gods falling in love with humans is a common fiction trope, probably because Greek myth had such an impact on Western culture, but imagine a god answering little prayers from some kid like “i hope there’s something to eat tonight” or “make my guardian happy so they don’t hurt me” and they just. keep. coming and eventually this god realizes that the little things aren’t actually fixing the big problem, and even if they smite this guardian (which they’re really tempted to do at this point) that’s leaving this kid to fend for themselves and then what?? and so eventually they just manifest, to the kid’s surprise, and are like ‘hi i’m your parent now’
except they’re a god, and based on a lot of pantheons’ track records they probably haven’t observed much good parenting, so they’re just like ??? and fumbling their way through it, hijinks probably ensue, and as they start to get their footing they realize ‘oh hey there are LOTS of kids in shitty situations, and I *am* a god, I can be in loads of places at once, that’s how the others keep having 12 kids after all…’
and basically they end up as the divine version of batman while the rest of the pantheon wonders why they can’t just have a bunch of demigods like normal people
there may be a story like this already, but I enjoyed thinking of this one
In the old days, Artemis would have deposited the kids at a remote temple, let the priestesses take care of them, no problem. That’s not really an option anymore, though. She could leave them, but it’s a *little girl* who just *helped her mother through childbirth* while being *hunted*. Artemis generally preferred not to admit she had a heart, but it had been touched enough that she’d eased the mother through labor and healed her even though no one prayed to her. And that would have been that, except that when she turned her attention casually that way again, the mother was dead and the girl and the baby were hiding in the bushes, about to be found.
Before she even thought about it, Artemis turned the pursuit into deer and scooped up the girl and baby in her arms.
And then she had no idea what to do with them. No temples. Olympus was out of the question. She could just leave them – but – whatever situation brought them to this was still there, and she couldn’t turn *everyone* involved into deer. Not without someone complaining, anyway.
Well, she couldn’t stand around indefinitely in the woods with them, either. She took them to an old hunting lodge in a remote forest in Anatolia. With an impatient gesture, she cleared all the dirt and debris out of the main room. Then she cleared out all the sharp things – mortals were so fragile. Then she set girl and baby down on the most intact-looking couch. “You’re safe now,” she announced.
The girl stared at her, wide-eyed. “Are – are you an angel?”
“*No*.” But explaining she was a goddess might not go over well… “You may call me… Cynthia.” That was a tame enough name, wasn’t it? “What’s your name?”
“Mama calls me Marimari!” the girl said, then her eyes widened and filled with tears. “Mama…”
Artemis was terrible at comfort. Give someone a gentle death, that was easy, but words? She awkwardly patted Marimari’s shoulder. “It’s… very sad, to lose your mother.” Inspiration struck. “You should name the baby after her.”
“Mama already named him,” the girl objected. “And I can’t call him Mama.”
A boy, of course, because this wasn’t complicated enough. “Well, whatever you please. I’m going to go get some food and water.” She looked at the baby. “And a nursing goat.” Back at the girl, who was crying. “And… a puppy. Would you like a puppy?”
She was a protector of children. She knew how this went.
Everything was under control.
(“He does *not* think he’s a dog!” she snapped at her brother some months later. “He just likes to play with them. I brought you here to fix the teething thing, are you the god of medicine or not?”
Marimari tugged at her coat. “Aunt Cynthia, your brother’s really pretty,” she whispered.
“She’s six years old, don’t even think of it,” Artemis snapped immediately, then looked down at Marimari. “Stay away from men, sweetheart, there’s nothing there but heartbreak.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh, sis?”
“Fine. Stay away from men related to your Aunt Cynthia.”)
“OK. I lied earlier. THIS was the highlight of my parenting week. Sending my 13-year-old daughter into the store for (whispers) “feminine hygiene products,” and having the following text exchange. I died, she gave me life, I died again. And she drew an illustration, on the spot, ON HER PHONE, to drive her point home.“
– Belinda Hankins, shared on Facebook.
I’m showing this to my kids. (Male and trans/agender bio-male.)
I really want a science fiction story where aliens come to invade earth and effortlessly wipe out humanity, only to be fought off by the wildlife.
They were expecting military resistance. They weren’t counting on bears.
Imagine coming to a hostile alien world and being attacked by a horde of creatures that can weigh up to 3 tons, run at 30 km/h (19 mph), and bite with a force of 8,100 newtons (1,800 lbf).
By the time you realise that they can traverse water, it’s too late. The surviving members of your unit manage to make it back by shedding their excess gear and running for their lives; the slower ones were crushed to death within minutes.
You later describe the creature to one of the humans you captured, wanting to know the name of the monstrosity that will haunt your nightmares for cycles to come.
The human smiles as it speaks a single word, slowly and distinctly, in its barbaric tongue.
“Hippopotamus.”
This is giving me the biggest, creepiest grin I might have ever grinned
Imagine being the next crew to go down to earth and thinking “it’s fine, we got this. We have the weapons and equipment necessary to deal with bears and *shudders* hippopotamuses. We’ll be fine.”
And at first you are, you’ve learned how to dodge. You’ve learned where their territories are. You know how to defend yourself.
But then one night you are sleeping in your shelter. You’re in a tree covered temperate part of earth. It seems benign. There are been no sightings of the dreaded “hippos” around. Not even any bears. But there is a slight rustle of the undergrowth. You try and ignore it telling yourself it is just the wind.
Then you hear the rustle again. closer this time.
You peer out into the darkness but see nothing amongst the trees.
The rustle again and now you realise you can smell something. It’s musky and slightly foul. It’s the smell of an omen, a warning. But what of? Where is this smell coming from.
You sit up, but it’s too late. The foul smelling creature is on you. You are hit with 17kg of coarse fur and vicious bites. Long dark claws tear in to you and you are pinned down white the striped creature tries to bite your throat.
It takes some doing but you manage to wrestle free. Blood drips from your wounds and already they itch with the sign of infection. The creature has a bloodied snout, rust rad, mingling with the black and white hairs. It lets out a terrifying growl from the back of its throat and looks to attack again. It’s between you and your knife, so your only choice is to back away.
Eventually the creature gives up and snuffles off in to the undergrowth, down a hole near your shelter you hadn’t noticed before.
When you make it back to your base you once again consult the captive human.
“Badger.” they say, with a solemn nod.
One word: Moose
“Our vehicles are far superior to the local human models, in range, speed, armament, and any other metric you care to name! Nothing could possibly-”
BAMrumblerumblethumpcrash!!!
“That’s called a moose.”
Wolverines.
Also.. dolphins.
The invasion is going slowly. The humans have caught on and are actively destroying information on the planet’s flora and fauna before Intelligence can capture and process it. All that they have are survivors’ accounts. Bears. Hippos. Badgers. Moose. It is becoming obvious this mudball planet is a full-on Death World to the unprepared, and you are so very unprepared.
You lost Jaxurn to a plant. Not even a mobile or carnivorous plant, just one that caused a vicious allergic reaction on contact that killed him in less than a rai’kor. Commander Vura’ko died to an insect bite, a tiny local pest that sucked a tiny bit of her blood and apparently replaced it with a bit of its last meal, which was full of disease. Backwash. She died to bug backwash. And yet you honestly envy them after that… thing you encountered…
When you got back to base the quarantine officer refused to let you inside. They had to roll a containment tank outside to put you in, because you all knew there would be no chance of eliminating the smell if it got into the ship’s air ducts. Smell. You wonder if your nasal slit will ever recover from this stench.
And the smell would. Not. Leave. After incinerating your gear the Q.O. had you use every cleansing agent they could think of, including a few janitorial ones, and still everyone fled the stench if they were downwind of your tank. Desperate to protect everyone’s nasal slits from the smell the quarantine officer interrogated the humans. From them, a glimmer of hope: there was a cure. Somehow the juice of a certain fruit on this mudball was the only thing that could break up the chemicals in the little horror’s spray. Immediately the Q.O. sent a team to recover buckets of the stuff and made you bathe in it. That was hours ago and it didn’t seem to be working, though. All it was doing was turning your blue skin an interesting shade of purple.
Sighing in frustration you wave the med-assist on duty over, who only approaches after checking the wind direction. Annoyed, you flip on the tank`s vox speaker.
“The humans did say it was “grape” juice that removed “skunk” stench, right?“
Every night.
It came for someone almost every night.
Any soldier alone was a viable target for this native monster that moved unseen by any but the security viewers, usually only spotted in hindsight. They were taken as silently as this earth-monster moved. Sometimes they’d find the remains in the morning taken up a tree and hung there, mostly eaten, as if it were a grisly reminder that the monster was still there, waiting unseen, to strike again.
What little they saw of the monster on the vidfeed showed true horror. Yellow eyes that shone with all the light it could gather. It had fangs as long as his grasping digits. Claws half that size formed curved hooks that allowed it to climb up their fortifications with impunity. And in the underbrush, its spots made it almost impossible to see clearly in the undergrowth, if it could be seen at all.
Even the native sentients, the humans, had a healthy respect and fear for it.
The earth natives called the monster a leopard.
It was a constant fear that muddied the senses, and let the monster hunt even more effectively as the soldiers were always on edge. Sleep deprived with fear, it made them even better targets for the monster.
But rumor was that there was worse on this planet. Rumors of a monster like a leopard but larger, and bigger in every imaginable sense. Stripped instead of spotted, which leaped from the underbrush with a sound.
A sound that burst eardrums, paralyzed entire units, and let the monster kill with impunity. While the Leopard wrestled soldiers down and ripped their throats out. This other monster, the Tiger, killed with its pounce alone.
“We’ve been through this,” Group Leader 455 snapped. “The dissection of an Earth life form will help the scientists make weapons to combat the rest of this planet’s hellbeasts. And these are domesticated. Harmless.”
The troops were not-quite-looking at her in the way troops do when they don’t want to be seen to contradict a ranking officer, but can’t quite muster a correct Expression of Enthusiastic Assent. “The name of this species,” she pointed out, “is synonymous with dullness and slowness in the language of the Earth barbarians.” Well, one language out of several thousand—these creatures needed Imperial guidance more than any other world on record—but there was no point in confusing the rank and file.
More not-quite-looking. 455 bubbled a sigh and consulted her scanner. “That one,” she decided. “Alone in the separate pasture. Scans suggest that it’s a male, which means it’s probably weaker. Possibly it’s kept isolated so that the females don’t eat it before mating season. And yes, I know some of you are here on punishment detail, but you’re still soldiers of the Imperium. This squad is perfectly capable of handling a lone, helpless, pathetic male cow.”
I’m enjoying this immensely. Wait until the aliens try Australia for size…
It was a strange creature Tar’van glimpsed at on the vast island known to the humans as ‘Australia’.
“I would warn you not to fuck with us, mate.” Their forced guide, a prisioner, had warned with a chilling grin upon capture. “If you think a moose is bad, wait until you tango with a red back.” To this day Tar’van fears the creature known as the red back, and what horrors it would bring.
The prisioner turned out to be of little help,the stubboness of his people causing them to refuse the danger that the captured human warned of. Tar’van recalls a moment when one of his squad members approached a creature know as a dingo, insistent they had seen these creatures before and they were tame. They barely escaped with 5 of the original 7 members of his squad.
Another moment Tar’van recalls was the brutal mauling they witnessed by the hands of a creature called an ‘Emu’
“Don’t feel too bad,” the prisioner mocked. “We lost a war to the Emu’s as well.”
Now with only 4 members of their squad left, including themself, Tar’van had learned to listen to the prisoner, to be wary of the simplest of creatures. This human was of the sub-species of ‘Zookeeper’ after all.
The ‘Zookeeper’ looks off to the distance, where the creature is.
“It’s a kangaroo, leave it be and you’ll be fine.” Tar’van nods, a human signal of acknowledgement if they are correct. The human smiles a bit.
“That creature cannot possibly harm us.” Tar’van’s squadleader protests. “It is so docile. I will aproach it and bring back it’s head to show this human is a fearmongering liar.”
The human reels back, a look of disgust crosses their face and anger passes through their eyes.
“Fucking do it mate, I dare ya.” The human hisses. The squad leader puffs up their hoinn gland, a sign of pride to their species, and aproached the so called ‘Kangaroo’.
“This will be unpleasant.” A squadmate mutters as they watch their leader raise their fist and bring it down on the creature. The ‘Kangaroo’ looks a little stunned by the impact, before it raises itself upon its strong tail and uses its powerful heind legs to launch their squadleader backwards through the air.
