#several in fact if you object to any of the sets of surnames. I tried to diversify them sufficiently.

[vaguely-concerned]

I think I've realized that my ideal otp dynamic is basically 'long-standing committed life partners and best friends who are very genuinely deeply, deeply in love and unequivocally each other's home and who would watch each other's backs through the hopeless depths of hell itself, but if they're getting officially married it's solely going to be for tax reasons and/or fraud'

[shocotate]

Homunculi Headcanon 14

@moth-time replied to your post:

do it do it

Ok let’s do this thing.

Football is a growing sport in Amestris, though each club tends to only play against other local clubs within its sector. So Central will play most often against clubs also in the Central sector, compared to those in the Eastern sector. In time, and with the increased use of railways, matches further a field might be arranged. Central has several football teams, but the main ones are Central Park FC, known as the Rangers, and Central FC.

The Homunculi had a slight lull in operations while letting the Fuhrer Candidates be raised. Between considering when to kill off Fuhrer Armstrong and set up his successor before Wrath, they had some free time.

So, in the late 1860s, Pride created the alias Zach Stubbs and joined the under-13s football club near Central Park. Pride took this surname from a nickname he had among the local boys in the South while he was setting up the Fifth Crest in 1835. He says he only killed and ate the neighbourhood boys because they were no longer needed, but his time with them was enjoyable nonetheless and left enough of an impression on him to reuse the name they gave him.

Pride joined under his regular form, posing as just a short 12-year old and aging slowly from there. He had been practicing stretching his container into an older form for longer periods of time, so appearing to be older for football matches and training became possible for him. He used the Homunculi’s military influence to help fund the club, as well as some local charities, so as to benefit the military’s public image at the same time. There were no football uniforms back then, so some of the money went to making the team’s scarves, green and white like the Amestrian flag.

He tended to get referred to just by his surname on the pitch, but after a while his middle name gained some prominence. His middle name is not exactly a secret but it’s something you’ll have to puzzle out for a little bit. Because he never let anyone else try for goal if he ended up with the ball, people used to say “Leave it to [middle name redacted]”, and he was in fact very good at scoring goals. Lust occasionally watched some of his matches, and Envy, too.

Pride played uncontested for some time, one of his favourite matches being when he demolished a team from outside Central City called the Kelpies. However, upon joining the Central Park Rangers’ under 16s team at “15”, finally able to specialise in being a striker like he wanted, he found an opponent.

Envy had had enough hearing about Central’s talented new player, running around, showing off, wearing Envy’s favourite colour, and was determined to embarrass him by making him fail in front of everyone. He created Endymion Albright, Central FC’s new goalkeeper, tall and lanky enough for his age to not be suspicious if any of his limbs stretched a little too far during dives. He’d been a trainee in secret for a few months, so made his debut right at the same time Pride swapped to the older team. Even though he wasn’t bulky or wide everyone called him a wall, though Pride would jeer that he was more of a tower.

The unstoppable force vs. immovable object paradox in CPR’s striker and CFC’s goalkeeper only made the rivalry between the two teams intensify, and they met on several occasions. Lust got to look in more often on how her brothers were doing, saying she was Endymion’s older sister, Penelope, there to support her brother, or saying that she was scoping out the competition when watching Pride’s matches.

The final match they played against each other was tied 1-1 for a goal Pride did not score, when he tried to make it 2-1 in the closing minutes, only for Envy to catch it. Did you know some ties were broken in football by coin toss? I wonder who won…

Pride had to retire in 1873 when Wrath was finally “born”, and the photograph taken at Central Park was the one of if not his last appearance for the club. Given the military endorsement, he probably made some excuse that he wanted to enlist and focus on military work. Pride returned to his container’s default form while teaching Wrath and the debacle with the future Mrs Bradley, so his role faded from public view over the years and isn’t that well known nowadays.

Without Pride around, Envy likewise retired to be able to keep an eye on Wrath, though might have been tempted a few times to visit the club again. Acting as Wrath’s colleague at work had its perks, too. It gave Envy lots of chances to see Wrath embarrass himself in front of his future wife, and in 1881 he got to be Best Man at his wedding.

Pride and Lust also got to reuse their personas for the wedding, attending as Zachary and Penelope Stubbs (née Albright).

Pride and Envy still support their respective teams in a distant way, still owning the scarves from when they played. If real uniforms with numbers on get invented by 1914, they’d buy ones with 1 and 4 on them respectively.

More headcanons

[oumakokichi]

hello! could you talk a bit more about the original (as in jp, not localization) ouma's personality and speech patterns? you've mentioned that he tends to trail off or speak more softly when it is implied he is speaking the truth, etc. and how he is not so loud/intentionally obnoxious. //btw when does he call himself a fairy? that's so cute

I got a couple of questions asking about the fairy line Ouma has, so I don’t mind sort of rolling them both into one! And I’m more than happy to talk a little more in-depth about Ouma’s speech patterns and personality in the original game, too!

Since I’ll be covering some late-game spoilers, I’ll put the bulk of this under the cut, so be careful when reading!

First off, I cannot stress how much I recommed playing ndrv3 with the Japanese voices enabled. If you’ve already played through the English dub but never experiened the original voice acting cast, I promise you won’t be disappointed. The Japanese cast are all fantastic, incredibly talented VAs who, unlike the dub, were hired specifically for these roles and not just re-casted from previous DR games.

Hiro Shimono as Ouma gives an absolutely incredible performance. The localization might still have many flaws in its translation and omission of certain lines or punctuation, but you can still very much get a feel for how Ouma’s character was intended by listening to Shimono’s performance. Re-playing the game with the Japanese voices will definitely let you hear how soft and tonally different Shimono’s performance is in places from the English dub, and compare it to the way in which many lines are written and punctuated as if Ouma’s yelling at everyone.

That isn’t to say that Shimono’s Ouma is never loud or excited: Ouma is a character whose moods and façades are all over the place, and therefore his performance requires a voice actor who can similarly change moods and intonation on a dime. Ouma is very much loud and haughty and deliberately annoying when he’s supposed to be, but his voice is also low and ominous at other points when he’s trying to be scary. And again, it’s soft and hesitant in places where he’s considering divulging some of his information, or when he’s insisting that all the things he does are for everyone’s sake, because he cares about them and doesn’t want anyone to die.

These moments feel so much more genuine in the Japanese version of the game--because they’re meant to be. As fantastic of a liar as Ouma is, it’s much easier for us, the player, to tell when he’s lying on a re-play, knowing the information from chapters 5 and 6 that we do, and looking at cues like his sprites (often his blank-faced ones) and, yes, his delivery of certain lines.

This probably sounds like me just gushing about what a fantastic voice actor Hiro Shimono is, and in part that’s exactly what it is, but I want to stress that pretty much every single voice actor in the Japanese cast is just as fantastic and that they all do their jobs incredibly well. With all that gushing out of the way, I’ll move on to talking about some of Ouma’s actual speech tics and the way he refers to other characters.

Like most things about him, Ouma’s speech patterns are sort of an interesting mix and even seem a little contradictory at times. He uses the very masculine pronoun “ore” (オレ), but he also refers to nearly everyone (with only a handful of exceptions) by their surnames and the much more childish honorific “-chan” (i.e. “Saihara-chan,” “Akamatsu-chan,” “Amami-chan,” etc.)

The use of “-chan” is very interesting. Honorifics in Japan are extremely complicated and tend to mean different things depending on who is using them. Typically, “-chan” is seen as a very feminine way to refer to someone else, commonly used in close-knit friend groups among school girls.

There are, of course, a few notable exceptions to this however: often times, middle-aged or elderly people will call a child “-chan” regardless of gender, as a way of showing they find them cute and endearing. And sometimes, people will use “-chan” to refer to other things they find cute, such as pets, or even to refer to themselves in a sort of informal, tongue-in-cheek way.

The fact that Ouma uses “-chan” as an honorific to refer to nearly everyone in the game stands out quite a lot: by and large, boys don’t use this term to refer to other boys. Using “-chan” to refer to anyone you’ve just met or don’t know very well is already somewhat frowned upon, but a boy using it to refer to other boys is especially rare. This helps set Ouma’s character up as someone who is both incredibly casual and informal with others (not to mention, you know, quite coded). Considering childishness and lightheartedness are traits Ouma values, and how much emphasis is put on him having “a very innocent, childish streak that’s hard to hate,” it makes sense then that he would talk like this.

Not counting Monokuma and the Monokubs, the only characters who Ouma doesn’t refer to with “-chan” are Gonta and Kiibo, who he simply calls by name. This also says some interesting things about his character.

Gonta is easily the character who Ouma interacts with the most often, as well as the charater he hurts the most in the end. Ouma’s choice to exclude Gonta from his usual way of calling people is, I think, a testament to how much Gonta really wanted to be friends with him, even if their friendship was never exactly on equal footing.

Meanwhile with Kiibo, I feel the choice to exclude him from his usual way of addressing others is indicative of how much Ouma tried to remind himself that Kiibo “wasn’t human,” and therefore how suspicious he found his presence in the killing game. We know Ouma suspected Kiibo and likely even had an inkling of his role as the audience proxy/camera in the game, due to how Kiibo’s picture is one of the only others set aside on his whiteboard besides Saihara’s, with the word “weird” written next to it (he also clearly guessed about the cameras after Gonta’s line in chapter 2, as we see from how he commissioned Miu for the bug-vac).

Ouma clearly enjoys teasing Kiibo a lot, and their banter reads very much like a manzai comedy duo; I feel like Ouma often tried pushing himself to remember that Kiibo “wasn’t human” on purpose in order to not get too attached to him or too distracted from his goal of ending the killing game. I don’t think Ouma’s decision to exclude Kiibo from the way that he very particularly referred to most of the rest of the group was just an accident or a coincidence.

Honorifics aside, Ouma also refers to several characters in interesting ways. He often uses “daisuki na ___-chan” (大好きな) to refer to some of the other characters, a phrase which more or less equates to “my beloved.” He uses this phrase with Saihara more than any other character of the game, but there are a few other instances where he does use it with Amami, Momota, and (if I’m remembering correctly) Kaede. Pretty much every single instance where the localization put, “because I love you” or “because you’re my favorite” whenever Ouma was talking to Saihara was usually a point where he would specifically call him “my beloved Saihara-chan.”

In chapter 4 during the scene where Ouma is alone in the parlor of the VR world, he also specifically, exclusively refers to Saihara as “suki ni natta hito” (好きになった人), literally: “the person I fell in love with.” This line was changed in the localization to, “when there’s a person I like,” which is more or less literally correct--however, the phrase “suki ni natta” is much heavier and more loaded with explicitly romantic implications than “suki” would be on its own, as it’s often used in Japanese love songs and shoujo manga love confessions.

Worth noting in my opinion is the fact that this is the exact same phrasing Maki uses to describe her romantic feelings for Momota. Since Maki’s feelings for Momota are considered canonically confirmed because of this, Ouma’s feelings should be considered equally canon, but a lot of people don’t know this because, well, it’s sort of been lost in translation.

And now, on to the fairy line! Ouma calls himself a fairy in chapter 3, when he pops up in the middle of Saihara and Korekiyo’s discussion of the katana in Korekiyo’s lab. Full of enthusiasm, he decides to touch the sword and examine it for himself; Korekiyo starts to object, but Ouma interrupts and says:

“Come on, it’s not a big deal! I’m like a fairy, so it’ll be fine!”

I’ve always really loved this line and thought it was super adorable, both as a nod to how fairies aren’t supposed to be able to touch steel in most fae mythos, as well as the fact that fairies tend to also have a love for mischief and pranks and lies. The localization apparently didn’t like it so much though, because this line is simply changed to, “Come on, would I lie to you?” instead.

One final thing I can think of as far as Ouma’s speech tics go is that his laugh in Japanese is romanized as “nishishi” instead of “neeheehee,” as this is closer to the Japanese onomatopoeia for the sound horses make--but I actually don’t mind this localization change at all! “Neeheehee” definitely looks a lot closer to the word “neigh” and helps capture that horse joke in a way that I feel like western players can more easily understand.

All in all, while I still definitely feel people can like and enjoy Ouma’s character from playing the localization alone, I still stand by my opinion that listening to the original Japanese voices helps give a much better picture of how the character was intended to come across, and really shows how much depth Hiro Shimono put into his performance. He’s quoted in the official ndrv3 artbook as saying that he believes Ouma is someone who’s actually “really meek if you take away his strong wish to outwit everyone” (credit to @kaibutsushidousha for the art book translation), and I think this interpretation of Ouma really shows through in so many of his lines.

Thank you both for the really fun questions! I hope I could provide some more interesting information about Ouma and the translation!

[talldarkandroguesome]

17th of First Seed, Middas

The letter swapping has been going well so far.

I have been learning the handwriting for Urtisa’s contact and have made several forgeries now. I have even attempted a few draft letters. They look passable except for the quality of the parchment, I will need Nabine to steal a couple sheets of parchment when she has the chance. I have gotten the same type of quill and ink, but the parchment is so far the only difference.

I have also gotten word that uncle Urnel has given his word that he approves of the consent for Kuna’s recognition and that the decision is being brought before the Council to give their opinions before the finalization of things.

Word has also been given to me that Kuna’s name will be added to the family registry as my child and we have been asked if she is to be put down with the Indoril family name or under Mossbrook for her mother.

Nabine and I discussed it over the course of dinner. Of course, I had assumed that Nabine would like to keep her family name, since record of the matriarchal line is so important. She asked how it would change things if Kuna was to carry my name.

So I had to explain that when you enter any of the great Houses, you are given that House’s name to be put before your personal and family names, so that you are immediately recognized as being a part of the House. That Kuna could certainly be Indoril Kuna Mossbrook, retaining Nabine’s family name as her family name and just being taken as a part of the House. In that case, however, people would assume from the name that Kuna was accepted into the House, but that there would be no indication that she was part of the Indoril bloodline, since only those with Indoril blood are allowed to take Indoril as their family name. Having Kuna take the name would prove to any from the moment her name was announced, that she was blood linked to the House, affording her more respect instantly. Although once her parentage became more widely known that might improve, having the name would open doors more quickly.

Nabine actually considered the matter more than I expected.

After some time of asking for the finer details and implications, Nabine asked me if there were any precedents for having more than one last name.

I told her that I was unsure of times outside of when there are two Great Houses joining,  and so I sent a request by messenger to the Chancellor of Precedent.

Before the end of the evening we were informed that most typical it was for cases of marriages between Houses. Though, given that Kuna is part of a different culture, we could certainly attempt a similar argument with the Family Registry Office.

In typical cases, the order of family name is determined by the House that the child was being raised by, placing it in the final position, that of greatest importance.

As an example, Sildras’s official name is Indoril Sildras Hlaalu Indoril. If he were to also join House Hlaalu, he would be known as Indoril Hlaalu Sildras Hlaalu Indoril. House naming order, of course, is determined in the reverse, so that the one which is your primary loyalty is placed first. Of course, membership to more than one House is so very rare that it is only granted in the most selected circumstances, since membership to one House usually is seen as a conflict of interest in joining another. After all, there is so much in-fighting it would be difficult to truly follow the directives of more than one House objectively.

When presented with this naming option, Nabine said she would like to petition to see if, given Kuna’s mixed parentage, she would still be allowed to take both names.

I made sure in drawing up the request for the House Registry Office, to cite the precedent number given by the Chancellor, along with an overview of Bosmeri naming rituals and the fact that it was important to the Mossbrook family, in order for Kuna to remain a recognized part of the family, to keep their surname name. So the proposition is that, until she undergo the joining and recognition ceremony, Kuna be added to my family registry as Kuna Mossbrook Indoril. Upon the completion of her joining and recognition, she will then be known as Indoril Kuna Mossbrook Indoril.

Before I set my seal and sent the request off, Nabine and I sat Kuna down and discussed the matter with her as well. We wanted to make sure that she understood that it would afford her more, while also expecting more of her. There would be more lessons and more responsibilities in the future. And while we were aware that she was very young to be making such a decision, it needed to be done now and could not be undone once it was completed.

Of course, she was very enthusiastic, her wild dreams of godhood clouding her judgement.

It is unfair to make a child choose at this age, I know. But there is no other option given the cultural traditions of my people.

So I made sure to go over, once more, all the things she would be expected to do. That she may, in future, be asked to prove her loyalty, to fight, to send others to fight, that she might be expected to choose the path of other people’s lives, and that her decisions would determine the lives and deaths of people.

That did make her seem to think more. She had a few questions and I did my best to answer them. I even told her that she could talk to Mother about all her questions if she wished to wait before deciding.

She shook her head and said that she would not become a god if she did not have the ability to make good decisions  on her own. I told her that there was much wisdom in seeking the knowledge and experience of others and that even Almsivi counciled with one another and with other people before making much of their decisions. I reminded her that even queens and emproresses had councils to help them make the decision that was in the best interests of everyone.

Kuna said that she would like to speak with Mother before deciding and asked if we could send the request after she spoke to Mother about it and her tutors.

I said she was most wise for her age to do so.

Nabine laughed at me. I did not mind. It is a big decision and it is hardly a bad skill for Kuna to get accustomed to discussing her choices with others before making them. If she ever does become a part of the House in a greater capacity, she will need to do so.

After the girls were in bed, Nabine gave me a long, silent look.

I asked her if I  had something on my face or if she was simply struck by how handsome I was again.

She threw a cushion at me and we laughed.

Nabine explained that she had not known why it was that I had given up everything and risked being poor, even if it meant leaving a cage. But seeing now what it was like, she understood. And that she was amazed that I would go to such effort to see that Kuna had as much choice as possible.

I laughed, expecting her to be jesting, but she placed a hand on my shoulder and told me she was serious.

I told her that I had not been given any choice and that I was forced on a path that I ultimately was unable to take in the way presented. That I was given only one choice and then told it was my fault that I was unable to meet those impossible goals. There was nothing I wanted less than for any child of mine to have to go through the same hurt. Especially since I could do little to help prevent Sildras from having started his life with the same fate. My one consolation was that he was a gifted mage with a love of knowledge and learning, and so would be able to fulfill that which I had not been able to. The House would be able to easily find a myriad of uses for his skills and eventual knowledge. 

Nabine pulled me close and stroked my hair and told me that I was not to blame. I told her that I knew, but she just pulled me closer and kept saying to me that I was not the reason for that hurt, that the system and the adults involved were responsible, no matter how they loved me, that they had let that hurt come to me.

When I tried to speak against it, Nabine threatened to bite off my tongue and told me to just listen.

She spent a long while telling me how amazingly I had grown into an adult and that given all that had happened, I had done well for myself. I had managed what many could not. And that she loved me, soul or no, always. That no matter what was to come, she would always love me.

I kissed her and told her I felt the same. My emotions were welling up and threatened to spill out like a fountain in the pouring rain. And as she spoke of things that had passed, my eyes, ever so slightly, let out a couple of tears.

Nabine and I made love afterwards in a way that felt as though my old wounds were being healed. Not fully, it was not enough for that, but they were soothed, as if by a cooling salve.

Thank the Three for delivering to me not one, but two, amazing people into my life who love me in the ways that I need most. I feel your blessings and see them as reward for having proved my character in overcoming challenges and facing one of the Four Corners.

Should there be any other task which you require of me, I will gladly take it.

[callsignbaphomet]

🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊

Y'think thats enough pens? Either way I don't expect you to do somethin for aaaaaaaaaall of em lol

Gsudkblbzysuv hun, this is so beautifully chaotic!

🖋 Ginger's a vampire but both of her dads (Lee Grimm and Glenn Grimm) are werewolves (Mist Walkers). Both are trans men.

🖋 Jelani uses male, neutral or female pronouns. Has no preference to which ones someone should use.

🖋 Trevor knows ASL. His little brother was deaf and in his memory he learned ASL.

🖋 Angelus sorta, kinda had a daughter. Ok tl;dr back in the late 1800s he ran into this little girl that was living in the street and tried to steal some money off him but she got caught. He gave her everything he had on him and then she ran off and he lost track of her. Much later he found her again but this time she was a bit older, like 11 years old. They recognized each other and they both went to get a bite to eat and she told him she ran away from home because her parents were abusive. Obviously coming from a similar background he heavily sympathized but he didn't know the first thing about kids but he still took her in. She grew up, married and had kids of her own and those kids grew up and eventually his adopted daughter (her name was Alice) grew old and died of old age. He kept in contact with his sort of grandkids obviously but as his great grandkids grew older and had families and kids of their own Angelus distanced himself. How the fuck are ya gonna explain your sort of adoptivr great grandfather looks like a 20 year old twink? He's kept an eye out on them as a "friend of the family".

🖋 AJ introduced Angelus, Mahmud, Tre and Madison to his favorite hobby: parkour. The five of them regularly get together to free run in places they think would be both challenging and fun.

🖋 Madison introduced Mahmud, AJ, Tre and Xiomara to spelunking and scuba diving as a hobby.

🖋 Sanaa loves and collects windchimes. So Ingvarr modified an alarm clock to make any chime she puts on it chime whenever she sets the alarm. So instead of some jarring alarm she wakes up to a windchime.

🖋 Angelus has an abnormally high tolerance for pain to the point where he won't react to most injuries. This was due to years of having to learn to control his cries of pain because the more he cried out the harder he'd get beaten.

🖋 Trevor holds the world record for longest confirmed sniper kill. Can't be found in any public record but it's in Oracle records and that's good enough for him.

🖋 Jelani (Loke and Jela's grandad, not J lol) and Subira made a spell called "Bright Light". Basically a faint little orb of light that when cast makes anyone near it calm down. It works for regular nervousness, anxiety, panic attacks, anger and so on. It's one of those beginner type spells that barely requires any energy and it can either hover over the caster's palm or it can be "attached" to an object.

🖋 Sunniva (she was Ingvarr's first wife and the woman who gave birth to Loke) is still alive. After she became pregnant she heavily regretted it so that's why as soon as Loke was born she ran away without telling anyone anything. Loke was always told that she disappeared but honestly speaking he never knew her so he has no attachment to her. To him Sanaa is HIS mother and only her.

🖋 Latoya was what you would consider a sickly kid. Someone in another country sneezed and she got sick. Her colds and flus lasted longer than usual and she was a super skinny little girl. When puberty hit she took up sports and when she was 18 she started lifting weights, blew up in terms of muscle tone and got laser eye surgery. Now she's like Rambo in his prime but pretty.

🖋 Abigail is constantly coloring her hair different colors but her favorite is any hue of green since that's her favorite color. She'll also help and color anyone else's if they ask her for help.

🖋 Ginger and Abigail got married on October 13th. Yes, the wedding had a Victorian goth theme to it. Even though they couldn't eat it the cake was red velvet with black frosting and everything. It almost looked like a funeral 'cause everyone was wearing black. I hope to doodle Ginger and Abby in their wedding dresses someday.

🖋 Haakon had a habit of collecting leaves from different countries he visited and kept them safe. Ingvarr and Jørgen both keep journals with leaves of different countries they've visited. They write down the tree the leaf came from, country where they got it from and date.

🖋 Anette can't drive until she's 21. When she was 14 she took Jelani's car, drove her and a bunch of her friends super late at night in winter (from what I've read driving in Norway during winter is horrible), crashed into another car after she lost control, totalled both Jelani's car and the other car and severely injured some of her friends and the other driver. The funny/not funny part is Jela was planning on giving her that car when she got her license but she totalled it. It was BMW by the way. Fuckin' teenager driving around in a 2 year old Beemer lol.

🖋 Speaking of cars. Grete (Anette's mother and Loke and Jelani's aunt) is horribly afraid of driving. She can't get behind the wheel of a car without freaking out. Anette crashing made the fear 10x worse. She can be in a car as long as she isn't driving and the car isn't going too fast.

🖋 During a visit Anette convinced both her parents and Jelani to let her stay with him during the summer. She also convinced both Leah and Xolani to stay over as well. So for a whole ass summer Jelani had three teenagers staying over as a kind of sleep over vacation. It actually turned out fun in the end, the kids had fun and Anette and her rebellious attitude kinda softened.

🖋 Anette, Xolani and Leah have one defining thing in common. None of them know what to do with the rest of their lives. Thing is Leah is very nervous about it, Xolani is kind of aloof about it and Anette is kinda of frustrated about it. