*hugs you all* Because today is a day for hugs, and I’m going to run out of spoons if I go putting hugs in everyone’s ask box.
Feel free to reblog this to give a hug to every one of your followers.
*who is comfortable with being hugged. If you do not like hugs or are uncomfortable with physical contact, or even just prefer not a hug from someone not a mutual friend, cookies or other snacks suitable for your dietary needs and restrictions.
My second thought is bonding time with clones and Jedi.
Cody walks into Kenobi’s office on the Resolute, his arms
full of discarded cloaks. It’s a mess of fabric, bunched up
decoratively to make the pile look even larger than it is (though if
one takes even a second look, they’ve been through the basic
laundering sonics that all the troopers’ gear gets. Or maybe not.
Cody can be an asshole that way). He dumps them on a bemused Kenobi’s
desk and informs him AT LENGTH how it is not standard operating
procedure to discard equipment willy-nilly, and reads him SEVERAL
nastygrams from the quartermasters. Obi-Wan dutifully listens,
folding every last cloak, both grateful for the break from all the
paperwork, and for the fact that Cody cares
enough to bother.
To his credit, Obi-Wan TRIES not to
lose his cloak for awhile.
(he’s not nearly as successful as
he’d like.)
Aayla Secura and Bly both lecture
each other about being reckless on the battlefield. While on said
battlefield. Possibly for pulling the exact same stunt. It is highly
against protocol that a General/Commander risk themself like that.
Neither of them sees any irony in
this.
Rex Has A Talk with Ahsoka about
following regs when it comes to charging
headlong into danger. They have some sparring and practice drills on
How To Keep Your Damnfool Unarmored Jedi Head Down Sir.
Ahsoka later on primly has words
with her master about how he Needs To Keep His Head Down and maybe
don’t charge into battle. Anakin sputters and protests that he
knows what he’s doing, promptly gets mildly injured, and has to
endure Ahsoka’s very loud lack of not commenting.
He goes to kvetch at Rex about this.
Rex manages not to roll his eyes,
then goes through the same routine.
It actually does stick. Somewhat.
Wolffe goes to his general to
protest that it really is not standard procedure that the
men have so much downtime while investigating…what ARE they
investigating on this ridiculous resort planet, Sir?
Plo Koon manages to keep his sigh
internal, then fires off some bullshit about how the Council sent
them to look into…corruption. And scurrilous activities. And.
Suchlike in the area.
(He is a member of the Council, the
men desperately need downtime, and since they’re in this quadrant
anyways, he’s happy to fill out the reams of paperwork regarding
the “unfortunate but necessary repairs” to the cruiser that will
give them a few days of rest. If he can convince them to take it.)
(Wolffe doesn’t buy it entirely,
but he ends up happy anyways because Hondo is active in the area and
Wolffe ends up personally
able to deck him.)
(Plo considers it all a win.)
Yoda spends some time leading
meditation with Commander Thire and a few other Coruscant Guard.
Thire is finally the one to speak up. “Sir, is this…regulation? I
mean, isn’t this a Jedi thing?” When Yoda asks him how a trooper
would spend some time unwinding – with that glint in his eyes that
the clones don’t recognize as sign of the Temple’s oldest and
wiliest troll – the men exchange looks.
Yoda’s not hugely adept with
a pistol at the firing range,
but still MUCH better than many of the clones expected. The carousing
that goes on afterwards becomes the stuff of legend at 79’s, the
Guard headquarters, and several holo channels of dubious repute.
~end
*cackles with delight, and adds to their plot bunny fodder tag*
after dying god informs you that hell is a myth, and “everyone sins, its ok”. instead the dead are sorted into six “houses of heaven” based on the sins they chose.
We arrived first at the House of Lust. “House” is a misleading term. It was more of a camp, spread over acres and acres of lush forest. There was a white sandy beach (nude, of course) full of copulating couples. There were little cabins sprinkled all along the path, from which orgasmic moans regularly came belting out. Men with six pack abs and women with perky breasts strolled by without even noticing me and God. They only had eyes for each other, tickling and pinching each other with flirtatious giggles.
“What do you think?” God asked as we passed a nineteen-way taking place in a pool of champagne. Little cherubs flitted overhead armed with mops and cleaning supplies, thankfully. “Lust is our most popular sin.” I eyed the supermodel-like figures of a couple passing nearby, and could easily see why. “You can look however you want. Hell, you can be whatever gender you want. No fetish is too taboo, and no desire can be denied here.”
It was quite tempting, but I wasn’t ready to make a permanent decision here. “Let’s see the others,” I told God.
We carried on to Greed. We passed rows and rows of mansions, each more opulent than the next. Some of them were so large that they would have had enough bed rooms to fit my entire hometown. And so many different styles: one second, we were in a beautiful French vineyard in front of a gorgeous chateau with the Alps in the background. The next second, a warm tropical beach with a modern mansion atop breathtaking cliffs. After that, a ski chalet in Colorado with a roaring fire in a hearth large enough to fit an ox. Each one had various Italian sports cars and Rolls Royces parked in front, with the occasional smattering of boats, helicopters, etc.
“Any material desire you ever wanted,” God explained. “Your own world, where you can have everything. You want the Hope Diamond? You can fly to Washington DC in your own solid gold helicopter and buy it from the Smithsonian. Hell, you can just buy the Smithsonian.”
Also tempting, but I decided to keep looking.
Gluttony was next up. Tables and tables of the very finest foods: beautiful steaks cooked medium rare; butter-poached lobster tail; fresh oysters on a half shell; exotic wines in dusty bottles that had been hiding in the cellars of the world’s finest restaurants. Everyone had a glass of champagne in hand and simply lounged on couches and chairs near the tables, eating endlessly. As soon as the inhabitants took a bite, the food just instantly came back. My mouth watered even watching them.
“In every other House, the food is practically sawdust compared to Gluttony,” God explained. “You haven’t truly experienced heaven until you’ve been to Gluttony.”
I shook my head, and we kept moving.
Sloth was as you’d expect. An endless sea of the softest mattresses, stacked with cushions and pillows that made the story of the princess and the pea seem minimalist. Little angels visited each resident, giving them massages that made them all melt into their blankets.
Wrath was… well, a lot like what I’d expect Hell to be like. Fire, brimstone, whips, torture.. you know, the works. Except here, you weren’t the one being tortured. Every enemy you’d ever made in your real life was now under your thumb. “Lots of people choose their fathers,” God explained. “Lots of grudges against parents in general, you know. But you’re not limited to that. Someone beat you out for a big promotion back on Earth? Take your pound of flesh here.”
Then we arrived at Envy. It looked… well, a lot like home.
“Go on in,” God said, gesturing toward the door. I turned the knob and walked in… and found Emily waiting inside. She ran forward, wrapped her arms around my neck, and planted a kiss right on my lips. “Welcome home, honey.”
I looked back toward God. “Oh, don’t be coy,” he said. “You have no secrets from me. We all know that you were in love with your best friend’s wife.” She didn’t seem to hear him at all; she went back into the hall. “We all know that you just settled for your own wife while secretly pining after her. Well, this is your chance to live happily ever after.”
I peered into the kitchen. Emily was baking something, wearing nothing but an apron. Her curly black hair fell softly over her shoulder as she whisked ingredients. She turned back, noticed I was observing her, and an enthusiastic smile spread across her face.
“It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” God whispered in my ear.
I wanted to take it. God damn did I want to take it. But I shook my head.
God seemed puzzled. “You need to make a decision,” he told me.
“I haven’t seen Pride yet.”
He scoffed. “No one ever wants Pride, trust me.”
“Well, I want to see it.”
_________________________
Pride was boring. Just a row of workbenches in a bare white room.
“I don’t get it,” I told God.
“Yeah, no one does,” he answered. “That’s why no one ever chooses it. Doesn’t cavorting in Lust sound better than sitting here building little trinkets for the rest of eternity? Wouldn’t you rather gorge yourself in Gluttony? Or spend time with Emily in Envy?”
I considered the options again. “I pick Pride,” I finally told him.
He narrowed his eyes. “What? Look at it!” He gestured around the room again. There wasn’t much to look at. “Why would you choose this for the rest of time?”
“Because you don’t want me to pick it,” I told him. If he was really God, he’d know what a contrarian I can be. And I knew he was hiding something, trying to pretend like Pride didn’t exist. There was something special about it.
God scowled back. “Fine.” He led me over to one of the workbenches. In the center, there was a black space. A blank, empty void that went on forever. “Here’s your universe,” he said. “You’ve got seven days to get started.” He took his seat at the bench next to me and went back to tinkering in his own world. After a long pause, he finally spoke again: “You know, it might be nice for me to actually have some company for once.”
Hoooly shit, what a great ending.
I thought I wanted gluttony or sloth but the thought of a complex, infinite project to work on? Ooooooo…
Rademenesa was diagnosed with an inflamed respiratory tract when he was 2 months old. He survived the ordeal and now lives at the animal shelter and keeps other sick animals company and tries to nurse them back to health.
Parents: we found your blog and twitter. You are so talented, why are you wasting your talent swearing and writing filth. It’s so unladylike, why can’t you write better, nice things…
Me: …so anyways
*sees post*
I have many words for your parents, many of them are individual unremarkable, but currently putting themselves in an order that is distinctly impolite, perhaps even terribly rude. Also, a cheerful murder smile.
(I would really like to have flaming rocks to throw at them from low earth orbit, but I am, alas, out of suitably-sized rocks and a functional aiming device to do so.)
Also, in what world is swearing unladylike… wait, right. I forget. They’re not operating by my definition of ladylike. Which is to say “do not do anything I, or my other friends with AOAs from the SCA wouldn’t do”. Which. Means probably draw the line at treating people like things and murder.
There's a Mirror on the Wall 