you. Roman was… blunt but he had informed me that he was, and I quote, ‘Coming to see what the fuss was about’ after I got, I admit, a bit too in depth in lamenting my inability to ask you out on a date. I had no idea he would be so infuriatingly obtuse about it, I hope he did not make you uncomfortable. Obviously, you do not share the sentiment-”

“Whoa whoa. Hold on there. Who said I didn’t?” Virgil cut in quickly before Logan could keep babbling, recognizing social anxiety when he saw it, “Cuz I sure didn’t.”

“...I’m sorry?”

“You should be. Can’t go assuming stuff about people, L. Now why don’t you ask me, straightforward, if I am interested. Because I can guarantee you will like the answer.”

Logan cleared his throat, then swallowed thickly, his cheeks lightly pink, “Well then, Virgil, I like you very much and would like to know if you would like to accompany me to dinner this Friday night? As a date?”

“I’ll do you one better, since I also very much like you back, and I don’t think my anxiety could take waiting that long. Let’s go get some food right now. I’m starving and I would very much like to kiss you and I want to get at least one date in before I totally ruin your opinion of me and do that right here in this library, and Friday can be our second date, deal?” Virgil offered, extending his hand across the table to Logan.

Logan grasped his hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles with a heady glance up through his glasses, “V, I think you will find that there is not much that you could do which I would not fully endorse at this moment. But I absolutely accept this proposal. Let’s go.”

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5 years later, almost exactly to the day, Roman is insufferable during his best man speech about the fact that he is the reason they even got together in the first place, and insists that if left to their own devices they would still be meeting at 7pm on weeknights and 1pm on weekends at a table in the corner of the library with the good chairs and never, ever confessing their love. Logan and Virgil are too busy clinging to each others’ hands and staring into each others’ eyes to dispute it at all.

#analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #my writing #sanders sides fic

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varethane · 4 years

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So lately I’ve been playing this online drawing game called Drawception, it’s a ton of fun just drawing up replies to random prompts on there! I recommend it to anyone who likes drawing, has time to spare, and likes the idea of an endless fountain of prompts to get the illustratin’ juices a-movin’. :B

(If you do join, my profile is here and you can see the rest of my nonsense, as well as context for these charming works! XD)

#my art #drawception #papyrus #raven #teen titans #undertale #waluigi #this site is the best seriously #plz join me #descend into madness with me

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steve0discusses · 6 years

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Yugioh S2 Ep 28: Marik Ishtar Canonically Only Weighs 121 lbs

Yo, I got hella sick this week and slept for what felt like 3 straight days, so because I’m still not fully functional (like I just found french fries in my front pocket of my sweatshirt and I have no idea when over the past three days I put that in there), in celebration of finally being awake, lets watch a lucid dream put to the screen, that’s right, it’s time for Yugioh.

Last we left off, Yugi has decided to throw this heavy chain and anchor over Joey’s neck--referring of course to the golden cursed necklace and not the actual chain and anchor that is hanging above them and about to kill them (but probably weighs the same but we’ll get to that realization later). I was really hoping that we’d get to see Pharaoh pull up in the corner like a little shoulder angel and just start shouting at Joey, but apparently you can’t catch the Pharaoh Dad curse that easily.

So apparently I missed THIS the last two episodes--but there’s a huge ass Death Clock above the anchor? Seriously, there’s been a time limit this whole time!?

I would be jumping into the ocean the moment I saw this clock, I just cannot even fathom the thought of playing a 20 minute card game. Like once my older brother--a different bro than my younger bro who edits this blog, this is my Chaotic Neutral bro--decided to shove 5 different Uno decks together to create an ultimate deck that was almost entirely wilds and draw 4′s and it was such an excruciating experience, that my Mother secretly threw the game away. Forever scarred.

Anyway, now that he’s strapped with Pharaoh in a Box, finally things got weird enough that Joey snapped out of it. First time he snapped out of it was because of a dragon...second time was the puzzle...he has yet to even kind of recognize Tea strapped in a bondage chair with a giant storage unit threatening to crush her--that one doesn’t seem to bother him.

Joey has a very selective memory, but he only seems to come to for about 10 seconds at a time and mostly just sweats a lot whenever he does.

(read more under the cut)

And as Joey pulls out the same piece he once threw out a school window and into a really fancy fountain, he has a very quick flashback to Season One. Or Season Zero, depending on which version you like better. (What school has a fountain, PS? Was that a quick donation from the Kaibas so the principal could shrug off some demerits?)

And so Joey puts the puzzle back together and back over his neck.

It’s fine. Go back to throwing fireballs at your best friend, but if you litter, then that’s just way too far. I mean the show has to stretch this out four episodes anyway, so despite their endless friendship love--Joey is still possessed and we have nothing left to give him unless Yugi just starts unloading belts.

Really confused at how this magic even works or operates when the puzzle is so far away from Yugi, but maybe Pharaoh has a battery life like a wacom tablet.

Man, so there really is no way to have any privacy when that guy’s in your head huh? Like can’t even hang up the puzzle when you’re on the toilet--no--he’s just...always around. This is the worst curse.

Back on the boat, the story boarding team realized that Marik is an underage teenager and cannot drink alcohol on TV.

I mean he didn’t even have a bottle of whatever he’d drink to fill that glass (milk, I’m assuming. Marik seems like the type of person that’d put ice in his milk.) But all that was drawn next to him was just one bucket of ice. Marik’s just back here stress chewing ice like a pregnant woman.

PS I just looked up Marik’s age with a quick Google Search and can we talk about something real fast--just real fast--JK I’m gonna talk about it a lot.

+++++RATHER LONG WIKIA WORMHOLE WEIGHT DISCUSSION FEEL FREE TO SKIP++++++++++

Age‎: ‎16 <---which seems a little young, but OK, it’s an anime

Weight‎: ‎121.254 lb <------- EXCUSE ME, WIKIA!?

Height‎: ‎1.8 m ; 5.906 ft

He is nearly 6 ft feet tall and 120 lbs!?

Y’all.

Marik HAS NO BONES.

As a reviewer, it’s not my job to go around saying if drawing Marik way too skinny for a normal human being is right or wrong, because that’s a discussion that you can find plenty of info on. I’m pretty sure the people who made this show never expected when they first drew Yugi’s crazy eyes and horrible hair that we’d have a generation that would point to it and say “that’s hot”

And I’m not saying any of these characters have eating problems either, because we’ve seen all of them eat healthy meals. The shocking thing is that they gave these fake characters--remember these aren’t real people, they are cartoons--a specific numeric weight.

Blood type I expect, other random anime tidbits I expect--but weight seems super duper random and so awkward. Like, why do we have this information? Was it on a card or something? Like did the intern who came up with this weight number even research like...how much a normal human weighs??? Did they pull this number out of their ass???? None of these numbers make any sense, and they have these for apparently every single person who has appeared on the show. It’s incredible.

Man, Marik’s still wearing Baby Gap over there. Which...that explains the very small hoodie.

...one sec, let me look at the stats on Yugi.

Weight‎: ‎92.594 lb Height‎: ‎1.53 m ; 5.02 ft

OH NO. Who did this!?

