saltyladynightmare - Tumblr blog

saltyladynightmare · 7 months

Text

Duke pavlovs everyone.

He wants to help out. He wants to give back. But what can he do? He can’t teach anything to them that they don’t already know. Heck, every time he tries offering help, by the time they finish saying what he could do, the problem ends up being solved anyways.

However, not anymore. He’s trying to listen and not speak, observe as is the detective way. And as the recent and relatively normal addition to the batfam, he comes to a startling conclusion.

None of them eat.

And by that, Duke doesn’t mean that they go without food because they survive without it, he means that they genuinely forget to eat for long periods of time due to stress, long hours or other factors, and since vigilate-ing has been more or less their whole lives, they’ve forgotten what hunger even feels like, unless they’re actively reminded of it.

So, every time Duke comes over, he mentions that he’s starving. Then he goes into great length to describe just how hungry it is and what he’s craving. Ten times out of ten, everyone’s stomachs start rumbling before the entire family stares at the fridge in hunger.

And little by little, he starts making sure they associate yellow with him, and him with hunger. Every time he visits he makes sure to always wear or bring something yellow with him. Rubber ducky, high lighter, you name it. He even leaves little trinkets around the house, insisting it’s to give a splash of colour.

And it fucking works.

The whole family is on a stakeout, Batman and Red Robin updating everyone in how it’s going when suddenly there’s a pause.

Nightwing: .. Guys? Hello?

Red Robin: .. uh-

Spoiler: ?? Hello?? Did your brain short circuit??

Red Robin: *soft mumbling*

Robin: ?? Father? Could you compensate for Drake’s incompetence again?

Batman: … The gang is wearing yellow.

Robin:

Nightwing:

Batman:

Spoiler:

Red Robin:

*Stomach grumbling noises echoing over comms*

Spoiler: alright I think we’ve seen enough, move in?

Nightwing: Yes please before I start eating my batons

Batman: I’ve bought a restaurant. We can eat there later. Move in on three.

Red Robin: why the fuck do I suddenly want to eat the sandwich someone just threw in the bin?

Red Hood : JESUS FUCKING CHRIST YOU BETTER NOT YOU FUCKING UNHYGENIC BASTARD-

——————— later —————

At the mansion

Damian:

Duke:

Damian:

Duke: ? You need something

Damian: You. You did this to us.

Duke: LISTEN IN MY DEFENSE I DIDN’T THINK ANYONE WAS STUPID ENOUGH TO WEAR YELLOW IF THEY’RE TRYNA COMMIT CRIME AT NIGHT

#batfam #the signal #duke thomas #pavlove #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #stephanie brown

3K notes · View notes

saltyladynightmare · 7 months

Text

Jiliu AU Part 9.4

Beginning, Previous, Next, Masterlist

Hello again. I yet live. I could give a million reasons for why this took me so long to write, and some of them would even be true. However, I wont give you any of them, as it makes me feel silly.

Have some Action as a reward for your patience.

Warnings:

Violence against animals, Anakin being slightly self destructive,

~~~~~~

Anakin scowled down at the new third IV needle in his arm; his right, thankfully. Having more than two IV bags draining in the same arm was unpleasant at the best of times.

Kix, eyes politely directed at the 'pad in front of him, sat in the chair next to him, radiating the kind of watchfulness medics often did with those they deemed to be 'difficult' patients.

Rex and Jesse stood at rest behind him against the wall, speaking quietly.

Neither Kix nor Rex had left since before the new IV needle had been jabbed into Anakin's arm. Hovering.

Anakin scowled harder.

He didn't need hovering.

Sure he'd fainted earlier because apparently even his current excessive meal plan wasn't enough for whatever his body was doing, and he'd scared the latest squad of Vod'e, but the new IV was doing its job, his nutrient intake had been adjusted yet again, and he was fine now. Crisis averted. They could go back to whatever it was they were supposed to be doing.

Unfortunately, it wasn't either of their days off so Anakin couldn't even kick them out of the room under the pretense of them needing to relax, and do something not work related.

Jesse grumbled moodily. "Don't laugh at me. My men are getting restless, and the only reason it hasn't gotten to you before now is because its only been nine days."

Oh. Well, this will solve that problem, then. If Jesse accepts, anyway.

Anakin twisted in his seat, noting absently the stiffness in his sides he'd definitely need to stretch out later. "I have a project they can do, if you want to give them something productive to burn their energy."

Both men turned to him, surprised. He smiled mischievously in hopes it would hide the way his pulse sped up in anticipation. At worst, they would simply turn him down.

"What do you know about the Army of Light?"

Kix looked up, datapad lowering to his lap. Jesse and Rex exchange a look, before focussing entirely on Anakin.

Thus, on the third day after Anakin had bonded with the Command Staff, the scouts of Torrent were sentenced to prowl the lower levels of the Jedi Temple in search of the long lost armory of the Army of Light that may or may not have been dismantled along with the forces it had served.

If Jesse's grumbling as he marched out of Anakin's room was anything to go by, he was both displeased to be assigned a task while on leave and glad he had something to occupy his scouts with.