Their squadleader lands upon the ground, unmoving with black blooded oozeing from them. It appears Tar’van is the squads leader now.
“I don’t know what they expected.” the human says, smugness filling their tone. “Kangaroos are fucking shreaded. 8-pack and all.”
Tar’van steps forward to the human, whom inches back in a sign of fear as Tar’van pulls their blade from its holster, and in their first act as leader, frees the human of the bonds around their hands.
“Please,” Tar’van bags. “Get us back safely.”
This is so beautiful.
I love this. Wait till the guys meet rhinos.
I’ll give you one better. One happens when they try to explore our ocean? The one place that not even we know about completely?
Nik’raiil had been studying for this day. They knew, from human history and science books, that all life had come from the great pits of salted water they called their oceans. It only made sense that if they could unlock the secrets of these pitiful wellsprings, they would understand the key to controlling the planet’s life.
No more leopard attacks, no more vehicles destroyed by moose, no more mosquito bites. They would know the code of this world’s very core, and then they would finally control it.
Nik’raiil was no fool; they knew there would be life even here. So along with their team of nineteen, they brought along a human professional, deeply learned in matters of this particular part of the ocean; it turned out the life in different areas varied significantly, and Nik’raiil had been warned of the importance of making sure the human knew about the correct location. This human had, with some persuasion, informed them of many things already – things they said were lovely to look at, and often small, but extremely dangerous in their own right. After Tar’van’s reports of Australia’s land, Nik’raiil was willing to believe the human’s stories about the ‘crocodiles’, ‘stonefish’, and ‘blue-ringed octopus’ of the Australian sea.
Avoiding these creatures proved simple. The crocodiles were large and easy to spot, the octopus shy and non-confrontational, and the stonefish easily detected with the most basic sensory equipment. With their conversion organ fluttering to filter breathable air from the dense water, Nik-raiil was confident they would discover the secret to the planet’s beasts in no time.
And then they saw it.
A massive cloud of tiny, floating off-white blobs. The sensory equipment showed no indication of life. They looked just like the aaga back home, and for a moment, Nik’raiil yearned to be there once again. Feeling the sweet, frigid air embracing them, calling to the eight moons with their spawn-partners as the summer’s aaga floated around them, the truest sign that the coldest seasons were coming…nostalgia alone drove Nik’raiil to approach the cloud, their team (many consumed with that same bittersweet longing) following close behind.
Once inside the cloud, though, everything changed. Nik’raiil wasn’t sure if it was the pain, or the failure of their conversion organ which made them pass out first. What they were sure of, though, was that when they woke up on the rescue vessel, only three others and the human were with them.
“Oh…you’re awake,” the human said softly. “I wasn’t sure. Some of you are more resilient than others, but you seem to be even more sensitive than we are to the venom – “
“Venom?” Nik’raiil rasped. A bolt of white-hot pain ran through them, and oily sulfuric tears poured from their teeth. Their voice was broken as they continued, “But – they were mere balls of gel! Not even the size of one of your human eyes!!”
“Uh – no, not exactly. They’re called ‘jellyfish’ – we have a lot of different kinds, but you hit the bad luck jackpot with this one. Malo kingi. This is about as big as they get.” The human held up a vial containing one of the blobs, and upon closer inspection, Nik’raiil could see a somewhat boxy ‘body’ that trailed a great number of wire-thin ‘arms’. No organs to speak of, nor a brain. No wonder the equipment hadn’t registered them as being alive. But when a fresh wave of pain assaulted them, Nik’raiil thought it could have looked like a simple pebble and they would still be frightened of it.
“Spare me your Latin!” Nik’raiil snapped through their agony, knowing humans had many names for the same things, but only the ‘Latin’ ones were considered universal. Or as close as things got to being universal among humans. “What is the name the native population of that country would know it by?”
Nik’raiil could have sworn the human smirked. “’Common kingslayer’.”
I didn’t choose the fandom life, the fandom life came to my dorm room in the middle of the night and said, “Dad’s on a hunting trip and hasn’t been home in a few weeks.”
I didn’t choose the fandom life, the fandom life grabbed.my hand and whispered ‘run’
I didn’t choose the fandom life. the fandom life knocked down my door and said “Yer a wizard”
I didn’t choose the fandom life, the fandom life blackmailed me into joining the Glee club
I didn’t choose the fandom life the fandom life sent me a text “Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway.”