He can’t even ride a roller coaster yet! Well, that explains a lot of the need for so many belts on this show. Yugi hasn’t hit the big triple digits yet.

Oh, Yugi.

And since we’re talking about numbers, lets talk about that puzzle now that we’ve talked about Yugi’s body weight. And like, lets be real--this is a cartoon and so of course it weighs magically nothing in the physics of the show...but lets just see, using math, how much this is if a 7 inch isosceles pyramid were made of solid gold (assuming that there is no gap in the middle, because that’s the way I’ve personally interpreted it.)

Now I’m gonna throw out a number and if you disagree, that’s cool beans and I don’t care, I was an art major, leave your math in the comments. But my math: It’s roughly 60 lbs. Some people online say it would only be 2 kilo’s but I don’t know what planet they’re from. Gold is .7 lbs a volumetric inch

Of course this weight also depends on how heavy the chain is, but I mean...the chain is stronger than Joey Wheeler and Tristan combined hitting it repeatedly with a pipe. It’s gotta be a car-towing/superlock chain.

a 20 inch heavy duty tow/lock chain is like 15 lbs, from what I see on Ebay.

So that pyramid necklace, indeed, is 75 lbs--4/5 of Yugi’s weight.

Now lets say you think there’s a gap in the middle and each piece has about a half-inch thickness, we’ll subtract about 43 lbs.

That’s still a 32 lb necklace guys, it’s about a third his weight!

Now lets say this was gold plated--first off, it’s not. But, lets say it’s entirely copper AND it’s hollow. That necklace is still 7 lbs with a 15 lb chain which is 23 lbs.

So, in all, Yugi actually weighs more than most people on this show--but it’s only because of the necklace, meaning the strongest thing in Yugioh, other than the endearing power of friendship between Joey and Yugi, is Yugi’s neck.

I also looked up Seto Kaiba and it didn’t say his weight right away but it did say this

Favorite Food‎: ‎Filet Mignon with Foie Gras Sauce

Damn.

Why does Seto Kaiba crave freakin ducks? Someone please give this poor child some candy. Give the whole cast candy.

+++++++END RANT OF EVERYONE’S WEIGHT ACCORDING TO WIKIA. I’M NOT EVEN SURE WHY WE KNOW THIS?+++++++

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the boys are still babysitting Serenity, who has the pure muscle mass of 108 lbs, which is nearly 20 lbs more than Yugi Muto and only about 10 lbs less than Marik Ishtar.

She could probably lift Marik Ishtar. TBH with OP buff Wheeler stats like that, Serenity could probably punch out half the cast and does not need babysitting.

Duke Devlin is still following them around. I don’t really know why. No thugs are after Duke. Duke can just leave whenever he wants to, but he’s either so fascinated by Tristan’s predicament, or so enamored by Serenity’s soft hair and beautiful bandages, that he’s decided to follow along like Bakura in Season 1.

Except Bakura in Season 1 followed along because he wanted to screw them all, I’m pretty sure Duke won’t be doing that because I’m fairly positive that dice earring he got off of Etsy isn’t a millennium earring. I’m fairly positive he isn’t going to randomly kill everybody. I don’t know if this show could handle yet another villain dead set on destroying the world.

This love triangle between Tristan, and a girl who I didn’t think was real in S1, and Duke Devlin, the guy who was in a one-off at the end of S1 when the season should have already ended. So this is happening now. Interesting choice, show.

Serenity is like 12, right? Like her brother’s 14-16 and she’s like 11-13?

This show has a cast mostly full of people who are all the same age yet they keep shipping the few people that are either too young or waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too old. (except for Yugi and Joey, of course, who are the same age)

Duke Devlin, with this newly found responsibility, immediately walks a blind person into the street.

Anyways, speaking of ships that are way too old for this show, look who’s here and driving the dumbest convertible I’ve ever seen drawn.

And on the other side of town, the show edited out most of this violent nonsense for me.

Mai’s car, straight from fisher-price. I can’t stop looking at it.

So um...in the time it took to get Tristan, pick him up, turn around, and then drive here it was like...a 2 minute drive?

But, youknow, consider the Kaiba’s perspective. You’re watching this effed up duel straight from the bowels of Satan, and you hear a car pull up, and you’re like “oh finally, someone’s come to help us” and you turn around, and it’s a blue clown car full of Mai Valentine, Tristan, that random horny kid from the class across the hall, and some blind woman?

So Mokuba, who weighs less than one millennium puzzle at 61 lbs, actually makes an attempt to explain everything as quickly as possible and this is like the fourth time this kid has had to explain to someone else what the hell is going on.

Ah, and now everyone’s a bystander.

Almost the entire cast is here now, right? At least Yugi will die with an audience.

Bandit Keith weighs 187 lbs, PS. He is, so far, the only character I’ve checked who weighs more than Yugi with the necklace on.

Anyway, their weights are all awkwardly available online and I’ll probably go back to forgetting that this random info exists (much like I consistently forget that Seto is only 6′1″ although he’s drawn like he’s 8 ft tall)

Next week on Yugioh:

So how much does Yugi’s hair weigh when all that product is on there? Does Seto ever eat that Filet Mignon he craves so bad? Is Mai in fact renting that car and does it get busted here in the Abandoned Warehouse neighborhood?

#Yugioh #yugioh recap #photo recap #S2 Ep 28 #Yugi muto #Joey Wheeler #Marik Ishtar #Serenity Wheeler #Mai Valentine #Duke Devlin #Tristan Taylor #doom clock #Seto Kaiba #Mokuba Kaiba #tw weight

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empress-penguin · 7 years

Text

Fiction: Distractions (Chapter 2)

Title: Distractions

Rating: PG-13/T

Fandom: Wild Kratts

Summary: An unexpected move by one side changes the dynamics of the game – and some of the players may never be quite the same again…

Notes: Just a hypothetical that I thought would be fun to explore. Of course, my definition of “fun” may be slightly suspect…

Navigation: Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5

Distractions

Chapter 2

“Keep driving, Dabio,” Donita ordered, her gaze sweeping over the lush, tangled greenery that surrounded them on all sides. “Somewhere in this rainforest is a creature that will take the fashion world by storm. And I intend to find it.”

But both creatures and inspiration proved elusive that morning, and as the sun rose higher in the sky, Donita felt her frustration mounting.

“This – isn’t – working!” she ground out through clenched teeth as what had been a promising rustle in the underbrush revealed itself to be nothing more than a common, ordinary squirrel. She took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose in an effort to remain calm. The ideas would come. They always did, each one so unique, so breathtakingly original that she was occasionally astonished at her own creativity – though never for very long. What she needed was a break, she thought, a chance to relax and let her artistic genius take its course. A massage would have been ideal, but she supposed she'd have to wait until they got back to civilization for that. Still, there had to be something...

“Dabio!” she barked, turning abruptly to her assistant, who gave a start, nearly dropping the candy bar that he’d just unwrapped. “Isn't there supposed to be a beach around here somewhere?”

Dabio looked around blankly, as though expecting a stretch of shoreline to suddenly materialize in front of them. Donita sighed, holding out a hand. “Map, Dabio.”

The beach proved easy enough to locate on paper – indeed, it would have been hard to miss it. The only problem was that she had no idea where they were in relation to it. Raising her eyes from the map, Donita scanned her surroundings once more in the hopes of finding some kind of landmark, but to no avail.

“Ugh!” Donita felt the edges of the map begin to crumple as her fingers tightened in renewed irritation. “Isn't there anything besides trees in this forest?”

“Uh… let me check, Donita.” Dabio pulled out a pair of binoculars and began surveying the landscape. “Tree… Tree… Tree with a monkey in it… Tree…”

“Monkey?” Donita snatched the binoculars and trained them on the tree in question. Sure enough, she could just make out a small, furry figure perched among the spreading branches. The designer raised a carefully sculpted eyebrow. “Black, with a splash of cream... very nice!” Twirling the central knob, she gave a gasp of delight as the image came into clearer focus. “Look at that precious little face! I must have it! Dabio!”

“Yes, Donita?”

“Fetch me that monkey!”

“Yes, Donita!” Dabio paused, his face lighting up. “Can I use the scooter?”

Donita rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She wasn’t sure why Dabio had been so set on bringing the motorized two-wheeler, which he ordinarily used for tooling around her spacious mansion, but she hadn't seen any harm in it, so she'd let him have his way. Now, as she watched him cheerfully setting off in pursuit of the monkey, she couldn't help noticing – with the flicker of surprise that always accompanied the discovery of any degree of merit in one of her assistant’s ideas – that the vehicle was actually quite well-suited to the task, its small size making it much more maneuverable than the convertible, its electric motor whisper-quiet. She wondered briefly whether she ought to give him a bit more credit, but quickly dismissed the notion. After all, it was just as likely that he’d wanted to ride the scooter because he thought it was fun.

He certainly did seem to be making the most of it, looping through the trees in a seemingly endless series of circles, and it was only the knowledge that doing so would frighten away their quarry that kept Donita from screaming at him to quit fooling around and get to work. He kept it up for so long that even the inquisitive monkey appeared to lose interest in his antics; climbing down from the branch, it ambled over to the pile of nuts that had accumulated at the base of a neighboring tree and began pounding on one of them with a rock. Dabio continued to ride around with the same pleased grin on his face, but when his course took him up behind the small creature, he reached for his net and scooped it up, rock and all.

“I got him, Donita!” Dabio was beaming now, holding up the net for his employer to see as he sped back towards the convertible with his prize.

“Well, it's about time.” The designer yawned, tossing aside her magazine. “Put it in the back, and let's get out of here.”

Surveying her subject with a critical eye as she watched Dabio wrangle him into the cage that they'd brought along for the purpose, Donita felt her spirits begin to rise. “I can work with this,” she murmured to herself. “I can definitely work with this.” Settling herself back in her seat, she flipped open her sketchpad while Dabio turned the convertible homeward.

A harsh clanging sound from behind made her jump, her pen skittering across the page and leaving a jagged black line in its wake. Scribbling out the rest of her drawing in disgust, she whirled around to glare at the offending primate, who, she now saw, was still clutching the rock in his furry little fist. “Dabio! What is that monkey doing?”

Glancing back at their captive through the rear-view mirror, her assistant broke into a broad smile as the monkey began to bang the rock against the door of the cage, the discordant jangle reverberating through the trees once more. “He's playing a pretty song, Donita.”

“Well, make it stop!” the designer retorted. “How am I supposed to create a living masterpiece with all that racket going on?”

“Okay, Donita.” Bringing the convertible to a halt, Dabio reached back and wrested the rock from the monkey's hand. “It stopped.”

“That's better,” Donita huffed, turning back to her sketchpad. But no sooner had they gotten on their way again, it seemed, than her concentration was broken once more, this time by someone shouting her name.

“Now what?” Donita heaved an exaggerated sigh, though secretly she was rather pleased. “Ah, the life of a celebrity. Never a moment to oneself.” Summoning up a gracious smile, she turned around to see who it was that had hailed her. But the smile faded perceptibly as she caught sight of the mud-splashed jeep speeding toward her, and the two men seated inside it. No wonder the voice had sounded familiar.

“Martino and Chrisangelo. I might have known.” The fashionista gave another sigh, this one sounding slightly more genuine. “Now I suppose they're going to want me to give up my latest fashion find. Well, it's a good thing this car is designed for speed as well as style.” She turned to her assistant. “Dabio! Step on it!”

“Uh...”

“MOVE!”

Donita was thrown back against the seat as the convertible lurched forward, but as soon as she’d recovered her balance, she turned and glanced behind her once more, noting with satisfaction the increasing distance between her vehicle and the Kratts’. Before she’d had a chance to savor her apparent victory, however, they had plunged into the heart of the rainforest, and she let out a muffled shriek as trees and vines suddenly seemed to close in on them from all sides, fearing not only for the success of her project – the density of the foliage having temporarily obscured her view of the brothers – but for her own safety and that of her paint job as well.

The next few miles seemed to pass in a blur as the red convertible careened through the forest. Though she’d immediately flung up her arms to protect her head and face, Donita could still see well enough to provide Dabio with a continual stream of instructions, alternately urging him to hurry lest the brothers somehow catch up and to slow down in order to avoid hitting any of the too-numerous trees, not to mention contributing a helpful gasp or scream whenever a collision seemed imminent. When at last they reached the jet, she sat back with a long exhale, feeling rather drained by her exertions, but the discovery that they had made it both unscathed and comfortably ahead of their pursuers revived her almost instantaneously.

“We did it, Dabio,” she gloated, bestowing a magnanimous smile on her assistant as he climbed out to retrieve their captive. “Now let’s get to work.”

Hastening up the ramp with the monkey's cage in his muscular arms, Dabio flung open the door for his employer, then stepped back to allow her to enter. Donita nodded absently as she swept past him, her attention riveted once again on her drawings. Back in the familiar luxury of her jet, with its carefully-designed interior, she could feel herself start to relax, the fountain of creativity beginning to flow once more. Opening her sketchpad to a fresh page, she sank down quickly onto a nearby chaise to capture the ideas now forming in her mind.

Deep in thought, she barely noticed the twin metallic thunks of the cage being set on the floor and the door swinging closed behind it, but an unusual rattle a moment later had her glancing up with a frown. “What on earth–?”

She broke off with a gasp as a blur of black and white shot past her. “My monkey! Get it, Dabio!” Leaping to her feet, she cast a frenzied glance around the jet before spotting the small primate scampering up the side of a folding screen standing in the corner. Dabio made a lunge for it, but missed, plowing into the screen and sending it toppling over onto himself as his quarry scrambled up the rose-hued draperies hanging nearby. It paused a moment at the top, then suddenly took a flying leap across the room, landing atop the chaise that Donita had just vacated.

The designer let out a shriek as the creature sailed over her head, but she kept her wits about her. Dashing to the other end of the cabin, she snatched up her suspended-animation controller from the desk and aimed it at the chaise. A press of a button, and the monkey was frozen in place, looking like an extremely detailed plush toy nestled among the throw pillows.

Donita took a deep breath, savoring the renewed peace and quiet. Placing the controller back on the desk, she advanced toward her assistant, who was crawling awkwardly out from beneath the fallen screen. “Dabio,” she began, in a tone of deceptive sweetness, “I thought we'd cleared up that little problem with MAKING SURE THE LOCK IS LOCKED?” She dug her fingernails into her palms, trying to keep her temper even as her voice rose in volume and pitch.

