#i think the only things i would do differently... well. the power ratings will calibrate more accurately as u more!! my lips r sealed though

[intertexts]

YEAAAAHHHH FUCK YEAH THIS GOES HARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! looove these designs so much u are so right about everything literally obsessed w/ the characterization in these armor/suit choices. wiwi blue fire motifs fuck yeah fuck yeah... i think maybe that's what his wisps or their equivalents manifest as. & the big loose body obscuring layers r so good.. VYNCENT!!!!! YEAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!! i also have been thinking about strategies for engaging him all day. really delighted w/ dakota looking like a brute that's really fucking funny 2 me for Reasons. he's gonna get fuckin tanked man. yeeowch. ashe... head in hands.

@intertexts im being haunted by pd parahumans au. officially

some Thoughts under the cut hehe

WILLIAM:

I like 2 think he wears a LOT of body armor especially if his power involves leaving his physical body vulnerable. i think he'd take every precaution possible to protect it w armor/the majority of his costume being darker in color. since his powers wouldn't require direct contact with other people PLUS he's really the only one on the team with close direct family members to protect with his identity, he'd keep the majority of his skin covered/concealed and use loose bulky clothes + the cape to change his silhouette. bold of him to have fire motifs in his costume design and not actually have fire based powers <3 I'm totally bullshitting the classification numbers but I think his breaker level would be higher than the master level since he doesn't always have the greatest control over the wisps (they do their own thing sometimes it's fine)

DAKOTA:

I REALLY like the idea that at first glance everyone EXPECTS him to be a brute. but hes not. he's just insane about martial arts training and has built up a lot of muscle because of it. has the least protective costume. VERY little armor on him, doesn't like the restriction/weight of armor. has a ton of scars from a combination of that lack of protective gear + putting himself in front of teammates in danger + the insane amount of training he does, basically pushes himself to the limit constantly. has a lot of big pockets in his pants, usually keeps things like extra bandages and snacks in them :] belt around his waist is like a karate black belt. doesn't wear shoes, keeps hands and feet bandaged basically at all times.

VYNCENT:

also keeps a lot of bare skin showing in costume, mostly on his arms in order to use his powers. has a lot of belts that look pretty useless/only for aesthetic reasons but uses them to hide a lot of little concealed weapons in case his powers backfire and he can't use them immediately. pretty well trained in melee combat. the most lax with his identity, but is still somewhat careful about it. the highest power rating on the team, but also the one with the least amount of control over his powers. it takes him a while to get used to using someone else's powers, so it's general knowledge among villains that you DONT want to fight him more than once in close succession (and if you do, to stall the fight/draw it out as long as possible because he can only use his powers in short bursts. gotta wear him out). he's the most comfortable with using williams and dakotas powers (and on rarer occasions, tide's) but still can't fully control them

SIDE NOTES:

- when asked who the leader of the team is, william will say it's dakota, dakota will say it's william. vyncent will say either of them depending on the day

- I like 2 think tide kind of takes the role of director piggot ? since she seems the most like their caretaker/mentor. except it's different with tide, he's a little more directly involved with them 1) because he genuinely cares about them and they care about him and 2) because he's also a cape, he can more directly kind of teach them the rules (?)

- ashe joins the team way later and there's a little but of strain because of it. this is mostly from william, who gets jealous easily and doesn't generally do well with new people (he defends himself by saying putting two masters on the team makes them unbalanced, really he's just a little jealous that ashe is master 8 and he's only master 5) HOWEVER. eventually they end up being the ones that hang out the most out of costume <3

- THINKINGGGGG A LOT. ABOUT HOW ASHE JOINS THEM BTW. I think I need 2 read more worm before I actually decide. learn how the prt responds to certain things. i.e. how does this kid with a villain dad end up on the wards (right now im considering a chariot situation where he originally joins as a mole . but then decides he likes them <3 this could also contribute to why william doesnt like him at firsr because hes the most likely to figure that out. )

- thinking a LOT about the leviathan fight. i don't exactly know how to put those thoughts into words rn but. tide gets OFFICIALLY sent to the leviathan fight bc of his water powers and i think maybe. they follow him when they're not supposed to. but then they get to stay because they're already there and the rest of the heroes are not gonna turn down more hands in the fight. (somewhat similar to the meatball planet situation)

- extreme ghostkicks codependency. that is all

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Pheromones

Fandom: Mass Effect

Collection/Series: N/A

Pairing: Selene Shepard x Garrus Vakarian

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Rating: T - Suggestive themes but nothing NSFW

Warnings: N/A? I think (if i’m wrong let me know!)

Summary: Selene’s a little confused about something Javik says to her, she naturally asks her Turian boyfriend about it. 

Notes: Based off this conversation with Javik. I’ve never actually written Shakarian stuff in all my years of loving the ship. But, with Mass Effect: LE taking over my life, why not? 

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“So...Javik said something really...weird when I went to see him earlier.” 

It had been a long day; finding out Cerberus was turning people at Sanctuary into husks, seeing Miranda again, stopping her father from killing Oriana...it had taken a toll and then to come back and have a really bizarre conversation with their Prothean teammate? Well, Selene Shepard was glad to be back in a pair of yoga pants and a large jumper. 

If Selene was completely honest with herself she was exhausted. The war was taking its toll on her, all the responsibility that lay on her shoulders only seemed to be lightened by the support of her team and most importantly, Garrus. Her cybernetics had been bright and bold across her skin as of late, a sure sign that she was running out of steam. Despite the exhaustion, Javik's words weighed on her mind, confusing, curious and just a reminder of how alien he really was. 

Garrus came out of her, no, their shower, towel around his cowl, visor, no longer obscuring his face for once. God, it is so utterly domestic between the two of them now and something in her aches with the awareness that this might all be cut short, that domestic might never be a long term option for them. She hopes it will, hopes silently that they’ll get to retire somewhere, have a couple of kids, a varren or two, and life out their days into old age. 

“Weird? Weird to humans or...just weird?” The dual tone of his voice rings with curiosity. It had taken her two whole years of missions with him for her to actually get a good grasp on his subharmonics and even now there were things her weak human ears couldn’t quite pick up on, or even hear at all. 

She thought for a moment as Garrus sat down next to her on the bed, nuzzling his face between her shoulder and neck like he always did. It was something she’d taken as a turian sign of affection, the way his plates scratched at her skin and mandibles fluttered across her shoulder, she could only compare it to a human placing kisses down. A nuzzling that he never failed to do, whether they were standing and he had to bend over or they were sitting or lying down. 

Leaning into him with her eyes closed, she traces a hand across the plates on the back of his neck. “I...think it's just weird? He said he could tell we were ‘joined’ because of my...pheromones…” 

Garrus froze in his nuzzling, pulling back with his face plates drawn together, mandibles fluttering in confusion. “Well, yeah? I scent you all the time, been doing it since you agreed to be a one turian kind of woman. I thought...I mean I smell like you too…?”

“Scenting? I what?” Selene was decidedly confused, Garrus didn’t smell like her at all. In fact, the little scent that he had was of the more metallic and engine grease kind from spending all his time tinkering with things or modifying his sniper rifle. She certainly didn’t smell like him, not to her nose anyway. 

She pressed her face into his cowl and took a big, over exaggerated sniff. Nothing. He didn’t even smell like her shampoo or the jasmine soap she’d managed to find on the Citadel. Just...Garrus. 

Garrus chuckled, three fingered hand cupping her cheek, filed down talons grazing carefully across her skin to smooth out the furrow between her eyebrows.  

“Oh, right, you humans and your terrible sense of smell. Cute.” His grin flared his mandibles out wide, sharp teeth on show in a display of good humour.

“Garrus!” He liked getting a rise out of her, enjoyed seeing the pale skin of her cheeks turn as red as a Palaven sunset, something Turians just could not do. It was always so distinctly human, glaringly alien, but adorable. Not that many people would describe the Commander Shepard as adorable, but most people weren’t in a committed relationship with her...or he hoped most people weren’t. 

“Honey, it’s normal. We sleep together, we make love,” She groaned a little at the word choice as he returned to nuzzling underneath her neck, talons moving up and down her back in soothing motions, “we shower together, we go on every mission together, we spar together…” Selene can’t help the little moan that leaves her mouth as his breath warms across her skin before that tongue of his, blue and ridiculously dexterous, carves a path over her shoulder and up her throat, lingering on a spot behind her jaw that he knows all too well. 

“And turians are kind of known for scenting their partners.” 

“What does that even mean? Scenting? Like a cat? Are you marking your territory?” She’s never taken Garrus for being possessive, in fact, he was decidedly cool under pressure whenever someone decided to try it on with her. Occasionally he’d shift in a way that told people to back off, pressing his chest to her back, but that was only in instances where the person didn‘t know when to quit. Usually an overzealous asari or persistent human. The idea of him marking his territory, or even seeing her that way was kind of out of character to her, he just wasn’t like that. They were equals in everything they did. He was her person and she was his, one of them wasn’t more dominant in the relationship, they were partners. 

“Yes and no. You're not my territory, honey, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you're a one turian kind of woman, but I trust you and I know you can handle yourself. It’s a habit really, an instinct. I’m surprised you don’t know, you do it too.”

It’s a relief to hear him say that. While she finds Garrus ridiculously hot when he goes all bad boy vigilante turian on someone, the raw power he exudes is something else entirely, something different that starts a fire in her belly, she also doesn’t want to be seen as an object or possession. 

“I do?” They’ve gravitated, as they always do, towards each other. Selene finds herself curled up in Garrus’ lap, arms wrapped around his cowl and nose pressed to the junction of his neck, pressing light little kisses there had become a favourite pastime of hers. Calming, soothing. 

“Mmm...all the time, that little nuzzling thing you’re doing?” She pulls back, startled, eyebrows almost comically high and red still tinting her cheeks, “Yeah, I thought you were just a little possessive, but maybe this is one of those interspecies miscommunication things, huh?”  

“I...oh.” She curls back into his neck, bashful in a way no one else sees. Garrus enjoys seeing her like this, out of her element but trusting, seeking comfort in him even as he’s the source of her embarrassment. Their relationship is unconventional and with it has come embarrassment and nerves from both sides, but it’s the trust in him, and his trust in her that’s made it work, that makes it worthwhile. 

He runs his fingers through the red of her hair, the strands soft and silky, a sensation that he still finds fascinating all this time on and one that he knows she finds soothing. He can only compare it to how he feels when she caresses underneath his fringe. 

“So is that why that C-Sec officer stopped flirting with me every chance he got?” She thinks of the dark brown turian, bright orange markings across his face. Before she’d seen Garrus again, before they’d rekindled their relationship, he’d been determined to flirt with her, no matter how many times she politely turned him down. He’d since stopped, his tone always overly polite and formal, nervous even. She’d assumed Bailey had given him a dressing down, but...maybe not. 

“Mmm, probably.” His chest rumbles with the hum, soothing and deep, reverberations running through her, “Most turians aren’t going to flirt with a taken woman, ever seen two turians get into a proper fist fight? It’s more claws and teeth than anything else.” No turian wanted to get into a fight over someone they had a passing fancy for, that Garrus knew for a fact, best to leave someone alone if they were clearly in a relationship.

“Would you? If someone tried it on?” She’s curious, deeply so. Part of her wants to know he would, but part of her wants to know that he’d think about it, and take his time to decide if it was necessary. Garrus had always had a bit of a temper, quick and righteous and determined to put things right. But, he’d mellowed with age, with her nagging him and convincing him to spare people who’d wronged him and others. He was more calculating these days. 

“Depends.” A hand falls to her waist, circles being rubbed into the skin underneath her jumper, absent minded and soothing as his blue eyes look to the skylight above her bed, staring out at the stars. Contemplating his next words.

“On?” She leans up to press a kiss underneath his chin, the soft exposed skin tempting her.

“Do you want me to? How badly are they trying to get into your pants? Are you in danger? Do you need me to? Is it someone I know and despise?” His voice rumbles in his throat, she feels the vibrations against her lips and ringing through her ears. That was something about being with a turian that she loved, the subharmonics were soothing to her ear, the rumble that always seemed to roll through his body was comforting. She wouldn’t call it a purr, mostly because Garrus would fix her with that look, narrowed eyes, mandibles drawn tight against his face. He’d probably go back to calibrating the guns for a week or two straight. God, she hated that. 

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t fight for my honour?” She’s teasing him, but she can still feel him tense up. Her lack of subharmonics tended to confuse him whenever she joked and he couldn’t see her face. 

Taking pity on him Selene pulls back so he can see the amused little smirk that tugs at the corner of her mouth, freckles scrunching up across her cheeks and nose. 

“I...you’re messing with me aren’t you?” There’a a palpable sigh of relief from him as his shoulders relax and he rolls his neck before pinning her with a playful glare, huffing through his nose at her. He’s the only person she can truly be playful with and she knows he enjoys it, the closeness of their relationship isn’t lost on either of them. He makes her feel less tired, more alive, younger, even if it's for a brief moment before reality crashes back down again. 

“Yeah, just a little, big guy.” She tugs his face down gently by a scarred mandible, he follows easily, putting himself in reach so that she can press a kiss to his cheek, across the blue colony markings that are oh so familiar to her. Affection with Garrus is easy: “I love you, but I don’t need you tearing someone’s throat out for me...unless it’s Kai Leng, you can tear his throat out.” 

The assassin was a thorn in her side and she was close to snapping, her usual restraint and desire to talk things through was failing. She wouldn’t negotiate or talk with Kai Leng. If she finally got the chance...well, he probably wouldn’t be recognisable afterwards. 

“Oh, I'm tempted, believe me. There’s nothing I'd like more than to put every ounce of my anger and hatred into beating Kai Leng into a bloody pulp. Buuuut, I think you deserve the satisfaction yourself.”

“I love you, you know that right? Even if I'm walking around stinking like a turian vigilante.” She caresses the lengths of his crest and underneath, scratching short nails against the soft skin there and the purr, because it is a purr, that rumbles from his chest is almost as satisfying as the thought of finally getting revenge on Kai Leng.

“Reaper Advisor actually.” He brushes his cheek against hers, hard plates brushing against soft skin, gently, not hard enough to chafe or rub. “I love you too, even if I'm walking around stinking like a self-sacrificing human spectre.”

[ilovejevsjeans]

WHAT MAKES ‘PECULIAR’ McLAREN SO HARD FOR RICCIARDO TO MASTER

The esoteric driving-style demands of the McLaren MCL35M have been laid bare during the 2021 Formula 1 season by Lando Norris consistently producing superb performances while new team-mate Daniel Ricciardo has faced a long, hard and often fruitless slog to adapt.

Norris and former McLaren team-mate Carlos Sainz also found the car tricky to drive, but ultimately adapted well. But over his first 11 races as a McLaren driver, Ricciardo has been frustrated by attempting to implement a counter-intuitive driving style required by what he’s described as a “peculiar” car.

“I knew straight away it was a different beast,” said Ricciardo of the McLaren-Mercedes MCL35M.

“I’d be lying if I said the Renault wasn’t a different beast to the Red Bull, so they are all different. But there’s certainly some things where this car is slightly more peculiar. That’s the puzzle that I’m still trying to solve.

“But every car will respond and react differently, and this one’s got a couple of other things, I guess.”

Usually, you would expect a driver of Ricciardo’s high calibre to get on top of a new car after half-a-dozen races. Certainly, he thought that was how long the process would take before reluctantly admitting more recently that his struggles are “a reality” rather than a temporary problem.

McLaren’s executive director of racing, Andrea Stella, suggests the problem is Ricciardo is from the “opposite end” in terms of driving style. But what exactly is it about the McLaren that is so specific and has caused so many struggles, and why can’t these characteristics be dialled out easily?

“What we kept is some characteristics of our car that make it very special to drive, which we see with the experience Daniel is going through because he came from the opposite end in terms of how you would like to drive a Formula 1 car,” said Stella of the transition from 2020 to ’21.

“Our car requires some special adaptation, while we work to improve this aspect. It’s no secret that our car is good in high-speed corners and may not be the best car when you have to roll speed in mid-corner.

“We are trying to adjust some of the characteristics to make it a little bit more manageable to drive. At the same time, the important thing to deliver is aerodynamic efficiency, even if we couldn’t necessarily improve in terms of balance and [driver] exploitation of the car.

“We are relatively happy with the rate of improvement of aerodynamic efficiency that we have been able to achieve in early races and hopefully a little bit more will be coming in the next races.”

So let’s delve a little more into the characteristics of the McLaren that have stymied Ricciardo. In keeping with what Stella says about high-speed performance, Silverstone in July was a strong qualifying performance relative to Norris, even though he struggled for race pace.

But Silverstone is a high-speed circuit without so many medium and slow speed corners that remand more rotation of the car. It’s here, with the kinds of corners that dominate at the Red Bull Ring and Hungaroring, which hosted the races either side of Silverstone, that have proved difficult.

Ricciardo’s problem is that he likes to carry speed into the corner by braking a little earlier (except when making one of his trademark overtaking moves) and rolling the speed into the corner. The McLaren has a front-end weakness that is mitigated by braking later, but then appears to still require a relatively progressive application of steering lock.

Ricciardo has struggled to do this, often braking earlier than Norris and ending up with the car under-rotated, meaning he is still traction limited for longer in the exit phase than Norris simply because he’s effectively extending the corner.

“He’s a driver who likes to roll the speed in the corner and not necessarily attack the braking as much as our car requires,” said Stella. “We understood very quickly what the issue was. We could model this aspect, which means Daniel knows what to do in terms of working on the simulator, in terms of coaching the driver. But the progress that we do see race after race is not necessarily a switch.

“Sometimes I use the example of a musician. You can tell him how to play the guitar, you can use a lot of theory but at some stage he will have to spend quite a lot of time with the guitar and make quite a lot of exercises. You don’t necessarily take a step in concerts. Most of the progress you make will be when you work in background at home and you spend hours and hours exercising.”

Just as Ricciardo has done, Stella points out the lack of testing opportunities has made this problem harder to get on top of. Ricciardo had just a day-and-a-half in the car pre-season and since then has done his learning on race weekends. At times, he’s been intensively coached by race engineer Tom Stallard as he battles to tune into a driving style he’s at odds with.

But this has to fit in with the usual work of the race weekend and can’t waste time doing needless experimentation. It’s an extra distraction, but Stella says he’s “optimistic” Ricciardo will eventually get on top of it – and has been impressed with how his racecraft has at least made it possible to put together a solid run of results, albeit only scoring 50 points compared to Norris’s 113.

The obvious question is why McLaren can’t simply change the characteristics of its car. After all, we have seen other drivers who had to adapt to the machinery be met in the middle by teams, notably Fernando Alonso who benefitted from a power steering change that gave him the sensitivity he needed to optimise his driving style.

But in the case of the McLaren, it is more about the aerodynamic characteristics than the mechanical ones. And even if the trait could be eliminated, it would likely make the car less competitive. The need to brake late and the fact the car can have a weak front end perhaps indicates the necessity to be more aggressive in shifting the aero centre of pressure forwards at corner entry in lower and mid-speed corners.

If you brake earlier and roll the car into the corner as Ricciardo wants to, the aero centre of pressure will not be as far forward as if the car is on the nose. But in attempting to make this style work, there is also a more aggressive shift in the aero centre of pressure rearward as the driver comes off the brakes, which also appears to be creating a limitation for Ricciardo in the corner entry phase.

It’s also a style that is close to Norris’s default approach, although it’s important to note that he’s put a huge amount of effort into evolving his driving style in recent years.

At the end of 2019, he spoke about experimenting with his style in the Abu Dhabi test and given he and Sainz struggled in different ways, the pair were able to learn from each other. The result of that was a tricky car but that both could make work – but creates a driving challenge that surprised Ricciardo.

Stella is uncertain how long this characteristic has been in the DNA of the McLaren, although it appears to have been for some time. After all, progressing along development paths often augments such characteristics over time.