I didn’t choose the fandom life. The fandom life told me “you were made to be ruled.”
I…actually did choose that fandom life. I had too volunteer to save my sister!
I didn’t choose the fandom life. The fandom life came up to me in the library, said “I know what you’re after,” and handed me a big book about vampires.
I didn’t choose the fandom life. The fandom life perched on my balcony and read to me, “Once upon a time, in the city of New York…”
I didn’t choose the fandom life. The fandom life invited me to a birthday party, gave me a cursed ring as a present, and then I had to WALK all the way to Mordor to get rid of IT.
I didn’t choose the fandom life.
I first came on the trail of the killers of my father and, for reasons which don’t need exploring at this juncture, I have remained.
I didn’t choose the fandom life. Fandom limped into my room, popped a Vicodin and diagnosed me as thoroughly unprepared for what was coming.
I didn’t choose the fandom life. I just sat in a freaking chair and some nerd in orange fleece told me to think about where we are in the solar system.
I didn’t choose the fandom life. Someone shoved me onto a transporter pad while I was protesting that I signed up to practice medicine, not to have my atoms scattered back and forth across space.
I didn’t choose the fandom life, fandom life gave me my dad’s light saber and then neglected to tell me its SUPER CREEPY HISTORY for about 20 years.
…that particular fandom life and I are in counseling.
I didn’t choose the fandom life. Fandom was a royal prat and made me a servant trying to protect it while hiding my magic.
I didn’t choose the fandom life. It had a fight in front of me, took off someone’s head, and then someone came up and invited me to observe and record, but never interfere.
(Fuck not interfering, I kinda like the fandom life I was assigned.)
Goddamned Mezolithic Megafauna’s what that is. Goddamned warranty expired on those things centuries ago, but do they care? Do they go decently extinct, like the ground sloth, gigantopethicus, or wooly rhino? Fuck that, they’re doing downhill runs on your favorite skiing course is what. Because Fuck it, is why.
Now I understand why moose are built the way they are.
It’s so they can gallop untrammelled through six-odd feet of snow.
Jesus Christ I read those mother fuckers could run 55km an hour but seeing it is another thing especially plowing through the snow
If a full semi trailer rig hits a moose, that semi trailer rig is tattered, useless pieces of its former self.
The moose just gets up, tries to figure out what the fuck just slapped its ass, and goes back into the woods when it finds there’s nothing around to mate with.
A moose sat on one of my uncles’ car. Totalled the car. Just sat down and rested for a bit
There is a tale in the mate’s childhood neighborhood of the moose who had marital relations with a car.
When I started reading fanfiction I was a deep sea fisherman. I sailed to far off journals, blogs and archives trawling through all the fic I could find. Schools of drabbles, delightful pods of oneshots, whales of epics that I followed for days just to hear them sing. True, there were some downsides, storms of limited downloads that kept me from the fic, jellyfish and seaweed disguised as fic to swamp me, unexpected kinks like sharks that tried to maul me and not a coast guard to post warnings in site.
Gradually I lost my taste for the expedition, staying closer to home, sticking to the rec sites in the shallows. When the supermarket of AO3 opened its doors to me it was great! All the fic I could want with neat ingredient, nutrition and allergy labels! A store directory to search for exactly what I need! But my trawling skills got a little rusty and I had no patience to search through the seaweed any more which did seem to get washed down the aisles occasionally.
These days I hang around the Tumblr fishmarket, buying bits and pieces from those who still fish, nipping over to the supermarket when I have a craving for something specific, listening to tales from fishermen even older than me (Back in their day you needed to fight off pirates, subscribe to zines and walk over frozen seas to find the fic) and generally have a much more fun time than when I was only going to the supermarket by myself.
I used to dabble in preparing fish, picking out strange and interesting looking combinations and tossing them together with more enthusiasm than skill. Looking back, I think there was some combination of talent and luck (the former can be gained over time, the latter is useful but not necessary). I found that I grew to love the process, and I kept at it, even if it was built upon quiet fish breeding in my own home so that I could craft a mass of simple dishes.
Nowadays my writing partner handles much of the initial fish breeding, with deft skill and an eye towards the end result that leave me awed. We work together to bring that to the table as well prepared meals, rich and flavorful and hopefully bringing repeat, happy customers. There’s also the straight up joy of the work, the delight in applying skills to craft something good and tasty out of what are sometimes very strange fish.
Then there are days when we nip into a neighbor’s kitchen, stealth prep a meal, and run out giggling.
*runs out door giggling*
Day 45: Have spotted a Kraken It is huge and ancient, has been in the sea for over 13 years now. It spawns often, eating many unwary sailors It offers hugs, clones and heartbreak to all who venture near, taking no heed to a persons upcoming deadlines or commitments It seems to be called… Re-Entry
*coughs from laughing so hard she probably started bleeding again* omg
random thought: did teen obiwan ever fangirl over anything? (we’re ignoring ja for the sake of the possible hilarity.) if yes, what and/or who? did he search out fanfic? did he obsessively read every article ever written abt the thing?
did he ever get overly invested in the space equivalent of tv shows? watch awful movies bc of that one actor?
how did quigon deal with obsessed teen obiwan constantly talking about the thing? did quigon get dragged into fandom by obiwans enthusiasm? bc thatd b awesome.
i am thinking abt this now and i really hope i can drag some of you down with me.
i kept thinking about this on and off since i made this post so. here i go…
***
Oh no. This isn’t happening. They’re going to kill Nina. Obi-Wan is sure of it.
“Padawan,” Qui-Gon says, startling him.
He turns the datapad to hide what he was reading and pulls the braid out of his mouth.
Qui-Gon looks amused but that isn’t necessarily a good thing.
“Master, I thought you weren’t going to return before dinner?”
Qui-Gon’s smile widens. “Obi-Wan, it’s two hours past dinner.”
Obi-Wan checks the clock, certain that couldn’t be right. “Oh. I… I may have lost track of time. A bit.” His stomach grumbles. “A lot.”
Qui-Gon shakes his head, still smiling. “Go eat, padawan. Whatever has captured your attention will likely still be there after.”
***
and that’s all I have for now. but im having fun with this (vague as it is) so there may be more at some point.
I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS
(takes place during the clone wars.)
***
For the first time in months Obi-Wan has some downtime. Granted, it’s because the Healers won’t clear him for duty but it’s still downtime.
He catches up on his paperwork on the first day and can’t decide whether to be glad or curse himself for being so bloody efficient. Paperwork is tedious but at least it would keep him occupied.
There’s nothing to do so he finds himself messing around on the ‘Net.
Old friends welcome him back when they see he’s online again, so for a while he’s busy catching up. And then one of his oldest friends sends him a link.
It’s fanfic which wouldn’t normally be a problem except he’s one of the main characters. Force, people are writing Jedi fanfic. Suddenly Obi-Wan wants to thank his 15 year-old self fo never using any part of his real name anywhere online.
Paranoia makes him ask why jen2434 sent him Jedi fanfic. She says it seemed like the kind of thing he’d like. And he hasn’t been online so she thought maybe he hadn’t seen any of it yet. He’s wishing he’d never seen this.
Jedi fanfic. The council can never know. ANAKIN can never know.
Somehow he ends up reading some of it anyway.
I need more of this. And Obi-Wan shielding his thoughts and trying not to ship in real life. lol.
no. why. now im having thoughts abt obiwan shipping his colleagues.
but like. hed be sooooo tempted to correct people on how the force works and what the jedi can and cant do with it. itd be so hard for him to just not say anything. bc then people would totally figure out that the dude behind this url is an actual real life jedi and. can u imagine the shitstorm?
OKay but imagine Obi-Wan making an ENTIRELY NEW ACCOUNT ON WHATEVER SITE AND IT’S BASICALLY AN “IMAGINE JEDI” KINDA THING!!
And people start sending in messages and stuff that are their own unique headcanons and Obi-Wan posts them, with his own comments. Sometimes they’re downright insane, other times he ends up spamming his followers with cat pictures and videos to make up for the horror he’s unleashed.
Meeting the Council daily – while traumatising every time he sees Yoda and Mace look at each other in that way because “master Yoda glanced at his love Mace and-” – also gives him so many ideas and little anecdotes to mention as his own headcanons.
He has like a billion followers before the first year of the war is out.
okay heres a thought: ahsoka finds obiwans jedi headcanon blog. gets weirded out, is amused, starts showing people. (but quietly. shes sure master obiwan would disapprove.)
She doesn’t realise it’s Obi-Wan who’s behind it at first. In fact, she only catches on when a comment Master Windu makes during a Council meeting ends up on the blog from the OP.
Since she’s Anakin’s padawan she has a streak of mischief in her soul the size of a hyperlane, and thus she decides to send in specific headcanons to the blog of things Obi-Wan has said.
Around many witnesses of course. Can’t have him catching on that it’s his grand-padawan who’s doing this.
2. You may not test theories on each other. Not even the senior officers. Especially not the senior officers.
3. Do not feed any tribbles.
4. DO NOT FEED ANY TRIBBLES.
5. Tribbles are no longer allowed on the ship.
5a. Edit: Dr. McCoy and First Officer Spock may use a tribble when absolutely necessary under dire circumstances only.
5b. Update: No crew member may ever have a tribble on the ship under any circumstances ever.
6. The ship is not sentient. The captain may not marry the ship, even if it’s only a joke. Neither may Mr. Scott.
7. We take it back. The ship is sentient. Respect her at all times.
8. Any non-standard maintenance (READ: modifications) to the ship MUST be approved by Starfleet and properly documented.
9. Even if the Captain would pretend not to notice them. Or wholeheartedly supports them. Or is the one doing them.
9a. STOP MODIFYING THE DAMN SHIP, JIM.
10. Captain, Doctor McCoy is wise in his advice. I suggest you follow it before there are any…unfavorable consequences from the admirals in Starfleet Command.
10a. Spock, did you just threaten me?
10b. Negative, Captain. I merely wish to remind you of the upcoming ship inspections, as the last time Admiral Benett had to deal with the reports he was very adamant that our crew is no longer trusted to do our own quarterly inspections. Apparently too many of crew relationships are founded on “mutual propensities for non-strictly-regulation shenanigans.”
11. The illegal still in Engineering is—however appreciated—still illegal. No stills in Engineering, or anywhere else on the ship.
12. Alcohol from said still may not be sold for profit, especially outside of this crew. News of its existence cannot, under any circumstances, reach the admirals or their underlings. Or the engineering staff of other ships. Or the captains of other ships!
12a. NO ONE MAY SPEAK OF THE STILL DOWN IN ENGINEERING, EVEN TO OTHERS ON THIS SHIP.
13. The first rule of moonshine stills: You do not speak about the moonshine stills. Just shut up and drink the alcohol.
13a. With pleasure, sir!
14. Lieutenant Uhura would like to inform whoever modified and reprogrammed the universal translators that she looks forward to personally ripping out their vocal cords and using them to repair the damage she’s been forced to spend the last 34 hours fixing.
15. The captain would like to remind Lieutenant Uhura that insults said in other languages are still insults, and still unacceptable.
16. Lieutenant Uhura would like to remind the Captain that insults are acceptable when sufficiently deserved by certain farm hicks and that if they are not understood by the enemy party then there’s no harm done.
17. The Captain would like to remind Lieutenant Uhura that he is, contrary to what she may believe, a genius who does know more languages than he usually lets on, and no sentient being would appreciate being called a [expletive removed, by authority of Lieutenant Commander Spock] under any circumstances.
18. Lieutenant Commander Uhura would like to politely remind the Captain—
19. Lieutenant Commander Spock, with the authority of First Officer, hereby orders this conversation to be dropped immediately. It is unbecoming of senior officers, and frankly, quite childish. If the two parties wish to continue, they may do so on their own time in private quarters.
20. On a related note to yesterday’s spat, no one is allowed to place bets pitting senior officers against each other. Especially not the other senior officers.
21. Karaoke night is hereby banned forever from the Enterprise.
22. The Captain is not allowed to declare laser tag wars in the Jeffries tubes. Even if everyone involved enjoyed it.
23. Pig Latin is not an official language of the Federation, nor an acceptable method of communication when working on shift.
26. The shipwide broadcast system is not for playing favorite music while at warp in to “set the mood.”
27. Regulations are not “more like guidelines, anyway.”
28. “What the admiralty doesn’t know…” is not a phrase that should precede any statement on this ship.
28a. Somehow, every time it’s said, the admiralty inevitably does find out. Senior Command is investigating the possibility of a jinx on the phrase.
29. The Captain is not allowed to name any newly-discovered dinosaurs by himself. We cannot have seven separate species of Kirkosaurus.
30. The marriages that various crewmembers have been forced into via alien rituals on away missions are notvalid. If you wish to be officially bound, you can do so the normal, legal way.
32. Starfleet has officially-established drill proceedures. They do not include laser tag, paintball, Mafia, or capture the flag.
33. The Captain is no longer allowed to eat, drink, touch flirt with, or look at any unknown substances on away missions.
34. It is a punishable offense to evade routine medical evaluations.
34a. This includes you, Jim.
34b. Any and all crewmembers found to be assisting the Captain in hiding from Doctor McCoy are subject to official reprimand and the immediate restriction of all deserts from their meal card.
35. No member of the crew may walk within five feet of Lieutenant Sulu’s plants. Some of them can move, and some of them are extremely…territorial.
36. Starfleet is not responsible for the consequences if you decide to play tag in the Jeffries Tubes, nor will you receive any sympathy for injuries sustained while doing so.
36a. Except maybe for Chekov.
37. There is no such thing as being “allergic to paperwork,” especially since paperwork is entirely digital and no longer on actual paper.
38. The captain may not declare Casual Fridays.
39. The Captain may not declare a “Space Pirate Day.”
40. Officer Spock may not mislead crew members into believing that he is still ignorant of common human idioms and expressions of speech.
41. However illogical the captain is being, when logic fails to persuade him, it is still not acceptable to pick him up and physically move him.
42. FOR THE LAST TIME, JEFFRIES TUBES ARE NOT FOR PLAYING IN.
43. Shipwide games of Murder are not an accepted method of “team bonding.” No matter how much you try to argue that a common enemy brings people together, it won’t change the fact that organized serial murders—even fake ones—are not acceptable behavior on a starship.
Since people really seemed to like the saga of Olaf Olafson, I’m gonna tell you guys about one of my own characters, Brenan the Punch Wizard.
My friend was running a Dragonlance game back in college, and I jumped at the chance to not have to DM for once. I ended up rolling up a Neutral Good farmboy mage whose proclivity for magic was discovered relatively late (like… late teens) and so compared to the other wizards he was a total hayseed who knew fuckall about the theory of magic. His familiar was an his old farm dog ffs. An Australian Shepherd with a red neckercheif.
Well, he passed his test and became a White Robes mage (as you do when you’re not a shithead) and started going on more frequent adventures. Brenan quickly established himself as a pretty excellent hard-counter to enemy meatheads, with his suite of nonlethal spells targeting their usually weaker Will save. He was a good kid. He really didn’t want to kill anybody. We took a lot of prisoners with Brenan around.
Eventually, though, we started running into the Plot, which meant- among other things -running into a lot of Evil Wizards. Their Will saves were usually pretty damn high and so there was little chance of catching them with Sleep or Charm Person or the like. But almost all the spells that targeted their Fort save were kinda brutal, and the Reflex saves weren’t much better. He could counter-spell them sometimes, but not always, and it didn’t solve the problem, really. Just put the onus of murder on our Solamnic knight, running up and stabbing the cackling Black Robes with a huge fuckoff sword. That wasn’t very satisfactory, either. What’s a near-pacifist to do? Fireball?
Finger of Death? It was a dilemma.
Until Brenan picked up a null-magic zone spell. I can’t remember the name of it. But you cast it, and for a fairly sizable area, nobody could cast any spells. The enemy mages and clerics would start to fret, but they felt secure at least that Brenan was equally screwed.
Only, he was a farm boy. With a Str of 16 and a feat in Unarmed combat.
By the time that campaign ended, Brenan had personally captured over a dozen renegade Black Robes and dragged them back to the Tower for judgment. They hated and feared him- most of all because he didn’t even have the decency to kill them. No- every last one of the world-bending megalomaniacal sorcerers he defeated had to live with the knowledge that they’d been beaten by a farm boy prodigy and his mean right hook.
There's a Mirror on the Wall 