#hence not part of the body.

[ruthirlcartoon]

[wandixx]

Ghost of fries and hero of cookies part 5

All work words count: 14 643

Words in this part: 1 685

Summary of whole work: Duke wasn't expecting to wake up from his quick rooftop nap to some meta kid with fries. He also wasn't expecting kid to stay

Or

Danny asked Dani to stay safe while she was in Gotham. Where would she be safer than under the wing of local hero? And he looked like he needed bad day combo anyway

This part summary: Steph finally gets to meet Duke's kid. And she comes bearing gifts!

Beta read by @audhumla-sailor though English is second language for both of us, so proceed with this in mind. I also know all of the charaters through fics alone, so probably ooc. Stay catious if it's something you don't like

First part, Previous part

Duke was really glad that Bruce was busy whole previous evening and couldn’t give him The TalkTM Vigilante edition. Maybe he shouldn’t because B being busy spoke trouble but he couldn’t feel too sad about it. He didn’t want to have The TalkTM though.

For now, Dani was running next to him, with a serious look on her face that was kinda uncanny. She wasn’t supposed to not be happy and some weird instincts were screaming at him to fix it and fix it now. But he didn’t know how!

Though some of his jokes caused a little smile, so it was good.

It turned potentially less good when she stopped without warning, lowering herself to the fighting stance (finally proper, which made him so immensely proud by the way). He stopped too, wishing they wouldn’t have to fight but he knew better than to latch on this hope.

“What’s up, Hoopoe?” he whispered.

“Someone is coming. Light, use grapple” Most likely one of the Bats then, they were due to a visit anyway. However better to not lower his guard in case he was mistaken or it was a prank/test. His expectations were proven right though, when purple blur flipped over the edge of the roof. He relaxed and put hand on Dani’s shoulder so she wouldn’t tackle Steph before they could explain anything. She seemed on edge like that whole day.

“Hey Spoiler” he greeted to further show that the blonde was a friend.

“Sup Signal! Heard I can finally meet your little friend!”

Dani straightened herself and tried to float a few inches up to seem higher probably.

“I’m considerably higher than most kids my age” she deadpanned. She really wasn’t though. He was still trying to learn whether her size was caused more by genetics or malnourishment. Her only family member Duke knew of was also small, so maybe it was a family thing though.

Steph shrugged, waving her palm a few inches below her shoulder, approximately where Damian reached, quite few inches over Dani’s head.

“Robin is the family’s smol violent bean and you’re shorter than him. You’re small bean, deal with this”

Little girl pouted, crossing her arms. Steph cooed.

“Oh, you even get angry like he does!”

Young meta looked like she was asking ‘Should I use violence?’ and inch towards the answer ‘Yes’. Duke decided he should step in before she acted on these thoughts. Teasing was the opposite of what girl needed at the moment. Some good fight might not be bad but maybe not with Steph.

“Cut it Spoiler”

She rolled her eyes so dramatically he could tell she did so despite her mask. He still thought it was impressive “Don’t be boring dude”

Dani growled in a way that couldn’t be fully human, just like she did when they talked about her training for the first time. Duke squeezed her arm. Girl glanced at him before sagging so much he was scared she would fall for a hot second. He exchanged concerned looks with Steph over her lowered head. It was not normal nor was it good.

“Alright, you’re not smol,” Steph agreed lightly “Officially at least. What’s in my head stays there. Does it work for you?”

Duke almost hit her in the arm. Not strongly, in a friendly manner but still. He didn’t only because it seemed to somehow work. He let his hands drop.

“Your mind is sacred,” Dani started seriously “what leaves your mouth is not. Can’t diss you on your thoughts but I’ll on your words” she shared like it was some important truth of life. Or folklore proverb though Duke wasn’t sure about the latter. Afterall he was Gothamite born and breed, he knew countryside from movies “And actions. Actions are kinda important,” meta girl added in lighter tone after moment of thinking.

“Yeah, actions are the best” Steph agreed easily “Hey, can I get it on a T-shirt? I’ll love and cherish it”

“First you laugh at my height and then you want my intellectual property for free? For shame, Spoiler, for shame?”

Steph looked thoughtful, theatrically over exaggerating her body language. 

“Valid” she nodded.

Duke decided he would just watch whatever was going to happen and did damage control if needed. He didn’t feel up to anything else anyway.

“Heard your cape went in an adventure,” the purple vigilante admitted after moment of silence. Dani shrugged rubbing her arms awkwardly. Duke knew she normally would fix said cape. It was her way of fidgeting.