~~~~~~

The elevator slowed to a grinding halt.

Jesse and the two best shots of his men, Heatattack and Flint, readied their blasters as the three vod'e crammed behind them did a quick equipment check of their own.

A beat, then the door dinged cheerfully, and opened as smoothly as it had closed so many floors above them, mist pouring in.

A green dot blinked in the lower left corner of Jesse's HUD three times before blipping out.

Hmm. The General'd had them prepare for the worst case scenario for this conditions of this floor. Seemed the air was more than breathable.

As the door opened completely, he could see why.

Plants, everywhere. Knee high at a minimum, and taller near the edges of the halls, with thick leafy vines curtaining the walls. A thick layer of fog swirled just below the tops of the shorter plants, and obscured everything further than twenty feet. Insects chirped and buzzed out of sight. Soft blue lights filtered through seemingly random sections of the fog and vines.

Low visibility, near limitless ambush possibilities, and far too many tripping hazards.

Horrible trade off for breathable air, really.

Heatattack swore softly, and Flint grumbled his agreement.

They were right. This was going to be a nightmare.

Thankfully, the General had directed then to a lesser used elevator, so Jesse had no problem commandeering it until further notice.

"Spine, jam the door open," he ordered.

From his corner, Spine acknowledged the order, "Sir."

The door had been open long enough for something to jump out at them. As that has not happened... Jesse signaled to advance. The silent comms buzzed quietly in the all to natural night-quiet of the long abandoned floor.

Jesse's first step out of the elevator sent his boot directly into something that squished and squelched with moisture.

Great. Fantastic. So much for not needing to scrub his shell again so soon after that muddy cesspool they'd just come from. There was only supposed to be dust.

At least it doesn't feel like decaying animals, he soothed himself, moving forward. Just very wet, ankle deep moss.

Heatattack and Flint followed after him closely. Licken and Skippy stepped out after them. Pausing to give Spine time to jam the door, Jesse clicked his back teeth together to flick through the infra red, low light vision, and standard setting on his HUD.

Visibility low. The high humidity was definitely an issue. Hopefully, and oh did Jesse hate thinking that word, anything moving would disturb the fog enough to be noticeable.

Metal shrieked as Spine wedged a vibro knife into the gap between the elevator doors and the floor's doors. The hair on the back of Jesse's neck stood on end, alarms blaring.

"Heads up!" He barked, snatching a flash bang from his utility belt. Can't use a shrapnel grenade in enclosed spaces like this without at least knowing the dimensions of the place, and a droid popper would just fry their own gear without the benefit of zapping their opponents. Their HUDs would protect them from the effects of a flash bang, though.

Other organic targets? Not so much.

Yanking out the pin with the edge of his cuisse, Jesse tossed the flash bang underhanded at the mist moving the most, straight ahead. It arched neatly through the air, then disappeared in the swirling mist.

A beat, then the the fog flashed, Jesse's HUD filtering the burst of light to bearable levels, bucket speakers crackling with a muffled bang.

In the next instant, a wall of fog crashed into the ceiling and rushed straight for Jesse and his men.

Ah. Probably should have seen that coming.

The fog washed over them, an almost physical force, before blasting past in one heart pounding eternity.