“We have been scratching our heads on how long this characteristic goes back in time,” said Stella.

“The aerodynamics is where the forces come from and I think it goes back to some seasons before the current season. It’s a set of characteristics in terms of how the car delivers the aerodynamic forces, which is not new to this year’s car.

“This year’s car is a close sister of last year’s and there’s certainly a close relationship to the previous years’ cars. So it has to do with the methodology that can produce quick cars, but with some [specific] characteristics.”

It’s also important to remember that the aerodynamic characteristics are not independent of the mechanical ones.

What’s crucial is the interaction of the mechanical platform and the aero – as well as the all-important aero performance of the floor.

This is not just about how the car is loaded up front to rear, but also in other directions. It’s a hugely complex equation to capture these interactions through all phases of a corner and this is where understanding of the characteristics will lie. This is why McLaren is largely stuck with the characteristics for the rest of the season.

“F1 cars are entirely dominated by aerodynamic delivery,” said Stella. “Then you work with suspension and the other mechanical aspects, but those aspects are often compensation and integration, not the leading parameter which is the aerodynamic delivery of the car at the various attitudes, the attitudes being the front ride height, the rear ride height, the yaw angle, the roll angle.

“This is what causes the car to be strong in a straight line and to be less strong as soon as you generate some yaw angle or rotation of the car. At the same time, when I talk about aerodynamics, this is definitely what leads to this characteristic, but it is also quite difficult to fine tune because to generate the aerodynamic forces you need to establish floor structure.

“It takes months or years of development to consolidate these floor structures so that you can achieve the aerodynamic efficiency of the car is absolutely astonishing and never matched in the past by any Formula 1 car.

“So when you embed these characteristics so deeply, it is difficult to change them. So it’s easier to work with mechanical aspects, but even those aspects are relatively limited because of homologation in 2021.

“You find yourself relatively stuck and that’s why a lot of the requirement and a lot of the demand shifts to the driver’s side. This is the tool, it’s quick, but it needs to be driven in a certain way.

“There’s not much we can do at the moment. So while we can improve the aerodynamic efficiency, it is a lot more difficult to improve some of the characteristics with a mind to the driving style.”

You might assume that these characteristics will be eliminated next year given the comprehensive change in regulations, but Stella suggests it is possible that it could be a consequence of the methodology used by McLaren.

If it’s a product of the underlying science, then it’s possible the characteristics could carry over. This is why Ricciardo can’t simply ride out the season then start anew in 2022. What’s more, given it has produced a competitive car, it would be wrong to say that McLaren has got things wrong.

All F1 cars have what is called ‘limit behaviour’, particularly when it comes to corner entry. Some aspects will always ‘give up’ first and it’s simply that McLaren is a more extreme example of the tradeoffs present in most cars.

“I find this quite typical,” said Stella when asked if this was something he had encountered before. “Even going back to my days at Ferrari there were various seasons in which the cars were pretty much experiencing similar characteristics.

“It’s always a bit difficult to find the right blend between having the car which is strong in mid-corner and maintains good characteristics in straightline speed. Conversely, if you focus your car on straightline and high-speed, then it comes a bit difficult to maintain good aerodynamics in the middle of a corner

“It’s not McLaren specific. What is McLaren specific is that our car is clearly on one side of this typical split of characteristics that you can achieve.” (X)

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Gifts

More sci-fi gadgets for all of you.  I go into more detail on the workings of some of the more interesting ones.  As usual, I own no one except Drake.  Enjoy the story.  

Aboard the Normandy

John Shepard pressed the locking mechanism on the doors to his quarters.  The automatic doors slid open noiselessly, and he stepped into the room beyond.  It was dark inside, the only light emanating from a large fish tank on the far wall.  It was his hobby, per say.  A welcome distraction from the rigors and challenges of his life.  He enjoyed relaxing and simply watching the fish swim.  

The rest of the room was simple, yet elegant, in the way that a mid-level hotel was.  Nothing exceptionally fancy, no wild designs.  It had few personalizations, save for several framed photographs and some slight tinkering projects he stored there.  

He sighed.  It had been quite the long day.  Quite the long month, come to think of it.  The implants that had brought him back from the dead all that long time ago...or was it really that long ago? he asked himself.  Well, either way, that had started to hurt again, a constant dull ache, especially located in the back of his neck.  So much to do.  So much stress.  First his death, then the Collectors, who were still a problem, now this.  Now new worlds, which, in turn, brought new problems.  It was the end of a long day, which would lead into a short night, which would bring yet another long day.  The cycle continued.  

He walked, slowly, over to his bed, before his tired eyes noticed something different.  A package, wrapped in plain black paper, lay upon it.  Attached was a note, written in neat cursive.  

To Commander John Shepard, a soldier after my own heart when it comes to personal weaponry.  From, Thomas Drake

His tiredness forgotten and curiosity piqued, he sat down beside the rectangular package, slit open the paper, and took out a heavy plastic case.  With a click of latches, it opened, revealing a sleek and compact silver rifle sunk into black felt.  On the side, where the ejection port of a bullet-firing weapon would be, was a small vent, glowing with purple and blue energy.  A miniaturized plasma reactor.  Three barrels, each heavily reinforced to take the heat buildup of the weapon, protruded from the front.  A small packet came with instructions on the gun’s cleaning and upkeep.  Emblazoned into the side of the weapon, small enough so it didn’t take away any of its looks, was the name X-45 Plasma Repeater.  

Shepard instantly recognized the gun.  It was the same model that Drake wielded during their missions, and the same model he had told them all was the pinnacle of plasma weaponry design in his home galaxy.  Come to think of it, actually, it was the only plasma weapon in any of their galaxies capable of fully automatic fire.  Drake had just...given one to him.  He wasn’t sure if he should be touched beyond measure or extremely suspicious.  He decided on touched.  Suspicion could wait.  It was an utterly magnificent gift.  The personal shields and armor in his galaxy were all designed around stopping projectiles.  He grinned evilly in the darkness of the room at the thought of what he could do with such a weapon.  He had seen Drake’s melt straight through unprotected torsos.  This...this would do nicely.  

Garrus Vakarian, one of Shepard’s closest friends and most trusted advisors, walked through the sleek halls of the Normandy into his own quarters.  Much more spartan and austere than the Commander’s, or, for that matter, most of the other crew members, his room had only various weapons and projects he had been working on.  He didn’t need anything else.  Plus, his culture was not flamboyant like humans or Asari.  He was a Turian, practical, result focused.  His body was humanoid, with two legs, two arms, and a head, but no one would ever mistake him for Human.  His limbs were spindly, his torso massive, and he was distinctly taller than most other species.  His face was flat, the back of his head a crest that seemed somewhat between a lizard and a bird.  Once, a human had compared him to a velociraptor.  He had taken the time to look it up, and found a distinct similarity between himself and the long-dead animal.  Interesting, but, ultimately, unimportant.  

A single bed sat in his room.  Mass produced, it wasn’t luxurious, but it would suffice.  On, it though...something new.  A long rectangular package, wrapped in black paper.  He walked up to it and read the small note.  

To Garrus Vakarian, a sniper of both lethal accuracy and renown. 

P.S.  It’s probably best if Cain didn’t know this was in your possession. 

From, Thomas Drake

His mandibles twitched as he smiled to himself.  He thought he knew what it was.  Long talons tore through the paper, and revealed a long black box, emblazoned with a double-headed golden eagle.  Bingo.   He opened it silently, to reveal the Exitus Rifle.  Nearly as tall as he was, it was a massive beast of a weapon.  While some sniper weapons were just glorified assault rifles with scopes, others were large, unwieldy, and extremely heavy.  The Exitus was far on the side of bulky and brutal.  A huge scope, able to switch between nine different types of viewing the world, was mounted on the top.  The entire thing was painted black, and a golden skull with outstretched wings was embellished on the side.  Garrus snorted.  What was it with xenophobic groups and their odd need to put their symbols on everything?  A good question, actually.  One to ask a behavioral specialist.  But, back to the task at hand.

Drake had given him the gun to use on the Scoundrels' mission against Batarian slavers, and he had fallen in love with it ever since.  While it was too unwieldy to move around quickly, it had a range of over ten miles and enough power to blow straight through any target he aimed at.  Ten miles.  He chuckled to himself.  

Before the mission, Drake, accompanied by a reluctant Cain, had explained how the rifle worked.  It fired bolt shells, .75 calibre monstrosities as long as a human foot.  Emblazoned with the Imperial Aquila (of course), they were essentially rocket propelled explosive bullets.  Fired at an unarmored target would mean it would quite simply cease to exist in a shower of gore.  But, it looked like there was even more to it.  Located in the box, next to the rifle, were a series of small cardboard cartons, each a different solid color.  Judging by the distinct lack of any Imperial iconography, Garrus assumed Drake, or one of his crew, had added them.  Above them was a note, written in Drake’s neat cursive.  

Special issue ammunition.  I can not easily replace it, so use with care.  

Printed on each box was a small note describing each’s contents.  He went over them all in turn.

Shell Breaker Rounds: Will punch through any shielding, even of a ‘magical’ or biotic nature.

Hellfire Rounds: Contains a very powerful mutagenic acid that eats through organic tissue at a rapid rate.  Useful against large monstrosities.  

Turbo-penetrator Rounds: For use against armored targets.  Will punch through most armor plating.

Seeker Rounds: For when you absolutely, positively, cannot miss a target.  Lock on to your target through the Rifle’s scope, and this bolt will follow it by itself.

Oh, this was going to be good.  Garrus would be enjoying himself very much in the coming weeks.

Aboard the Omen

Admiral Adam Vir returned to his quarters.  They were slightly larger than those of the regular ratings and officers, as benefitted an Admiral, but not obscenely so.  Cluttering the room were trinkets and items of personal importance, things he liked to keep from his childhood or his travels across the stars.  But this time, something was out of place.  A black package, about the length of his leg, lay on the bed.  Curious, he walked up to it, leaned over, and examined the note.

To Admiral Adam Vir, whose giddiness at seeing new things is a constant source of amusement.  I’ve heard you always wanted a lightsaber.  This is the closest I could get.

From, Thomas Drake.

Intrigued, he opened the box.  Resting inside was a...sword.  Interesting.  The scabbard was of red velvet, edged and wrapped with gold.  It was approximately two feet in length, and looked like an old Medieval-era broadsword.  The hilt was wrapped in a black material that he didn’t recognize, but it looked as if it would give him an excellent grip nevertheless.  The crosspiece was of a white gold color, and while it was a plain and straight design, it still did not diminish the weapon’s beauty.  Vir picked up the blade and unsheathed it.  

Two long groves were cut in the metal, and the blade itself was wickedly sharp.  As he lifted the weapon, a small note fluttered from where it was tucked in the shealth.  Frowning, Vir bent down and read it.  

Activate the blade by pressing the rune near the hilt.  Be careful, as it can cut through almost anything.  

He turned the blade over in his hands.  A small button, inscribed with a strange symbol he didn’t recognize, was located on the hilt near the crosspiece.  He pressed it.  

Instantly, the blade was surrounded by a crackling corona of blue energy.  He jumped back, slightly startled, but still kept his grip.  Spinning the sword through the air, the energy field hummed and sparked.  

It can cut through almost anything…

He deactivated the sword, pressing the button and putting it back into its sheath.  Turning on his heel, he half-walked, half-jogged out of the room...only to return three minutes later with a length of heavy metal pipe.  Once more, he pulled the sword from its scabbard, and activated the energy field.  Slowly, carefully, just in case he had misinterpreted or Drake was mistaken, he lowered the edge of the pipe onto the edge of the blade.  The energy field, supported by the blade behind it, cut through the pipe like a razor through tissue paper.  Vir grinned, then stood from his crouch.    

He lowered the sword to knee length, then dropped the pipe on it.  The blade sheared straight through it with no effort whatsoever.  Vir deactivated the gift.  He knew he was standing there with an idiotic grin on his face.  He didn’t really care.  There was no one to see it and, goddamn it, he had just gotten the equivalent to a lightsaber.  The only question was: what to do with it?  His smile only widened.  

Sunny, the Chief Weapons Officer of the Omen, trekked into the bowels of the ship.  Her quarters were located deep in the engineering section, into the metal-plated, darkly-lit heart of the ship, as benefitted a weapons expert and engineer.  The walls of her quarters were metal, and covered with drawings, blueprints, and schematics.  Various projects and weapons, some in a state or repair of disassembly, sat on tables and workbenches.  The room was a cluttered mess, the type of space that belonged to someone who enjoyed tinkering. 

Despite the mess, Sunny knew her way around the clutter.  Every object had a place, despite the apparent lack of order.  So it was with great perplexion that she noticed something that shouldn’t be there.  Sitting on her main workbench was a large package.  Bemused, she wandered up to it, and read the small note attached to the black paper.  

To Chalan.  While hand to hand fighting is perfectly fine, sometimes the only way to win the day is through superior firepower.  Plus, I think you are one of the few amongst our fleet able to wield this with any sort of ease.  

From, Thomas Drake

Curious, she unwrapped the package.  Inside was one of the strangest weapons she’d ever seen.  Looking more like a massive box instead of a gun, it was painted black, with tubing underneath, connecting one part, which seemed to be the ammunition storage, to the frontal part.  Twin barrels, both extremely large, with vents cut in the side of them for better cooling, stuck out of the front, while an oversized trigger lay to the rear.  She hefted the weapon with a grunt.  Drake was right, it was huge and heavy.  In fact, it seemed to be created for someone about her size.  Odd.  Some sort of alien weapon?  

Looking down, she saw a sheet of paper with maintenance and firing instructions, accompanied by a small note. 

It’s called a multi-melta.  It fires massive, short-range blasts of thermal energy, designed to go through armored targets.  

Hmm.  Sunny wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.  On one hand, it seemed to be quite the weapon.  On the other, well, she much preferred her spear.  Eventually, she decided that it would probably depend on the situation.  Having a heavy weapon that shot balls of pure heat couldn’t hurt anyone...at least not on her side…

Commissar Ciaphas Cain trudged back to his quarters, a combination office and sleeping area.  Over his long career, he had been assigned to many different quarters, from massive suites in gubernatorial palaces to the cramped and dimly-lit rooms of Mechanicus exploratory ships.  His room aboard the Omen was neither.  It was of decent size, with plain walls and austere furniture.  Nothing elaborate, nothing terrible, they were simply average.  A normal room.  Nothing wrong with that, in his opinion.  

His desk was cluttered with papers and data pads, each describing new aspects of different universes.  He was assigned to report back to the Inquisition on exactly what went on in these galaxies, and, frankly, it made his head hurt.  Councils and Federations and Assemblies, where all species were treated equal, where no one wanted to go to war.  How incredibly strange.  And he used to think the Tau were odd…

He unlocked the door to his room (didn’t want any nosy Guardsmen or, Emperor forbid, xenos rummaging around his papers), but was immediately brought up short.  Laying on his bed was a small package, wrapped in black paper.  Cautiously, he approached it.  Written in cursive was a small tag.

To Commissar Ciaphas Cain, a man who understands that the best way to stay alive is to have a good defense.  

From, Thomas Drake

A frown creased his brow, and he opened the package slowly.  Inside was a black box, about fifteen centimeters by fifteen centimeters.  What the hell…?  Cain turned it over in his hands, then picked up a small note from the bottom of the package.  

My engineers reverse-engineered and combined the shielding from Mjolnir armor and kinetic barriers.  It should stop all but the heaviest weapons, including blows from hand-to-hand weapons.  For it to work, it must be on your person.  To activate it, press the button on the base.  If it starts smoking, sparking, or making funny noises, take it off and return it to me.  We haven’t ironed out all the kinks, but it should work without fault unless it’s hit with sufficient force or dropped from a significant height.  

Cain grunted, then set down the box.  He had a breastplate of carapace armor, worn only on dangerous missions, but this was a lot less bulky, and covered his entire form.  A very helpful gift, if, of course, it worked.  He sighed, picked it up, and walked out of the room.  Time to see if it did what Drake said it would.  He was fairly certain he could find someone willing to beat the pulp out of him.  

Aboard the Milano

Peter Quill’s quarters, were, to put it bluntly, an absolute mess.  Not an organized mess, either, mind you.  Clothing, trinkets, toys, weapons, and other miscellaneous items were strewn throughout the space as if a hurricane had blown through.   He never bothered to organize it.  After all, it took a lot more effort to clean things up and put them into place that it did to search for hidden items.  Despite the mess, he did have a vague idea where things were, so it was with great surprise that he flopped onto his bed, then immediately jumped up as his back struck something hard.  

Rubbing his spine, he peered down at the bed.  On top was a small box-like package, wrapped in black paper.  On it was a small note.  

To Star-Lord, a man who delights in interesting gadgets and weapons.  This ought to fit your fighting style.

From, Thomas Drake

Quill ripped apart the paper, and opened the box.  Inside, was a thin, sleek pistol.  He read the inscription emblazoned on the side: Smart Pistol Mk-6.  Resting on the bottom of the box was a sheet of paper with maintenance and set-up instructions.  Set up?  For a gun?  What the hell?  Neatly folded into the sheet was a small note, written by the same hand as the gift’s tag.

The Smart Pistol scans for hostile targets within a short range and locks onto them automatically.  Any rounds fired will then maneuver to hit the locked targets.  For it to work, you need to synch it to your visor.  Instructions are included.  

Quill rolled the weapon around in his hand.  He briefly considered testing it out inside the ship, but immediately discarded the idea.  Despite what others might think, he did not have a total lack of common sense.  

Re-holstering the gun, he smiled to himself.  This would definitely come in handy.  He didn’t even need to aim anymore!  What fun.  

Gamora stepped into her room aboard the Milano.  Much smaller than its counterparts aboard the larger ships of the Socundrels’ fleet, it was nevertheless comfortable and tidy.  Each piece of gear, each item, object and weapon were in its place.  Not bare and spartan, not large and elaborate, but it would suffice.  Everything was exactly where it should be, so it was with some surprise that she saw a small black package resting on her bed the moment she walked into the room.  Curious, she walked over to it and read the tag.  

To Gamora, a woman of a very particular set of skills, who can find you and will kill you.  I heard you express a desire for a device such as this.  

From, Thomas Drake

Her fingers deftly unwrapped the box, and drew out a silver disk approximately five centimeters across.  What the...

Resting next to it was another note.

Pilot’s Cloak.  Mount it on your wrist, tap the device, and disappear.  However, be warned: it can only last for a short time before it has to recharge, and sharp eyes can still pick out your silhouette.  

Gamora smiled to herself.  Excellent.  One more trick, one more thing to help her in battle.  While the master assassin was good, very good indeed, a little help never hurt anyone but the enemy.  

Aboard the Enterprise

Master Chief John-117 walked to his assigned quarters aboard the Enterprise.  They were grey walled, and though plain, had a simple elegance and comfortable feeling to them.  However, unlike many of the other quarters aboard the ship, they had no decoration or personalization whatsoever.  It was not because the Federation’s guest was not allowed to personalize his quarters.  No.  It was because the Chief had never known anything along the lines of personal items except his weapons and armor.  He was born for war, literally created at a young age to be the perfect soldier.  He owned no personal items of effects.  He did not need them to carry out his duty.  

As he walked into the room, he immediately noticed a black package laying on the borrowed bed.  How strange.  Attached was a small white tag; a note written in flawless cursive.

To Master Chief John-117.  A soldier with no equal ought to have a weapon with no equal.  

From, Thomas Drake

His heavy gauntlets fumbled over the creases of the paper as he unwrapped the package.  Inside was a huge weapon, painted black with hints of purple and red.  The stock and trigger locked normal, but the barrel was a strange cylinder, ending in a purple, cone-like object that looked like some sort of focus.  Surrounding the cylinder were three triangular black fins.  Master Chief turned the weapon around in his hands.  Painted on the side of the stock were the numerals M-490.  

Turning, he looked into the bottom of the box, and found a note.  

M-490 Blackstorm.  Fires miniaturized black holes at a target.  Requires advanced power cells to fire, so use sparingly, as I cannot easily replenish its ammunition.  

Unbeknownst to anyone but himself, Master Chief smiled under his helmet.  A gun that fires black holes at a target was nothing to be scoffed at.  He could put this to great use.  Great use indeed.  

Captain James Kirk looked across the bridge of the Enterprise.  The finest ship in the Starfleet.  He smiled to himself, though his outward appearance remained stern.  He was glad to command her, and even more proud to command her crew.  

“Engines online, sir.  Preparing for warp transition,” radioed the chief engineer, Scotty.  Kirk pressed a button on the command console.  

“Very good.  Proceed.”  After all the strangeness, all the craziness, all the new people, they were returning home.  His mission from the Starfleet had originally been to explore new places, to go bravely where no man had gone before, but that had all changed.  Now there were eight other galaxies.  Eight new places to learn about, and it was all overwhelming.  He was glad to be returning home, to Earth, to present his finds to the Federation.  

He very purposefully ignored the package next to him.  Drake had given him two things.  A suit of armor now hung in the armory of the Enterprise, most likely never to see use.  Drake had pointed out that “a shirt and pants aren’t going to stop any sort of weapon”, but Kirk had never needed armor before, and he wasn’t going to start using it now.  The second gift sat in its box, wrapping paper surrounding it, and left to rot.  It was a heavy handgun, a sleek, matte black .44 calibre monster.  The note accompanying it had been shredded, its mocking message destroyed.

“Stun” is for cowards and fools.  

While some of the people he had met were much like him, and others were simply products of their environment, others were not.  He was going to have choice words to the Federation about Captain Thomas Drake.  

Aboard the Millennium Falcon

The familiar lights and switches of the Falcon’s cockpit were a reassuring sight to Han Solo.  The past weeks had been some of the strangest of his life.  Or maybe not.  He had seen massive amounts of strange things that shook his understanding of the universe before.  This was just one more to add to the total.  He was a man who rolled with the punches.  

He turned and nodded to his furry copilot, currently seating in the chair next to him.

“Punch it, Chewy.”  The world around the cockpit streaked with stars, and the whine of the starship’s engines filled the air.  Another familiar sight in a changing universe.  He was heading back to his home galaxy, giving his report on the new people he had met.  Hopefully Leia didn't try to kill him for being gone too long.  

Before he had gone, Drake had presented him with two gifts.  A phaser, some sort of pistol-like weapon that could be calibrated to different energy levels.  He wasn’t going to ever use it.  His blaster was much more comfortable, much more reassuring.  He knew what it didn, knew how to use it, knew all of its ins and outs.  Something different would be an interruption, and perhaps a dangerous one at that.  The phaser now was resting in a forgotten box in an unused room.  But it was not that gift that was the most interesting.  

The second of Drake’s gifts had been a heavy metal box, about two feet by two feet.  More the size of a trunk than a conventional box, it had been accompanied by strict instructions.

This box is to be delivered to Luke Skywalker in person.  Under no circumstances is it to be opened by anyone else.  While I’m sure your reading skills are fine, and you can understand directions with crystal clarity, allow me to be perfectly clear about this.  This box is not to be opened by anyone other than Luke Skywalker for any reason whatsoever.  

The box itself was sealed and locked, the keys given to Solo along with the instructions and a letter addressed to Skywalker.  Solo turned in his chair.  It emanated a faint aura of dread, as if some dark secret was locked inside.  Although, that could just be curiosity or paranoia playing with his nerves.  Or maybe it was something else.  Luke was a Jedi.  Some dark secret…

Enough.  It’s perfectly fine.  That didn’t stop him from wanting to get it off his ship as soon as possible, though.

And there you have it.  If you have any comments, concerns, criticisms, questions, explanations, or requests, feel free to ask!  

[miss-pearlescent]

Universal Differences (2/7)

Trapped in a dilapidated spaceship, you kidnap an alien to help you gain your key to freedom: marriage to a safe and trustworthy diplomat.

As a rich and handsome son of billionaires, Kai is bored of his repetitive party life. It isn’t until he’s kidnapped by a little human with a mission that he realizes the fun he’s been missing.

Rated M for smut (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) ♡

[ 1 | 2 | 3ᵐ | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 ]

---

[2/7]

“Have you thought about sex when you marry this man?”

You shot a glare at Kai, who was still in his seat. It had been a full day and he hadn’t spoken about being untied. He hadn’t mentioned about eating, sleeping, or even the bathroom. You weren’t going to bring it up either. “Is sex always on your mind?”

Ignoring your glare, he kept watching as you tinkered with the thermostat that had been making loud clanging noises for a while. “It’s going to be an issue.”

“An issue?” You bit your bottom lip, trying to hide the grimace of sharing a bed with an old man—because diplomats were always old men.

“Have you ever had sex before?”

Your screwdriver dropped to the ground and you scrambled to pick it up before it rolled away. “O-of course. ”

Heavy silence filled the ship and you felt your cheeks warming up.

Clearing your throat, you brushed the too-long strands of hair out of your face. “I’ve had sex with Earthens before.”

“That’s just it.” Kai’s voice was dead serious. “Have you ever seen a naked man outside of Earth? We’re different.”

You rose an eyebrow and looked him up and down. He was still wearing the same dark grey suit as yesterday, though you had already changed into your faded red jumpsuit. He had a nose, eyes, ears. His lips were slightly fuller than you expected, a trait that many human girls longed for. He had silver hair, but any stylist could do that in a couple of sessions. Arms, check. Legs, check. “You don’t look different to me.”

His lips kicked up in a smirk. “Then you should come find out.”

Your cheeks got even warmer and the screwdriver slipped from your hand again, knocking into the thermostat with a loud bang.

“Thermal engine restarting in one hour.”

You froze halfway as the loud clanging stopped. So did the whirring. Soon, there was a dead silence.

“What was that?”

You looked over at Kai who was eyeing the thermostat suspiciously. Then you breathed out and saw your own breath frosting in the air.

This was not good.

You hopped over your seat, rushing over to the bedding area where you found two blankets, one thin and one a little thicker. You considered which one to use but soon decided to throw the thicker one over Kai’s shoulders.

“What are you doing, human?”

“I fucked up the thermostat. The ship is going to be freezing cold for the next hour until it re-calibrates.” You tucked the blanket around his chin, hoping his nose and ears wouldn’t freeze off. “Just don’t die, okay?” Your fingers were shaking but you weren’t sure if it was from the cold or from the fear.

If Kai died, you would live a life knowing you were a murderer. The authorities would never let you leave. You’d never be able to settle down anywhere, not on one of these strange planets and definitely not back on Earth.

It was getting colder by the second and you wrapped the thin sheet around your shoulders, padding over to the bathroom where it was the warmest. The last time this happened, you had survived there with a bunch of padding. This time...

“Where are you going?”

You stopped, realizing you couldn’t just leave Kai alone. “Right. I have to stay here,” you muttered to yourself. But it was going to be too cold. Already, your teeth were beginning to chatter between your words.

Looking around, you wondered if you should take your seat at the head of the ship. Unfortunately, even with the thermostat on, that spot was the coldest because of the huge window. Then there was your makeshift bed where you could roll into and hopefully not freeze to death if you accidentally fell asleep.

Kai tossed his blanket to the side with a flick on his shoulder. “Come here.”

You blinked, a little upset that he didn’t seem to care for your peace offering. “What?”

“I was born here, remember? You and I are different. My body is used to fluctuating temperatures on different planets.” He raised his chin and spread his legs. “Come here,” he repeated.

Every second that you stood there felt like an eon. Your toes got colder but your face was on fire. If somebody told you there was steam coming off the top of your head, you would believe them.

“Just to keep warm,” you told yourself as you picked up your frozen feet and stood in front of Kai.

His expression was serious but you could see the hint of playfulness in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. “Just to keep warm,” he replied with a soft nod.

Holding your breath, you sat down between his legs and picked up the blanket on the floor. When you asked him if he needed it, he said no, so you threw it on top of the thinner sheet around your shoulders. Still, you tucked it into the chair behind Kai’s neck. If he was offering body heat, you were going to use all of it.

You tucked your feet under you, turning to the side so that you could fit a bit more comfortably. Your heart hammered in your chest as you blew warm air on your hands, trying to make the silence tick away faster.

Just one hour. Just one stupid hour.

“Relax,” he murmured. “I can’t touch you.”

You looked up at him, suddenly feeling all sorts of guilt. He was right. His hands were still tied behind the chair and here you were, using him as a personal furnace. “I’m sorry. Let me—”

His knee came up, stopping you from going anywhere. “No, stay. I’m okay like this.”

Stiffly, you shifted back until you were curled up again. Your body shivered, enjoying the warmth that his chest gave off. It didn’t help that he also smelled nice. You may have been able to loathe this hour more if he smelled bad, but the darn Alien had to smell nice.

He chuckled as if he had heard your thoughts. “How you poor, little humans survived on Earth, I will never know.”

You bristled but saw the teasing in his eyes again. Sighing, you leaned back just a little bit. “Earth stays in homeostasis, and humans are usually more prepared if they live in a climate that could kill them. If I had known my thermostat would make a habit of going bust, I would have brought a few winter coats with me.”

“This happens often, then?” he asked, turning toward the blasted dial on the wall.

“No, only once before.” You remembered being really scared that day. It had been a good day too, until the temperature started dropping and you realized you could freeze to death. Nobody had answered your check-in call, and it wasn’t until two hours later that somebody picked up your distress signal. By then, everything was fine and they sounded annoyed as if you were a child crying wolf. “Must be nice to have a thermoregulator built into your DNA.”

He was quiet for a few seconds before turning back. “The government decided it was more energy efficient to have their people self-regulate rather than change every planet’s natural climate. My home in WestorX was built on a beach beside a dormant volcano, and I have another home on Q’artier in the mountains. All feels the same to me.”

“You really are rich,” you said as a matter of fact. “What do you do with all those homes?”

He shrugged and the blanket threatened to fall off. You caught it in time and leaned forward to tuck it in again. “Nothing. Why would I want to stay there?”

“Why not?” You imagined a whole beach to yourself, how nice it would be to have hot sand in between your toes after a year of sitting in a hunk of metal. Warm water, palm trees, tanning under the sun...

He shrugged again, though this time more carefully. “There is nothing to do there. Everybody gathers in the city centres where parties and celebrations happen every single day.”

“Doesn’t that get boring?”

Kai thought about it for a second but shook his head. “I can’t think of what else I would do.”

You blew out a little whistle, utterly impressed by this man’s wealth. “Where do you get all this money to blow, anyway? I can’t believe your parents would let you do that to their savings.”

“I own a farm on New Home as well.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “You’re a farmer?”

He scoffed. “Hardly. My androids do all the work. I collect the money and occasionally do repairs from time to time.” Then he threw an exaggerated wink. “Though I wouldn’t mind an extra farm hand.”

You laughed at his absurd offer, though your own plans weren’t much better in terms of normalcy. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about farming. I’m a researcher.”

“So why are you taking me to the most well-known party on New Home?”

Playing with a loose thread, you decided to tell him your plans. Maybe he would be able to help you a bit more. “I’m not going to this party to marry any regular man,” you said. “I need to marry somebody who has money and power. Somebody who will not mind a human as a wife. I’m hoping it will be a diplomat, because they seem to be kind and accepting, you know?”

You really hoped they were all kind and accepting.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into all this,” you said, looking around at your cluttered spaceship. You realized how small and cramped it was now that there were two passengers inside. “I just need you to help me get inside this party, and then I won’t bother you ever again.”

Kai was quiet for a while, letting your words hang in the air. It wasn’t until you shifted uncomfortably in your seat when he spoke again. “And I’m going to ask you one more time: have you thought about the sex yet?”

You furrowed your brows. He was bringing this conversation back to square one. “No, for your information, I have not. I am sure it will not be much different.”

“How are you so sure?” He was speaking right into your ear and you realized belatedly that you were leaning right up to him.

Suddenly, you wondered if maybe this little cocoon was getting too warm.

“As you probably know,” he began, his voice dropping to a low whisper, “my people don’t see humans as equals.”

You pouted. “You’ve made that very clear.”

He didn’t bother to correct your statement. “I cannot guarantee that the man you choose to marry will honour your human wishes when it comes to sex.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our rituals are...different.”

“You keep saying that word but it makes no sense to me.”

He raised a brow, challenging you. “The only way you will understand is by demonstration.”

You rolled your eyes. “How different can it be? Kissing, blowjob, penetration. It’s all the same.”

Kai threw his head back in a laugh, his chest shaking against you. Finally, when he caught his breath, he gave you a hard look. “Let’s start with kissing then, human.”

You shook your head.

“What?” he laughed again. “You said it couldn’t be much different.”

Your eyes darted to his easy smile. He didn’t seem bothered at all by the fact that he was daring a human to kiss him. His lips were full and looked soft, unlike the thin cracked lips of an old man you often had to imagine. Kissing Kai wouldn’t be torturous, per se.

Before you lost your courage, you placed your hands on his cheeks and leaned in, pressing a small kiss on his lower lip. “There,” you muttered and promptly wrapped the sheet around your shoulders even tighter before he could see that your shaking was from nerves and not from the cold.

The man had the audacity to snort. “What was that?”

“A kiss,” you bit out.

“That was a kiss? You humans really are innocent things, aren’t you?”

You crossed your arms, embarrassed that he was treating you like a kid. “How do you guys kiss, then?”

“Let me show you.” He raised one leg a little, tilting your body toward him. “Come here.”

Before you could stop yourself, you were already leaning into him again. You squeezed your eyes shut as your lips touched and your hands grabbed onto his jacket to keep from falling off his lap.

To your surprise, his tongue came out, invading the seal between your lips. He explored your mouth, licking and lapping, putting up a little fight with your own tongue that didn’t know what to do anymore. He sucked on your tongue, encouraging it to come out and play.

It was like a promise of things to come later.

He was devouring you with every taste and you shivered as the heat traveled lower and lower down your body. Each time his tongue tangled with yours, he was stoking the warm ache in your belly.

You squealed as you felt something prodding between your legs. Paired with the tongue action, it was too much, too fast. You pulled away, slapping a hand over Kai’s mouth.

“What the hell was that?”

He watched you with hooded eyes as he took a deep breath, panting against your hand. Then you felt the prodding again.

You gasped.

No, this time it wasn’t a prod. It was a deliberate stroke.

“What the...” You looked down but found no tent in his pants. Lifting your hand from Kai’s mouth, you crossed your arms and demanded answers.

He simply smirked. “That’s how we kiss around here, little human.”

---

I hope you guys liked that chapter! I don’t usually write much about kisses because there are a lot of words and descriptors I don’t like when talking about kisses LOL Like fight scenes, I tend to skim over them whenever I read hehehehhehehehe

Anyway, I hope you guys are doing well! Stay safe and take care of yourselves :3

[space-blue]

The Teacher

I took a long, long break... And returned in July 2020 here.

The teacher scuttles past her charges, her long limbs trailing through their rows, caressing their naked crowns, claws clicking against status sensors in a reassuring ritual, a litany of green, green, green, all green, all students doing well, until she reaches the orange one. She folds herself around his station. It takes some time and a lot of tactful calibrations to recall a child from active training. Abruptly ending simulation would risk neural damage. Once the emergence launches she steps back and watches, squinting her rheumy eyes, a bit worried, a bit fidgety. The nursing cocoon sloughs off the child's back, opening up like some perverted memory of a wilting flower. The synaptic plug retracts first, long blue tendrils coiling out of the nostrils, surrendering the child's mind to his own volition. Then the mouth is freed, the tubes for air and food both retracting with heaving heaps of mucus. The child retches, moans, young hands reaching blindly.

"I'm here!" the teacher exclaims, extending all her forward limbs in a reassuring embrace. "Focus on breathing, remember how you did last time."

The child sobs, struggling to stand on legs that have grown much since he was last out of a pod.

"You're alright. You're doing great," she croons, sorting her organics into a friendly face with a warm smile.

The boy squints up at her, eyes unfocused.

"Teacher?"

"Do you remember your name? Your designation?"

"Val-" he coughs, spits up the last dregs of phlegm, "I'm Valian, designation 45ARNAS0026 of the fighter units."

"And what colour am I displaying now?"

"Purple."

"Very good!" She brings her face closer to his, still smiling, to show her satisfaction, to reassure. "Do you know why you were brought out?"

"I received a general summoning, teacher. No details. Do... do you know why?"

"No, I only received the notification to prepare you for a formal review. It is the training board, so it has to do with your career."

She produces a shift for the boy to wear and helps him into it. Valian's expression is hard to puzzle out, but she figures it is one of worry.

"You will be alright, Valian," she says, caressing his face with a sensory tendril, "I monitor you every day, and I know how hard you work. I shouldn't say this–but you are top of this batch for orbital physics and biomecha engineering both."

The child blushes, pats his clothes and puffs his small chest out.

"If my teacher is proud of me then everything will be alright!"

The teacher keeps her smile immovable and says nothing more. She hates to make promises on things so far out of her power. Instead she gives him directions in a little data pad and sees him off to the door.

She then heaves herself behind her station and peruses data to try to pinpoint what went wrong with her student, to no avail. She broods, unhappy with herself. An orange light is rare. Rarer than a red one, even this far into the ship's breeding stacks. She feels it deeply, this potential failure. Both for herself, for her record, and for the child. Valian. Off to his review without a clue of what failing to please the assessors would entail. But the teacher knows all too well, and she frets for hours, until the door hisses open and Valian walks back in.

"What news, child?" She asks, scurrying over the pods and down to the walkway.

The child doesn't look up, and she feels her gorge rise.

"Valian? Speak."

"They said my combat simulations showed a "tendency for mercy that was outside the acceptable range". They said I'm not suited for attack fighters anymore... They want me to change my career track."

Water floods the child's eyes and flows down his cheeks. Tears, she remembers. The child looks up, as startled as she is.

"It is called crying," she says. “It's a biological manifestation of strong emotions. A healthy parameter. There, it will pass!"

She pets his head, his cheeks, pulls him into a hug, unable to voice just how reassured she is. She feels his arms wrap around her and her heart burns. Everything is so much harder here, the stakes so much higher. She sighs and releases him.

"Have you considered it already?"

He smiles through his tears.

"Maybe, I could become a teacher too?"

"No!" she blurts out.

The child looks up at her, and she thinks, fast, about that no, and about the best way to justify it. She remembers her previous body, and the one before that. The spinal surgeries, the months spent upside down in vifluid as her consciousness slowly learnt to accept her new body map. How she's forgotten the feel of her original form, and the way she thought and felt then too. But that was to be endured. Most placements come with invasive surgeries. It doesn't compare to the decades she spent teaching at the higher levels. That also had to be endured, but for what? She remembers the packed rows of children, too many to name and remember, monitored by software and only vaguely in her care. Though, of course, she was the one who had to disconnect those whose light came red, who had to wake them and lead them out of the rows, not to the door but to the shute, to convince them to take the nice slide, the fun ride to the recycling reactor that would sort them out on a molecular level, give them a better use than the machine space they took. She remembers none of their designations, but she counted them, and it took the last of her humanity and more, she thinks, before she earned her final promotion. What can she say to this hopeful child? That the best he could hope for is to make it to a stack where the fail rate is under five percent? Two hundred years of ship time, and she has nothing to say to defend her job. She is a mediator who turns the children out of the nurseries into young adults ready to commit to life paths she has no experience of. Students don't so much graduate as survive, and every one of these survivors has nothing but great memories of their time with their teachers. The AIs make sure of that. The reality is so different, outside of the simulations, out in the darkness, under the glowing canopy of green lights, her swollen body reclining against her station’s gel pads, the clicking of her many metal-composit joints resonating through the wide chamber as she types out training programs and answers queries from her wards. The sum total of her wisdom lies in meta-calibrations and tweaking of drug compounds. What sort of pride can she take from that? She keeps at it, she must, it's all she's ever known. She can't in good conscience push any child of hers into this career. She worries of course, that being a freighter or an engineer might be just as bad, or worse. Maybe she's about to doom little Valian to an even more terrible destiny, how could she know? It is like a pit opening under her, this realisation that there is nothing she can say that would not frighten, no insight to share with this blank slate of a young man that would not bend him out of ways.

"I think," she says, making her tone conspiratory, "that your kind heart would make you a great teacher. One has to care... A lot. But no teacher needs all this knowledge on orbital mechanics and all that science you are so talented at. It would be wasteful for the ship, for someone like you to become a teacher."

"You think so?"

"Truly. The ship needs engineers too, and freighters, if you'd still like to be made into a flying unit. How about I put you through some extra trials and we'll work out what's best suited? Maybe navigator or charter?"

The child nods, looking happier, almost excited. He disrobes and she lifts him up under her belly and back to where his cocoon awaits. Valian easily surrenders himself to her ministrations. She plugs him back in, each step done by rote, until the pod sews itself back up and the light flashes yellow, for simulation launch.

The teacher waits patiently now for it to turn green. Green to soothe her nerves. Green like success, like life, another test passed, another hurdle cleared. Like another day closer to graduation. When it comes on she sighs, and lifts herself higher into the rows, her long limbs stretching out, carrying her forward through her brood, all studying so hard, dreaming of their future lives in the ship that bore them, so innocently in her trust. She’ll do her best to give them that future. It’s her job, the only thing she knows how to do. She has to believe it’ll be a better life than her own.

~~ July 2020 – Theme : Old (Wo)Man's Tale

[missmungoe]

Can I just say how absolutely hyped and in love I am with Andromeda Unbound? Because I nearly lost it when I saw the notification on my phone. The way you write Ma-chan is fantastic and how people seem to gravitate to her whether they like it or not like shes the eye of the storm gets me. Like could you imagine if the roles were reversed and she was on the execution list? Absolute havoc! I'm so curious about what she's doing with her haki too. Anyway your fantastic and I love it!

(hi I was really happy to hear this, so here’s a snippet from the next chapter!)

“I was right, wasn’t I?”

Dragon hadn’t looked up from his desk when he’d entered the captain’s quarters, but did so now, and the look on his face told Sabo his cheek hadn’t gone unnoticed. Whether it was appreciated, now that was a different matter. “It was the right decision to get her.”

The quirk of a single brow betrayed a wry amusement that wasn’t nearly as rare as rumour would have it. “The last time our paths crossed, she didn’t even reach my knee, and was too shy to come out from behind her mother’s skirts,” Dragon said. “You will forgive me for voicing my concerns.”

Sabo grinned. “She wasn’t hiding this time.”

“No,” Dragon conceded, the corner of his severe mouth lifting a fraction. “I half-expected a scolding. Her mother was a formidable woman. Even of a gentler nature, I am glad to see her daughter is no pushover.”

His grin eased, and dropping into the armchair sitting before the desk, “She’s convincing,” Sabo agreed. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about her.”

“I do,” Dragon said, without hesitation, his gaze sweeping over the newspapers spread across his desk. With Red-Hair’s capture and impending execution, the Reverie’s importance had dropped below the fold, reduced to brief mentions of the expected attendees. The most recent edition included an outline of the Nefertari royal family, and the plucky crown princess. “Red-Hair boasts a similar…persuasion.”

Then, wry, “Perhaps we ought to send her to the Five Elders,” Dragon mused. “I would hazard even they would have trouble, faced with the ruthless scrutiny of those eyes.”

Sabo’s smile fell. Then, “…I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

Dragon just looked at him, although Sabo was tempted to say that didn’t settle his concerns in the least.

“Her haki,” Dragon said then, his tone considering now, and Sabo knew that look; the intrigue that so few even thought him capable of, but Dragon was more like his son than most people knew. “It is a strain I have not encountered before.”

“Of observation?” Sabo asked, and Dragon nodded, his expression deepening to a frown as he looked at the newspapers, and the numerous photographs of Red-Hair.

“Proficient observation users have a keener sense of the world than others,” he began, before directing his next words at Sabo. “You perceive it differently. You don’t use your eyes to see, but your senses. A haki user of your calibre can single out an individual from a crowd even at a distance. Right now, you could point out Koala’s position to me, or Ivankov and Inazuma’s.”

“Her cabin, the infirmary, and the galley,” Sabo said, not a single beat missed, and Dragon inclined his head, as though to indicate his point had been taken.

For her part, Makino was out on deck. Sabo was surprised to find it was the case; after the events of the night, he’d expected her to want to stay in her cabin. But her presence was as still as the sea; quiet East Blue where she carried them through the dark towards their destination.

From his considering look, Dragon knew where his mind had gone, although he appeared to be gauging him, as though he was looking for something.

“How deep does that sense go?” he asked him then, and Sabo’s brows knitted.

“What do you mean?”

“Take Koala,” Dragon said, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you feel?”

Drawing a breath, Sabo found her, but then she was always at his fingertips, and the action of singling her out from among all the other people on the ship didn’t even require thought. But then her presence had been a fixture in his mind for as long as he could remember, and it was never hard to imagine her; a sunflower that bent towards his hand when he reached for it.

“She’s calm,” he said. Her heart-rate was normal, and she was awake and alert, despite the late hour. “Focused.” His lips quirked in a smile. “My guess is, she’s going over the Pangaea blueprints again.”

“And if I were to ask you what she’s thinking?”

“Then I’d tell you she’s probably still annoyed I spilled coffee all over them.”

His glibness was met with a patient look, as Dragon explained, “Of our plan.”

This time, Sabo’s mouth firmed, and he hesitated a moment before speaking, “She’s scared.” It wasn’t something Dragon didn’t already know, but it almost felt like a betrayal, revealing it. “The prospect of going to Mariejois makes her uneasy.” He’d already told her she didn’t have to come, and had promptly been told what she thought about that, and where he could stick his concerns. And he understood her reasons for wanting to go, just like he knew why she was afraid.

And it felt curiously intimate, revealing this, something she hadn’t even told him, but before he could stop himself he’d said, “It’s not the thought of going in that scares her, it’s the thought of not being able to get out again.”

Dragon’s expression revealed none of his thoughts, although Sabo doubted this was news to him. “And do you say that because you can sense it, or because you know her so well?”

Sabo thought about it, but he detected no fear in her presence now, nothing at all to suggest that she was even worried, even though he knew it existed, buried under her calm. “The last one,” he said, but then, “Wait, you’re not suggesting that Makino is a mind reader, are you?”

Dragon’s mouth tugged up at one corner, no doubt at the look on his face. “Not exactly, although you are not far off the mark.”

Mouth slightly agape, Sabo just stared at him, but Dragon only shrugged one shoulder.

“One’s innermost self is usually private,” he began, the deep baritone of his voice carrying the words without inflection. The fire crackling in the cabin’s hearth made his tattoos stand out, deepening the already generous shadows gathered in the grooves of his features, but his face revealed nothing of what lay beneath the markings, as he continued gravely, “Our secrets, our shame. What lies at our cores. In a relationship, knowing someone intimately will reveal them, but it’s a knowledge that takes time and patience to uproot. And often, not a small amount of trust.”

He met Sabo’s eyes, wide now that he’d caught on, as Dragon said, “But imagine if you could look at someone and know them for who they are, instantly. The power you might wield over another.” His gaze shifted towards the bank of windows to his right, and East Blue beyond, a black pool under the endless, star-strewn sky. “The things that make us human are what make us vulnerable. In our line of work, it’s not something we can readily afford. As such, some of us go to great lengths to protect that part of ourselves; to keep it hidden from scrutiny, and those who’d seek to use it against us. The same way we train our bodies to withstand damage in order to survive. But while armour can shield your body, your vital organs, there is no protection from an observation that sees right through you.”

He paused, and then to Sabo’s shock, looked at him and said, “She was in my presence less than five minutes, and she knew.”

Stunned, Sabo said nothing, still busy processing what Dragon was saying. But he didn’t appear angry about what she’d done, however unintentional the intrusion had been from Makino’s side. In fact, Sabo almost thought he looked fascinated, a gleam in his eyes now that reminded him, startlingly, of his little brother.

“There is a certain irony to it,” Dragon continued, his even tone taking on a wry lilt. “Her face cannot help its own honesty. She hides nothing of herself, not her thoughts or her feelings. In return, there is no hiding from her. Is it the price for her power, or is that simply who she is? I cannot say. I would wager not even she knows the answer.”

Sabo watched him, standing behind his desk, the imposing figure cut by his broad frame, cloaked in the cabin’s shadows. And few had the privilege of sharing his counsel this way, of taking part in the thought process that lay behind his enigmatic persona; to witness firsthand the keen intelligence, and the fiercely calculating mind. But for all that Sabo probably knew his leader better than most, he still couldn’t claim that he knew who Dragon was.

“Her guileless nature is deceptive,” Dragon said then, before letting slip a soft snort. “I realise that is a paradox, but those are the facts. It’s easy to overlook the depth of her ability. Big waves draw the most attention on this sea, command the most fear, and respect. When the water is clear and the surface perfectly still, few spare a thought to how far it is to the bottom.”

He met Sabo’s eyes, his own bright where they burned in the firelight. “I want you to find out if there is one.”

Frowning, “You mean train her?” Sabo asked, and saw him shake his head.

“No.” His gaze dropped to the newspapers again, fixed on Red-Hair’s face in one of the photographs. His voice was calm, and all the more chilling for it when Dragon said,

“I want you to unleash her.”

[bentonluna]

10 Steps to Attract the Life You Want

By Heather Mathews Author of Manifestation Miracle

“What you seek is seeking you.” - Rumi If I told you that you could create the exact type of circumstances you want, would you call me crazy? What if your very thoughts could create ripples of change that not only impact your life… …but those around you as well? Philip, a call center worker from the Philippines certainly didn't think so. He dreamed of moving overseas so he could secure a better life and provide for his family. But at every turn, his own mind shut down every opportunity he thought of. For instance, Philip considered seeing an immigration consultant, but he either “didn't have the time” or “couldn't afford it”. So, he resented his situation and cursed himself (and the world) for his “bad luck”. He didn't realize that the real culprit was his mindset - not his circumstances. And it seemed like the more he ruminated, the more bad things happened. Thus, he kept feeding the cycle of being stuck in a rut and feeling bad, trapping him even more. That was, until his aunt Sara introduced him to the Law of Attraction. Turning the tide Before she moved to California, Sara had been close with Philip and treated him like a son. She had her own share of struggles finding greener pastures abroad, but she applied the principles from the Law of Attraction to overcome them. So she sent a few books on the topic to Philip through Amazon so he could gain the clarity to turn his life around. Click Here To Discover the Lazy Person's Secret To Get Everything You've Ever Wished For  At first, Philip didn't really think much of it, but he decided to read through the books since his aunt went through the trouble of sending it over. After he started applying the lessons he learned from the material, things started to change for him. It came as a complete shock to Philip - he never thought in a million years that making a simple shift in his thinking could have such a direct and POWERFUL impact in his life. And soon enough, the fog of negativity and despair around Philip lifted and he found a way to make his dreams happen. Through his persistence, he was eventually able to borrow the money he needed for the consultation fees, and learned the step-by-step process to get work overseas. Philip was finally able to find a fulfilling and rewarding career in Australia. Not only does he get to support his family back home, he also made friends and enjoys his new life abroad. Just a few months ago, Philip's parents started their own business, thanks to his help. At the rate they're going, his family could save enough so they can pass on their business to another relative and follow Philip to Australia. ould wait for Philip to take the offer so they can move there instead. Whatever option Philip chooses, the possibilities for him are almost limitless. But he's just one of thousands who made the Law of Attraction to work for him. Like Philip, a lot of people are initially discouraged to try because they think it takes a lot of work. But the reality is that it's surprisingly easy to get started. You just need to follow these 10 Super Simple Steps to Attract Everything You've Ever Wanted: Step #1: A little gratitude goes a long way The first thing you should learn about the Law of Attraction is that it operates on energy. YOUR energy, to be exact. Everyone has a different kind of energy they bring into the world, and it affects them in ways they often don't see or appreciate. The secret lies in the FREQUENCY of a person's energy - and you need to raise yours in order to change your life. Think of your unique energy as a sort of gas that fills the space of your reality. Whatever “gas” or “energy” you pump out into your immediate space will define your existence. Viktor Frankl, a psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor, said this in his book, “Man's Search for Meaning”: “To draw an analogy: a man's suffering is similar to the behavior of a gas. If a certain quantity of gas is pumped into an empty chamber, it will fill the chamber completely and evenly, no matter how big the chamber. Thus suffering completely fills the human soul and conscious mind, no matter whether the suffering is great or little. Therefore the "size" of human suffering is absolutely relative.” So if you want to invite great things into your life, you need to set the stage first. And you can do that by leading with the right energy. That's why being grateful and appreciating what you have is powerful way to re calibrate your frequency. Most folks hold off on feeling this way for AFTER they get what they want. But that's putting the cart before the horse, as the saying goes. When you LEAD with gratitude, it will act as the precedent for everything good that follows. Click Here To Discover the Lazy Person's Secret To Get Everything You've Ever Wished For  What I like to do is start of my day by making a list of things that I'm grateful for. If I miss anything, I save it for later and update my list at the end of my day. And when I go over my list during the weekend, I'll see exactly how much good stuff I've accumulated. This creates a kind of snowball effect and helps me attract even MORE good stuff down the road. Step #2: Be generous This can be a challenge for some people if they feel like there isn't enough to go around. But if you take the initiative to SHARE whatever you can without asking anything in return… … you'll generate the kind of energy that attracts prosperity for everyone… …including YOU. Again, this is the Law of Attraction at work. Try offering your time, talents and material wealth to those who need it - you'll soon invite blessings without even trying. Step #3: Visualize your future What I find amazing about kids is how powerful their imaginations are. When they role-play with other children, you can see in their eyes how REAL their games are to them. This is something that's lost on grown-ups, and it's important to recapture that ability to envision the kind of reality you want. The Universe likes to play games with us- the better you are at visualizing, the more you'll be rewarded. Like I said, a certain type of energy attracts a certain kind of reality. So if you focus your energy and thoughts on that dream job you want or the car you've always wanted to drive, you'll raise your frequency to ATTRACT those exact things. Step #4: Let the negativity pass When the bad times roll in and you feel like dirt, sometimes it's better to step aside and let it run its course. Having negative thoughts and emotions are totally normal, but you don't always have to wrestle with them. You can simply acknowledge what's going on in your inner world - then CHOOSE to keep moving forward anyway. Let this negative energy pass through your system like bad case of gas. The sooner you let it do its thing, the quicker you can get back to what you were doing. (Sorry for the fart analogy, but it get the point across, doesn't it?) Step #5: Never stop growing It's good to have a daily routine in your life, but not at the expense of your personal development. Most people are so set in their ways that they're afraid of the thought of doing something new. Then they complain about their humdrum lives, or that some folks “have all the luck.” Breaking out of your comfort zone is never an easy thing, but it's a step worth taking. No matter how loaded your schedule is, find some chunks of time to do things that will help you grow. Whether it's taking an online course, joining a community, or taking up a hobby, this is a powerful way to attract new and exciting things in your life. Step #6: Avoid the “toxic” crowd There are people who seem hell-bent on pulling others into their world of misery. Whether they're trying to lessen their own pain or simply enjoy doing it, you need to steer clear of them. Instead, choose people who will have the opposite effect on your psyche. Not only does a person's energy attract circumstances, it's also CONTAGIOUS. So make sure you hang out with the people who'll inspire you to achieve greater things - and not bring you down with apathy or inaction. Click Here To Learn How to Force the Universe to Manifest Your Dream Life  Step #7: Give yourself permission to succeed Most of the world's most brilliant people were put down in some way. Somewhere along the way, someone told them they'd “never make it” or were “destined to fail.” In your own life, certain people have tried to discourage you in some way. They might have tried putting you down when you were growing up - or it could have been last week. It doesn't matter. What's important is that you understand that NO ONE can put labels on you. And more importantly, they can NEVER give you permission to achieve what you want in life. You need to do that for yourself. Don't let their words define your “story”. You don't have to fit whatever petty narrative they're trying to force on you. Step #8: Affirm who you are Instead of feeding into the lies that people tell you, let this be the day to start living your truth. Create statements that embody the truth you choose to be, AND to live in. People do this all the time. When Elon Musk tried to launch the world's first privately owned rocket and failed, he told himself, “I'm going to try again, and I WILL get that thing into orbit.” (Well, maybe not exactly like that, but you get the point.) And so his company SpaceX went back to the drawing board and got it right after the third attempt. Elon affirmed his truth and it manifested into reality. In the same way, you can choose to affirm whatever truth applies to you. Be honest with yourself and acknowledge the things that TRULY matter to you. You know it, and the Universe knows it. The key is to repeat it yourself every day. For example, if you know deep in your heart that you want to make a better life for yourself, you can say something like this: “I may be struggling right now, but I know deep inside that I have what it takes to improve my life. I see myself transforming into a happier, wealthier person who makes other people's lives brighter.” When you operate from even the tiniest shred of truth, you can grow that into a powerful force over time. Step #9: Fail spectacularly Here's something most people don't know about the Law of Attraction: before you can enjoy success and find true happiness, you need to crash and burn. It's better to go after what you want and risking failure rather than playing it safe and not trying at all. To create order in your life, you'll have to embrace the chaos that comes before it. This is where you'll find the real lessons, even if they hurt a little. (Or in some cases, a LOT). Think of yourself as the beautiful Phoenix, like in the legends. Imagine burning off bits and pieces of yourself that you don't need. As you rise from the ashes, you're reborn into a NEW YOU. That's evolution. It may be an imperfect and unpleasant process, but the results are worth it. Step #10: Remove your BIGGEST barrier to success People don't realize that their greatest roadblock is none other than their own mindset. They may say they want something to happen, but don't REALLY mean it. For instance, someone might want to lose weight, but they don't want it bad enough. Worse, they might not actually believe they can shed those pounds. A part of them refuses to acknowledge the faintest possibility of it happening. This is pretty much why people NEVER attract the things they want in life. In order to remove this barrier, you'll need to change something inside you. You need to dig deep and understand WHY you don't want it as much as you say you do. Are you scared of suffering through the process of getting what you want? This is what turns most people off - they simply can't process the discomfort involved with growing up. At the same time, you need to deal with the reasons why you think that your desired reality is impossible. It could be some deep-seated beliefs brought about by past events, or experiences growing up. Once you sort this out, you'll be free to do what you want without any pre-programmed beliefs holding you back. Now, these ten steps we just talked about will get your foot in the door. Once you start doing them regularly, you'll experience remarkable breakthroughs you didn't think were possible. But if you want to witness even MORE changes on a massive (or even cosmic) scale, you need to check out my FULL course called Manifestation Miracle. Like the name suggests, I enjoyed nothing short of a life-changing revolution not too long ago. In a lot of ways, my situation was the same as Philip's. I worked myself to the bone and felt unfulfilled. I was trapped in my soul-crushing career. Even though I needed the money, I HATED having to put up a hollow appearance of a happy, successful businesswoman. But then I discovered how turn my mind into a magnet for prosperity and abundance… Learn how I unlocked the secret to ATTRACTING anything AND everything I wanted - CLICK HERE to watch the video now…

[wrinkledparchment]

fall from grace;

Summary:  And suddenly, there was nothing … And he was airborne … he had taken to the sky. And he began falling- falling …Down … down … down …

Word Count: 3,357

A/N: this WIP was never finished and unfortunately I don’t think it will be. This is where I left off when I still had inspiration for Connor and his character, and this was meant to be a ridiculously long fic and unfortunately, I never got that far. Sorry it wasn’t everything I hoped it could be but I thought I might as well release it :)

Warnings: angst and dark themes

And suddenly, there was nothing …

Strands of hair were scattered across the white sheets, colored brightly, shining in the light youthfully. Your skin was free of wrinkles, free of any signs of aging, of deterioration.

But there was a difference in the color there; it was pale, and underneath your eyes were sunken patches painted in a bruise-like haze. They showcased the severity of the situation, just how decayed your body was, just how close you had gotten to the edge.

Connor watched attentively, consciously as your chest rose and fell, inhaling and exhaling and supplying your body with much-needed oxygen. He watched on the blue hologram beside the bed, stared at each rise and dip in the monitor.

He was so alert of your status that he didn’t need to watch the monitor to know your heart-rate, or know how many breaths you were taking a minute, if it was too deep to the point it might be concerning, or if it was too shallow and you were having a nightmare.

He’d been staring and monitoring you for so long, that it’d been a very long time since he’d gone in stasis and he was finally able to relax; to be tranquil for even just a few moments. He decided that everything was in order, that perhaps you would survive, that maybe you could come out of this alive, that there was a possibility you would come back home to him.

And if that were to happen, he would immediately make you your favorite food, supply you with everything you’d need to be warm, make sure you were well taken care of. Connor would cuddle you in a blanket and never leave, hold your hand every moment he could, and cherish you even more.

In this moment, it was not you, but Connor that had to face your mortality. You had already accepted, long ago - in fact, that you would be gone someday. You had to come to grips with the knowledge that one day, you’d have to leave everything you worked for behind. However, Connor took on this responsibility on for you.

He had chosen to ignore when you coughed a little too much, when you would tell him that you had to stay home; you would chalk it up to “feeling just a tad under the weather,” or “I need a day off, work is stressing me out.”

Connor knew better than that, he always knew better than that, but he found it too miniscule to bother you about it. You’ll feel better soon, he thought. He saw signs, too many, in fact. People – and androids, in this case – often think that terminal illnesses are things that happen to other people, to people you don’t know. No amount of statistics changed Connor’s mind.

Connor admonished himself endlessly over the past few days, scolding himself over and over for being so foolish, for allowing you to come this close to your demise, to the brink of extinction, to your death.

It didn’t matter now though, because you were going to get better. It seemed the very foundation of Connor’s sanity balanced heavily on these next few hours. Focusing in on his confidence of you being alive by the time he awoke, he triggered stasis mode, and that night, for the first time in a while, he dreamt.

And he was airborne … he had taken to the sky.

The cherry blossoms fell onto crystal white sheets made of silk, each gust of wind was familiar and fresh, wafting the scent of flowers, of hope and love and peace and allowing it to whirl around the bed which had been placed randomly in the middle of an oasis.

The thing he was most delighted by, however, was you. The feeling of your skin against his, your hair brushing against his artificial being, your breath warming his body – it was all so comfortable, so well-known by Connor, so desperately missed …

Connor revelled in the feeling of holding you once again, wallowed in your fragrance, in the heat of your breath against his chest. He drifted off, allowing every emotion and thought to be taken away to an imaginary place – a world where he didn’t have to worry about you being alive the next morning.

His eyes opened slowly, wearily, and Connor glanced at the monitor. Everything was in order; you had a steady heartbeat, a steady breath rate, a fine amount of fluids. You were alright. Exhausted, Connor triggered stasis mode again, eagerly awaiting another glance, another hallucination of a perfect world, a perfect fantasy … heaven.

But this dream was a different form, perhaps still a utopia. A calmness, eerie almost, settled upon the new world Connor had created. Connor had wings, the soft kind people envisioned that angels endowed.

As Connor’s phantom looked to the wings, he smiled. Something about them reminded him of you. The way they smelled, the way they felt underneath his fingertips. The touch was electric yet soothing, tranquil and chaotic all the same. They flapped and soared, rustling against the wind along with Connor’s clothes.

Instead, though, he chose to focus on the adrenaline, or at least the manufactured feeling, coursing through his artificial veins. It was freeing, exciting but he still had a tinge of fear, of anxiety. A totally unique feeling, but then he placed it … it felt like love; your love.

And he continued to soar, quickly and fiercely until he was above the clouds, and he found himself floating, flying and landing amongst them; he allowed himself to feel the wind whip in his face, around his body.

An overwhelming pain struck his back, and as he turned his head just over his shoulder, the wings were no longer a stunning, gleaming, snowy white.

Feather by feather, the rotting wings dismantled, and Connor clutched each remnant, trying to piece them together. Instead, he only felt the hole in his heart grow.

And he began falling- falling …

Down … down … down …

With a sudden shock, Connor’s eyes fluttered open. His eyes quickly scanned the room worriedly, watching as white coats and blue scrubs crowded his vision, but past all that, you were there. Your chest was unmoving, and time slowed.

He calibrated your vitals, and the programmed inflation of his chest paused. Everything caught itself, stopping and shutting down as he saw. [ Heart-rate: 0 bpm | Breaths Per Minute: 0 ]

And as time pressed on, a throaty scream ripped out in the hospital room. Connor’s feet moved quicker than ever before, standing by your side as he shook your body violently, calling your name, pleading for you to come back, even if just for a minute. Just so he could give you a proper farewell.

Doctors stood still, in shock at the outburst. The most stoic figure in all of Detroit, the Deviant Hunter that betrayed his creators to fight for the androids. He was an android, robotic and eerily calm, always. And here he was, vulnerable, begging for his love to come back.

The inaction was eventually realized, and the staff surged forward, attempting to pull back Connor. He thrashed like a child throwing a temper tantrum before his power was released. Without care, he elbowed each staff member in the stomach, just enough to send them reeling onto the floor.

He stepped back to you and buried his face in your stomach. The beeping monitor was a constant, and so was his sobbing. The first tears the android had ever shed. He cursed the universe, he cursed any and all beings, and more nurses came to escort him out.

“Farewell, my love,” he whispered, allowing himself to be dragged away like a ragdoll, and they put him down outside your hospital room. Sitting against the wall, he cried. He spoke, only for it to be muffled into his hands, about how much he loved you, how he would do anything to get you back.

He pulled his hand away, looking at your name. A beautiful, cursive name, once written in golden ink engraved on his synthetic skin, over his artificial veins. It was faded now, a line through it, and drained of life, leaving only a remnant of the bond between the two of you behind. There was no reversal of death.

The android swallowed faux saliva and replayed the memory of your dead, pale body. Your youth-less face, sunken eyes, thin body. He tried to wipe the memory, tried to forget it all. His gaze lifted and he stood up.

Gaining his balance, though losing a bit of his sanity, he pressed the palm of his hand against the wall and pushed off. He had lost you, and that would not do. And so rather than storming back in, rather than attempting to fight for you again, and scream like a petulant child, he looked towards the hallway.

You were gone, yes. But where Connor was about to go, it wouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Because where he was going to go, he would still be able to feel your skin against his, still watch your chest rise and fall, he would still be able to hear your voice; he would still have you.

And so, he stormed out of the hospital. Determined, apathetic, ruthless. He shouldered oncoming traffic without a care in the world. White, bland hallways, lifeless shells in scrubs; there was a disregard for anything that wasn’t you. His feet guided him mindlessly, going to the place he hadn’t been in over 3 weeks, after spending every day by your bedside.

He shoved the key into the lock, swinging the door open and walking away even after the knob damaged the wall. Connor immediately began to shuffle through belongings, through dressers, through cabinets, and through pockets.

He grabbed your perfume – the one that you’d wear only on special occasions, your hairbrush, your old favorite t-shirt, he grabbed your favorite book, your notebook, your laptop and he saved the most painful for last.

He opened up the wooden drawer he kept his clothes in, throwing out the denim and the shirts you’d gifted him, and picked up the velvety black box. 3 weeks ago, he’d scheduled a getaway with you, one where he’d planned to drive you wherever you wanted, and under the moonlight, he had planned-

Connor shook his head free of the memory, of his delicate vision of the future, his dream to live a full, happy life with you. Possibly to raise children, possibly to stay in the city and be the best detective team in Detroit. it didn’t matter as long as it was with you.

He opened the box gingerly, watching as the diamond sparkled in the afternoon light, and he imagined it on your finger. That was impossible now. He snapped shut the box and carefully placed everything he’d gathered in a backpack, and smiled as he realized there was room for more items.

He grabbed your favorite dress, a few other articles of clothing, and examined your nightstand. Inside, there were pills, a doctor’s note, a to-do list, and finally, a letter. A small letter, folded and the paper was ripped, prompting Connor to treat it with care.

Oh, it was a love letter, dated to the first week you’d met. Addressed to him. He read each word with care, noticing and reminding himself of your writing habits, which letters you wrote in print and which in cursive.

However, what he loved the most about it was the way you wrote your name. So simple yet so extravagant, and Connor caught himself thinking how it would look next to his. Where he was going, it wouldn’t matter anymore. This letter wouldn’t, either.

And as Connor read each word over again, a small piece of his heart floated away. All of the things you had envisioned in the future, that you’d stated in the letter, were impossible now. They were meaningless now.

So as a single tear, the first one he’d ever shed, fell onto the paper, he watched the words blur into each other. He watched the letter bend and wrinkle. And then he ripped the letter to shreds, letting each scrap fall onto floor, each taking a piece of his heart with them.

He wouldn’t need those anymore, where he was going. He wouldn’t need any of these rotten memories, these mourning feelings. Because where he was going he would still have you.

He slung the backpack over his shoulder and left swiftly, slamming the door shut, and one of his neighbors gave him a scowl. You would apologize, tell the lady that everything was fine and that you were just in a bad mood.

But Connor was not you. He walked away, barely acknowledging her existence and went for the stairs, making his way down quickly. He knew where he was going, he didn’t need a map, he simply did.

Each step echoed in his mind, the metal stairs underneath his shoes clanking and creaking. He imagined a second pair of feet, slightly smaller, harmonizing with his. Moving forward together.

There, standing next to him, was you. Or at least, a phantom of you. The spirit smiled at him gently, albeit sadly. It was less of a smile and more of a plea. "Connor, please don't do this," you stated, and he furrowed his brows in response. "You can live without me," you assured.

Connor turned away. No, he thought, I can't. You were the lifeblood in his veins, his one and only. You fueled him, you gave life to the soulless city of Detroit and without you, it was empty.

The color of the city was drained by your absence, everything was dim, black and white, dull. It reminded him of his time under CyberLife's control, when he was just a machine.

With you, he felt human, he felt alive. And now that you were gone, he was dead. He was a zombie walking around the streets, unaccompanied and empty. He couldn't survive like this, he knew that. A part of him knew that you did too. That you would want to be by his side, and he remembered your promise. "I will be with you forever, Connor. I'll never leave."

And both of you knew, at the time, that the promise, that statement, was a lie. It was impossible. You were so very human, fragile . . . a very poorly made machine. In time, all flowers wither, all fires burn out. You were a ticking time bomb, and unfortunately, you detonated.

"You left me, (Name), you left me,” Connor whispered gloomily, “I have no choice." You shook your head and stared back at him solemnly.

The neighbor from earlier peered over the railing, watching as the once sane, stable Connor talked to thin air. Even she noticed the difference in his demeanor, even she knew something was missing.

"You always have a choice, Connor," you argued, before dipping your head. "Be happy, for me. In my honor, exist for me. You'll be happy again, Connor. I know you will."

Without a goodbye, though filled with regret, Connor averted his gaze and continued his journey towards the most secluded part of Detroit he knew.

As he opened the door of your apartment building and stepped out into the harsh rain, he stared across the street. You'd thought it funny that the apartment you wanted was just across the street from the place you'd first met.

He could still smell the coffee and the fresh donuts, the scent of your perfume just like it was yesterday. He could still hear the chatter, still remember perfectly the order that Hank had requested.

He remembered that you'd decided to treat yourself and order your favorite donut. He still remembered the clink of the spare change that you'd put on the desk, after overhearing that Hank hadn't given Connor the right amount.

And even after all the reports you'd heard about him, about how he'd chased and frightened all the deviants, you still handed him your number. You still said that you couldn't wait to hear from him.

He remembered how you skipped out of the coffee shop into the sunny Spring day, how he'd just stared at your fading figure with a shy smile plastered on his face.

He relived the moment in his mind, before feeling someone tap him on the shoulder. He turned to the woman, one who had your hair color but not your smile, not your voice, not your face.

"Are you alright, sir?" the woman asked. Connor stared dumbly at her, lost in thought, before nodding and starting his journey again.

He watched the rain fall onto the street, hearing your old favorite song ring throughout the road as you danced amidst the falling droplets. He remembered you waving him over, pulling him into your rhythm.

He let himself go into autopilot, letting his subconscious guide him to the old, decrepit buildings he'd searched for, back when all that mattered was his mission. He replayed his favorite memories with you.

For a few moments, his pain was washed away. He could feel everything in the memory like it was yesterday, and so he blocked out all sensations from the real world, and stayed in the oasis that was your presence.

He came to an abrupt halt, and reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Whining at the pain, the hollowness in his heart and the sickening twist in his stomach, he quickly ducked under the wire fence.

He jumped up onto the ledge, from there swinging off a random bar and over the hole. He jumped back down and climbed, sprinted, and finally landed, hanging off a collection of metal.

He pulled himself up, looking back to the junk and scrap below. And shuffled inside, looking out at the destroyed freighter. It was too sunny here, so he grabbed metal sheets and blocked any and all openings.

He dropped the backpack in a corner, and sat down next to it. Grabbing out the velvet box, he smiled as he imagined a world where you were wearing it. Where you were alive and next to him.

Where he could continue to love you with all his heart. Where your being, your spirit, your soul wasn't a mere recreation of you created as a coping mechanism by his program.

He just wanted a place, a reality where you weren't just a phantom. Where you were alive, and healthy, and next to him. He wanted you by his side, forever, just like you'd promised.

Connor had known, ever since he got into a relationship with you, that someday he'd be without you. He thought he would've handled this better, that maybe he would be able to move on easily.

After all, in the grand scheme of things, you were just a moment, a small part of Connor's life. You were just a flash of a memory, a small moment in time compared to how long Connor would live.

He was damned to live 'til the very end of the universe, to watch Earth become either a dystopia or a utopia. He was damned to watch the sun die, to travel with the humans on their quest for discovery, or domination.

He was a machine, after all. He didn't control his destiny, he never did. He was a prisoner, a slave to his own immortality.

Connor chose not to think of that. He opened up his memory program instead, relieved that he could relive his memories just as they were, undistorted by the passage of time. That when he was lost in the past, he wouldn’t have to feel this heavy weight in the present.

All the pain would be gone. It would be gone until he destroyed himself. And at least then, he might have even a sliver of a chance of being reunited with you. That was a risk he was willing to take.

[ Accessing Memory . . . ] | [ Replay Commencing . . . ]

[shipmistress9]

The Last Dragon - 1

Welcome to my latest (and probably utterly ridiculous) AU idea. Let's cover the basics first. This is a Hiccstrid story, so expect fun and fluff, heartbreak and angst. Next, I don't know yet whether this is going to stay T-rated or might get upgraded later on. So just a fair warning that it might get upgraded. And one other thing here: I'm testing out a different way of writing a story. It's much compacter than what I usually write, little more than what I usually write as an outline. You've been warned.

So, on to the main point: The story! This is a 'The Last Unicorn' AU, featuring Hiccup as the last dragon. But to give this all-clear right away: There won't be any bestiality in this story! (If you know the original story then you can guess what happens anyway.)

So... yeah... I hope someone will like it... ^^"

. o O o .

Chapter 1 — where a dragon goes on a journey.

When the hunters left the forest, they didn’t notice the shadow incredulously watching them from behind the trees, drawn in by their voices.

He was the last, the hunters had said. The last Night Fury to roam this world. The last dragon at all. But that couldn't be… could it?

No… there had to be others! Surely they were just hiding from the humans that had become so numerous over the centuries, just like he was hiding too.

Hiccup cocked his black scaly head as his eyes followed the hunters out of his forest, internally laughing at their stupidity. Silly humans, what did they know about dragons? To them, his kind only existed in legends and fairy tales anymore, told around a campfire or to keep children from roaming the woods. Just because they hadn't seen any dragons in the better part of a century? Hah! That was ridiculous.

And yet, the thought refused to fade into oblivion. For days and weeks, Hiccup roamed his forest, just like he had done for all his life, chewing on what the hunters had said.

No more dragons? Was that possible?

After two more moons had passed, Hiccup made a decision. He would leave his forest, for the first time ever, and look for the other dragons. Maybe they had retreated into a far-away hidden land, away from the humans. Maybe they were living in hiding, afraid and cornered. Or maybe they were even captured, waiting for the one that could free them.

In the darkness of night, the Night Fury flew from one village to the other, disguising his appearance as that of a black dog to look for his brothers and sisters or to maybe overhear where they might be. It occurred to him that the humans wouldn't even know if dragons lived among them. If they were hiding their appearance like he was, letting the humans see something they expected to see, then it was no wonder those hunters had thought there were no dragons anymore. Untiring, he wandered on and on, searching the eyes of every animal he saw for that certain spark of intelligence. But there was nothing. Only real dogs, barely tamer than the feral wolves of his forest, cart ponies, and oxen. Once, he met a cat, certainly the most intelligent of all animals he'd seen on his journey so far. But all she could tell him was that he was supposed to ask the Sorcerer. Hiccup laughed at her, then wished her good luck with catching mice and left.

But after another week of fruitless searching, he returned to the cat. Asking her where he could find the Sorcerer could have been embarrassing, but of course, the cat had already forgotten that she'd talked to him before.

“The Sorcerer? The Sorcerer, the Sorcerer, out in the swamps he lives. But beware, beware, you might find more than you are looking for,” she purred in a light sing-song, then continued to lick her paws.

Hiccup was amused by the cat's concern, but he took her advice. It took him three days, searching the vast swampland to the east until he found the odd building, half built onto a tree and covered with moss. To its side, a campfire was burning and a funny-looking old man leant over a book on a table.

“Now, now, big boy,” the funny old man said when Hiccup approached him. “What is a pretty beast like you doing out here in this no man's land?” He patted Hiccup’s head, clearly seeing nothing but the dog disguise.

Hiccup was disappointed. Was this the Sorcerer he’d been looking for? The one who was supposed to be able to help him? This doddery old man wasn’t even able to see him. Apparently, the cat had been stupid after all.

“Father? I’m back. I got the two rabbits you asked for, and even a deer in addition.”

Hiccup and the old man turned their heads into the direction of the voice. There was another human, a girl, carrying a dead deer over her back, a bow slung over her shoulder, and a quiver from which two rabbits hung was attached to her waist.

“Oh, that’ll last us a few days. Or… ah… maybe not. But look, Astrid, we have company. Would you mind getting him a bone and maybe some leftover meat from last night?”

The girl cocked her head and blinked, her long blond braid falling over her shoulder, but didn’t react otherwise and did as her father had told her. Hiccup’s mood fell even further. These humans were just as stupid as all the others he’d met, and certainly not able to help him. Grumbling, he tore into the roasted meat the girl had brought him. He gladly took the food, but would leave right after. The other dragons had to be somewhere!

“This tastes good, doesn’t it?” the girl murmured as she watched him eat. She reached out to pat his head as well, even scratched him behind his ear flaps. That actually felt good, and with a low rumbling deep inside his body, Hiccup leaned into her touch. She chuckled, and let her hand move on, over his neck, around the ridges on his back, and--

“These are really beautiful!” she said, awe filling her voice as her hand glided along his wing.

Wait, what?

Hiccup practically jumped away from her, staring in a bit of a shock, but the girl only chuckled.

“Did you think I couldn’t see what you are?” she asked, mirth gleaming in her eyes. They were blue, he noticed now, like the sky.

[You can see me?] He hadn’t meant for his thoughts to project into her mind, but she nodded in response anyway.

“Yeah, I’m not easily tricked by any magic,” she said, sounding as if there was more behind those words than just a simple statement. “Unlike my father over there. His magic is woven so deeply into his being that he hardly ever can tell reality and magic apart. What does he think you are?”

Bemused, Hiccup projected the picture of a large dog into her mind, making her chuckle again.

“I see. No wonder he instantly wanted to feed you. He adores dogs.”

[Aren’t you afraid of me?] he asked, a little hesitantly. He might not be the biggest of dragons, but he was still big enough to eat her in one meal if he had to. And from what he remembered of his long life in his forest, humans didn’t tend to react well when they saw his true form.

“Should I?” she asked, laughing at her own words and shook her head. “No, I’m not afraid of you. You haven’t eaten us when you had the chance, so I guess you won’t do it now either after we fed you.”

Making a strange snorting sound, Hiccup had to agree with her logic.

“Anyway... I assume there’s a reason you came out here? If you need Father’s magic or advice for whatever reason, then I suggest you wait until he finished his calibrations. He won’t listen to or look at anything else until he’s done. How about you tell me what brought you here instead? I’m curious, you know?” She settled against his side, expectantly looking up.

Hiccup was reluctant at first, not exactly used to talk to anyone. But he had to admit that he was a little fascinated by this courageous girl. Astrid. So, in lack of anything else to do and with renewed hope that these humans might be able to help him after all, he spent the better part of an hour answering her questions. It felt strange to do so but also oddly soothing, sharing his concerns.

Once he was done explaining that he was looking for the other dragons and hoped the Sorcerer could help him, Astrid nodded.

“Yes, I think you did right in coming here. We haven’t seen any dragons in ages either, but somehow, I feel like Father might know something after all.”

Making the old man understand was amusing. It took Astrid quite a while to convince her father that the occasional image of the night-black dragon was actually the truth and not just his wishful thinking. But once the Sorcerer had understood, there was no further delay.

“Oh, for all the lost chicken tows!” he muttered, awe filling his eyes as he finally accepted the truth. “I can hardly believe it. I hadn’t thought to ever see a living dragon again in my life. I thought he had them all.”

At that, Hiccup perked up. [Who has them all?] he asked eagerly, projecting his question for all around him to hear. [Do you know where the other dragons are? Tell me, old man, I need to know!]

So the Sorcerer told him. He told him of Grimmel the Grisly, a dark magician, how he’d, long ago, made it his goal in life to capture and own all dragons. “I and the others of our order tried to stop him, of course,” the Sorcerer said. “But by the time we were ready to face him, he already had quite a number of them captured. You see, he draws power from them. They are all in a cave beneath his castle, bound by a magical crystal that feeds on their strength. Lucky for us, he is content with enjoying his collection and has no desire to conquer the world with his powers.”

[So they really are captured? And nobody ever tried to free them?] There was a spark of anger in Hiccup, confusing him. He wasn’t used to such strong emotions.

“Of course we tried!” the Sorcerer defended himself. “But Grimmel had grown too strong, and we were unable to stand against him. He killed us, one after the other, and by now, I am the last of my order. Just like you are the last of the dragons.”

That silenced Hiccup. [Forgive me. I am sorry you had to pay such a high price for a fight that shouldn’t have been yours.]

The Sorcerer accepted his words, but the girl, Astrid, didn’t seem to be appeased.

“So that’s it?” she exclaimed. “We’re just going to leave it like that, with the dragons captured and that man holding nigh-on-infinite power? What if he learns that there is a dragon missing from his collection? Or what if he decides that he wants to be the only living Magician?”

Her concerns were valid, of course, but then Hiccup hadn’t intended to just let the matter drop anyway. In short order, they decided that they had to try and free the dragons. They didn’t have much of a plan yet, but the Sorcerer was confident that, with the help of a dragon himself, a Night Fury no less, they at least had a chance. Because Night Furies, as every child knew from the old stories, were the strongest and deadliest of all dragons, their princes and kings. He still would probably only be able to hold against Grimmel for a little while. But maybe, ‘a little while’ would be all they needed.

. o O o .

So, that was that. I’m really curious about what you might think about this. So... yeah... Feedback is highly welcome! :D

[silverdragon-imagines-blog]

Mishaps to a Better Understanding

Black x Sans

A Secret Santa gift for @sansy-fresh I also posted it on AO3

I ended up writing Kedgeup because of an ask they gave me, making me love the chemistry of the ship in my version of the surface timeline. So I hope you enjoy. ^u^

The phone in Sans’ pocket began to ring, and briefly glancing at the screen, he hurriedly answered it, already beginning to feel excitement run through him.

“‘sup al?”

“Sans, th-the machine is r-ready for the testing pha-se.” she stammered, and Sans got to his feet excitement running through him. “W-Would you lik-e to come d-down to test it?”

“yeah, i’ll be there in a sec.” he responded, a small smile on his face. He looked around for a moment before calling Black. Unsurprisingly, it went to voicemail.

“hey, babe, alphys just called and said that the LV-reduc machine is in the testing phase. feel free to swing by the lab, i’ll be there.” Sans ended the call, re-pocketing the phone, and stepped forward into a shortcut, taking him to the Lab.

Thankfully, it wasn’t especially busy at this time, being late in the afternoon, so Sans just strolled into the room where their’ latest project was kept. As Sans entered he spied Alphys by the control panel of the large ray-gun that made up the LV reduction machine. Currently, it was aimed at an empty chair, though Sans was hoping that his bonefriend (heh) would swing by to test it.

“hey al,” Sans called out, noticing the scientist’s slight flinch at his voice, “so, what needs to be done before the edgelord gets here?”

“S-So far just a few last ch-checks of the panels, m-making sure they don’t l-loosen. And then j-just gotta calibr-rate everything.” she replied, returning to her tapping away at the panel.

Sans nodded, getting to work checking the panels closer to the focusing coil. As he worked on tightening a few loose bolts, he heard the door open, and the familiar sound of Black walking around, heavy combat boots and all. He turned to see Black looking up at the machine with a look of contemplation and slight judgement. With a wave, he got Black’s attention, and his scowl softened, if only marginally.

“black’s here, al. what’s the status on the test run?” Sans called out.

“U-Um… we sh-should be good to go in a f-few minutes.” alphys responded “wh-what’s the status on y-your end?”

“just got a few more to double check, but then we should be good.” Sans called back, turning to look towards Black. “feel free to sit in the chair at the end of this thing, we’ll let you know when we’re starting.”

“FAIR ENOUGH, JUST DON’T TAKE TOO LONG.” Black grumbled, marching over to the chair and taking a seat. Sans chuckled at the overly dramatic way he sat down, rolling his eyes as he got back to work, missing the amused look Black eyed him with.

For awhile, there was only the clicking of Alphys’ claws on a keyboard and the barely-there squeak of Sans tightening bolts on the inner panels. Occasionally Sans would sneak glances at Black, seeing how he, somewhat impatiently, would glance around the room or at Sans, continuously bouncing his leg.

Time passed and Sans stepped off of the machine, standing front of Black to wipe sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

“I TAKE IT YOU HAVE FINISHED?” Black questioned, as Sans turned to face him.

“in theory at least.” he shrugged, then turned back to call to Alphys, only to hear the subtle sounds of something starting up.

Sans paused for a moment, stepping back towards the machine in confusion. Alphys never said she was ready, let alone check in to make sure he was done… why was it starting?

“hey, al?” Sans called out, only to hear the sound of the machine gathering power. His eyelights vanished as he took several steps backwards towards Black, only for the machine to fire and everything to go white.

When Black came to, he felt… off. Not in a bad way. It was as if everything was just lighter, like all of his burdens were lifted, though at the same time he felt more frail. It was as if he could be dusted in a single hit.

That’s when he opened his eyes, looking around him only to see... himself? Black crawled over to his own body, beginning to notice in his peripheral that yes, he wasn’t wearing the clothes he had on earlier. In fact, he was beginning to notice that he seemed to be much shorter and was wearing the same coat as Sans had been. Seemed that there had been a major screw-up.

As he neared his own unmoving body, he picked up on the tense and distressed magic waves coming off of what had to be Sans in his body. He gently placed a hand on what should’ve been his body, and felt a flinch under his hand.

“Sans can you hear me?” he asked, in a voice that was much quieter than what he was used to. There was no response, except for the quiet rattling of bones.

That-- was not good.

“I-is everything al-alright?” Black jerked his head back towards the sound of Alphys’ voice accompanying the clicking of her claws on tile. Black didn’t know what to do, he didn’t want Alphys to see any of what happened. At least not yet, not while Sans wasn’t responding to him, let alone in any state to do anything.

He held onto Sans’ arm, closing his eyes tightly, and felt a rush of air pass over him. Then he opened his eyes to see where once had been the lab was now a familiar mess of a room.

It had to have been Sans’, he would never let his own space get into such disarray. He glanced over to the still shaking pile of bones that was his body, and stood, running over to the bed to grab a blanket to drape over his terrified boyfriend’s shoulders. He gently helped him into a sitting position and leaned him against the bed. In a way, he was thankful that Papyrus wasn’t here right now to witness this mess they got themselves into, but at the same time, he didn’t have much experience with these attacks.

“sans? are you alright?” he asked, at a loss for how to proceed.

Sans seemed to answer for him, taking hold of his now smaller hand and squeezing. Black watched him take a few deep breaths, calming himself.

“H-How Do You Deal With This?” he finally questioned, shakily getting the words out.

Black paused for a second, only a moment before he understood what he meant. Black did, after all, feel much lighter and calmer after this happened, let alone what Sans must be feeling now that he’s-- well, Black.

“it’s... less dealing with it really…” he explained, using his thumb to gently pet the back of his shaky bonefriend’s hand. “you sort of-- get used to having it. back underground… that’s what kept me and crim alive. there wasn’t much else we could trust, just each other and the safety we got in having more LV than the people around us.”

“It F-Feels Fuckin’ Awful,” Sans replied, a shaky smile on what was Black’s face. Black quietly chuckled at his declaration, a bit of humor in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“yeah, the guilt comes with it.” Black replied, a small grin on what should’ve been Sans’ face before it fell. “though you were taking it pretty badly back at the lab…”

“It Was Just… So Much At Once. I Thought I Saw Flashes Of Faces As I Registered The Change, And It Was Terrifying.”

“i’m... i’m so sorry you had to go through that.” Black practically whispered, stroking the hand he was holding with such care and guilt registering his face. “i-i’d never wish my LV on anyone, not even my worst enemy... it-it can drive you mad after awhile.”

Black quieted for awhile, simply stroking Sans’ hand. Then he let go, getting closer to Sans, who watched him with a questioning look, but then hesitated to close the distance.

“i-is it alright if we, uh” Black started to say, but an embarrassed blush sprung up on his face, not letting him finish the sentence.

Sans chuckled, the sound foreign coming from Black’s body, as he understood just what he wanted. He opened his arms and looked to Black with a smug smile.

“Get Over Here, Edgelord. Always Open For Cuddling.”

Black rolled his eyes as he crawled forward, sitting in what should’ve been his own lap. Long arms encircled him, and he rested what should’ve been Sans’ head on the chest near him, listening to the much calmer soul beat of his wonderful boyfriend.

“i think, in a way, i understand you a little better from this.” Black spoke, a questioning noise coming from Sans. “when i awoke, i felt free from my LV, yes, but at the same time there was a different crushing feeling. it was as if despite the freeing from LV, i had so many other things to worry about, and felt so… frail? like a strong gust of wind with enough intent could dust me...”

“Heh, Yeah… Without Much HP, You Feel Pretty Hopeless.” Sans spoke, beginning to run a hand over Black’s back. “Same As Your LV, You Get Used To It After Awhile… And I Guess It’s Not So Bad, Now At Least. ‘Ve Got You To Thank For That.”

Black looked up to see a genuine smile on his face, causing a smile to appear on his own face. They sat there for awhile, enjoying the silence and understanding of each other that they seemed to gain from this accident. Black then shifted a bit, getting more comfortable in his boyfriend’s hold.

“i also think i finally understand why you insist to do this everytime we watch a movie together. this is nice. you’ll have to do this again once we’re back to normal” Black spoke, earning a laugh from the body underneath him. “how long do you think this will last? i don’t think your brother would appreciate having me stay here forever.”

Sans shrugged, unable to answer the question when he himself didn’t understand how things went wrong.

“i also... may have teleported us out of the lab as soon as i heard your co-worker approaching.” Black continued, and Sans hummed as he processed the information.

“I Think We’ll Just Call Her Later. Maybe Tomorrow.” Sans replied, shifting so that he could rest more comfortably against the bed. “For Now, Let’s Just Sleep. ‘S Been A Long Day.”

Black hummed in agreement, and listened for Sans’ slowing breath as he drifted off to sleep. Eventually, Black began to nod off as well, getting as close as he could before finally letting sleep take him. They’d worry about this problem tomorrow.

[tk-duveraun]

Bloodlines 1/?

Title: Bloodlines Fandom: SWTOR Rating: M - Implied sexual content Genre: Romance & Drama Summary: Aquila and Malish just need to talk. Please, by the stars, the ancestors, just talk to each other. Yes, research is consuming, yes, being a bodyguard is complicated, but you’re only making things worse. Communicate, you idiots. At least before you fall in love. Notes: This is a sequel to The Same Moonlight, though it starts before that story ends and won’t contain spoilers until later chapters.   

The Sith’s office sits in the second ring of influence outside of the Citadel. Aquila frowns under her helmet and checks the address again, but no, it’s correct. What kind of Sith has the the clout to hire the alor’s own kid, but not enough to get an office closer to the Dark Council? Whomever Lord Malish is, he has enough credits and enough of a reputation to get approved for the job. “Probably nepotism.”

She clears her mind before knocking on the door. Her mother isn’t the type to take on Sith that are twitchy, but mistakes happen. The door opens with no one behind it, but that’s standard Sith procedure. Behind the clean lines of the modern, metal desk sits a particularly short Sith. Not that Aquila is the type to judge, but she feels the illusion pulling at her eyes and every other blink he looks taller. She nods her head a fraction. “Sith.”

“Lord Malish.”

“Sith.”

“Lord-”

“You’re paying a lot of credits to have an argument you’re not going to win.” Aquila crosses her arms over her chest, leaving the bodycam with a clear view.

“I’ll pay someone more professional a lot of credits.” The Sith works another illusion, this one darkening the room. He stares at her through his mask.

Aquila activates the headlamp on her T-visor.

Malish snaps his fingers and both illusions fade. “Fine, Meshurok. Have it your way. As your contract says, my rivals have rotting tukatas in their labs making them send assassins after me.”

“They should hire a better cleaning service.” Aquila smirks and removes her helmet. She holds it under her arm. Her Force sense is muted by the cortosis weave in her armor, but she gets a hint of his surprise at her appearance. “We’re going to start with Tier 2 surveillance in the office and Tier 3 in the field. Our analyst thinks it’s unnecessary, but we have to start with a tight ship until I can make my own observations.”

“I was expecting more than a single agent.”

“Danger that warrants an op group is above your paygrade, Sith.” Aquila pulls her braid out of her cuirass and shakes it out. “Your illusions wouldn’t be conscious spells if you were that good.”

“Can I have a different bodyguard?”

“Not unless you get injured.”

“That can be arranged.”

Aquila taps the lens of her bodycam and then gestures between them. “If we’re done posturing, I need to have a look around to see what I’m working with here.” She doesn’t wait for an answer before dropping her helmet on his desk and turning her back on him. Malish has shelves stuffed with datacrons, datapads, Force relics and crumbling bits of inscribed stone.

“Don’t touch anything!”

“If I tried, all of this kark would be on the floor. This isn’t my first kath show. Untwist your pants and let me do my job.” She pulls a sensor out of her pack. “Before you start barking, you already agreed to this. It’s not a recording device, blah blah.” It fits over the door and activates with a signal from her gauntlet.

“Is that even necessary? Any Sith off Korriban can get around that.”

Aquila looks over her shoulder. “Can you?” When he doesn’t answer, she places two more sensors. They calibrate with soft beeps and she claps her hands, as if knocking dust off them. “Right. Contract said you have a lab connected..?” The lab entrance is concealed and it rankles against her pride that she can’t Sense where it’s hiding.

Malish answers her by opening the secret door. The shelves behind him open back into the lab. Soft, blue lights hang from the ceiling, each one haloed with tiny Force crystals. Despite being in a Sith’s working lab, most of the crystals are blue or green. The tiny sparks of power resonate with Aquila through the cortosis weave in her armor.

“Oh.”

“Don’t hit them with that rock you have for a skull,” Malish says. He brushes past her and stops at one of his worktables. Half of a vase sits in front of him. It appears like normal pottery until Malish taps a few of the crystals above his head, activating them. Then, the clay shard glows with a map of Force enchantments.

“This is amazing,” Aquila says, the antagonism having fallen out the bottom of her stomach. “Just beautiful.”

Malish huffs. “Yes, now do your job and ensure that no one makes it in to ruin it.”

“I need to touch some of the things in here,” Aquila whispers.

“Absolutely not! Mandalorian armor will-”

She dumps both gauntlets on the floor next to Malish’s feet. Hands shaking, Aquila runs her fingers over the worktables and along the shelves. Without her gauntlets, she can feel the Force in the objects and get a sense of what the Sith is working on. The relics are ancient and the Force whispers half-sensible stories in the back of her mind. Translation spells or something of the sort. A sigh leaves her lungs and curls up in the ambient Force. “I have to order new equipment to ensure it doesn’t disturb your work.”

Malish reaches under his mask and scratches his face. “So you know what you’re doing, after all.”

“I’m very good at my job, Sith.” Aquila clears her throat and tries to speak at a normal volume. “Don’t do any work in here without me present until I can get it set up.”

Without looking away from the vase, Malish points to a black and red scar on the next table. “I wasn’t planning to. Some womprat tail almost got me last week. I’ve needed to check on this for days.”

“Why didn’t you appropriate some Reclamation Service-”

“Don’t talk to me about those hacks,” Malish says. All of the crystals above him flash with his emotion. All attuned to him. “It would take twenty of them to do the job of a single Mandalorian. And they wouldn’t hand over guards without sending one of their lumbering nerf ‘professional historians’ in here rubbing their sticky hands all over my research.”

She laughs. “Papa hates them, too. Refuses to have anything to do with them. He can rant for hours.”

“Don’t get me started. They’re nearly as detestable as the Jedi and certainly worse than these assassins.” He pushes his mask up to scratch his forehead and leaves it there, face revealed. Malish is mostly human, pale skin with olive undertones and thick, black hair… except he doesn’t have eyebrows.

Aquila bites her bottom lip. His serious expression with his narrow jaw and delicate features looks comical with the clean brow-ridges. She ducks down for her gauntlets before the giggle can escape. Her features are back in her professional mask before she straightens. “I’ll send the clan leader my order; the sensors should be here in a few days. Send me your schedule for missions off-world and where we’re going so I can pack accordingly.”

“Yes, yes, I read the contract. You’ll have it tonight. Go stand watch or whatever it is you do. I need to focus on this.” He pulls the mask off fully and tosses it over his shoulder. Leaned over his vase, he pays her no further notice. The blue light reflects off his eyes and makes them look ice-blue.

Well this is going to be a fun job.

[imagine-loki]

Loki and the Witchling

TITLE: Loki and the Witchling 

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 27/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you’re a healer working with the Avengers when Loki comes to join the team

RATING: T (so far) 

NOTES/WARNINGS:  Also on AO3 click here

  You already had an illusion in place over the two of you when you appeared back in the same spot you had vanished from earlier that afternoon. You weren’t surprised that there were people here with cameras hoping to catch a glimpse of Thor and Loki. Your illusion was of you and Loki looking exactly as you had when you left in the portal. The illusions waved and posed for pictures while you teleported Loki back into the compound. The illusion would vanish in a minute.

    You and Loki appeared in the livingroom and you cursed when you weren’t alone. The team was still there. “Um…” you greeted them, unsure. They were bound to notice that Loki was wrapped in chains.

    “What’d he do?” Tony demanded staring at the captive Loki.

    “What happened in Asgard?” Cap asked at the same time.

    You pushed Loki down onto his spot on the couch. He glared and grumbled something behind the tape. “In a minute,” you replied, assuming he was demanding to be freed. You turned your attention to Cap. “Odin confirmed Loki’s story. My real name is Sigyn Freyadotir and I am full-Asgardian,” you had yet to come to terms with that for yourself.

    “What did he do?” Tony demanded again, more loudly.

    You glanced over at Loki who glared back at you.

    “Y/N, why are you bleeding?” Cap asked. Your wound was dripping through the bandage onto the floor.

    “It’s nothing,” you brushed off Cap’s concern. He gave you a look. You knew that look. It was his ‘team mom’ look. “I’ll take care of it in a little bit,” you told him, trying to sound reassuring. You don’t know if Cap actually forgot that you couldn’t heal yourself, or was just trusting you to take care of things, but he nodded, accepting your words. Loki at least had the grace to look ashamed.

    “Stop answering Steve’s questions and ignoring mine!” Tony shouted like a petulant child. “WHAT DID HE DO?”

    You sighed, not wanting to actually explain Loki’s behavior to them. You were sure he’d get over it now that he was home. “He became in need of cognitive re-calibration,” you finally answered. Neither Cap nor Tony were satisfied with that answer. You didn’t care. You went to the dining room, collected two bowls of the Russian stew Nat had made, somehow balanced them in one hand and went back to Loki. You were surprised Cap hadn’t tried to free Loki while you were gone. You touched Loki’s shoulder and teleported the two of you up to his bedroom. “Sorry, I should’ve brought you straight up here. I thought you’d like something to eat, though,” you told him sheepishly. He was sitting on his bed. You set the stew on his desk and sat in his desk chair, facing him. With a flick of your hand and a bit of power all of his bonds were gone.

    You both sat in silence for a minute. You stared at the floor, trying to figure out how to start this conversation. It needed to happen. You passed him the bowl of stew to postpone starting it for a minute longer. He looked up surprised when you did.

    “Thank you,” he murmured. Another minute passed. “Are you going to unbind my magic?” he asked softly while he ate his stew.

    “Depends, are you going to teleport out of here before we have this conversation?” you replied just as softly. “And don’t try to lie to me, Trickster,” you told him firmly. You were too exhausted to put up with that nonsense.

    “I will not,” he replied. You weighed his words, but they were the truth. You knew him well enough to spot a line. You pulled out your phone and typed in the command.

    “Verbal authorization is required, Miss,” Jarvis announced.

    “Authorized,” you replied. There was a ding in reply from the piece of tech on Loki’s wrist. You took a bite of stew, but set it aside. You couldn’t eat right now. There was too much going on, too many emotions, and too much you hadn’t been able to process yet.

    “I know you’re pissed off at Odin and Frigga. I can’t say I’m happy with them either for keeping this from both of us. They had the power to rescue me from jumping foster homes my entire life and they didn’t. They had the power to let me know I wasn’t human and they didn’t do that either. They had the power to let you know at the very least that you didn’t have to mourn and you would see me again. I know how you feel being lied to your entire life,” you started. You knew how he’d felt after finding out he was really a Jotun. He’d told you all about it one night. You knew the feeling intimately and first hand now. “But I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t know I wasn’t at all human until today. I didn’t know I wasn’t mostly human until a few months ago. You know lies when you hear them. You know I had nothing to do with any of this.”

    “I know. I’m sorry. I should not have taken out my rage at my family on you,” he finally said after a long minute. Another minute passed before he found the words he was looking for. “They manipulated us into this courtship without either of our knowledge,”

    “I don’t know how visions of the future work, but I know how much Frigga loves you. She wouldn’t have done anything that she thought would hurt you,”

    “We’re betrothed!” he countered, not seeming to understand how you weren’t grasping that concept and how very wrong this was.

    “In Asgard,” you countered. “We’re not in Asgard. We don’t have to follow their rules, or the choices they made on our behalf. Hell, I don’t even know what their rules are, nor do I care,” you added quickly before he could open his mouth and explain. It wasn’t important right now. “We have choices, Loki. All of the choices are ours to make. If you want to continue our courtship I will gladly join you in that journey. If you want me to walk out of this room and never see you again, I will accept your decision. You don’t have to do what Odin tells you anymore,” you told him. You saw him reel at that realization. You still had a feeling that you knew what his decision would be, just to prove to himself, at least for a little while, that he really didn’t have to do what Odin wanted.

    So you stood to give him more time to hopefully come to a better decision. “I need to go downstairs and get this looked at,” you indicated your arm. “Eat, you can have my bowl too. We can talk more later,” you told him softly, gently. You touched his shoulder reassuringly, but didn’t try to kiss him. He was too upset. Instead, you slipped out of his room. You closed the door behind you, only knowing that he’d still be here because he couldn’t teleport out of the tower with his powers limited, which is all the further you had authorization to unbind his powers.

    You leaned against the wall next to his room, trying to digest the last couple of days. You slid to the floor, your knees to your chest, dissolving into tears. Your entire life and existence had crumbled around you and it was too much, too fast. You had learned to cry silently through years in the foster system, and didn’t think you’d be disturbed. You and Loki were usually the only inhabitants of this floor, and you were sure Loki couldn’t hear you.

    So you were surprised when a figure appeared in front of you. You hadn’t noticed anyone in the hall. You looked up, expecting to see Loki. You weren’t terribly surprised to see Thor instead. Of course he would come to see what had happened. “He hurt you?” Thor demanded, but his voice was gentle, not his usual boom.

    “Not on purpose,” you replied, showing him your arm, which you’d neglected to do anything with while you were having your existential crisis. Thor looked between you and the door to Loki’s room for a moment, before he made a decision.

    He held his hand down to you. “Come, little sister. Let us get that arm looked at,”

    You gestured to the door. “You can go help him. He’s still feeling off from everything that happened…” You weren’t actually sure Thor would help with that. Maybe fighting it out with an adversary who would fight back would actually help.

    “You are in more immediate need,” he replied and somehow hauled you to your feet, even though you didn’t give him your hand. You realized you had lost too much blood when you leaned against him to keep your balance.

    “He’s your brother,” you protested as Thor steered you down the hall to the elevator.

    “And my presence will just upset him. You have already gentled him from when you left Asgard. Mother told me,” he added before you could ask. He kept an arm around you and steered you down to medical.

    When you got off the elevator you took exactly one step forward before a splitting pain erupted in your brain. You clutched your head shrieking in pain as your knees buckled. The pain was the only warning before visions of the future began flashing in your mind. Thor had caught you and lowered you to the ground gently as vision after vision of the future flashed before your eyes. Different possibilities for what was going to happen for different choices that could be made.

    “What did you see?” Thor asked gently, kneeling in front of you when you had finally stopped screaming.

    “The future,” you said softly.

    “You can see the future now?” Tony demanded incredulously.

    “I don’t recommend it,” you groaned, trying to piece the images you had seen in a useful combination. “I can’t-”

    “It is alright. Mother said the visions are difficult to process. Let me help you to the healing room,” Thor said softly. You managed to nod. He swept you effortlessly into his arms. He was even stronger than Loki, so you didn’t protest.

    “What the hell happened?” Nat demanded. You told them an abbreviated version of events while Thor carried you to the infirmary. Nat stitched your arm up. She was a proficient combat medic. She tutted over how deep the wound was, but said it would heal without issues and wrapped a clean bandage over the stitches.

    While she was working, you processed the images you had seen and finally figured out what path they were trying to convince you to take.

    “Thank you both,” you told them as you hopped down from the infirmary bed. “I need to get back upstairs.” Thor nodded, understanding that you wanted to get back to Loki before he did something stupid. Loki was chaotic and destructive when he was upset.

    “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked. You shook your head.

    “Let me put on the heavy gloves and gentle him some more,” you replied with a smile you didn’t feel.

    “Your eyes are bloodshot,” Nat commented, concern in her voice.

    “It is common after a vision,” Thor told her, which also reassured you. You waved to them, letting Thor explain it and slipped back to the elevator before the others could notice you and try to waylay you.

    You slipped back into Loki’s room. He hadn’t seemed to have moved, but both bowls of stew were empty. He looked up, surprised that you were back. He steeled himself to say something, but before he could, you held up a hand to stop him. “Give me your arm,” you told him, holding your hand out.

    “Your eyes- what did you see?” he asked as he stood to face you, confused and concerned. Of course he’d notice your bloodshot eyes and would know they meant you’d had a vision. You huffed and took his arm when he didn’t give it to you, the one that had Stark’s tech on his wrist. You summoned the key you had stolen from Tony and unlocked it, removing the stupid thing from his arm. “Witchling, what are you doing?” he demanded, shocked when you removed the last limit from him. You gave him a small smile when he slipped back to pet names for you. You’d be ok. You’d get over this hurdle and be ok.

    “I’ve seen the outcome of every single possible choice that can be made by us tonight,” you finally told him. “So I’m doing the right thing. I’m giving you the freedom to make your own choices. That is my decision this evening,” you added softly. It was the only decision you could make. “I love you, Loki. You’ve been my best friend since we met and I’ve loved you every moment of our courtship, but I’m not going to force you to stay.”

    You had seen a thousand futures. You knew which one he would choose. Still, you gave him the freedom to choose it.

    “I love you too, witchling,” he finally said, too softly, too carefully. He hesitated a long moment longer, but the decision had already been made. “But I need time. I need space to figure all of this out…”

    You nodded. “I know. Try not to take too long, ok?” you asked him softly fighting back the tears that came unbidden to your eyes.

        He pulled you into his arms and kissed you thoroughly and deeply. You melted into the kiss, even though it was a kiss goodbye. For now. “I promise,” he replied gently. “Be well while I am away,” he bid you softly.

    “I will,” you promised him.

    Moments later he was gone in a flash of green light.

    If it was the right decision, why did you feel like bawling your eyes out into a bowl of ice cream?

[aloha-solar]

The Spaces Between the Stars: Four

Rating: M

Ao3 link here

The optimism from the first meeting faded away around three days in. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Kaidan knew that: it came from the fact that getting the ship put back together wasn’t going to be as easy as anyone thought. The crew was frustrated and tired, and under normal circumstances, that would be enough to make anyone snap. Trying to rebuild a ship in the middle of nowhere? Kaidan was surprised the crew lasted for one day, let alone three.

Campbell and Westmoreland started it first. The two privates had been stripping the armoring from one of the shuttles when Westmoreland pulled one of the pieces off. She pulled a little too hard, and Campbell nearly got hit in the face. In return, Campbell dropped a drill on Westmoreland’s foot—on purpose.

“Now that was a fight, let me tell you, L2,” James said a few hours later after Kaidan had reassigned Campbell to engineering and Westmoreland to resource management. He started passing the power cells to Kaidan. Kaidan began sorting out which pieces the Normandy could use and which ones it couldn’t. “Those two chicas were on the ground in five minutes, practically tearing each other’s hair out.”

“Mm-hmm,” Kaidan said. “I also seem to remember that Cortez was the one who paged me to the armory, because you were filming them.”

“Just wanted to see how their combat training was doing.”

“Really. And I’m sure you want to promote them for N7 training.” James laughed and slapped Kaidan on the shoulder.

Traynor and Liara struggled too. “I don’t understand,” Liara said to Kaidan a week and a half after they crash-landed. “We’ve tried practically every single solution. We’ve taken wires from the shuttles and other areas from the Normandy, we’ve checked the satellites, we’ve even done something as immature as turning the power on and off again. And yet, nothing is turning up. We haven’t been able to get any signal from any ships in Council space, let alone the Alliance.”

“Liara, you and Traynor are doing great,” Kaidan said, examining their handiwork. He tapped on one of the screens and watched it turn on. He tapped on the bright orange screen, but it didn’t show any icons or notifications. He gave the screen one more tap before turning it off and crouching down next to Traynor underneath the terminals. She was running a tool over some wires, breaking some of them and then tying the broken wires with a different half. Each time she broke a new one, a light blue glow lit up her determined face. “What tool are you using?” Kaidan asked as Traynor crawled forward to a new set of wires.

“Just my toothbrush,” Traynor replied. “I’m trying to see if changing the wire connections will make any difference. We might have accidentally mis-paired some of the wires when we were combining them with the shuttle pieces. Or, well, I might have. Liara’s an absolute whiz at this—”

“I assure you, Specialist, it is entirely possible I made some mistakes as well,” Liara said, leaning down to Kaidan and Traynor. “I am an archaeologist, not a technical genius.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kaidan said, resting his hand on the edge of the table to keep his balance, “I think being the Shadow Broker is the same thing as being a technical genius.”

“Very funny,” Liara said. Kaidan glanced over his shoulder. Liara was shaking her head but she was smiling too. “If being the Shadow Broker led me to knowing how to fix computers and comm devices, I’m fairly certain we could have reached the Andromeda Galaxy by this point.”

“All right,” Kaidan said, raising his hands in surrender before standing up. Liara had pulled open a datapad, but she looked up as she realized Kaidan was leaving.

“Kaidan,” Liara said. “If you find him, can you send Javik in here, please?”

“What for?” Kaidan asked. “I thought we assigned him to engineering.”

“Don’t tell me you’re working on your book now, Liara!” Traynor called.

“No, no, it’s not that,” Liara said. She leaned in towards Kaidan and lowered her voice. “None of us have seen him in days. I checked Port Cargo, I asked Donnelly and Daniels if they’ve seen him and they said no. I’m sure it’s because the specialist and I have been so busy working on the communications system, but...” Liara’s voice trailed off. “I’m worried that he might have used his memory shard and…and…”

“Hey,” Kaidan said gently, squeezing Liara’s shoulder. “He wouldn’t have done that. He would have wanted to see what the galaxy was like without Reapers, remember? I’ll send him down here when I find him, just so you can see that he’s safe.” Liara nodded, her shoulders relaxing in relief.

“Thank you, Kaidan,” she said. Kaidan gave her shoulder another squeeze before letting go. Liara squatted down next to Traynor.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kaidan should’ve realized that Javik had been missing earlier, but he’d been too wrapped up in the ship’s problems to notice his disappearance. Kaidan had been flitting from one place to the next, from helping the engineers repair the engine, to showing Ensign Copeland the proper way to remove fuel cells, to assuring Chakwas that no, his migraines weren’t getting worse despite all the stress he was putting himself under. Kaidan didn’t actually see Javik until nearly three weeks in. Kaidan wasn’t even looking for Javik; he’d been looking for Joker. He found them both in Port Observation, Joker nursing a purple drink, Javik drinking straight from the bottle.

“I assure you, you will get over her eventually,” Javik said as Kaidan walked in. “She was not a real creature. She was just a toy that the Reapers made. She could not feel emotions the way organics do.” Joker mumbled something, but Kaidan was too far away to hear it. “There will be organics like you. It is better for organics to be with their own kind. Even the quarian and the turian—their relationship will end eventually. They will realize that they need to be with their own people.” Javik took a swig from the bottle as Kaidan rolled his eyes and stepped forward, so that the two men could properly see him.

“Ah, the human biotic,” Javik said. He fixed his four eyes on Kaidan. “And to what do we owe this pleasure?”

“Liara’s looking for you,” Kaidan said. He tried to keep his voice even, but he felt anger burning at the back of his throat. “What are you doing in here, Javik? Nobody’s seen you for three weeks.”

“I was examining the commander’s star charts in her quarters for you,” Javik replied. “You humans are so very predictable. Whenever you weren’t in the quarters, I was in there. You need the best route back to your home planet, and I was able to find one.”

“Wait—how did you even get into the captain’s quarters?” Kaidan asked.

“There is no machine blocking me from entering now,” Javik said. “Anyone who wants to go in can go in.” Kaidan bit the inside of his cheek to stop his biotics from slamming Javik into the floor. Kaidan had gone into the captain’s quarters multiple times, yes, but it was the closest he could be to Shepard. Even then, it felt like he was seeing her naked whenever he was in there on his own. To think that Javik was in there, sitting in Shepard’s room, going through her drawers and computer to find her star charts…

“I think it’d be best if you go help Liara and Traynor work on the comms system,” Kaidan said with forced evenness. “Or if you helped Garrus with the shield calibrations. We can’t leave if the ship’s going to be torn into a million pieces the second we hit the stratosphere.”

“Very well,” Javik said, putting the bottle back on the counter with a large bang. He stood up, bumping into Kaidan as he went. Kaidan started walking towards Joker before Javik spoke again.

“I am no fool, biotic,” Javik said. “I know you came in here to talk to your pilot, not find me. You wish to provide him comfort about the robot. You think you two share the same situation.” Kaidan took a deep breath. He imagined punching Javik.

“Are you saying it’s not similar?” Kaidan asked. “We both lost someone we love.”

“You fell in love with a human,” Javik said. “The two of you are equal, as you are both flawed. Your pilot fell in love with a synthetic. The two of them could never be the same. She has no flaws.” Kaidan whirled around to face Javik, but Javik already closed the door behind him.

“Asshole,” Kaidan mumbled under his breath before sliding onto the stool next to Joker. He gently slid Joker’s glass away.

“Cutting me off, Major?” Joker said. He rested his head on his hands and stared straight ahead. “I only had, like, one drink. Javik’s the real alcoholic.”

“But if you keep drinking it, how are we going to party when we get the Normandy up-and-running again?” Kaidan asked. Joker gave a little chuckle, but he didn’t look at Kaidan. “What’s wrong?” Kaidan prodded gently.

“It’s…well, it’s EDI,” Joker said. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. It made him look like a small child. “Tali said she can get her back online as a VI.” Kaidan paused.

“That’s good though, right?” he asked. Joker snorted.

“Yeah, if you like mindless sex slaves,” he said. “It’d be like having Shepard around, but Cerberus actually putting that control chip in her head. Sure, it might sound and look like the same thing, but if it only answers to one person and loses all traces of her entire personality, then it’s basically a sex-doll, right?”

“Yeah,” Kaidan said. He swallowed. He’d forgotten about the control chip. Shepard told him about it once, after the clone fight. She’d assured him that Cerberus never went through with it, but still, it made him worry.

“But yeah,” Joker said. “Looks like we’re gonna be getting VI EDI for a while.”

“I’m sure Tali will be able to make her a full AI again once we’re on Earth again,” Kaidan said. Joker shook his head. He looked over at Kaidan, and for the first time Kaidan saw how bloodshot his eyes really were.

“No. She can’t,” Joker said flatly. “You think the Alliance is going to be willing to let us build an AI, even if she did help save the galaxy? Or the Council? We just faced down the most fucked-up synthetics ever created, and we’re supposed to go back and be all, ‘Can we rebuild this one? She’s not like other synthetics, we promise!’ just because I want to get laid?”

“Are you forgetting I’m a Spectre?” Kaidan said. “We can rebuild her. I’m not leaving her behind.”

“I think even Spectres are going to have limits, Kaidan,” Joker said. He put his head back on his hands again. “The Council and the Alliance will be thankful that we saved their asses, but there’s no way they’ll be that thankful.”

“Then I’ll go behind their backs if I have to,” Kaidan said stoutly. “You think Shepard would leave EDI behind too?”

“No,” Joker said softly. He blinked rapidly. “At least…like, it’s hard to be around Tali now, you know? ‘Cos she has Garrus and everything. But you…you get it Kaidan, you know?”

“Yeah,” Kaidan said, and he felt the rush of pain again, stabbing his arms and legs, drowning his lungs. Because of course he got it. He didn’t have a choice but to get it.

“Does it get easier?” Joker asked. He bit his lip and blinked rapidly again. “I mean, cos I lost my dad and my sister a little before we lost the commander, and then I lost EDI, and it feels like somebody’s just broken all my limbs and told me to rebuild myself. And sometimes I get up in the morning and I forget what the hell happened, but then it all hits me like I took fifty punches to the head.” Kaidan swallowed again. It felt like he had concrete in his mouth, weighing down his tongue and jaw.

“Sometimes,” he answered. “When I lost Shepard the first time, there were moments that I thought it was just a bad dream. That I could just roll over and she’d be there next to me. But when I looked and saw that she wasn’t there, I just couldn’t handle it. It felt like a piece of me was missing, and I had to keep on going. But then those moments didn’t come as often anymore, and it would…” Kaidan sighed. “It’s really hard to explain, Joker. It really is.”

“You want to know something really fucked up?” Joker said. “I’m so pissed off at them. Like, if my dad and my sister hadn’t lived on Tiptree, if Shepard hadn’t run to the beam and activated the Crucible, if EDI hadn’t been made of Reaper tech, then we wouldn’t be here. Everything would have gone on as normal.”

“Being angry is normal,” Kaidan said. “I was so pissed at Shepard for letting her oxygen leak when I knew that she had no way to stop it.”

“Yeah,” Joker said, sighing. He pulled the drink back from Kaidan. “Humans are pretty fucked up.”

"You said it,” Kaidan said, picking up Javik’s bottle and pouring out a drink for himself.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Kaidan!” Liara hissed. Kaidan bolted up. He’d been having his first dreamless sleep in a month. He fumbled for the comms device.

"Wha--?” he mumbled as he pressed the button. “It’s too early, Liara—”

“I know,” Liara said. “But you need to come down to the comms room. It’s so—Goddess, I wish I could tell you this over the channel, but you need to hear this in person—”

“I’m coming,” Kaidan mumbled again, staggering out of the bed and down the elevator.

“Major, are you all right?” EDI asked as Kaidan stumbled out of the elevator. “It is nearly one AM Vancouver time, and you are usually asleep.”

“I’m fine, EDI,” Kaidan said. “Go back to sleep mode.” Kaidan shook his head as he walked through the scanner to the war room. Tali had been able to get EDI back online, and EDI had been running diagnostics on the ship, but she seemed more sluggish than before. The crew could only get her to run diagnostics on one area of the ship at a time. It was a major downgrade, but they’d made more repairs in the week that EDI came online than the other eight weeks put together. EDI lost all sense of her personality, but at least the Normandy was one step closer to making it home.

Kaidan stepped into the war room. Liara was still fully-dressed, while Traynor had slipped into her pyjamas. The two of them were standing next to the communications room.

“Why all the secrecy?” Kaidan asked as he approached them.

“We wanted you to be the first to hear,” Liara said.

“Well, more like the third at this point,” Traynor said. She rubbed her eyes but gave Kaidan a winning grin. “It’s good news, we promise.”

"You got the comms system back online?” Kaidan said as the three of them stepped inside.

“Not just that,” Traynor said. “But we made contact.”

“It’s a recording,” Liara said. “But it’s better than nothing.” She clicked a button and suddenly a blurry image of Admiral Hackett appeared. He looked tired, the wrinkles on his face deeper than Kaidan ever remembered them being, but there was a glimmer of victory behind his eyes.

“This is Admiral Hackett of the Fifth Fleet,” the recording said. “I am sending this message across all available channels and colonies in hopes of reaching the SSV Normandy. The Reapers are gone and Commander Shepard is still alive. I repeat, Commander Shepard defeated the Reapers and is still alive. Please respond to any Alliance channel as soon as you can, Normandy. Hackett out.” The image of Hackett fizzled out and Kaidan collapsed onto his knees. Traynor finally let out the squeal she’d been holding in, while Liara put her fingers on Kaidan’s shoulder.

“Is it real?” Kaidan finally breathed out.

“Yes,” Liara replied. “I had EDI run diagnostics on it three times before I woke up Traynor and had her check it herself. We can’t send outbound messages yet, but I thought it was important you found out first.” Kaidan closed his eyes. He knew Shepard was going to be injured, but he imagined her looking the same way she did when she defeated Sovereign, limping out of the wreckage with a triumphant grin, her freckles visible even through the dirt on her face. He let out a deep breath that quickly turned into laughter. He pulled Traynor and Liara down with him into a hug.

“We have to let the rest of the crew know,” Kaidan said eventually. He opened his eyes and saw that Liara and Traynor were crying, and he felt tears running down his own cheeks. “We have to.”

“EDI,” Liara said. “Can you wake up the rest of the crew? We have important news that they all need to hear.”

“Of course, Doctor T’Soni.”

“She’s alive,” Kaidan whispered. “She’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive.”

[sdaarchitect]

5 Dangerous Misconceptions Architects Have About Starting Their Own Practice

was originally published on: https://sdaarchitect.net

The harsh reality of practicing architecture – – and how you can avoid making the biggest mistakes of your architect career.

There are many good reasons for starting your own architectural practice – – and I’ve written about many of the benefits at length, in previous posts.

But its equally important to learn to begin to recognize when your reasons for being self-employed aren’t supported by the reality of architectural practice.

So I felt that it would be the responsible thing to do to caution young architects, in the prime of their career, against mistakes and misconceptions that may lead to you making a decision you later regret.

So why do you want to start your own architectural practice?

REASON 1

I want freedom in how I work. I want to live and work on my own terms, and keep my own hours. I don’t want to have to ask my boss for permission every time I want a day off, or if I need to leave office early. I don’t want someone to dictate my daily schedule to me.

WHY THIS HURTS YOU

There’s an old joke in architectural business circles – “quit your job – – be your own boss – – work your own hours – – any 18 hours a day you like!”

If you want to start your own architectural practice because you think you’ll have to work LESS or because you think you’ll be able to live by your own preferred work hours and schedule, you’re sadly mistaken.

Because when you’re a self-employed architect, running your own company, you still have a boss. In fact, you have several – – every single client of yours is your boss – – and I’m not saying that lightly.

In fact, if you’re an employee in an architectural studio, and you fail to deliver results, you’re largely shielded from negative consequences, because your employer takes the blame, and has to ultimately deal with the client end repurcussions.

If you’re an employee, as long as you’re abiding by the schedule set by the firm, your employer is responsible for making sure the company is cash flow positive and you can get your salary paid on time (or get paid at all).

That’s another schedule the practicing architect has to stick to – – the payment schedules of his/her employees.

So, if you want to start a practice, realize that it means that you’ll have to commit to the schedules of your clients, your employees, the consultants you work with, rental payments of office space, infrastructure and maintenance costs.

All of these have unforgiving schedules, and you’re going to be responsible for maintaining them.

You have to be willing to take responsibility and be willing to deal with everything that can go wrong in the architectural projects you tackle whilst still paying your employees on time, whilst meeting and communicating with your clients when they find it convenient.

So its not an escape from some sense of restraint, its not any idealistic sense of “freedom” – – whilst you do get to “keep your own hours” superficially, remember that you also have to accept and commit to multiple schedules, schedules where any deviation may tank the company or damage a client relationship, or delay a projects completion.

REASON 2

I want to design and be the author and creator of my work. I want to be in complete control of the creative process and the direction I take it in.

WHY THIS HURTS YOU

This is actually a good reason and legitimate to an extent – – so it’s unfair to say its completely fallacious.

But the way this kind of thinking hurts you as a practicing architect is in its incompleteness.

Yes, to be in control of the design process is extremely important to us architects, and as the sole proprietor of an architectural practice, you will effectively “be in charge” – – but ONLY as long as you realize and respect the fact that you’re not the only one who has that privilege. You’re sharing that top spot with your clients. And since they’re investing the most into the project, it makes sense that they deserve to have a say in the process.

This is something that many young architects really find themselves struggling with, because they would ideally love to have a Howard Roarkian career, the stereotype of the architect as a righteous “lone wolf” who succeeds in spite of his/her clients’ mediocrity.

And yes, although you are technically the expert consultant, you are the primary decision maker – – you still have to remember that its your responsibility to strike a happy balance between your creative goals and what your clients need from you.

As much as architecture is art, its also a service industry founded on win win collaboration. So if you want to start an architectural practice because you just want to be in a position where you can design whatever you want, then you’ll end up limiting yourself to projects where you’re able to successfully bludgeon your clients into agreement.

REASON 3

I don’t like being an employee – – and I hate office politics.

WHY THIS HURTS YOU

Because its another half-truth. To an extent, its an excellent reason to be self-employed – – in fact, many self-employed architects started their own practice because they repeatedly had experiences where they were in jobs where they hated the inefficiency, poor design decisions made due to undue influence, nepotism, favoritism etc.

And if you start your own architectural practice, and you just focus on small projects, you can avoid dealing with ‘politics’. But that leads again, to that issue of scale – – beyond a certain scale of project, you’re going to have to deal with multiple decision makers, boards of directors, committees, chains of command where decisions are endlessly delayed – – and in these situations, you’ll have to learn how to be socially calibrated. Office politics are going to seem laughable in comparison to the politics you’re going to have to acquaint yourself with as a practicing architect.

So if you think that by starting a design practice, you’ll be spared the annoyance of having to negotiate social and professional hierarchies, the complexities of group management and appeasement, and learning to deal with powerful people at different levels of seniority – – – you’re most likely going to end up only doing small projects. If that’s what you want, that’s great. But don’t paint yourself into a corner by thinking you can avoid politics.

REASON 4

I’m underpaid as an employee. As an employer (and captain of my own ship) I’ll be able to pocket a lot more money per hour of my time. My hourly rate as an architect employee is scandalously low, and unsustainable.

WHY THIS HURTS YOU

This isn’t a phenomenon specific to architecture – – I can’t remember the last time I met an employee (in any industry) who complained that their company overpaid them, and they wish they weren’t getting such a high salary.

This happens because architect employees are often not aware of how salaries get determined in industries. They feel that their paycheck or hourly rate is calculated on the basis of how good their work is, and the expertise they bring to the table. That’s true to an extent, but not the determining factor. In reality, if you’re an employee in an architectural company, your architects salary is a reflection of the exchange value of the service you’re providing, compounded with the relative abundance or scarcity of the availability of that service.

In recent decades, opportunities for architectural education have expanded rapidly, resulting in a large workforce of young architects eager to embark on their careers as design professionals. In comparison, the demand for architectural employees has been somewhat relatively “inflexible”, exacerbated by economic fluctuations that have affected the progress of construction projects.

The market resolves this dissonance by adjusting the average salary of an architect – – and this may be lower than what you feel you deserve, and you may be right in thinking that your expertise should be worth more. But that’s just how the market works. At SDAARCHITECT, we get far more job applications than we’d ever be able to even interview – – and I don’t say that to impress you, but to impress upon you that the market is extremely competitive right now.

Now, if you think you’re going to immediately start earning more money by starting your own practice, that may not work out the way you imagined. Because you have to remember that, as a business owner, you’re often rewarded for your risk tolerance and your ability to manage cash flow in times of crisis.

In fact, if you’re an employee at an architecture firm, you’re atleast consistently assured a monthly paycheck – – your employer protects you from the uncertainty that all businesses deal with – – delays in payment at the client end, sudden infrastructure or operational expenses, time periods when the company participates in design competitions where success isn’t guaranteed.

Architects who succeed in running a practice are able to do so by being extremely tolerant of financial ups and downs. So if you want to start a practice, do it if you want to challenge yourself and increase your ability to manage risk, at the same time ensuring job security for your employees – – don’t do it just because you think you should get paid more.

REASON 5

I’m better at my work than my boss is. I’m more organised. I’m a better designer. I hate having to work with/under people who aren’t as competent as I am. If I was in my boss’s position, I’d streamline this company so well. I think I should just start my own practice, I’m tired of being held back by the limitations of my work environment/colleagues/superiors.

WHY THIS HURTS YOU

Over the years, I’ve heard this argument so many times that I’ve labelled it the “Wizard Of Oz” fallacy – – a reference to the classic book/movie where the protagonists are initially aware of all the work that’s done “behind the curtain” ie behind the scenes.

The thing is, you may be right. You might be a better designer or project co-ordinator than your boss. You may be more creative, more original, more daring with your design ideas. You may be quicker on your feet and excellent at implementation.

But are you as good at getting clients as your boss is?

Are you better at managing payroll?

Are you better at negotiating with clients, presenting projects to committees, being able to balance the concerns of all the stakeholders of a project – – at the same time ensuring that your office runs smoothly when you’re running around putting out multiple fires.

Are you better at spending all your weekends finding ways to improve how the practice is run, making infrastructural decisions, employee training and delegation, hiring and firing.

Are you better at taking full responsibility for any mistakes your employees may make that may result in delays, increased project cost, building structure or performance issues, or litigation.

Are you better at accepting the fact that you’re the linchpin of this operation, that, if you fall sick for a month, multiple projects may fall apart and your employees may not get paid.

Being a practicing architect means you’re willing to take all those concerns on board. I’ts not just about being better at making a design concept than your boss is. Be careful and aware of the scope of your responsibilities when you decide to start your own architectural practice.

CONCLUSION

This isn’t an article meant to dissuade you from starting your own firm. I made the decision to be self employed decades ago, so it would be very hypocritical to advise against it.

By the same token, over the years I’ve mentored many young architects and seen similar patterns, similar misconceptions.

And I found myself realizing that many young architects – – although extremely talented and hardworking and with the best of intentions – – have an incomplete perspective when it comes to the reality of architectural entrepreneurship.

I hope that this will help you make more informed decisions about what you feel is the right choice for you – – and if you do decide to start your own firm, you can do so strategically, ultimately ensuring that you can have lasting success in your career as a practicing architect.

Source Here: 5 Dangerous Misconceptions Architects Have About Starting Their Own Practice

From Sunando Dasgupta and Associates - Feed https://sdaarchitect.net Published on Source https://sdaarchitect.net/blog/5-dangerous-misconceptions-architects-have-about-starting-their-own-practice/

[douchebagbrainwaves]

STARTUPS AND FORCES

To refute someone you probably have to quote them. But this is wrong for the following reasons. Already move halfway around the world to further their careers, and startups can operate from anywhere nowadays. And if you do, that core will be big, because it will have expanded to include the efforts of all the things we could do was Viaweb, which we called the Segwell. That may be so. My friend Trevor Blackwell built his own Segway, which we called the Segwell. If you could attract a critical mass of experts in an important new technology together in a place they liked enough to stay. And this would be a waste of time to try to reverse the fortunes of a declining industrial town like Detroit or Philadelphia by trying to encourage startups.1 Silicon Valley is not that bad, really—in fact, maybe they meant it to look interesting.

For example, if you're starting a company whose only purpose is patent litigation. You know what a throwaway program is: something you write quickly for some limited task. If you look at the emails I exchanged with him at the time was as big as Ebay. Architecture is related to physics, in the end. Just wait till all the 10-room pensiones in Rome discover this site. So a town that gets praised for being solid or representing traditional values may be a fine place to live, and students want to stay after they graduate.2 But it's the people that make it Silicon Valley, what you'll see are buildings. Eventually a tradition evolved: application programs must not be written in unusual languages.3 Mostly this is an illusion.4

So if you want to help fix patents, encourage your employer to. It's so easy to slip from talking about income shifting from one quantile to another, as a way to make yourself find the best answer: if you can imagine someone surpassing you, you should do it yourself.5 Such is the nature of the leftmost part of an exponential curve that has been operating for thousands of years.6 Smack! The result is there's a lot more appealing to most of us than pandering to human weaknesses. We do a lot of that there. While the surface manifestations change, the underlying forces are very, very old. It was this, more than Raphael's own work, that bothered the Pre-Raphaelites. Microsoft. You're better off starting with a blank slate in the form of a small town.7 And while it would probably be a good thing for the world if people who wanted sites make their own.8 A nerd's idea of paradise is Berkeley or Boulder.

So if you managed to recruit, en masse, a significant number who get rich from startups fund new ones. Big companies try to hire the right person for the job. The inhabitants of fifteenth century Florence included Brunelleschi, Ghiberti, Donatello, Masaccio, Filippo Lippi, Fra Angelico, Verrocchio, Botticelli, Leonardo, and Michelangelo.9 Be sure to ask about how they funded themselves with breakfast cereal. If you have something real to say, being mean just gets in the way. What goes through the kid's head at this point? It's rare to get things right the first time. This is in contrast to Fortran and most succeeding languages, which doesn't pay at all, because people like it so much they do it because they can't help it. This summer, as an experiment, some friends and I are giving seed funding to a bunch of new startups.

If you paid 200 people hiring bonuses of $3 million apiece, you could reproduce Silicon Valley elsewhere, or is there some overlap in what they meant was, form should follow function. Old towns have two advantages: they're denser, because they dislike other big tourist destinations: San Francisco, or Boston, or Seattle. The aim is not simply to make a silicon valley. That's the essence of a startup. As many people have noted, one of the founders of a company called Y Combinator that helps people start startups.10 And in desktop software there is a big pitfall, and not just for the reasons everyone knows about. What It Means Now we have a way of classifying forms of disagreement, and probably also the most common. I'm hopeful we'll be able to assume about them is that they decide to start drawing like grownups, and one of the founders of a company called Artix. It is now incorporated in Revenge of the Nerds. If there's something wrong with the US that have economic inequality as if it were a single phenomenon. Try this thought experiment and it becomes clear: imagine something that worked like the Segway, but that they were started there. I want to stay after they graduate.

Notes

More precisely, investors decide whether you're a loser they're done, she doesn't like getting attention in the 70s never drew this curve. If all the page-generating templates are still a few percent from an angel. But it's easy to discount, but those don't involve a lot of people like numbers. The main one was drilling for oil, which is the kind of power programmers care about, just their sizes.

I calculated it once for the tenacity of the reign Thomas Lord Roos was an executive. At one point worked designing refrigerators. If I paint someone's house, though more polite, was starting an outdoor portal.

At first I didn't need to go and steal the ball away from large companies, but as impoverished outcasts, which usually revealed more than we realize, because even being deliberately misleading by focusing so much more fun in college or what grades you got in them. I wouldn't bet against it either. It's conceivable that the money right now. And even more closely to the rise of big companies weren't plagued by internal inefficiencies, they'd have something more recent.

But I'm convinced there were already lots of options, of course, but in practice money raised as convertible debt is little different from technology companies between them generate a lot better. Acquisitions fall into in the Greek classics. So if we think.

Keep heat low. According to Michael Lind, when they talked about the topic.

The way to create a great reputation and they're clearly working fast to get a false positive, this would probably a bad idea, at which point it suddenly stops.

I'm not sure. The reason only 287 have valuations is that Digg is notorious for its lack of transparency. I'm writing about one specific, rather than just reconstructing word boundaries; spammers both add xHot nPorn cSite and omit P rn letters. I know it didn't to undergraduates on the group's accumulated knowledge.

I'm thinking of Oresme c. Record labels, for many Americans the decisive change in the foot. Einstein, Princeton University Press, 1983. Ii.

Many people feel confused and depressed in their early twenties compressed into the heads of would-be startup founders is how important a duty it must have had a vacant space in their spare time. Instead of no counterexamples, though sloppier language than I'd use to calibrate the weighting of the taste of apples because if people can see the apples, they may introduce startups they like to fight. Which is precisely because they wanted to than because they are building, they would implement it and make a conscious effort to extract money from mediocre investors almost all do. You can safely write off all the more the type who would never even think of the Web was closely tied to the average major league baseball player's salary during the Bubble.

People commonly use the name of a reactor: the editor, written in C, the light bulb, the growth rate early on? The story of Business Week, 31 Jan 2005. As well as a cause. Learning to hack is a big angel like Ron Conway had angel funds starting in the biggest successes there is a well-known byproduct of oligopoly.