“Yup, it’s good way to put it,” girl nodded. “Somebody needed it more, I hope it enjoys its travel. I should get a replacement soon”

“Well, I can’t let fellow caped crusader, who understands necessity of hood, run capeless”

Younger girl waved her hands in a flurry motion of dismissal.

“Don’t-” she stopped when her eyes locked on orange bundle Steph took from somewhere under her cloak. Opportunity to pull tricks like that had made Duke consider adding some sort of cape to his Signal suit back when he had been working on it back in a day but dismissed it. He still wasn’t looking forward to learning curve of fighting with such additional liability. He couldn’t turn it intangible when it was in a way like certain white haired cheater did.

Speaking of Dani, girl stared at Steph’s gift like she couldn’t quite believe it was real. She held her hands close to her chest but her fingers flexed in grabby motion. Her eyes were hidden behind black lenses of her mask but everything else about her face further proved how awestruck she was. Even her muted aura brightened a bit in a way that he learned to recognize as excitement.

It was still kind of weird, by the way. Normal auras haven’t changed, it was kinda their thing.

Steph wiggled her gift a bit. Dani finally took it but had yet to put it on.

“It’s for me?” she whispered so utterly shocked and small that Duke mentally did a double take.

“Yeah, like I said, can’t let you run around without it”

“Oh”

Dani’s hand was gnawing at the edge of the material as if it was some sort of squashmellow.

“Try it on,” Steph encouraged gently.

“We need to check if Spoiler haven’t messed up something”

“Signal!”

Dani snorted, which was all Duke tried to achieve.

She put it on and after a moment of shuffling she once again became orange cloak with feet. She grinned widely looking far more relaxed and settled than she did moments before. She moved around a bit like she was in model show or at least what ten years old thought it could look like.

“You like it?”

“Yup, it’s amazing, thank you Spoiler… Though it’s heavier than I expected”

“Well, I don’t know what your first one was made out of but this is material I use, I found it the best balance between durability, weight and comfiness. Still, it’s quite dense and a bit heavy. Also, I added pockets because you can never have too many of them. Plus there are few glitter bombs inside. You know, ‘welcome to the team’ gifts,” Steph explained eagerly and judging by Dani’s smile, she loved her gifts. Duke would be a little worried on a Gotham crime’s behalf if it wasn’t well, crime and if he wasn’t all there to watch chaos these two would unfold from sidelines with bat-popcorn in hand (though it wasn’t really a thing yet, he would have to mention it to Tim or Jason). For now though, they really should continue on the patrol.

“Now that introductions are over, let’s get going. Crime never sleeps or something,” It was really weird to be the organized one. Before Dani showed up, on a day shift he was a sailor, a captain and a ship (or maybe Gotham was a ship-), We Are Robins days were chaos in purest form and shape and when he was called out for a night he usually was too tired to behave and was just additional mess to organize (on purpose, let him have his goddamn sleep, he wasn’t Tim).

“Okay,” Dani agreed cheerfully “There is a robbery at the greek diner we visited last Thursday. ‘s been going for five minutes or so,” she added unbothered.

“HOOPOE!”

“What?”

***

Spoiler jumped through the open window of the diner with a graceful roll, glitter bombs at hand. Hoopoe and Signal came inside right after her.

“Spoiler alert!” purple girl yelled, throwing two bombs at robbers heads and kicking third one in the ribs.

Dani decided  that she liked Spoiler right then and there as she threw her own brand new, orange(!) glitter bombs at remaining criminal.

***

Three of them were running through the city mostly uninterrupted after diner mishap. Steph tried to engage Dani in quip battle but younger girl for once wasn’t jumping on occasion. She kept close to Duke and his only reaction was smug smile in Spoiler’s direction. That’s what she got for trying to steal his sidekick.

“Oh!” Dani exclaimed delighted, stopping abruptly, a smile that spoke trouble gracing her face.

“No, we’re not busting Joker’s scheme by jumping into the meeting to beat them all up without proper back up, again, Hoopoe. They had guns, Hoopoe.”

“Wha- Wasn’t last time enough? Anyway, I heard there is fan meeting with Martian Manhunter in Los Angeles tomorrow,” Great, so no giving him heart attack right now. Thank God for that.

“Shame he won’t make it, huh?” Steph mussed “He is in Illinois right now, isn’t he? It would take him two days driving to even get there”

Dani’s expression looked thoughtful “It’s quite far”

“Yeah, around… 2,500 miles from here”

“Huh”

“What got you thinking kid?” she inquired, ruffling her hair.

“Not a kid and I thought- there is kidnapping at three!” Dani darted in that direction before finishing sentence. Duke jumped right after her slightly scared. She was not ready to handle stuff like that without back up and she would try if he let her run of like that.