Once his visor cleared, Jesse immediately dropped his eyes to the ground.

Guh!

"This wasn't part of the brief!" Skippy yelped, blaster powering up.

Rats. A literal carpet of them, more than ankle deep, all dark fur and flashing teeth.

"Shut up and shoot!" Licken spat, nailing a rodent that had taken a daring leap for his leg.

Swearing, Jesse yanked another grenade off his belt, this one a shrapnel spitter. If he throws it far enough they should be able to avoid injury, while also taking out a chunk of the little pests. He barked out orders, yanking out the pin with his cuisse again. "Defend yourselves!" He flung the grenade down the hall, and started shooting even before his off hand returned to the muzzle of his blaster.

Jesse ground his teeth as his vod'e sprayed the mob of rats with blaster bolts even as the fog rolled back in to hide them from sight.

This was going to suck.

~~~~~~

The first few hours of the scouts' first attempt at scouting the lower levels of the temple did not go well. The levels of near panic and manic glee Anakin got from the bonds he'd been carefully monitoring both for his own wellbeing, but also Rex's and Kix's, had been...concerning.

When they had calmed down, and the danger passed, Anakin commed Jesse to check on them. Jesse grumbled something about ambushes and rodents, before speaking up. Apparently they'd been ambushed be local rodents, but they've figured out a method of operation to eliminate the threat.

If Jesse intended to send Anakin a very strong impression of blaster-burned pests left in their wake or not, Anakin didn't know, but he kept it to himself.

No need to scare off the man in the Staff who'd made and kept his position solely based on knowing when to run. Anakin would like a chance for them to get to know him as a person, before giving them reason to high tail it.

Besides. The rats were hardly Anakin's concern. The rodents didn't respond to his long distance mind tricks, pressed through his bonds with the scouts, so the only option left was lethal action. Admittedly, he had no practice with mind tricks, but all this power should have some uses, right? In any case, such things were often the price of progress.

If the scouts became even more efficient in their handling of the rats after Anakin's comm, it was probably not because Jaded, who had been assisting Anakin in wrangling on his newest squad, stole his comm mid report to tell Jesse in no uncertain terms exactly what he would do to them if they got themselves bitten by vermin. If it was, well, that was between the scouts and Jaded.

The scouts chose violence. Anakin could respect it.

Meanwhile, Anakin and whichever squad he was forming bonds with in that shift, spent most of his time researching, compiled all of the information they could find on the Army of Light and the Jedi Temple itself in hopes of discovering even a hint of what might be waiting for them down there.

So far, all they had managed to confirm was the existence of the armor the Army of Light used. It was heavily implied to be made by the Army for the Army, in their very own Armor and Weapon factory, located in the lower levels somewhere. As Anakin had already known.

Thankfully, '57, the shiny Anakin had been calling DC Shiny while they raced through the catacombs, had managed to find a passage in a daily log of a Jedi long dead, that hinted at the Factory being twenty-four floors away from floor 536.

Unfortunately, floor numbers change every time a new one is added, so this fact was slightly less helpful than anticipated. It took several shifts to finally dig up the numbers to calculate what that particular floor's current number might be from the construction archives. Burning through a thousand years of building documents, notes and permits was no small task, but if their calculations were correct, then the referenced floor is now called floor 824. The diary said the Armory was twenty-four floors away, so the Armory is either on floor 801, or 848, as the single sentence '57 found didn't specify with direction the Armory was, only the number of floors.

If nothing else, they had a place to start, which is more than they had a day and a half ago. Two floors was infinitely better than over a thousand. The fifty floors it might be on if their math was wrong was significantly better than over a thousand too.

When not in Anakin's room, completing the To Do lists or aiding the scouts in their Quest, the men accepted tours of the lived in portions of the Jedi Temple, curtesy of various Temple Bound Padawans and older Initiates. The younger Initiates helped too, but Anakin's understanding lead him to believe they were more like...assistants, than true tour guides.

The tours were very popular with all involved.

Which—would the other battalions appreciate the tours as well? At the very least, Anakin could name a few troopers from the 212th, and a number of the Guard who would appreciate a tour. Fox would have a serious scheduling nightmare to make that happen for his men, but they would probably love the tours all the more for it.

Besides, someone needs to appreciate the Archives. Its not like the public takes advantage of the free, public knowledge hub.

Anakin added a note to maybe talk to Obi-Wan and Fox about the idea to his personal short term To Do list while he still remembered. While he was at it, he sends a text comm to Aayla, suggesting she make similar arrangements for her men when she came to Coruscant for leave again.

