#if I post enough snippets of this

[iwillkeepfighting]

Leo wakes up to the smell of shampoo, his face pressed into a soft head of hair, arms wrapped around a warm body with no shell. Casey, a dim memory suggests, and oh yeah, that was the name of their new human.

[hijinks-n-lowjinks]

teaser for my itafushi fic…………. 👀

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday

it's Tuesday somewhere so starting it off early lol

after 7x09 I had like 4 new ideas (plus maaaany more non-episode related ideas, istg lately there's so many, I don't know what to focus on lol my brain feels loud, and I feel like I'm writing a hundred things at once, I've been a chaotic mess this month istg) but for now im trying to focus on this one fic, and trying to finish whatever this is before the next episode

for now, here's a bit of bucktommy at the medal ceremony after the encounter with gerrard

___

He could punch Gerrard in the face. He really wants to, and if it was a couple years ago, he probably would – but he’s at a work event, the guy is a Captain, unfortunately, and Buck just got a medal, he’s not risking his job right now. He’s not the same impulsive kid he was seven years ago. He’s heard enough stories from Chimney and Hen, and recently some vague ones from Tommy, to know that he hates their old Cap. Tommy seems to want to open up to Buck, to let Buck truly know him, but talking about that past, about himself back then, about the whole environment is not easy, and Buck gets that. They have time to get to know each other, neither of them is going anywhere. Buck’s certainly not planning to, and when Tommy says he isn’t, either, Buck finds himself trusting him, which is very new but so exciting.

“It’s- well, it was to be expected.” Tommy shrugs, his face a careful, neutral mask that Buck’s just starting to learn to see past, then sits down when they approach the table, putting his plate down – they’re sharing it with Eddie, Marisol and Christopher, but the three of them are still at the buffet getting food. Buck takes a seat next to him, then scoots his chair closer – close enough that their knees touch, but far enough that they still appear professional. “It just threw me off. Actually, threw me twenty years back for a moment.” he huffs an unamused, bitter laugh.

___

no pressure tags: @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @diazpatcher @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @bidisasterevankinard @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @exhuastedpigeon @underwaterninja13 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @your-catfish-friend @dangerpronebuddie @neverevan @loveyouanyway @tizniz @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples

[2500ji]

alright, that’s it.

i’m sick of seeing hate against people who don’t read the project sekai stories. this fandom has a lot of problems and this collective hatred of anyone who doesn’t dedicate hours upon hours to read the stories is one of them.

first of all, the event stories are fucking long.

each episode can be anywhere from 15-30 minutes if read as the game intends (with auto on). multiply this by 8, and you’re talking possibly 2-4 hours PER EVENT. this doesn’t even account for mixed events, which have 2 extra episodes.

not to mention, there are 137 events on the japanese server (and 101 on the english server) at the time i am writing this. 3 hours average times 137 events equals a total of 411 hours. that is 2 and a half weeks of solid content. to say that’s daunting for people who started playing the game any sizable amount of time since its release is a massive understatement.

not to mention, the events, if viewed in-game, take a massive amount of storage space. not everyone’s device can handle the insane amount of space needed for this game’s events (even moreso if you plan to listen to the voices)

not everyone plays the game for the events, and they’re NOT needed to enjoy the characters.

i get it. if someone who hasn’t read the events is trying to have in-depth analyses of the characters or the groups, they’re bound to mischaracterize. the thing is, nobody’s really doing that.

not everyone downloaded the game because they wanted to read 400 hours of stories. yes, they are a fundamental part of the game. i’m not trying to deny that. however, so is the rhythm game. i don’t see any hate towards people who hardly touch the shows. because they’re not for everyone.

you should be able to talk about, write fics for, and roleplay as the characters without needing to read the stories. yes, people may mischaracterize. but reading the stories doesn’t make you exempt to that either. i’ve read fics from people who read every story for the group the fics were about that still managed to get so much wrong.

the events can be serious triggers.

i’m a HUGE niigo fan. i buy nightcord merchandise, i’ve played almost all their songs, and i love the characters. i have not read a single solely-niigo event. you know why? because they are extremely triggering for me — the most blatant example being the most recent event on ensekai; “farewell, my mask.”

project sekai’s stories are beautiful. but if one’s writing is always light-hearted, it will not touch people as dearly. (i mean, for christ’s sake, No Seek No Find revolves around this exact statement.)

and project sekai is no exception — their stories unapologetically dive into extremely heavy topics, including but not limited to emotional abuse, grief/loss, and being hospitalized. reading the nightcord stories as people have tried to genuinely harass me into doing would result in some extremely bad feelings.

and i’m not the only one — many people i know, some who have even reblogged and expressed agreement with posts hating on those who don’t read the stories, have shared my sentiment. you cannot insist people read the stories like i’ve seen many people do, because you have no clue what might trigger someone.

what should we do, then?

first of all, build up some tolerance. not everyone is going to read the stories, and some people may mischaracterize the characters. did someone make a character analysis that ignored a big aspect of a character? scroll past the post. did someone write a fic making a character say and do things they usually wouldn’t? hit the backspace button.

second of all, try to be open-minded to the opinions of people who haven’t read the stories. maybe they get their content through the commission song lyrics, or maybe they diligently read the area conversations. or maybe they don’t! maybe they just want to talk about their fave.

if someone’s misinterpretation is genuinely harmful or bigoted, call out the harm and bigotry. that person who called ena an abusive sister despite akito acting similarly? call out the misogyny. this goes for any harmful interpretation of a character or group.

and finally, try to have some fun. this is a game. we’re all fans. if you do nothing but perpetuate hatred, nobody’s gonna wanna play toys with you.

[amethystpath-writes]

To Traitors

NOT A PR0MPT

******

"The general wants to send me to your homeland."

"For war?"

Villain hummed. "We knew it was coming."

"Of course." Hero shook her head and pushed a shirt further into the bucket of water. She bent it and twisted it and shoved it again. "How did she react when you told her 'no'?"

That was the thing; Villain didn't deny the general. No one denied the general.

Hero picked up on the silence. She always did. “Where does that leave us?”

A choice.

War?

Or her?

“You know this decision is not mine.”

"Sure, it is. I always wanted to travel- try camping."

Camping. Hero knew rejecting orders would be considered traitorous. She would rather be homeless and shunned than to standby while her homeland was being attacked.

"Hero..."

"Is that something you are not willing to do?" Her movements became rushed, like she was trying to maintain a calm, but the only way to do so was to move along with the emotions. She grabbed a shirt, dunked it, rung it, tossed it. Grab, dunk, ring. Grab, dunk, ring. They weren't even becoming clean, and the water needed changed. "My family is there. Where are they meant to go?"

"Even if I did tell the general no, I cannot stop an entire army from marching. The war will happen with or without me."

A sigh veiled the tension in the room. Villain's weight creaked beneath him as he stepped towards his lover. He took a linen shirt, wet and soaked, from her hands, and dropped it in the brown water. He found her hands next, then tugged her up slightly. She took the cue and stood, let herself be held.

"I love you," Villain said.

Hero didn't like crying. This is why Villain began rubbing her back as he pulled her into an embrace. She buried her face into his chest and sniffed once, twice...wiped a face full of tears, sniffed again...stopped, then began sobbing. No amount of squeezing could console the thought of her family being innocently slaughtered.

"You would hide them, wouldn't you? If you found them, you would save them?"

His grip loosened. He whispered, “Of course I would.” Did Hero know it might have been a lie? Even Villain wasn't sure what he would do when the time came that he marched onto her homeland.

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

"Then I'm leaving now." She attempted to pull away from Villain's chest, but he held her firmly. Her muscles tensed beneath him, but Villain knew she knew better than to try again.

"Hero, be level-headed.

"I want to warn them," she whispered, so quietly that Villain only knew what she said because of how well he knew her. He knew her every thought before she even had it herself. It wasn't magic; just love.

"And you think you will outrun an entire army overnight?"

"I know I won't!" her tone had changed, and this time when she pulled away, she didn't stop until Villain let her go. "But who am I to not try at all? Who would I be, Villain?" Her face was red and swollen, glistening with sad, then angry tears.

For a moment, she stopped. She took a breath. then swallowed as if she needed to stop herself from asking what obviously came to her mind. Alas, she said it. "How long have you known?" Her voice cracked, and Villain could see she already knew the answer: longer than he should have known before telling her.

"I'm sorry."

"I didn't ask for an apology." Her eyes refused to meet his. Villain was almost glad for it. He couldn't bear her anger, not when it was directed at him. "I asked how long you have known."

"Hero..."

"Clean your own damn clothes. I'll pay the Baker family back when I return."

"Pay them back? For w-" No. "You're not taking their horse." Hero was already scrounging around, first grabbing a raggedy sack, then stuffing one random item after another in. "Hero, stop. Hero-" She was going to take the neighbor's horse just to get caught up in the war herself. "Stop!"

She fell to her knees in the next moment. Broke down as if his voice took out the last support beam keeping the house together. hero cried, screamed, and wailed. "No. No. No. No. No," she repeated, and her voice broke time and time again as she screamed.

Tears sprung into Villain's eyes. What did he do?

"I'll send a bird. It will arrive before our army does, and when they receive it, they will know to leave."

Hero's head lifted, and her puffy eyes finally met Villain's glistening ones. "I will prepare beds. We have pelts; I can throw something together, and my brother can take-"

One blow after another, each and every passing moment. Just when Villain thought all might be well, the both of them realized there was no saving anyone. The war was an ambush, and Hero's brother would be expected to take a stand, to protect his own homeland.

"I won't-" Villain swallowed. "I won't harm your family. I will send the bird, and I will pray with every moment of travel that they receive it and leave. I will not draw my sword until I find their home empty, until I am sure they have left."

"You would be a traitor to your own kingdom."

"Better it this kingdom than you."

[azol-otl]

a random prompt for you—perhaps something with a vampire keeping their human lover well fed, w/ maybe jaydick? jaytim? i am not actually picky about the ship shskjdk

the reverse of this would be interesting too!

Not gonna lie I have two ideas on where this can go and both are way different tones lol. The first one though, that's gonna be vampire Jason and human Dick, involving eternal Jaybin playing Dick like a fiddle.

"Diiiickie," echoes the sing song tone. Dick swallows heavily, lunch still sitting like a rock in his stomach. Jason had found out about him skipping meals while on a case, and just like every time before he took it upon himself to make sure that Dick fed sufficiently. That wasn't the problem. Dick actually thought it was really cute how bent out of shape Jason would get about Dick's abysmal track record in keeping himself fed when he was focused on a case. His cheeks would puff up and he'd give a scowl that he knows was meant to be threatening but came off as adorable instead. He'd break into Dick's place and by the time Dick woke up there'd be a delicious smelling spread on the table and a smug Jason trying his best at hiding how eager he was to see how Dick would react to the food. Like he really needed to worry, it was always delicious. It wasn't even the fact that Jason got all intense about Dick eating because he's like that with everyone. Like the...incident had shifted some wires in his brain and food kicked it's way to the top. And as someone who couldn't eat anymore...well that left other avenues. "There you are!" Dick turned sharply and he knew he was a goner, Jason had his scent and there was no way Dick would be outrunning him in his state. With a literal pep in his step Jason walked over to Dick, black curls bouncing in youthful joy and a sharp grin on his face. He had with him a tray with donuts that must be fresh out of the fryer, smothered in chocolate and hazelnut the way Dick loves. Dick's stomach and brain war with each other about how he absolutely shouldn't eat them but they smell too good not to eat. "I thought you left already and had to give these to you before you were gone," Jason explains, and before there would be a flush across Jason's face and the tips of his ears, now there's just a widening of his pupils and sharp canines instead. On a pale face stuck forever at fifteen instead of twenty three like it should be. "After all, I can't let you go hungry?" he said with a smirk.

Basically Jason turned into a vampire instead of being killed by the Joker. Dick, after coming back from the space, had offered himself up as a food source for Jason who, while not having trouble with drinking blood per say, did have trouble with the fact that he can't eat anymore. The relationship is weird to others because despite both of them being adults, Jason still looks like he's fifteen (which really truly does it for Dick and it was not a very smooth discovery), and there is still a six to seven year difference between them. Not only that but they both get off on the food aspect. With Dick eating and Jason providing food, but also with Jason feeding off of Dick directly. Really Dick's only issue is that he's starting to get soft in the middle but y'know, Jason finds it pretty hot so win-win to him.

[mllekurtz]

i'm just. taking a break from work and thinking about the fact that it's been almost two years since the c2 finale and that campaign still has me in a chokehold. i still think about the wizards all the time, which shouldn't surprise anyone but it's still remarkable. just taking a little moment to be in my feelings about them on main, nothing to see here

[vellichorom]

i don’t know about you guys, but i am LOVING the sequel ( <-- literally getting scammed by the game )

( always & forever featuring @tomi-chuu‘s stanley design ~ )

[northern-passage]

i've compiled the harvest festival snippets that i shared on patreon back in 2021. it's getting cooler here and the leaves are just starting to change color, so i thought it would be fun to share :-) suspend some disbelief about the fantasy candied apples and enjoy!

Noel

“Hey.”

You blink up at Noel, standing in front of you, holding… two candied apples in xir hands. Xe thrusts one out to you, and you take it, still processing xir sudden appearance, scooting over a bit as xe drops down hard on the bench next to you, tapping his candied apple to yours in a little toast.

You turn the apple in your hand, holding it carefully by the stick, hot caramel slowly dripping down towards your gloved fingers. Noel has already started eating xirs, leaning back on the bench and watching the crowds walk by.

The harvest festival is in full swing, with smoke rising in the distance as dusk settles, the ceremonial bonfires igniting along the beach. You watch the dark smoke drift lazily overhead, glowing ominously with the sunset, light reflecting off the open water of the sea. It’s getting colder, now, too, with the setting sun, and you shiver, tightening your hand around your apple.

“Hey,” Noel says again, nudging you with xir knee.

You blink over at xem, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s up?” he asks, tilting xir head at you, and you can’t help but laugh, caramel smeared on xir chin. Xe pouts as you laugh, wiping the back of xir hand across xir mouth.

“You’re so mean to me,” Noel sighs dramatically, sinking farther back onto the bench.

“You don’t have to sit here with me, Noel,” you say then, staring down at the apple, feeling a bit guilty for dragging him away from the fun.

“I want to sit here with you,” he says, and you sigh, giving him a grateful smile.

The two of you fall back into silence, but Noel knocks xir knee against yours again, and you can feel xem watching you. And then xe slides closer, xir shoulder against yours, xir knee nudging yours yet again, your legs flush together.

You glance over at xem, flustered at the sudden closeness, though you’re grateful for the warmth of xem against you, and Noel smiles, hiding behind xir apple, xir eyes just peeking over the top of it.

“You wanna go?” Noel asks then, leaning even closer, nudging your shoulders together now, the smell of caramel and apple almost as sweet as xem.

“We just got here, Noel,” you say, hiding in your hood, feeling more guilty the longer the two of you sit here.

“Yeah… but I kinda want to leave. With you,” Noel is still hiding behind xir half-eaten apple, but you can hear the nervous smile in xir words, see the mischievous sparkle in xir eyes. “I know a good private spot on the beach, it won’t be as crowded, I bet. We could still see the bonfires… we can grab some more candied apples on the way.”

Noel puts a gentle hand on your leg then, a light touch, encouraging and comforting, and you lean into him, your face growing hot despite the cold evening air. He gives you a look that can only mean one thing.

“Well…,” you say slowly, leaning in close, pressing your lips to his ear and pausing for dramatic effect, “I guess to make up for being so mean to you…”

Noel laughs, the sound making your heart skip a few beats, and then he turns and gives you a candied apple kiss. You hum softly, your eyes fluttering close as you tilt your head and return the gesture, Noel's other arm wrapping around your waist and tucking you inside xir cloak.

Then he jumps up from the bench, pulling you up so quick that you and your candied apples knock together. Noel brushes a laughing kiss along your cheek, warm and sweet, and you let xem guide you along, just the two of you, wrapped in his cloak and laughing together as you go.

Clementine

You’re genuinely amazed at how long Clementine can dance - you’re certain it’s been hours now, and they’re still down on the beach, dancing amongst the bonfires. The rest of you have been meandering through the stalls up in the city, coming back down to the beach now that the sun has set, and you spot them dancing with a few others, near the central bonfire, where the music is being played. An older woman has been playing a hurdy-gurdy through the entire evening, the music carrying over the beach, audible even up in the city.

You suspect there’s some magic involved. But the music is getting more feverish now, more people coming down to dance, drinks and pipes being passed around as the night grows long.

The others wander off to try and find a good place to settle for the later festivities, while you wait for Clementine, trying to get their attention to let them know where you’re at.

Of course, that means waiting for them to take a break, which you honestly didn’t think they would - but luckily they happen to catch sight of you, and come running over, excited and breathless.

“Hi!” they shout, clasping their hands in front of them and bouncing on the balls of their feet.

“Hey, Clementine,” you say, leaning forward to be heard over the hurdy-gurdy.

“Are you here to dance with me?” they ask, grinning at you, still bouncing excitedly.

“Uh…,” you start, cringing a bit, but their excitement makes you hesitate. They look up at you with bright eyes, their head tilting slightly, . “I can’t dance, Clementine,” you finally say.

“It’s okay! We’ll go slow!” Clementine takes your hand then and pulls you over to the bonfire, the heat immediately making you sweat… or maybe it’s the nerves, glancing over your shoulder, afraid someone will be laughing at your sad attempt to dance.

But Clementine squeezes your hand, lacing your fingers together, and you turn back to them, peering up into your hood. They’re all smiles, probably the happiest you think you’ve seen them - well, ever. Their face is shiny in the firelight, sweaty with the effort of their dancing, and you give them a nod, letting them guide you through a few slow steps, careful not to step on their feet, which you realize are bare, their shoes kicked off and forgotten somewhere in the sand.

You’re terribly out of sync with the music, going in slow circles around the fire, while other dancers easily lap you, but after a while you stop noticing them - it’s just you and Clementine and the music. They move closer as you dance, squeezing your hand again, and resting their head against your chest, and you realize they’re humming, the sound reverberating through you, a different song that you feel rather than hear. Clementine lets you guide them now, their eyes closing, lazy dances all through the night, until the fires are nothing but ash.

Lea

Down on the beach, it’s shifting from late evening to early morning, with the sky growing light along the horizon above the sea. The stars are still visible, blinking up above, bright even through the smoke from the bonfires, even with the now-approaching sunrise.

Looking around, you wouldn’t even know the time, the way people are still celebrating and dancing and singing around the fires. You’ve seen a few harvest festivals in your time, and they typically go on for days, until the last of the fires burn out - but this is the first one you’ve really experienced as a participant, rather than someone just passing through.

Lea shifts beside you then, drawing your attention, the two of you seated beneath the little canopy you set up earlier in the night, a nest of blankets keeping you separated from the sand and warm against the ocean air.

Lea blinks sleepily, glancing at you before sitting up, rubbing their eyes.

“Where is everyone?” they ask, squinting against the nearby firelight.

You shrug, leaning back on the blankets, reaching over and offering Lea some of the spiced cider you had been sharing earlier, still hot thanks to the massive enchanted flagon.

Lea takes it and holds it in both hands, letting it warm them, slouching a bit before taking a long drink.

“You can go back to sleep,” you say, and Lea huffs, shaking their head.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” they say, frowning down at the drink in their hands. “If you want to find the others…”

Now you shake your head, dropping back onto the blankets. “Nah. This is nice,” you say, turning to look up at them. Lea gives you a dubious look, before taking another drink.

They set the flagon aside and wipe their mouth with the back of their hand, letting out a sigh.

“I guess this is kinda nice,” they say then, staring out at the distant waters.

“Relax for once, Lea,” you say, patting the blankets and spreading your arm out beside you.

They just roll their eyes, but after a moment they lay back on the blankets, wrapping themself up in them, before turning to look at you, side by side. They give you a small smile, uncertain, before moving closer - jerky, careful movements as they hesitantly rest their head on your arm, closing their eyes when you don’t pull away, letting out a long sigh. You instinctively tighten your arm around them, pulling them closer, and they let you, inhaling sharply at first and tensing before curling into you, tucking their head into your shoulder.

You look down at them, their eyes still closed, the furrow in their brow slowly easing out as their head grows heavier against you. You resist the urge to trace their features like this, instead just committing them to memory, before turning to stare up past the canopy and watch the stars slowly fade as the sun rises over the water, Lea sleeping contentedly in your arms.

Merry

The tavern is absolutely chaotic this evening with the start of the harvest festival, and you can barely even hear yourself think, with the music and the shouting and the loud sounds of plates and utensils clinking together, chairs scraping over the wooden floor, the constant opening and closing of the front door, and the cold wind whipping through, chilling you through your cloak.

You came back to Jack’s hoping to catch a break from all of the excitement, but it seems to be even worse here than down on the beach, more people in a smaller, confined space. You don’t even try to get to the stairs, instead just busting into Merry’s room and closing the door behind you, retreating across the room, heading for the windows.

It’s a little quieter in here, and you open the windows, hanging your head outside for a few minutes, breathing in the icy air. Eventually you wander back to Merry’s desk, and sit down in the large ornate chair, closing your eyes and running a hand over your face.

The sound of the door opening almost makes you jump out of the chair, but it’s just Merry, kicking the door closed behind her, carrying a drink in each hand.

“Mal told me she saw you run in here. Was worried you were going to pass out… or throw up on my floor,” she says, stopping in front of the desk and grinning down at you.

“I’m not drunk,” you say, indignant, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I know. I brought you regular cider though, just in case,” she laughs lightly, holding the two drinks up, and you can smell the hot cider even across the desk.

“Sorry I ran off. I got a little overwhelmed,” you say then, uncrossing your arms and fidgeting with your sleeves.

Merry just hums, coming around the desk now, and you blink up at her, expecting her to offer the drink - but instead she drops down in your lap, nearly knocking the wind out of you, the drinks sloshing in her hands.

“Merry-” you start, grabbing and steadying her as she just laughs, squirming around as she repositions herself, making you gasp a bit, your hands fumbling on her arm, her hip.

She smirks as she shifts to free her arm tucked against your chest, offering you the mug of cider now. You take it, giving her a look, but she just wraps her arm around your shoulders, taking a long drink from her own glass.

“This is more fun than all that mess out there, anyways,” she says, leaning over you, relaxing a bit in your lap, getting more comfortable and giving your shoulders a light squeeze. You can’t help but smile up at her, tilting your head a bit as she slowly pulls off your hood, trailing her fingers up the back of your neck, gentle touches across your shoulders again, drawing circles through the fabric of your cloak.

“You’re alright?” she asks then, her tone more serious, concern in the look she gives you.

“Yeah. I’m alright,” you say, holding her against you, letting her play with your hair, your hand steady on her leg draped across your lap as you sink into the chair, the two of you enjoying the distant music and glow of the bonfires down on the beach through the open windows, talking and laughing together through the night.

[ilovedthestars]

scratching at the walls of my brain. I WANNA POST SOMETHING NEW TO AO3. but that means I have to FINISH SOMETHING which is so harddd

[varpusvaras]

Something was going on.

Fox could see it from the moment Breha walked into his room. She was trying too hard to look like nothing was wrong, but the expression on her face looked forced, like her skin had been painted over with hardened wax.

She walked over to his bed and sat down. Fox watched her every movement carefully, just waiting for her to open her mouth and say what it was. He watched as she breathed, laced her fingers together, and then decided otherwise and instead reached for Fox's hand, taking it into her own. Fox watched as she stroked her fingers over the back of his hand, slowly, gently, like she was trying to calm down both herself and him.

Fox couldn't take it anymore.

"What is it?" He asked. "Did something happen?"

He was suddenly very aware of the fact that it was only Breha in the room with him. Bail was still supposed to be on Alderaan. He had said that he didn't need to leave for another week. Why was he not here? Had something happened and-

"Bail is alright", Breha said, like she had just read all of his thoughts. "He is just outside the door, actually. We just thought that it was for the best if I came in first and explained this all a little bit first."

"Explained what?" Fox asked. Breha breathed in deeply again, and squeezed Fox's hand.

"I'm afraid we haven't been entirely truthful with you", she started, "please believe me when I say it wasn't because we didn't trust you, the situation was just very delicate, with your health and what is going on in the Galaxy now."

There were too many questions in Fox's mind now, none of which he knew how to ask out loud.

"But everybody is alright?" He asked. Breha smiled at him a little.

"Of course. We just want you to meet someone", she said. "Someone we haven't yet told you about."

She turned around, to look at the door.

"Bail, love", she called. "Come in."

Fox watched as Bail walked in, his eyes immeadiately finding the little body resting in his arms, and his heart jumped up to his throat.

"Fox", Breha said, as Bail stopped next to the bed. "This is Leia. Our daughter."

Fox stared. Stared at the baby in Bail's arms, tinier than even the smallest of Cadets Fox had ever seen, dark brown hair covering its head and its tiny hands grasping onto the front of Bail's shirt.

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you right away", Bail said, apologetic tone in his voice that Fox barely heard over the rushing of the blood in his ears. "The situation was...difficult. You needed to heal, even a little bit, and we didn't want to lie to you about her."

Fox finally managed to lift his eyes from the baby back to Bail and Breha, who were both looking at him with guarded eyes.

"Lie to me about what?" He asked. "This isn't...you didn't have to tell me anything, I'm just-"

"Fox", Breha interrupted him, before his spiralling thoughts could come rushing out of his mouth. "You are part of our family, just as she is. You deserve to know just as much, but we didn't want to stress you out with all of this, before we knew that you were stable enough. We trust you with this knowledge, just as much as we trust each other with it."

"I don't understand", Fox said. He really didn't. Bail and Breha had always talked about wanting a child, so much so that Fox had started to sometimes give himself a permission to want one too, to imagine what it would be like, with all three of them and a little one who would look up to him and call him buir. What more was there to know about that?

Breha squeezed his hands again.

"She is the daughter of Padmé Amidala and Anakin Skywalker", she said, leaving no room for any more questions in Fox's mind.

Fox looked at her. He looked at Bail and his somber eyes, and he looked back down at the baby, still fast asleep in Bail's arms.

There was still one question left, after all.

"Why did you tell me?" He asked. "I'm a breach in security, now. If they find me, they can make me talk."

"They can make me talk, just as easily", Bail said. "They can make Breha talk as well. You are part of our family. You deserve to know just as much as both of us do."

Fox looked at the baby. Leia. Her name was Leia.

It was-

He swallowed hard. There were still things he wanted to say, but he had lost the trust in his own voice.

There was a moment of silence between them, before Bail moved.

"Do you want to hold her?" He asked softly.

Fox looked up at him, and back to Leia.

She was so small. So very small and soft and delicate and important, and Fox wanted nothing more than to make sure that no one or no thing was ever going to hurt her, including himself.

"I-" He tried to say so, but there was something in his throat. "I, I can't, I-"

Have done some many horrible things. Have hurt so many innocent beings already. Have no idea how you can even ask me that.

"You can", Bail said. "I'm going to just lay her on your lap. You don't need much strength in your arms for that. It's alright."

His body had been the last thing Fox had been thinking about right then. The range of motion of his upper body had gotten a lot better recently, even if he still couldn't hold even his own weight up yet. The realisation of that made him feel better, actually. He was too broken to hurt anybody, even a little baby.

He looked at Leia, then up at Bail, and nodded.

Bail smiled, and carefully leaned over and carefully laid Leia's little body on Fox's lap and arms. She was so light Fox barely even felt her, but weighted more than all the stars in the universe.

Even though Bail had tried to be careful, as soon as he let go of Leia, her face scrunched up and her eyes, already darkened to brown, blinked up at Fox.

Fox expected her to cry. To scream. To want back to the warm safety of Bail's arms.

She didn't. She stayed quiet, staring up at Fox, and Fox could almost swear that he felt something tugging at his mind and heart.

Then her face shifted again, and she smiled at him, reaching her little hands towards Fox, and Fox-

Fox cried.

He didn't try to stop it. He just let the tears fall down his face and to his neck, and he let Breha wipe them away without a word.

"You know we don't expect anything from you", Breha said then. "It's entirely your choice to stay with us. But, if you want...she can be yours as well. She can be ours. If you want."

There was still something in Fox's throat, there were still tears running down his face, but he pushed past them to answer.

"Yes", he said. "Yes."

[flickering-nightfall]

just asking, what if an iterator possibly gets too hot or cold? What happens if they can’t get to safer temps with out outside forces? What if they can’t get to safer temps at all?

Do you mean superstructures or puppet-bound iterators? I'm sure superstructures have a lot of failsafes to deal with temperature fluctuations, mostly via processing water intake. They're living saunas! They probably have an incredible resistance to both hot and cold, as evidence shows.

I'll talk about puppets here, but if you meant superstructures, well... a lot of what I'll say here could apply to superstructures too.

(For puppet-bound iterators, I am referring to my AU CDSS)

For heat: Puppet-bound iterators, like their former superstructure bodies, run hot and need to stay hydrated. They rely on liquid coolant that runs throughout their bodies. Ruptures in the coolant system are one of their many common problems, but with medical aid, they're not too serious. Many cases are self-healing, or the rupture will seal itself off and reroute around the blockage - like with collateral circulation. Leaks into essential systems are more of a concern than the actual loss of coolant. As long as they stay cool and drink water while waiting to get fixed, they tend to be fine.

If they are stuck in a hot region and can't escape, they'll suffer from dehydration, heat stroke, fried components, damage to organic tissue, seizures... pretty much what you'd expect. As a superstructure, Moon probably suffered from all this leading up to her collapse.

For cold: They're fairly resistant for a few reasons. One is the antifreeze in coolant. Another is the heat that they naturally produce. I'm thinking they have silicone-based skin, which is very cold resistant. They have hemocyanin, which tends to function better in extreme cold than hemoglobin. (Hemocyanin can also work at hotter temperatures. I have like a whole essay about this that I still intend to post lol.) However, the puppets have been modified to have more flexible and sensitive skin - dexterity in exchange for some durability. They're more susceptible to the perception of cold than they would be if they were a still a superstructure. Many of them also dislike snowscapes on principle, because they've been freezing their decaying metal butts off for centuries by the time CDSS happens.

Iterators in both forms are very moist, so if it's cold past their limits, their mechanical components will freeze. And like with hypothermia in fully organic beings, prolonged time in extreme cold will lead to tissue death and organ failure. Superstructures with fractured exteriors (direct exposure of internal parts to the cold air) are especially susceptible to this.

Misc theory about superstructures: Moon's superstructure was able to stay intact into Saint's era because she collapsed straight down into the water, preserving most of her shape. The canyon water could have provided the pressure and circulation she needed in the absence of gravity cores, as well as protection against land pests and insulation against the cold. Remnant slag could have her generate excess heat as well, which would keep the water surrounding her unfrozen. In a way, dying like that could have helped her live longer?!

Thanks for the question anon, this was very fun :P

[skitskatdacat63]

What is this love triangle 😵‍💫😵‍💫

[presidentbungus]

“Looks like you got yourself in a pretty tough situation, man.” Scout cocks his head, lets his best smarmiest grin ooze down his face, and presses the barrel of his pistol just a little harder into Demo’s throat, and that single eye widens just enough to make Scout feel like the grim fucking reaper.

Maybe Engie’s right, about this whole torturing people to death thing—feels a lot better, too, to see that better-than-you goddamn grin wiped right off Demo’s face.

“Last words, pally? Grand statements?”

Demo pushes himself up on his palms, so Scout pushes the gun up a little more, leans in until their legs are on top of each other and he can smell the whiskey and cider coming off his breath. “Y- yeah. Good question.”

His brow narrows just a little, lip raising, and Scout watches his shoulder shift a little in his peripheral vision, but he’s just stuck staring into one dark fuckin’ eye, sucking air through his buckteeth, and something rattles in Demo’s hands as there’s a beep and about a thousand things explode behind Scout.

And then, god dammit, he looks away, turns where he is like a dumbass, and you never really get used to the feeling of a sword sliding right through all the mushy stuff between your ribs no matter how many times it happens.

“Never trust a drunk man with a sword.” Scout’s lungs feel like deflating balloons so he just kind of wheezes and looks up at Demo and tries to look mad, even though it’s hard to do that with some stupid asshole’s freakin’ sword through your guts. “Somebody’s probably said that before.”

Scout mouths, with a gigantic amount of effort considering his rapidly dimming vision: “You—friggin’—suck.”

“I know,” he mouths back, and if he doesn’t see it before he croaks, whenever Scout wakes up in the respawn all he can see when he closes his eyes is that sleazy fucking I-won grin burned into his goddamn retinas.

Then Snipes, on the bench across from him doing whatever he does with his rifle (probably about to make out with it), doesn’t say anything but he look says it well enough, and Scout spends a solid few seconds floundering before he realizes there’s probably a reason his face feels so hot and pulls his hat over his eyes.

And still that fucking grin, every time he shuts his eyes. His stupid fucking one-liner. I know. Oh, shit. God fucking dammit.

[corishadowfang]

19 and/or 32?

(For this)

19. What headcanon do you always include in your stories?

Answered that one here, haha, but for another one: poor Ephemer seems to be doomed to be a lethal chef in everything I write.

32. Which fic would you most like to write a sequel to?

Fallen Stars--though not in a "full-on sequel" sort of way. There's just a lot to explore after the story's over, from how the crew (and Scala) recovers, to how they rescue the Dandelions, to the ripple effects everything that happened had on canon, that it feels like something that'd be fun to explore--but because of HOW MUCH time there is to cover, it would probably work better as a bunch of one-shots or short series.

[nostalgia-tblr]

Six Some Sentences Sunday Saturday

and also A MOODBOARD. I am not even sure what those are for but people on AO3 have them on multipart works so I assume they are essential to the craft.

I'm hiding it behind a cut because although I know how to Make Internet Arts I am not especially good at it - I know the keyboard shortcuts I just don't know how to use them well.

When Sylvie catches sight of her reflection in the long mirror behind the bar she can’t resist giving herself a victorious smile; she’s here to celebrate and she damn well deserves that celebration. Finally she has found a buyer for her latest piece of work, and if all goes well it’ll bring at least a few months of financial security before she has to start worrying about the bills again.  She knocks back the remainder of her margarita and orders another, and since the bartender keeps unsubtly staring at her chest she takes her time searching in her purse for the payment, just in case this prompts him to offer this one on the house.  He doesn’t (well, it was a bit of a long shot) but someone else does – a tall, pale, dark-haired man steps in to play Prince Charming instead, and on first impressions alone this unexpected understudy might be good for more than one free drink; she wishes she had ordered something more expensive.

(No prizes for guessing that her "latest piece of work" is in some way fraudulent, or for guessing who the buyer is.)