********

Steph: I'm meeting my almost niece tomorrow what should I- *gives a gremlin child an ultimate weapon of chaos*

Sometime before this part:

Steph: So, how is your kid?

Duke: She is not my kid!

Duke: By the way, wanna see video I saved of her doing proper side kick for the first time?

Danielle "looks like 10 years old is 10 months max" Phantom: I am in fact much higher than most kids my age

Duke "whoever is feeding this tiny child does bad job at it" Thomas & Stephanie "it's just a lil baby" Brown: Yeah... sure...

Next part

"Tag list" (i haven't expected to ever make it)

@pickleking8

[fountainpenguin]

Extremely funny to me that PiglinMyNose's character journey is "Death game with SnifferMyFeet" followed by "Eating pancakes in Decked Out 2" followed by "Tagging after Joel in Hermitcraft Season 10" followed by "Recording murder mystery skits."

Every time NameMC gives us a new PiglinMyNose skin, I just imagine he's busy with his acting work and SnifferMyFeet is sitting in an empty auditorium with a big sign that says '10' and he's like "WOO-HOO! Yeah! I know him!"

He would probably do this if Joel's intro skits were a live theater performance too. And he'd be dragged out by other Hermits while kicking and yelling.

Later you find out he's sprawled atop the concessions bar just idly kicking his feet and waiting for the show to finish. He misses his friend.

[voidendron]

experimental piece that was a lot of fun!

also uh. a liiiittle bit of an excuse to draw a new detail for her..

[Soren uses he/she/they]

[0verc00ked-simp]

I will give no explanation but I have a terrible fear that Five will not survive season four

[stupid-and-cute-are-enough]

for the past 4 days, i've descended into madness over the anon getting turned into an animatronic. behold. 2.6k words @get-rammed i've gone insane

as always, i spew BTS lore in the tags

“Alright, that’s everything,” his Handler announces, finishing the paint on his last claw. They give his hand a satisfied pat. Monty watches as they turn away and begin packing up their things, making idle chatter as they do, offhandedly mentioning that they hope it isn’t too late by the time they actually get to head home. They told him earlier that they’ve got a meeting with the higher-ups once they’re done tonight, and it’s been weighing on him all day.

“I don’t think you should go to that meeting,” he says because he can’t take it any longer.

They pause. “What do you mean?”

“I just… I don’t think you should go.” Monty clenches his fists in his lap. It doesn’t feel right. If it was any other lame meeting announced in a staff email, sure, but this isn’t one of those. They were approached in person. No documents, nothing written; just pulled them aside this morning and told them something about enhancing the Handler experience. All of the other Handlers have gone home already, too, and there’s nothing that they could want just his for that meant anything good.

They huff fondly. “I don’t really have a choice, Monty.”

They keep getting ready, a sinking feeling forming in Monty. He tries again to explain that it’s a bad idea again but is gently shut down. His Handler hugs his head on their way out, an act he’d usually eat up and crave more of, but tonight, he feels like rejecting it. It just feels so wrong.

“Sweets, please, don’t go.” He grabs onto their sleeve. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

Their face softens. “I hear you, Monty, but I have to. I’ll probably get fired if I don’t.” They laugh a little. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Worst-case scenario, they dump a mountain of work on me. Everything’ll be okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, big guy.”

—

They announced a new animatronic the very next day.

The announcement made Monty raise a brow because even with his debut as a Glamrock, as rushed as it was, Fazzbear Entertainment still took their time to milk it for all its worth. Surely, with a brand-new animatronic, they’d pull out all of the theatrics. But, no, management had just called everyone backstage (Monty was grabbed by Chica’s Handler because his still wasn’t here, and it worried him. They always tell him if they’re going to be late) and spilled the news.

It’s another gator, which, geez, thanks, corporate. It’s dressed in actual clothes, unlike the rest of them. It’s a little smaller than Monty, with a sleeker design. Monty eyes the new thing up and down. There’s something… wrong with it. Monty feels it. So does the rest of the band. It stands across from them, eyes too wide, taking in too much yet too little information at the same time. Its hands are clutched together, held tightly to its chest. It’s a shambling mess, really. Barely finished and definitely not ready for crowds. The thing really needs a Handler, which only reminds Monty of the empty space by his side.

It’s different from them. It doesn’t fill its body like it’s supposed to. A feeling of uneasiness washes over the room. Even the other Handlers look a little disturbed.

After the incredibly lackluster introduction, dampened by the uneasiness of everyone in the room, management gives up on pleasantries and snaps at everyone to prepare for opening time. They leave without further explanation, not even telling everyone what the newcomer is supposed to be doing. Everyone takes the chance to leave as fast as possible, abandoning the barely functional animatronic where it stands.