The men like it, the Initiates and Padawans like it, and it ensures the two groups are introduced to each other. After all, the Initiates have a chance of being picked as Padawans eventually. Best to get them as acclimatized to the Vod'e as possible, even if the Masters wouldn't see this as a step for the continued well being of the children in their care.

Of course some younglings, such as Ahsoka, were using this opportunity to terrorize the men. By all reports, they loved it. One vod, one of Denal's favorites if memory served, asked shyly if they would be getting a commander soon.

Anakin didn't know how to explain he wasn't planning on staying in the Order past the end of the war. Certainly not long enough to train a Padawan to Knighthood the way the child would require. The way they would deserve.

He didn't know how to explain his choices anymore than he ever had.

So he just smiled crookedly, like he had a secret, and changed the subject to something safer.

5 notes · View notes

saltyladynightmare · 7 months

Text

If the door’s locked, try the wall

[by Geoff Manaugh]

a drywall knife

In one of the most interesting moments in his memoir, [jewelry thief Bill Mason] sees that architecture can be made to do what he wants it to do; it’s like watching a character in Star Wars learn to use the Force.

In a lengthy scene at a hotel in Cleveland that Mason would ultimately hit more than once in his career, he explains that his intended prize was locked inside a room whose door was too closely guarded for him to slip through. Then he realizes the obvious: he has been thinking the way the hotel wanted him to think—the way the architects had hoped he would behave—looking for doors and hallways when he could simply carve a new route where he wanted it. The ensuing realization delights him. “Elated at the idea that I could cut my own door right where I needed one,” he writes, Mason simply breaks into the hotel suite adjacent to the main office. There, he flings open the closet, pushes aside the hangers, and cuts his way from one room into the other using a drywall knife. In no time at all, he has cut his “own door” through to the manager’s office, where he takes whatever he wants—departing right back through the very “door” he himself made. It is architectural surgery, pure and simple.

Later, Mason actually mocks the idea that a person would remain reliant on doors, making fun of anyone who thinks burglars, in particular, would respect the limitations of architecture. “Surely if someone were to rob the place,” he writes in all italics, barbed with sarcasm, “they’d come in as respectable people would, through the door provided for the purpose. Maybe that explains why people will have four heavy-duty locks on a solid oak door that’s right next to a glass window.” People seem to think they should lock-pick or kick their way through solid doors rather than just take a ten-dollar drywall knife and carve whole new hallways into the world. Those people are mere slaves to architecture, spatial captives in a world someone else has designed for them.

Something about this is almost unsettlingly brilliant, as if it is nonburglars who have been misusing the built environment this whole time; as if it is nonburglars who have been unwilling to question the world’s most basic spatial assumptions, too scared to think past the tyranny of architecture’s long-held behavioral expectations.

To use architect Rem Koolhaas’s phrase, we have been voluntary prisoners of architecture all along, willingly coerced and browbeaten by its code of spatial conduct, accepting walls as walls and going only where the corridors lead us. Because doors are often the sturdiest and most fortified parts of the wall in front of you, they are a distraction and a trap. By comparison, the wall itself is often more like tissue paper, just drywall and some two-by-fours, without a lock or a chain in sight. Like clouds, apartment walls are mostly air; seen through a burglar’s eyes, they aren’t even there. Cut a hole through one and you’re in the next room in seconds.

~ Geoff Manaugh, A Burglar’s Guide to the City

#burglary #thinking outside the box #things to remember #things to write

36K notes · View notes

saltyladynightmare · 8 months

Text

Saw it mentioned, have to wonder >.>

Just? HOW Ecto-Contaminated ARE the Fentons? Maddie and Jack?

We as a Phandom rather rightfully give them flak for their neglectfulness and single minded pursuits... but SHOULD we be?

Or has that ship long since sailed?

Even before the portal, they were working with countless samples. Were EXPOSED to the prototype, alongside Vlad. Not directly. Not full, standing in front of it, exposed.

But?

Isn't radiation still radiation? They were IN the room. Less then about a yard or two away. And on top of that they NEVER stopped researching.

How much Ectoplasm particulates have the breathed in? Absorbed through skin contact? EATEN?

Those weenies? The ones that came alive? Have they eaten those INCREDIBLY TAINTED meats? What about subtly tainted things? Things that got Ectoplasm on them, but didn't meet the threshold for reanimation?

What about cups? It's a viscose substance. Does a dishwasher REALLY clean those cups of every trace?

How... how many YEARS of build up, have accumulated in their systems?