“I– I did lock it, Donita,” Dabio stammered, setting the screen upside-down in his confusion and haste. “The– the monkey must have broken it!”

“The monkey must have broken it?” Donita scoffed. “Do you really expect me to believe–” She stopped abruptly as her eye fell on the lock, which bore the unmistakable marks of the capuchin's makeshift hammer. Her anger began to ebb away, replaced by something that felt oddly like a twinge of guilt... but Donita pushed the unwelcome sensation firmly aside. She couldn't very well admit to Dabio that she might have been wrong; he was her employee, after all, and his unquestioning loyalty and obedience were essential. Still...

“I suppose it is possible,” she conceded grudgingly before rounding on her henchman, who jumped, knocking over the screen again. “But don't let it happen again!”

With that formality out of the way, she turned her attention to the monkey himself. “You're lucky you're with me,” she remarked as she scooped him up and carried him toward one of the life-size mannequins stationed at intervals around the jet. “After a stunt like that, Zach would have had you in a robot suit and doing his chores for him faster than I can say 'Vogue.'” She sniffed. “His ideas are always so… utilitarian. Whereas I, I see the grander possibilities. In my expert hands, you will soon be at the pinnacle of the fashion world, mingling with those who appreciate the finer things in life.” Giving a satisfied nod, she placed the monkey atop the mannequin's head and began to arrange his limbs in what she considered the most becoming manner. Suddenly, her hands stilled, her eyes widening as she recognized an asset that she had somehow previously overlooked.

“Look at that tail,” she breathed. “Look at that long, luxurious, beautiful tail!” Her gaze became distant, rapturous. “A hat and scarf all in one! It will be perfect for my new line of winterwear! I'll call it… my Cappuccino Collection!”

Wrapping the tail around the mannequin's neck with a flourish, she stepped back and stared blissfully at her creation for a moment, then abruptly clapped her hands, becoming brisk and businesslike once again. “But we'll need more – lots more. My clients will demand them in small, medium, and large.” She frowned, considering. “Dabio! Are those Kratt brothers still out there?”

Her assistant crossed to the window and peered out. “Yes, Donita.”

“Good. Maybe this will be easier than I thought.” She turned to Dabio, who was now making faces against the glass. “Get the convertible ready again, but don't let them see you. Then keep watch and inform me the minute they leave. Understand?”

. “No!” Chris pounded his hand against the steering wheel in frustration as the door of the pink jet slammed shut. “We were so close! Now she's gonna turn Frank into a... into a...” But here his limited fashion vocabulary failed him. “Well, I don't know what, but it won't be anything good.” He frowned. “But how are we going to get him out of there without getting stuck in Donita’s pose beams again?”

“We'll be able to do it once we get the capuchin powers,” Martin assured him, but he, too, looked worried. “But I don't know if we can wait that long. The troop is really vulnerable without their leader!” He cast an anxious glance over his shoulder, as if trying to catch a glimpse of the capuchins they'd left behind. “Maybe we should go back and make sure they're okay.”

“But that's what she'll be expecting us to do,” Chris objected. “Remember what happened with Blur and Spot-Swat? We could lead her right to them!”

Both brothers fell silent, pondering, then glanced up at the same moment, turning to each other with nearly identical smiles. “I'll take the Createrra and lead Donita and Dabio away from the troop–” Chris began.

“And I'll sneak onto the jet and rescue Frank,” Martin finished.

Nodding his agreement, Chris pulled out his Creature Pod. “Koki, can you get a visual on the troop?”

"On it.” The communications specialist pressed a few buttons and gave a nod of her own. “Everything looks quiet right now, but we'll keep an eye on things until you get back there with ol' Frankincense, or whatever his name is.” A tiny smirk accompanied this last comment. “Tortuga out.”

Martin, meanwhile, had turned his attention once more to the forest behind them, although Chris could tell from the mingled relief and amusement in his expression that he'd heard everything Koki had said. “We'll have to start off going back the way we came if we want Donita to think we're heading back into capuchin territory,” the older Kratt observed. “But that thick foliage will be the perfect cover. Once we get a little ways in, I can hop out and lie low until she goes by, and then double back to the jet.”

“I'll keep going for a couple more miles and then veer north,” Chris decided, scanning the map that he'd pulled up on his Creature Pod for areas where they'd be less likely to actually encounter any capuchins. Pocketing the device, he paused momentarily, casting a quick look up at his brother. “Hey, bro... be careful, okay? I'll try to buy you as much time as I can, but...”

“I will,” Martin promised, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I'll let you know when I’ve got Frank, and we'll meet back at the Tortuga.”

Chris nodded, a smile beginning to spread across his face as he saw his own determination and growing excitement mirrored in his brother's eyes. Raising his arm, he tapped his fist against Martin's in the gesture that had become almost a tradition for them, their voices ringing out in unison: “To the creature rescue!”

“Stop the car, Dabio. There, behind that tree.” Donita frowned as she raised the binoculars to her eyes. The Kratts' vehicle had come to a stop some distance ahead, but she couldn't see any monkeys anywhere, just the younger of the brothers climbing out of the driver's seat. The designer's frown deepened. “Don't tell me we're going to have to get out and walk.” To her relief, however, Chris merely circled around to the back of the jeep and knelt down to inspect the rear tire, which, Donita now saw, was unmistakably flat. She watched him extract a jack from the cargo area and begin to raise the vehicle off the ground, but she had little interest in the details of automotive maintenance, and she soon found her attention wandering. Stifling a yawn as he struggled with a particularly stubborn lug nut, she wondered idly why he didn’t just get his brother to help him, before passing on to the more pressing question of whether she ought to apply an additional layer of sunscreen. A moment later, however, she shot bolt upright in her leather seat, fumbling for the binoculars once again. “Wait a minute. Where's–?”

Donita stopped, realizing that she knew exactly where Martin was, and what he was up to. The brothers had tricked her into leaving the jet – and the monkey – unattended, and she'd fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. Donita narrowed her eyes, torn between irritation and a grudging admiration. “So you want to play hide-and-seek, do you? Well, I have a few games of my own.”

“Games?” Dabio gave a little bounce in his seat. “Oh, goody, I love games!”

“Yes, Dabio.” A sly smile stole across the designer's face as an idea began to unfold in her mind. “You are going to stay here with Chrisangelo and play a game called ‘Wait Until He Gets His Jeep Fixed and Then Follow Him to Wherever the Monkeys Are and Capture Them.’ Okay?”

Her assistant nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, Donita! That sounds like fun!”

“Good.” Stepping gracefully out of the car, Donita retrieved the scooter from the trailer and prepared to mount it. “Meanwhile, I will go back to the jet and find Martino.” Her smile widened, a peculiar gleam coming into her eyes. “I have another little game in mind for him.”

#wild kratts #fanfiction #my writing #distractions

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lurkingcrow · 7 years

Text

So a while back I made this gifset based on a song that I cannot listen to without thinking Vader angst. As it happened it prompted a weird sort of idea, and well, what better time for a weird dreamlike piece about personal ghosts then Halloween?

(full lyrics to the song in question at the bottom of the post).

Darkness. All around him is darkness and confusion. He cannot tell up from down, his body held tight in the grip of a hundred icy tendrils that weave and twist along the lines of his torso. The darkness binds him, confines him, but it is not his master and in a rage he reaches for the power that lies just beyond his grasp. His bonds tighten, almost choking him in their fervour until suddenly he is falling, falling and…

Suddenly he is standing on a rock in the middle of a featureless plain, the edges hidden by a thick grey fog that fills the air from horizon to horizon. Before him lie three paths, each leading off in a different direction, each slowly disappearing into the mist.The only sound he can hear is the harsh sound of his own breaths, almost deafening in the silence. It sounds wrong. Yet he cannot say why. There is a feeling that this is not right, that he is missing something, but in this strange place the connections elude him. Unthinking he picks a path, and walks.

Time has no meaning, he has been walking for a moment and an eternity when the grey fog slowly gives way to red dust and smoky skies. Around him the shadows solidify, becoming ships, and tents, and soldiers. The hustle and bustle of a war camp fill his ears and in the distance he can hear the faint sound of dropships entering the atmosphere.

“General? Do you have a minute?”

He turns to face his Captain, taking note of the tally marks on the side of his helmet. Why does he feel there are some missing? With a shake of his head he throws off his confusion. “Of course Rex. What did you want?”

They’re drawing away from the main camp now, gaining as much privacy as can be found in the middle of a warzone. There’s a sense of familiarity, as if he’s been here before even though he knows this is his first visit to the planet.

“That’s just it Sir.” Captain Rex continues and something about the way the commander holds himself is wrong, too formal. “You don’t use our designations. Not that it’s a problem, but I’d been wondering why.”

The answer comes without him thinking about it. “Because names are important. You’re more than a number. You’re a person. And your name is Rex.”

The air seems to shift around him and now Rex looks older, more worn, blond hair and sharp chin replaced by bare skin and grey beard. Around them their surroundings start to dissolve as the clone commander speaks once more.

“So. You haven’t forgotten.”

And then there is nothing but mist.

He walks.

Another eternity and he stands again at the rock, three paths now two.

The second path seems steeper than the first. But it is just as endless. Once more the grey gives way to shadows, then colour, and he is sitting in the Temple, surrounded by the soft burbling of the fountains and the green scent of growing plants.

“Come on Master! It’s your turn.”

Snips lounges on the grass in front of him, their game of Sabacc lying between them. He is winning, though from experience he knows his Padawan is a wily opponent. Smiling he plays his hand, and watches as Ahsoka gleefully leans forward and to take her turn.

“Hah! Idiot’s array!”

“I knew you were going to do that.” he laughs.

Ahsoka tilts her head to one side, her brows arched.

“Then why did you let me win?”

He shakes his head. “Because there’s nothing I could do. Those are the rules of the game.”

The fountains are silent and the air is still as his Padawan seems grows a head taller in what seem like seconds. As the Temple fades, blue eyes lock with his and the grown Togruta asks;

“Since when have you played by the rules?”

The grey returns.

This time, as he reaches the rock, there is only one path remaining.

He walks.

The path gradually slopes downward, and with every step it feels as if the boundaries of the space are shrinking, until at last he can see the edges of the tunnel around him. There are no visible sources of light, but as he continues the grey slowly darkens to black, until he can see no more.

He walks.

It starts as a tiny pinpoint of light at the edges of his vision, pale and flickering. As he gets closer he realises it is a campfire, a single figure sitting at its edge, tending the coals.

The faint notes of vaguely familiar song make their way to his ears and he realises it is the voice of a woman, low and sweet and full of wonder. It stops abruptly as he draws near, and for a moment there is only the soft crackling of the fire.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?”

Part of him is screaming that he knows that voice, that it is important, but the recognition does not come

“What?”

The woman gestures. Following her movement he looks up into a clear night sky, lit up by a hundred glowing constellations.

“The stars. See how they light up the night? Countless suns supporting every living thing in the galaxy, and yet at their heart, they are little different these small flames.”

The woman beckons him.

“Come, you can warm yourself by the fire.”

Hesitantly he obeys, noticing for the first time that he is, in fact, shivering, the cold leaching heat from his bones.

“Thank you.”

He cannot see her face but he knows she is smiling, how?

“You’re more than welcome. The biggest problem in this universe is that no-one helps each other.”

It is then the realisation hits, and as the flames flare for a moment the face of Shmi Skywalker looks back at him.

“Mom.” he whispers in disbelief.

“I’m sorry?” That beloved face frowns in confusion, not a hint of recognition in her voice.

“Mom, it’s me!”

She looks infinitely sad then, as the flames of the fire seem to grow larger and larger.

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken. My son’s name was...”

And the flame rises up to engulf him.

He wakes with a start, breathing heavily as he sits pushes upright. The silken sheets pool in his lap and he feels the mattress beneath him shift as his bed partner rolls over towards him.

A small, dainty hand reaches up to press against his bare chest, fingertips softly caressing the skin above his frantically beating heart.

“Dreams again?” Padmé whispers,warm breath caressing his ear she cuddles into his shoulder. He can feel himself relaxing. There is nothing to fear here.

“Yeah.” He murmurs, turning to pull his wife closer, her head tucked snugly beneath his chin. “Just… weird ones”

“Mmm.”

She looks up and smiles at him and he once again decides he is the luckiest man in the galaxy. He gently brushes a stray strand of hair back behind her ear, before allowing his hand to fall down to softly caress her side.

“It's ok now. This is better than any dream could be.” He says and he means it from the bottom of his soul. After all, what could be better than to be here together, in their bedroom in Naboo, with the morning sun lazily shining through the open balcony, curtains gently swaying in the breeze?

He sneaks a kiss, light and joyful, and allows his hands to wander a little further.

She laughs then, bright and clear as a pealing bell, even as she moves closer. “You say that now, but you know you’ll be missing that extra sleep soon.”

“It’ll be worth it.” he retorts as he leans in for a more intensive kissing session. Padmé obliges him, and for a moment there is nothing but she and him and the love they share.

There are faint noises coming from the edge of his awareness, high pitched voices chattering loudly, but before he has time to process it Padmé begins to pull away.

“Speak of the devil.” She laughs. “I’d better go check on them. Who knows what your children have managed to get up to this time.”

“My children?” He asks with amusement, for this is an old argument turned to ritual through endless repetition.

“Yes, your children.” She retorts with a smile. “Before breakfast they are definitely yours. My children would never cause mayhem and chaos - not unless it was a good cause of course.”

“And breakfast isn't a good cause?” He teases.

Her eyes lock with his.

“I can think of better.” she says before gently disentangling herself from his arms. She moves to stand “But it will do for now. I’d best get started before they find the cookies.”

He laughs and rises from the bed himself. “Hey, don't worry about it. I’ll look after breakfast this morning. I'm wide awake anyway - you get some more sleep.”

Her back is turned to him as she fiddles with her robe. “Oh sweetheart, you don't want to do that.”

“Why not?” He asks. “It's not that hard, and I haven't set any kitchen appliances on fire since I was a Padawan.”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

He laughs and does the air feel colder than it did a minute ago? The breeze picks up and light shifts, gold fading to silver grey - the weather must be changing. That’s all. He smells starflowers.

She turns then, his beautiful wife, and faces him. And it is wrong. Wrong. Her pale face looks at him, it’s pallor accentuated by the livid bruising on her throat. The vibrant silk of her nightgown replaced by the heavy velvet of her funeral gown, pale blossoms tumbling through her dark hair.

No!

In horror he realises the room is bare. Gone are the soft furnishings and well worn furniture, the books left on tables and discarded robes on the chair. Around him is only dust, and boxes of children’s toys never to be opened.

Her cold lips smile sadly. Her voice is like ice.

“Because then you’ll remember.”

The room spins.

“Father?”

He comes back to himself in an instant. The harsh tones of his respirator sound unreasonably loud in the echoing halls of the Imperial Palace. He pushes away the lingering wisps of his nightmare to focus on the person in front of him.

“Yes, my son?”

He feels the thrill race through him - his son! His wonderful perfect son. Luke is here. By his side, learning his place as the true Prince he has always been. He has grown so strong under his tutelage - strong enough to challenge Sidious himself.

The boy (and he will always be a boy, his boy) smiles at him, and for a moment he feels a pang in his chest. That is her smile. How wonderful it is to see it once more outside of memory.

“It’s almost time. We’d best be going. It wouldn’t do to be late for the ceremony.”

The pieces click together and he finds himself standing a little straighter. If his mechanical voice would allow it he would laugh. Indeed. It would be poor form for him to show up late to his own coronation.

Luke catches his amusement and softly nudges his shoulder as they start moving along the grand corridor from his quarters. He allows himself to enjoy the moment. His master is dead, his son is at his side, and soon the rebellion will be no more. The dark serpent inside his heart seems to almost purr in satisfaction, reaching out to gently wrap around the treasure at his side with possessive glee. Luke barely reacts, reaching back instead to meet his father halfway.

And so they walk, in quiet contentment.

Their final destination awaits only a short distance ahead, past the door leading to one of the observer’s balconies. He feels a sharp sense of interest and turns to look at the soon-to be Imperial Prince. Luke grins sheepishly.

“If you don’t mind Father, I thought we might take a moment to take a quick look? Once out there our attention is going to be on the ceremony itself and well… how often do you get to see a spectacle like this?”

The boy’s enthusiasm shines like a supernova, and he finds himself unable to do anything but indulge it. It is a small enough thing to make his son so happy.

“Of course child, lead the way.”

The balcony itself is well appointed, though currently unoccupied. It is far too close to the main dais, far too much of a security threat to allow access to any but the soon-to-be Emperor and his powerful offspring. Still, dimly lit as it is it makes an excellent position from which to observe the preparations.

And it truly is a sight

Row after row of Stormtroopers fill the courtyard, standing at attention and clad in impeccably presented armour. From his position he can see several squads bearing the markings of his own personal unit. Behind them in vast array stand the armoured behemoths responsible for their victories on Hoth, and elsewhere. Above them the Death Squadron flies low in tight formation, demonstrating their skill by picking off the unauthorised news drones that stray too close to the place where all attention is focused; the grand dais where the blood red robes of the Imperial Guard surround the place where he will usher in a new era of peace.

He looks out across the impressive display of patriotism, ships and troops and artillery lined up with perfect precision waiting for their arrival. It is a magnificent sight, the culmination of all his plans and yet it feels bittersweet. How many long years had it taken to get to this point? How much had he lost?

“Father? I can feel you you know. What’s wrong?”

He turns to the boy by his side, the one who makes this all worthwhile. This is not for him, not truly - it is for Luke. An Empire. His son’s inheritance will be one no poor boy from Tatooine could ever have dreamed of, and no less than he deserves.

“I apologise. I fear I am somewhat… taken aback by the reality of this moment.”

Luke’s laughter is gentle. “The moment when you finally have what you’ve been waiting your whole life to find? I know that feeling. It can be overwhelming.”

He turns to Luke in puzzlement, unsure of what exactly he could be referring to. A pointed nudge at the edges of his mind and an almost exasperated expression clear things up and oh.

Of course.

His son had dreamed of a father. And here they were.

Together.

At last.

With nothing standing in their way.

Reaching out he draws Luke close, father and son doing no more than basking in each others presence as they take in the pageantry outside.

It has been a long time since he has felt such happiness outside of dreams.

(except… why does that ring false?)

But all moments must end. There is something that still needs to be done. The thought passes between the embracing pair and they separate once more.

It is time.

With one last look outside he turns towards his son.

“I believe I am as ready as I ever shall be. You may find it somewhat ironic, but in truth, I never wanted to rule.”

His son smiles gently, full of understanding. “I know, Father.

And then there is heat and pain and only pure and utter shock as the red blade emerges from his chest.

“That's why you’ll never have to.”

He wants to speak, to say something, anything but already he can feel his body shutting down around him as he collapses into waiting arms. Distantly he can hear the faint rumble of explosions and the shriek of twisting metal.

“Shh, Father. It's ok.”

Luke eases them down onto the floor, the dead weight of unresponsive limbs seemingly insubstantial against Force aided strength. The heavy stone beneath them vibrates, as the shockwaves hit.

With a few quick clicks the respirator falls silent and for the first time in decades he feels the cool press of air against his cheeks. Warm lips press against his forehead, and as he draws his final breaths, he sees his son for the first time with his own eyes.

Luke's expression is kind, so heartbreakingly kind as he draws back from his embrace. The dying sunlight burns red, illuminating those boyish features and it is mesmerising the way the Dark palpably radiates from the young man in a halo of devastating power. As his vision begins to fade he watches that face, those sulphurous yellow eyes, look at him with such love and honesty.

“Rest easy Father. I will do you proud. I promise.”

His eyes shut.

Before he even opens them again he knows where he is. Ash and heat scorch his lungs and he can hear the hissing of lava interspersed with the loud clangs of metal falling all around him.

He knows he is dreaming. He has lived this dream a thousand times. It never changes.

“Only a Sith deals in absolutes. I will do what I must.”

The phantasm that bears Kenobi’s face is as sanctimonious as ever and he embraces his rage. It is sharp and cleansing and chases away the last of his disquiet from the previous dreams. In movements he has performed a thousand time before, he attacks.

The battle is always fierce, the twisted quagmire of anger and shame pushing him harder and faster into steps that bring him blade to blade against the man he once called brother. The details change occasionally, a twist here, a parry there, but always they return to fixed points.

“Don't make me destroy you, Master. You're no match for the dark side.”

The words come without thinking, Kenobi’s response similarly rote, but that does not matter. What matters is the feeling of catharsis as he reigns down blow after blow upon the memory of a dead man.

And yet he feels so hollow.

Growling he pushes further and further until at last he stands above the lava, his opponent readied on the shore opposite.

“It’s over Padawan. I have the high ground.”

Something doesn't feel right about those words, but it doesn't matter. In the end it alway comes back to this moment. A thousand times he has dreamed this dream and no matter how he tries, no matter how long he stands there captured by the moment, he can never change his fate.

In some ways it is comforting.

He jumps.

The sharp sting of the blade never comes.

He lands with both his feet, on the edge of the molten river. His lightsaber glows an unnerving blue where it remains activated in his hand.

This is not right.

This did not happen.

And the rage fills him once more. How dare it change now. How dare he be denied the dream’s natural end!

He fixes his gaze on the unmoving Jedi in front to him.

“Do it.” He snarls.

Kenobi looks at him with an unreadable expression, but says nothing.

“DO IT!” He screams. “Strike me down!”

Kenobi does not move.

“Please!” He begs. “Finish this! Make it hurt!”

And now those features shift and it is no longer the Obi-Wan of his youth that stands before him, but the old man of their last meeting.

Around them lava turns to control panels and plasteel columns. He can feel the weight of his armour pressing down on his shoulders, the harsh rasping of scarred lungs struggling to function in his chest. Without looking he knows his blade is red once more.

And Obi-Wan Kenobi looks at him from a weathered face full of infinite sadness.

“Oh Anakin. What makes you think I could ever hurt you more than you have already done yourself?”

A tanned hand reaches out and for a moment he can feel the faint impression of a comforting hand against his scarred cheek.

And he wakes.

The curved walls of his meditation chamber greet him as comes back to himself. If he had any doubts that this was, at last, reality they are dispelled by the throbbing pain that has accompanied his every waking moment for over two decades now.

He feels off balance. The dreams have disturbed feelings he has kept long suppressed and he has much to process.

His comm chimes, and with a frustrated movement he opens the channel.

“Yes?”

The curt greeting does not appear to phase his Admiral, and though he will never admit it Piett's steady tones do much to bring him back to the present.

“Forgive the intrusion My Lord, but you requested you be informed when we are about to enter the Endor system.”

“Of course. Ready my shuttle - I wish to inspect the station as soon as we arrive.”

“Yes My Lord!”

The comm beeps as the connection ends.

He takes a deep breath (as deep as his lungs will allow) and reaches for the Dark.

Its power flows though him and he can feel the lingering doubts be pushed back into their cages but the heady pulse of wrath and pain. Dreams are but dreams. What is done is done.

Anakin Skywalker is dead.

And Darth Vader has work to do.

~~~

“The Man is Me” by The Spiritual Machines

I wanna know when I'll free myself I wanna know like no one else It's a one way road from what I see Working in a circle and I can't break free I wanna know how to strike it down I wanna know how to stop it now Cast it back from where it came And let us not forget its name I believe I've discovered In a life uncovered There's a deep and a darker truth I believe in a secret It only matters if you mean it And we detach from the sacred youth What kind of man would destroy his cure What kind of man would corrupt what's pure What kind of man only wants to bleed Everybody knows that the man is me I wanna be better than my past I wanna win and come dead last Time is a loan and love is a gift Better guard that gate cause that's all there is

What kind of man would destroy his cure What kind of man would corrupt what's pure What kind of man only wants to bleed Everybody knows that the man is me What kind of man would forsake his name What kind of man puts his faith in a game What kind of man only wants to bleed Everybody knows that the man is me What kind of man would burn it all What kind of man would ignore the call What kind of man proves not to be Everybody knows that the man is me

#i don't know where this came from #weird dream angst #my writing

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daisukicosplay · 5 years

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How To Have Rid Of Tension in Your Golf Swing

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bounnostra · 5 years

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5.4 || moss || re: orwell, runa, the concept of cycles in general

At this point in the trial Moss has rolled over on her back, staring up at the crystal chandelier as everyone else debates and discusses the constant looping of their imprisonment around her. Her eyesight... it isn't perfect, not after such a long time spent in dark laboratories squinting at fungal print minutia, but it's good enough to make out the details on the gaudy decoration Gambit has been hanging from. Each little crystal, each glimmering chain. The flicker of candles, the gentlest sway. How many times has she looked up at this thing?

How many times has this happened?

An endless cycle. She's all too familiar with those- it's the constant loop of nature, after all. You spore. You grow. You wither. Your spores grow again. Onwards and onwards, mycelia expanding, bodies fruiting. It had been her goal (her goal? their goal? did it really matter, at this point, to draw a distinction?) to put a stopper in that cycle, to grow eternal and never have to worry about the withering. If only she'd known that her attempts to stop a constant loop were even more futile than expected. Or perhaps, she had known. Four times, five times, at the very least. Only to forget. Over, and over, and over, and-

The holes in the back of her head, crusted over and throbbing. The wound in her gut, organs twisted with scar tissue underneath the skin. How many times had this happened? How many times had they found out- how many times had she died before they even got a chance? A different name, every time. A different gang. A different life, a different love. Who had she been yesterday? Moss. Billion. Maybe- "Power Drill". Or "Honey". Or "Infection". Or something else, some other cruel mockery. She couldn't even imagine.

With a creaking gasp, Moss sits herself up, wiping her hands off and heading back to her seat. She pays no mind to Scourge or Duck on either side of her- she pays no mind to anyone, bringing her legs up to her chest and wedging herself sideways in her chair. Her head rests on her knees as she stares at Gambit's corpse on the table, eyes dull and lifeless. And when she talks- it's at a much lower pitch than anything you've heard before. Something's missing... ah, that's it. Her usual maniac spark.

"A little while ago, the vending machine gave [Presto] a strange device. I am not a woman who knows a lot about video games. My exposure to technology has been limited, at best. But I opened it up and spent some time on it- I figured that we would be free of this place sooner rather than later, and it would be a good idea to figure out what was popular with the youths these days."

are you seriously talking about-

"...It was most strange. Simulacra of people, wandering about a confined campus. They had silly names, gaudy appearances. You could manipulate them to do as you pleased. One of them I drowned in a fountain, laughing at the crude graphical representation of it. Another, I pushed into a fan. Yet another was electrocuted. After I was bored of the deaths, I sought to find alternate methods of entertainment. There was a system to matchmake, so I played Cupid. There was a system to make friends and improve your reputation, so I became the talk of the school. But no matter what, one reality remained. You could 'save' your file, but eventually- your game would finish. Whether by your own incompetence, or simply finishing the content available to you, at one point the fun would stop. And then you could start again."

Slowly, she closes her eyes.

"...Every time, these same little people. Over and over and over. Trapped in that campus. Capable of meeting their end in dozens of nasty ways. Capable of surviving, of finding love, of spending time with their friends. But unable to break that cycle. This time around, I survived and found love. Maybe last time, I died first instead of [Runa]. It doesn't matter. It's now obvious that regardless of what happens, none of this is ever going to change. This whole place is built on lies. Constant half truths and mockeries. I don't think finding the Grand Don will alter anything. I don't think any of us are going to leave this place, no matter what we fucking do. So what's the point? How much longer do we even have before we get sent back to square one?"

"...Orwell. Everyone. It's nice that you have this much optimism, but I don't think we're going to get anywhere. I'm giving up. I'm sure we don't have much time left before whoever controls the Gambino hits that reset button and starts this game again... so it's been nice, everyone. It's been... good."

With that, she turns her head away, facing the back of the chair. Looks like she's hit her limit.

#boun #ch5 #trial #moss #submission

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therummesoccupied · 7 years

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1-Upping the Ante: A Review of Super Mario Odyssey

If one was to ask me about my personal philosophy on video games and their design, they would receive a good many thoughts in response, but among them would be an assertion that one of the greatest pitfalls a game, or any piece of art for that matter, can find itself victim to is the lure of a formula. A formula, or a specific set of techniques adhered to in order to create something, can certainly be useful, and arguably necessary, when making a game, but a stubborn over-reliance on a formula can turn out to be one of a game's greatest weaknesses, especially when that game is a part of a running series or franchise. While its true that some games could use a bit more formula (see Sonic the Hedgehog), I believe it absolutely always works in a game's favor to try something new in order to determine how well it worked and how best to use it moving forward. In this way, a series is never stagnant, but continues to grow, bringing an exciting new experience to our screens with each new installment. One series that has proven itself time and time again in the fields of creativity and experimentation is the ever-iconic Super Mario franchise. While Nintendo's flagship face of video games has had his fair share of struggles relying too heavily on a formula (see New Super Mario Bros. 2), Mario has never been afraid to venture into the unknown and try something new, from endlessly enjoyable spin-offs like Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga and Mario Party to main installments with unique mechanics such as Super Mario Sunshine's FLUDD and Super Mario Galaxy's gravity-based physics. The latest installment in the jump-man's adventures, Super Mario Odyssey, absolutely does not disappoint when bringing new ideas to the table. The game cleans and freshens up the existing 3D Mario formula set in place by 1996's Super Mario 64, while adding a slew of new design nuances and mechanics to the series' ever-growing repertoire, and while some ideas could possibly go a bit far, it could be said that to venture far beyond one's limits is exactly what an Odyssey is all about.

When Super Mario Odyssey was first unveiled to the world, what first struck the vast majority of viewers was the manner of the game's presentation. Visually, the game is absolutely stunning. Perhaps it is biased of me to say so, but it seems to me that Mario has been borrowing a couple of the more useful notes from Sonic's playbook, throwing players into environments that can be described as nothing short of majestic, appearing absolutely enormous while still drawing focus to beautiful views that are sure to keep us gazing in amazement from one wonder to the next as we traverse the level's obstacles. The objects and characters in the game look no less brilliant than the world in which they are set. Even Mario, Bowser, and Peach look phenomenal, with every hair in Mario's iconic mustache and every seam in his clothing being rendered and visible to the naked eye, yet somehow maintaining a shape and color that lend themselves to the goofy and easy-going look that the franchise is known for. The rest of the game, however, tends to miss this seemingly-unattainable middle ground. The game suffers from a bit of an aesthetic whiplash, with some areas featuring cartoon-y food worlds or goofy hat-ghosts with lots of bulgy shapes and flat surfaces, while other areas boast enormous, painstakingly detailed cliffs with awe-inspiring waterfalls, or realistic cities full of lovingly modeled skyscrapers and anatomically correct humans. Seeing the iconic plumber so on-model in these environments can be jarring, and at time, leaves the game feeling sadly without a solid identity, trying to be too many things at once. Thankfully, the impact of this issue is lessened, as these environments are presented to players one at a time, giving us plenty of opportunity to take in every world as its own, and gain a strong sense of the idea each area is attempting to convey before needing to move on to the next. Any issue this game has with clashing aesthetics is nicely resolved by its thoughtful pacing and immersive level design.

The story of Super Mario Odyssey wastes absolutely no time, throwing players right into the action and getting the game going as quickly as it starts. This lack of exposition quickly solves any issues that have existed in the series prior with games being slow to start. However, it can also make the plot feel a bit rushed at times, leaving the player confused or wondering which part of the game they're in, if they're still in the early game, or if they've hit the proper progression and have gotten into the game as it should be, or even how much game is left ahead of them. Thankfully, the game tries to streamline the experience of progression by abandoning 3D Mario's usual system of putting players into a hub world and having them select their levels from there. Instead, the game moves forward one level at a time, with a certain number of objectives within needing to be completed before the next level becomes available. Similar to the game's aesthetics, however, the game's tone can vary wildly, generating feelings ranging from shocked and confused, to amazed and excited. Some encounters find a perfect balance between fun and epic, while others, namely a specific boss fight about 3/4s of the way through the game, can be described, comically enough, as “simply too badass to be from a Mario game.” Again, the game's streamlined nature helps to lessen this shock a bit, but the issue of clashing tone remains. Still, one theme the game manages to portray consistently throughout is one of adventure and exploration, something that the game faithfully maintains as its core idea. Every wild or out-of-place occurrence the game throws the player into successfully fits under this umbrella of excitement and ambition.

Odyssey's gameplay succeeds in being the most fluid and clean of any I've encountered in any Mario game. The movement of the game feels nearly perfect, and getting Mario from Point A to Point B is never not an absolute joy. This movement is supplemented by fantastic level design. The game's levels are contained, yet give players tons of room to explore and try new things, and are certainly never without something to do. The game boasts an insane amount of collectibles and activities that might be intimidating at first, but quickly sweep the player off their feet, turning into a never-ending fountain of enjoyment. Within the levels are a number of enemies and objects that can be possessed, or “captured,” the game's core mechanic. Each capturable object displays its function clearly before the player even gets the opportunity to throw their cap in its direction, so one always knows what to expect when going after a new enemy. Every capture has its own specific functions, and are always placed with a specific purpose in mind, though these purposes do not necessarily need to be adhered to, leading to nearly endless possibilities when playing as a new character in a new environment. What isn't endless, unfortunately, is the number of objects available for capture. Contrary to the beliefs of many when the game was announced, players are not given the freedom to capture anything and everything reasonably available to them. Instead, there is a sizable collection of things to play as, leading to “capturing” feeling at times more like a power-up than a core mechanic. In terms of difficulty, the game finds itself toward the easier end of the spectrum, falling somewhere between Super Mario Galaxy and Super Mario 3D World. This is due, in part, to the game moving away from the”life counter” that video games as a whole have relied on for decades. Instead, when a player fails a challenge, they are penalized by losing a number of their coins, a move reminiscent of indie powerhouses like Shovel Knight. While coins aren't necessarily useless, their loss in no way hinders a player's ability to progress through the game. Because of this, many of the game's challenges are far less needlessly frustrating than they could be if a player had to restart an entire level whenever they failed too many times. Because of this the game remains constantly engaging while never getting to be too repetitive. Odyssey's aim of endless fun built on environmental power-ups and low-risk challenge gives it a level of enjoyment that one would expect from a well-built 3D Kirby game rather than a Mario game, but manages to weave flawlessly together with Mario-style movement and platforming.

Super Mario Odyssey, if nothing else, is ambitious. The game attempts to cover a lot of new ground while relying on the most tried-and-true tools at its disposal. Not everything it tries works absolutely flawlessly, but is presented in such a way that it can be not only accepted, but enjoyed, albeit in a different way from the rest of the game. As an attempt to expand Mario's horizons, I would say that Nintendo nearly made the mistake of biting of more than even they could chew. Thankfully, the trademark artistic dedication and clever design that Nintendo's creative team has come to be known for ultimately paid off, bringing an enormous range of ideas together for one exhilarating experience. Is it the best 3D Mario game? Contrary to popular opinion, I wouldn't say so, but I do believe it is the most successfully ambitious entry in a notably adventurous and beloved franchise.

#super mario odyssey #review

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