Something in Monty tells him to linger, as disturbed as he is. The sinking feeling he had last night returns tenfold.

It looks too familiar. Cautiously, Monty approaches the thing, eyeing the uniform it wears. He dares not to peek at the nametag displayed proudly on its chest. The animatronic tilts its head up at him slightly, or at least it tries. Monty can hear the inner mechanics going, but it remains frozen. He stands uncomfortably in front of it, unsure of what to do. Everything about it feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong.

He peeks at the nametag, and his world comes crashing down. Surely not. They couldn’t have shoved a whole person, a full consciousness, inside of an animatronic, could they? That technology doesn’t exist, right? Right?

Monty reaches out a shaking hand, staring into the bot’s blank, red eyes. It can’t be. Fazzbear has done some fucked up, shady stuff, but they wouldn’t do this, would they? This has to be too far. It has to. His hand touches their forearm, feeling the all-too-familiar fabric of the Handler uniforms under his finger pads. He meets their eyes, registering the terror behind their blank stare.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey, it’s... I, uh-”

“M-” Their voice fries out, and their jaw moves unnaturally. But it’s enough for Monty. That’s their voice. That’s their voice. Monty feels something vile fester inside of him. If he could get sick, he would. That’s them. That’s them in there. They’re in there. That’s his Handler, who he saw just last night, in there.

Their stare is so blank. Their hands are clutched together so tightly. That’s them.

“Oh, sweets…”

His hands slide down their arms to take their hands, snagging his thumb on the cuff of their uniform as he goes. Something there catches his eyes, though, something a human eye would miss, but something he’s been trained to notice. A tiny speckle of blood stained into the fabric. Their blood.

Monty sucks in a breath, his grip on their hands tightening. They were hurt when this was done to them. They bled.

“Let’s go to my green room,” he says. He keeps his voice gentle, but there’s also no room to argue. He doesn’t think they could, anyway. They don’t respond to him or make any kind of movement, so Monty moves for them. Slowly, painfully, he guides them up to his green room, keeping a gentle set of hands on them the entire way. They stumble and would’ve fallen without Monty to catch them. Their tail drags limply behind them. They probably don’t know how to use it for balance yet. The word yet makes Monty’s heart hurt.

He ensures the door stays open as they shuffle into his room, hovering over them until they’ve been cautiously guided to sit on the couch. They don’t need to struggle to stand anymore. Monty doesn’t think he could handle seeing it.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he says. It’s a lie. It’s an awful, horrible lie, but what else is he supposed to say?

They try to speak again, but their voice fries into something that sounds like a quiet cry. Their body begins to tremble, their hands clenching around each other even harder. All tell-tale signs that they’re crying, but they don’t have tears anymore. Instead, their eyes just stare into the wall, unresponsive.

“I’m so sorry, sweets,” he says as they weep. He sits beside them on the couch, cautiously wrapping his body around theirs. He doesn’t know if the different sensations will upset them even further, but he also doesn’t know what else to do.

“H-” A billow of steam rolls out of their jaw, rattling their whole system. The sudden movement startles Monty, making him pull away.

“Hey, sweets, you-” Monty glances into their eyes, wide, sightless, terrified, with a slack jaw pouring steam, “you need to calm down. I know it seems like I’m askin’ the impossible of ya, but you’ll overheat yourself, and I dunno how to fix that.”

Their body shudders, unresponsive to their mind. Monty doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to help. He remembers what they did when he first came online and when he was given his new body. They surrounded him with familiar, comforting things, but his Handler doesn’t live here like he does. At least they didn’t. Their greatest comforts are probably far out of Monty’s reach. He searches around his green room, trying to find anything he knows helps them relax.

He spots a fidget they used to love playing with during his noon charging sessions. It should be simple enough; it just needs a pushing and pulling motion. Nothing complicated. But his Handler’s hands don’t react, even as he pries them apart and presses the fidget into their palm. Their fingers remain tense, not even twitching.

“Okay, something easier. I got it. I’ve got you.”

Monty reaches and grabs one of the oversized plushies lying beside the two of them on the couch. It’s big enough for him to comfortably interact with, so it should be good enough for them, too, right? He places the weighted plush in their lap, tucking its arms in so his Handler doesn’t have to do it themself. It looks like they try to wrap their arms around the plush, but the thing just ends up getting knocked to the floor. The failure to get their arms to work only serves to upset his Handler more as their hands begin trembling, the metal of the digits clinking together. 