Jack Fenton kool-aid man's his way though WALLS. His wife moves faster and with greater agility then a woman her age should rightfully be ABLE too. They lift weapons, with ease, that normal humans would buckle under.

Their son survived the impossible.

Was that house a petri-dish of ecto-contaminations? Who checked in on them. Who would even NOTICE if the local "crack-pots" were slowly... slipping. Grins getting too wide. Eyes too bright. Minds too strange. Becoming... Obsessive.

Who would notice if they started to lose track of time. Of meals. Of their daughter. Then their son. Lost to the BEAUTY of RESEARCH. Of SCIENCE. Ghosts.

They would shake themselves out of it. Again and again. Where is their daughter? Their kids? Weren't they about to make lunch? Why is it dawn? Why are the kids sleeping on the floor? They would frown and promise themselves they'd do better. They're parents now!

They love their children.

More then ANYTHING. Their kiddos are the best thing to ever happen to them. They love them so, SO much. So why? Why are they having such a hard time remembering? Focusing? Why do they keep getting distracted?

Consider another father. Box Ghost.

Which is more important to him? Lunch Box or Boxes?

What a cruel, unspeakable thing to ask. You'd be kicked out of any haunt you dare voiced it in. The core of his soul and the greatest thing he's ever made, his bestest baby girl. He would tear himself apart, trying to chose.

The father in him would not hesitate, his daughter, every time. But the GHOST in him? Boxes, with out question. Like a glitching, error filled, feedback loop. One but the other, but the one, but the other! Until something gave or it killed him.

Or until the question no longer applies.

Do you think Jazz realized her parents... weren't well? She wouldn't realize WHAT was wrong for over a decade. But? Watching them fight themselves, fight each OTHER, confused and distressed...

Which is more important? Their Kids or Their Research?

Human enough to fight their Obsessions, but Limnal enough it causes severe distress. Their kids, they insist. Their KIDS! They argue! Research, Research, Research. Hisses something they can't control, wrapped around their brains and nerves and SOULS.

A compulsion they can't fight.

And Jazz watches it eat up their family and lives. She doesn't understand. She hates it. She goes to the library and on the computer and all she can find to compare it too, is "mental illnesses". It's tearing her family apart. Making her parents break promise after promise, even when they TRY. Making EVERYBODY cry.

She wants to fix it. When things get broken in their house, they FIX them. She can too. She tries for YEARS.

But are the Fentons broken? Or are they just... no longer quite human. Is the tragedy not that they got "sick" so much that they were left alone with innocent children who were NOT?

A ghost can not help, being what it is. And what is a Limnal? If not a very, VERY Ghostly Human? Box Ghost is an excellent father to Box Lunch. But would he be an equally good father to a human toddler? Would ANY Ghost?

They would TRY. Would love them and read parenting books. May even successful raise them. But it would not have been wise. Nor without great struggle. We can all admit that. There is far more to raising someone then just loving them.

And never mistake it, the Dr's. Fenton love their children. Would burn heaven and earth for them. March the gates of hell and kick open the doors to heaven. Even file their taxes. Make small talk.

But should they have been TRUSTED with children? Should ANY severally Limnal? I argue... not without a mitigating force. A nanny, a caretaker, Grandma. Uncle Peter, who's getting back on his feet, might have spider powers, who's to say. SOMEBODY.

Because let's be real. If Jazz had not been as likely Limnally inhanced as she was? Unusually mature and nimble? That situation was a powder keg. She kept them from dying from injury or starvation. Kept Danny from her parents dangerous research and devices.

If EITHER of them had died?

Well... ask yourself this: What would happen to Box Ghost, if a Box killed his daughter?

@hdgnj @nerdpoe @stealingyourbones

#Danny Phantom #maddie fenton #jack fenton #jazz fenton #liminal #ghost biology #liminals #things to think about

597 notes · View notes

saltyladynightmare · 10 months

Text

Weird peeve time. Calling lab grown gemstones “fake” is stupid because it’s the same shit just not formed naturally. An artificially grown diamond is the same shit as a natural diamond it is the exact same material bro it’s all fuckign carbon

#lab grown moissanite #lab grown gemstones #gems #i know what kind of stone i want on my wedding ring now

288K notes · View notes

saltyladynightmare · 10 months

Text

#visual art #macro room #visual artist #video editing at its finest #now if only my brother had figured this out when he wanted to youtube famous #maybe he would have actually gotten somewhere

899 notes · View notes

saltyladynightmare · 1 year

Video

#nature #was it designed

274K notes · View notes

saltyladynightmare · 1 year

Text

Jiliu AU Part 9.3

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

A/N:

so. This was done awhile ago, but I forgot to post it. Here it is. Good news is Part 3 is finished, and is only waiting for my Beta. Part 4 is also mostly done. Part 5...is outlined.

I don't think there's anything that needs warning in here, beyond my best attempts at grammar, but let me know if that is not the case. Enjoy!

~~~~~~

As it turns out, bonding with six people, however extraordinary, was not enough to relieve the pressure of being Extra Force Sensitive. As such, Anakin still could not safely leave his tiny little room without his brain trying to eject itself through his nostrils.

Not that he had actually tested that—contrary to popular healer-medic belief, Anakin did prefer life, thank you—but he could feel his hypersensitivity to even the searing hissing contempt of the padawan meal bringer, and the sharp swirling of his men's emotions.

Naturally, this did not mean Anakin couldn't feel the walls closing in on him, inch by excruciating inch. Because of course, he was Anakin Skywalker and nothing went well for him.

After he had made all of the arrangements he could, he had spent the night in deep conversation with no less than seven different holocrons. It had been fascinating, but he really needed to talk about...all of it with Rex. Talking to Kix probably wouldn't be a bad idea either, for that matter. Specifically, he wanted to talk to them about the...boost he wanted to give to them. They would be able to tell him if what he had in mind was welcome. Or insulting. The—his?— men could view it as insulting, as Anakin was insinuating they, as they were, were not enough. From a certain point of view.

Anakin curled his fingers in the hem of his Healing Hall robes, trying to squeeze the shaking out of his extremities by sheer force of will. It only worked a little, as the jitters moved from his extremities, both flesh and durasteel, all the way up to his shoulders to shutter down his spine.

He could really use a long session of moving meditation. Or a spar. A spar would be nice. Something, anything, burn off even a tiny bit of this excess energy humming through his veins would be welcome. But Anakin didn't have his 'sabers, or even a stick to do his katas with, and while he could do them open handed, he also still had to think about the many IV needles in his elbow keeping him sufficiently fed and hydrated. Exercising when attached to sharp thing inside your veins was never a smart idea.

Anakin just wanted to think again.

Which may or may not explain why the next morning Kix and Rex, having come to his tiny room for seemingly the sole purpose of fussing at him, caught Anakin staring contemplatingly at the wall separating his room from the shielded hall at oh-excruciating-hundred in the morning.

How they had gotten past all of the Healers out in the Halls, Anakin didn't know, but he wasn't about to question the competency of Captain Rex and CMO Kix of Torrent for all the Sunbeetles on Tatooine when they were glaring at him like that.

Kix took one look at him, and demanded, "Just what do you think you're doing, General?"