Monty looks up at them, scared for them. Scared with them. If they can’t function, they’re going to be decommissioned– not fired, not still alive, decommissioned and dead. Gone forever. Their head has turned slightly, staring intensely at something, so Monty follows their line of sight. His gaze lands on their jacket that they accidentally left last night, draped across a chair. Now a little shaky himself, Monty gets up and retrieves it for them.

He realizes once he gets back that it doesn’t fit them anymore. It used to be so big on them, but it doesn’t fit now. Their favorite jacket, the one they wore every day, doesn’t fit anymore. He drapes it over their shoulders, bringing it around them tightly. Their shoulders are bigger under his hands. Wider. Their body is like his own now and so very, very different from what it used to be.

He retakes their hands, kneeling in front of them. He meets their eyes, which stare deep into whatever kind of soul he has.

“Look at me, Chere,” he says, squeezing their hands, trying to ground them. He’d tell them to breathe with him, but they can’t anymore, and he doesn’t know if that’ll help or upset them. “I’ve got you. I promise. I won’t ever, ever let anything else happen to you. I promise.”

Their hands squeeze his own, and Monty lets out his own version of a sigh of relief. The shaking in their limbs begins to die down, the steam eventually coming to an end. He smiles at them, keeping his hold on their hands solid. He praises them softly, rubbing their knuckles.

Their eyes meet his properly, and Monty can see the hurt and the fear in their eyes. They shift, jaw moving experimentally.

“I… can’t breathe,” they say.

Monty’s heart breaks for them. They try to shift, try to grab onto their jacket and pull it tighter around them, but their limbs won’t cooperate, and the metal of their fingers slips against the satin material.

“Here, you gotta… you gotta grip with the pads of your fingers. Like this,” Monty says, taking hold of their hands and guiding their fingers to do so. A shudder runs through their system, getting their hands to tighten and pull, if only slightly.

Monty steps back to take another look at the design of their new body. A gator, like him. Their hair is soft and synthetic, with a little product to keep it sleek, so at least that wasn’t taken from them. In a bitter-sweet kind of way, Monty can imagine helping them style their hair in the morning when the dust settles. But Monty still has trouble adjusting to his mohawk, so he can’t imagine what it’s like for them right now. How long it’ll take for that dust to settle. They’re smaller than him. Sleeker. A little more compact and able to fit into tighter spaces. Probably equipped with the same processing power Monty has, and he prays to whatever is out there, none of the guardrails. Overall, they’re… built to work. They were hurt, maybe even killed, their body broken, disposed of, and shoved into this body to work. To work! They never get to go home again; they never get to have a life outside of the Pizzaplex ever again, all so Fazzbear Entertainment could have another obedient little worker.

Monty shoves down his anger. They don’t need that right now. Instead, he turns his energy to muster up the best smile he can, affirming the correct motions with their hands.

“There you go, you’ve got it.” His smile wavers a little at their silence. 

They stare at their hands, their new, robotic, alien hands. Hands that don’t listen when they tell them to move. A body that doesn’t listen. They grip around the fabric of their jacket, feeling, in a way, the mechanics whirr in their arms. But they don’t feel the silky fabric anywhere but their finger pads. They feel the warmth of Monty in front of them, holding onto them, but only in broad strokes. It’s not like skin. It’ll never be like skin. There’s no more blood, only coolant (they feel so cold), no nerves, no organs. No lungs. Those things are still there, in a way, in a robotic sense.

All of the essential bits keeping their body moving are still there. But it’s not their body. Flashes of blood and mutilation streak across their vision the longer they stare. They have claws now. And a snout. And a tail. They always thought it’d be kind of cool to have a tail, who doesn’t, but not like this. They don’t want this. They want to go home and lay in bed and fall asleep and hope that this is some god-awful dream. They want to fight with their ID at the stupid maintenance tunnel exit, and drive home tired, and wake up five hours later to come to work and do it all over again. 

“... sweets?”

They look up to Monty, sight still a little unclear. He looks worried. He looks scared. They don’t think they’ve ever seen him scared. He tentatively takes their hands, prying the fabric away before they rip something.

They stay there, Monty kneeling, Handler sitting, staring at each other. Lost, scared, confused. Neither quite sure what to say.

“I wanna go home,” they eventually settle on. They can see the resolve in Monty crack.

“I know, sweets.” He rubs their knuckles again. They’re disturbed by how little they can feel of it. “I’m so sorry they did this to you.”

They want to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he has nothing to be sorry for, but the words don’t come to them. So, instead, they sit in silence. Awful, dreadful silence.

Eventually, Monty stands, still holding their hands in his. “You’ve gotta be getting… tired,” he murmurs. “Here, I’ll show you how to get charged.”