Anakin's eyes widen on their own accord, and his mouth dropped open. "Uh—"

This was how Jesse and the squad of nine following him found General Skywalker eating his breakfast meekly while CMO Kix watched over him like he was a particularly foolish Shiny, and Captain Rex looked on with faint amusement.

~~~~~~

Over the next couple of days, Torrent didn't sit idle, even as most of them waited for their turns to bond with Anakin.

They had discovered, through one very bad no good downright horrible instance they will likely never talk about again, it took a few hours for the new bonds to settle before the bonds were ready to withstand the strain of being stretched by both distance and artificial shields, as if they were hot sufficiently settled, it could snap. Thankfully, no one had died so they could learn that particular lesson, but they would definitely not be repeating that mistake any time soon.

This meant he got a solid four hours with each squad of Vod'e.

Anakin, when he paused long enough to get his bearings, spent most of his time carefully not questioning why so many people were so willing to bond with him. He didn't understand, but he was also beyond the point of caring.

He was in their heads. Not a single one of them meant him any harm. They were even happy, that he wanted to bond with them. He was still awed, every time he reached for them, only to find they had already initiated a bond.

In the mean time, he was learning a great deal about his men as they went about their business.

Nausea and his three fellows, who were almost as vicious at cards as he was, had been unleashed on the various underground sabacc rings in the lower levels. All four of the card nexu had been part of the squad Anakin had bonded with after the Command Staff in a blatant display of Rex's frankly terrifying planning skills. Jesse may have helped, but Anakin had no doubt Rex was making most of the decisions.

Guide had needed to give the four a rather intense crash course on Gambler Etiquette, like the necessity of loosing every so often, even if on purpose, so one is not blacklisted from that particular gambling ring. They had taken the lessons well, if not gracefully. The four of them were making a killing, as expected.

Coric and Jaded, also part of the squad with the card nexu, had joined Kix in his quest to gleefully wringing the best deals from Anakin's connections in the medical side of the Black Market, and other, more legal acquaintances, using the credits the nexu were collecting in frankly awe inspiring speeds.

Some of the Vode from the other squads help the medics and first aid specialist by collecting tradable goods the three could then use to get what they otherwise couldn't extract with credits and determination. Slip and Fase assisted them in this endeavor.

Ridge and some other Vod'e had begun making progress on contacting various people who'd arrange for the delivery of the food. They succeeded, even though elite soldier training did not include how to order supplies from civilian businesses. Shocker. Needless to say, as each squad rotated through his room to accept his bonds, there were many troopers who got a crash course on professional comm etiquette.

Hardcase and Denal had decided to divide and conquer, last Anakin had heard.

Hardcase had gone to one of the weapons dealers Anakin 'did not know' and who definitely did not owe him a favor or ten. The last time he had commed Jesse with an update, Anakin had taken one look at his grinning face, and decided he did not want or need to know what made the gunner grin like that, and left Jesse to it.

Denal had gone to Padmè's handmaidens for advice as Anakin had suggested. When Anakin had heard from him, well...he had looked down right gleeful, talking about knives that could be hidden in hair, and such. Anakin decided the biliyan-like vod could keep the knives the handmaidens had no doubt actually given him, so long as Anakin didn't have to know anything more.

Plausible deniability, or some such.

#anakin skywalker #jiliu au #clone wars #kix #clone medic kix #medic kix #ct 6116 #captain rex #rex #ct 7567 #star wars prequels #force bonds #torrent company #501st legion

4 notes · View notes

saltyladynightmare · 1 year

Text

Game show host Danny

What if one day Danny gets so annoyed at cults summoning him, he makes it a game show

Whenever someone uses his summoning circle they get transported to a game show stage where they compete to see who gets to meet the ghost king

Danny's the host but refuses to tell anyone that he's the ghost king, besides no ones ever won so it doesn't matter

Danny was prepared, he binge-watched all the game shows he could find and then convinced technes to fine him some more

There's a big wheel of fortune but instead, it's a wheel of possible dimensions they could go to

They have to guess the emotional value of certain items and people are confused when it's a thermos

They have to answer questions about fast food franchises

If you get caught cheating fright knight will chase them around threatening them for a few hours before sending them home

A challenge is to lock them all in a room with box ghost and the last person to say something mean wins

Any musical challenges are overlooked by ember

There's a game where you have to choose the right box but one of them is Pandora's box

Skuller will chase them through an obstetrical course for "physical challenges"

Everyone loves it, all of dannys rogues get to mess with humans, the cultist won't be summoning him anytime soon, and Danny gets to laugh his ass off at this...no one quite knew what to expect when young Justice tried to summon him as a dare

#ghost king danny #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #young justice #original ideas to discourage stupidity #game show host danny

5K notes · View notes

saltyladynightmare · 1 year

Text

Apprenticeship

"It's an ancient prophecy," the wise man said. "These lands have been overgrown by brambles for generations. Time and time again, men have tried to cut them back, yet at each chance they pour forth anew. It is said that only the realm's future king can clear them."

"I see," the traveller responded, not sure what was expected in the face of such a statement. "How many generations?"

"I... what do you mean?"

"Well, it's just that you said the prophecy was ancient, but these plants don't look all that old to me."

"They grow forth anew each time," the wise man answered, frowning. "I did say that, didn't I?"

"Forgive me," the traveller said. "I just feel like I've heard this one before. Different renditions of the same tune, anyway."

"You've passed this way before?"

"Not here. Nearer to home, especially first of all." He patted the hilt on his hip. "I'd barely left my village, a failed blacksmith's apprentice looking to find my own future, when I came across a town where a knight had somehow managed to lodge this beautiful sword into a lump of stone whilst training. They told me that the man who could free it would one day become king."

"And you pulled it out?" the wise man asked, eyeing up the sword as much as his well-forged arms. "Just like that?"

"I had it hauled to the local smithy, melted the blade down and recast it. They weren't sure about that - nor when I took the sword with me when I left, although they never said I couldn't. I needed something for my hard work, you know? Whilst promised crowns are all well and good, a decent sword can really come in handy. In the next town along, for example."

"Another prophecy?"

"Another problem. There was an oxcart, tied to a building with a complex series of knots that nobody seemed able to untie again - and yes, the usual spiel about the man who could free it becoming king of all he surveyed. Of course, I just cut the rope with my nice new sword, which seemed to impress them for some reason."

"I see," the wise man said. "So you've done this quite a few times?"

"About a dozen," the traveller replied, taking a moment to count them in his mind. "It's all been things like that - clearing fallen trees from bridleways, capturing wayward cattle, all attached to one sort of portent or another. It makes me a bit sceptical of the whole thing, if I'm honest with you. Take these brambles, for example. Did you see me coming a mile off?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm guessing here, but are the actual wording of this prophecy more along the lines of "there's a burly guy with a sword coming through, is there anything that needs doing for free?" It feels like I've been doing everybody's odd jobs for them, and none of it has made me feel any closer to becoming king, as if a spot of gardening was ever going to budge the line of succession. They've made a fool of me, if anything."

"Do you want to be king?"

"I hadn't given it too much thought, before the first prophecy. I just knew I didn't want to be a blacksmith. I hit the road looking for a new trade, and kinging was the first one offered. Not that I've had anyone to show me the ropes."

"You've helped about a dozen towns to date?"

"Right."

"Well, it's a start." The wise man mulled it over in his mind. "But it couldn't hurt to have another village on your side."

"You mean... you'd support my cause?"

"Such as we can. The old king has done nothing for us, and nor did many of his forebears. You would certainly be an improvement."

"Oh." The traveller had never thought of it like that. He felt that kings were qualified by their inherent kingliness, a natural regality. He hadn't considered that a crown could be earned. "I don't know. I'm not sure how to go about being a king."

"Think of this as a trial, then." The wise man smiled at him. "Keep on as you are - solving problems, helping your subjects, the things that a king is supposed to do. You'll see whether you're any good at it, and the people will as well. They will be your master now."

"I can learn the job from them?" The traveller found that he was warming to the idea. His last role had ended in frustration and failure, and he'd begun the search for his next trade with an open mind. Rule wasn't exactly what he'd expected, but he supposed that beggars couldn't be choosers, and at the moment begging was his only other real option.

"Exactly," the wise man said. "Consider it your new apprenticeship."

#original story #not mine #to be clear #short story #writers on tumblr

44 notes · View notes