His Handler know how. They’ve helped Monty settle in to get charged a million times. But it’s different now. They need to charge. Their battery isn’t running low, they don’t think anyway, but the emotional drain is enough for them to take the carefully offered out. Monty gets them set up, gently explaining things as he goes, like what it’s going to feel like at first and how entering standby will kind of feel like sleeping (at least, what he’s pretty sure sleeping feels like). When everything is said and done, and Monty is sure they’ll be out for a while, he turns to eye the big door that separates his room from the rest of the Pizzaplex.

His curtains are closed, and he’s going to make sure it stays that way. For a long time.

[wolfasketch]

Finally finished my ADC OC!!! She took me a hot minute.

[gamethecry]

alright alright, my brain had a thought, now i just need a follow up from the masses.

[vampiremansionpoolboy-moved]

going insane over the fact that happiness and care and concern and love is underneath every interaction between newt and hermann in pacific rim

[istherewifiinhell]

nah actually im not explaining this fucking show [lying]

[ID: Transformers Super-god Masterforce [88 anime] screencaps. Featuring Overlord and Ginrai in God Ginrai mode, midfight. Both are colosal sized transformers. Overlord is a decepticon/destron with shoulder spikes and guns in his lower chest. God Ginrai, an Autobot/Cybertron resembles g1 Optimus with a with chest piece.

Waist shot on Overlord: I will challenge you until my physical power is exhausted!

Same shot, fist raised. Overlord: So that I may show you the might of my flesh!

Close on Ginrai, aiming down the barrel of his gun: No, wasn't Devil Z afraid of the possibilities of the flesh!

Overlord: I am not the same as Devil Z! END

Overlord saw him from across the bar and really liked his vibe [joke explained: overload is the combined tf mech of married couple and cunty villians giga and mega]

[lanshappycorner]

Sometimes I look outside my scope of mutuals and I'm like.....I'm glad I'm not them (whole essay in the tags)

[eatyourdamnpears]

this isn’t even the same person

[raineedayss]

fun little artist tip for when your burntout but at the same time NEEED to Make The Character-use gacha! or picrew! both are good for getting the idea out of the brain and onto something you can see-example, the photo i added here, which is a gacha version of whats basically my main oc, Anex! [i know i made a post a while back about liking neon green and i need to find it.] i want to draw them but my hands physically will not allow me, so i just took a couple minutes to make them here and call it a day. very easy.

edit-found it.

[ssspringroll]

i DID fix waay'los' dick btw. had to touch up the uv mapping cuz it was distorting body hair weird and while i was in there i had to redo the weights anyway (since they dont export with the mesh, thanks s4s) i also repositioned it slightly so it will work better with animations. it aint perfect but it will get the job done 👍

oh and like weeks ago i made a gradient overlay for it so i can get a little more use out of it cuz it was Just For Waay'los in my mind but now its got rainbow overlays. it could be for anybody. Waay'los' is blue now 👍

[existencebringsonlypain]

Idk, I find it interesting that Raine has much less visible scarring than Hunter post-possession. With Hunter, it looks like at least two-fifths of his visible skin is now scars. Hunter was scarred pre-possession, of course, but the only obvious scar was his cheek one. Raine only got tear tracks and an ear blob. That's... Interesting, considering Belos was possessing Raine for much longer. Perhaps it's because Raine has a bile sac, and it was helping them resist Belos, whereas Hunter was magicless. Maybe the Belos goop (we need to come up with a better name for that) surfaces easiest on existing wounds, and Hunter just had more entry points in general (hence, the facial scar and ear nick being scarred specifically). Or maybe it's just because Belos fought in Hunter, and the curse overtook Hunter's whole body, but Raine only got tear tracks because that's the only parts Belos' curse overtook. It's ambiguous. For all we know, Belos could've purposefully scarred Hunter and held back on Raine because he needed them to look inconspicuous to the Collector. Who knows?

[wild-houseplant]

Hello my wonderful and lovely friend!!! I come, as I am wont to do, with questions for splendidissima Rhodri from the OC Codex prompts:

2. a letter written by your OC’s family member

3. a report written by your OC’s teacher or mentor

4. a letter from your OC to their love interest

Now, I don't know if you will spend these days celebrating or not, but they seem to be busy days for anybody regardless. Please take as much time as you like and pick whichever tickle your fancy. And have some lovely, lovely days. Off I go!

OH HI HEY ! 8D 8D Good to see you and thank you for sending in the prompts!! I had such a great time with these, both of my braincells were working overtime and it was a joy!

Owing to spacing and the sheer volume of the answers I'm sticking all this under the cut. I'd apologise but we both know I don't mean it x) x) x)

so o o o 2. A letter written by your OC's family member Here's one from Rhod's younger brother, Owen. Heirs aren't allowed to have favourites, but suffice it to say she and Owen had easy and natural compatibility. He was nine-ish and Rhodri would've been twelve.

The paper is bleached, high-quality Tevinter vellum, bearing a template header in red ink, reading in Tevene rune script, EX SCRIBIO CALLISTANI SPIRI (“From the desk of Spiro Callistanus”). At the top right of the page, the date 13 Justinian, 9:22 Era Drakonis is added in the same wobbly runic script in the rest of the letter. The language of writing is Tevene.

I love you Sēvē,

My birthday was good but sad without you, and thank you for my greenhouse. Mazarin and Evander aren’t allowed inside because they break everything now. Bethann sits with me in there sometimes but not for long. 

School is hard but Tata says it gets easier with time. When you come back we can go together. I think that would make it better. Mazarin and Evander are too loud and they don’t sit with me any more. Do you know any plant spells? Please write all of them down so I can learn them when my magic comes. And please tell me your favourite three plants. Mine are ivy, snake kiss, and butterleaf.

Please write lots more soon.

And I love you, from Owen your brother.

-

Author's notes:

Callistanus- ‘of’ House Callistus, the name given to non-heir family members. An heir is the house, the non-heirs are the members of said house. ‘Callistani is Callistanus in genitive (possessive- I know you know this; clarifying for other potential readers) case. Owen's Tevene name is Spiro, Spiri in genitive form.

The Callistanus/Amell kids did not cope well with Rhodri being taken to the Circle. Not least because they were an arm’s length away when the Kirkwall Templars were beating her to a pulp.  Mazarin and Evander, who already tended to be loud and demanding, became destructive and disruptive, and both of them developed explosive tempers that proved hard to pacify.  Bethann, the youngest and most sensitive sibling, suffered frequent meltdowns that required many years to identify causes for and address.  Owen, the middle child, was always quiet and courteous. The adults in his life, amid attending to his louder, needier siblings, frequently ‘checked in’ on him, and they would have used all the resources they had to attend to any need he might have, but if he said he was doing fine (he always did), they left it at that and assumed he was content to keep to himself. Rhodri had always made a point of keeping him by her side and giving him plenty of one-on-one attention even if he was ‘fine,’ and he soaked that up like a sponge. After she was taken away, though, and the other siblings proved to be very squeaky wheels, there was nobody to fill the gap in those childhood to early teen years. Owen ended up rather neglected, and horribly lonely, and hid it, even lied about it, to everyone but Rhodri for years. Consequently, Owen tends to have a low opinion of himself, and is disinclined to seek out something, however badly he might want it. He does a lot better once Rhodri's back, and certainly once his folks found out (to their unrestricted horror) how neglected he had felt, they did their darnedest to make it up to him as well. But Rhod's return was really what cemented that improvement.

§

On to 3. a report written by your OC's teacher and mentor

I liked this question because I like the idea of there being a very specific, Chantry-determined format to a progress report, filled with formalities that ostensibly show some level of "civility" between the Templars and the mages. Plus, grading system? How do the mages measure success? So many questions!! Thank you for making me think of the answers!! -

The paper is bleached, blank vellum of middle to high quality, with the standard Circle progress report template already written in with black ink. Irving’s handwriting is a neat cursive that is no longer taught in the Circles. -

Date: 7 Eluviesta, 9:21 Dragon

Tutor name and rank: Irving, F.E.

Apprentice name; age; specialisation: Rhodri S. C. Amell// 10 y.o.// Arcane Magic

Progress report number, AYTD: 2

Presenting compliments to the Knight-Commander and having the honour to report:

Following the discovery of lyrium affliction in early Verimensis 9:22, Rhodri Amell has completed three months of compensatory meditation and distraction management training. Spellpower has improved significantly, as has spell duration (Max. 4; 10s per HS); mana inefficiency has also decreased (less est. 2.5, now 5.5). Continuation of the program recommended indefinitely.

Despite her progress, Rhodri’s temper outbursts are increasing in frequency during lessons proper. I reiterate to the Knight-Commander my suspicion that these arise from the elemental damage and consequent pain in her hands from unsafe proximity to trained mana, particularly as her affliction prevents her from wearing the requisite enchanted safety gloves. As per my last reports, I strongly recommend that my apprentice be permitted to use a sylvan branch staff to prevent more of the same; responding to outbursts with punishment has proved manifestly unhelpful and I continue to urge its cessation to the Knight-Commander with the greatest emphasis.

I note that Rhodri continues to tutor beginner students in her free time. E. Delilah has anecdotally mentioned better performance in this cohort in comparison to Delilah’s previous cohort, and has advised willingness to allow my apprentice to shadow her for some classes. With assistance in managing the change in schedule, I anticipate further progress for all concerned.

Reiterating assurances to the Knight-Commander of my highest consideration.

Irving, F.E. 

-

Author's notes on abbreviations and measurements - AYTD: Academic year to date - Spellpower scale is from 0 (not casting) to 10 (Destruction of a single room - HS- healing spell (in this case spell duration measures how long the intended effects persist until the spell is cut off or wears off on its own) - Mana inefficiency scale measures how much unformed mana escapes when a spell is cast, from 0 (no mana lost) to 10 (all, or almost all mana escaped). .

§

And 4: A letter from your OC to their love interest!

The author's notes are long so I'd better just get to it:

The paper is bleached, high-quality Tevinter vellum, bearing a template header in red ink, reading in Tevene rune script, EX SCRIBIO CALLISTI SEVERIN (“From the desk of Severin Callistus”). At the top right of the page, the date 11 Pluitanis, 9:35 Era Drakonis is written in sharp, austere letters, as is the rest of the content. The language of writing is Common, with the exception of the tercet, which is in Tevene.

Dulcis,

I pen this letter to you with all my love and, in adherence to the conditions set by your challenge:

I admit that I stand corrected: pickpocketing is very difficult and is not “something I could do as easily as blinking.” (I will say, however, that hiding grapes in the pocket you were keeping the coins was entirely unnecessary. It feels like those bastard Void fruits are hiding everywhere, now.)

With great embarrassment, I enclose a reproduction of the tercetus I so foolishly admitted to writing and frankly, my love, I am starting to think you organised this whole bet so you could get your hands on it.  . In vitae finite stabit Formator ton, et querisit "A Incredule, quemisi exultum mihim offerti?" Et respondit humilite, "Ton Zevran, Sanctus amade" .

I must say, my love, I’m enjoying writing to you even though you’re right beside me. I think I’d like to do this more often– though hopefully with fewer tercetae. Maybe I could hang short missives off your Friday flowers. What do you think?

Also, please let me know if you would like to go to the Sidereal Telescopium tomorrow. Quirina is giving a speech on the upcoming New Constellations Room, and I have many questions for them.

My whole heart to you,

Severin (Rhodri). -

Author’s notes:

Tercetus- a traditional Tevene-style three-line rhyming poem.

A rough translation: At the end of life I will stand before your Maker, and he will ask me "You, Unbeliever, tell me– what worship did you ever offer me?" And I will say, simply and earnestly, "Holy Immortal, I loved Your Zevran."

Rhod’s got a complicated religious life. She started okay; the family wasn’t especially pious but they did Chantry things at the frequency considered respectable. Once she landed in Kinloch Hold, though, her prevailing question, for which never received a satisfactory answer, was: “If the Maker can do anything, and He loves us, why does he let us suffer? I wouldn’t do that, and I’m a child, nto a god.” After Broken Circle, she refused to believe the Maker existed, as a consolation to herself, and to avoid the sort of vengeful blasphemy that gets you hung, drawn, and quartered. There’s something about Zevran’s patient faith, though, and his willingness to offer thanks that he has what he has, however miserable his life has been. It’s impressively staunch, and Rhodri admires that, and treasures the comfort it brings him, enough that she slowly comes around to her idea of a compromise. Said compromise is acknowledging that if the Maker exists, He is as capable at unleashing bitter cruelty as He is at creating boundless joy. Rhod’s not one to praise bad behaviour in anyone, let alone a god who should know better, but by golly He did everyone a good turn when He made Zevran. Maybe age will bring other wisdom, but for now, she lets her love for Zevran be her tentative worship, because it’s the only praise she can offer in earnest. Though idk, what better compliment is there for a creator than someone wholeheartedly adoring their creation?  I like to think it’s enough for the time being. A religious journey isn’t always straightforward but I always found that complications bring their own insights.

I have no idea why Rhodri signs off her letters to Zevvo as ‘Severin (Rhodri).’ They agreed early on never to use the Tevene name to avoid the ridiculousness that comes with similar-sounding names (it gets especially bad when the siblings give him the Tevene-ised nickname Zēvē when they’re already calling Rhodri Sēvē. Agony!) Same deal with Owen signing off letters to her as “Owen your brother”. Must be hereditary.

Also I'm not sure about how ok it is to use Artbreeder generated images what with the art theft things going around now (I'm not sure where it stands on that sort of thing) so I'll leave out the artbreeder portrait I have of Owen. For a face claim, though, this feller here is pretty close (though I grant you Simon Wood is unlikely to be 9yo in this gif). Token ginger of the Amell-Callistus brood, what's up!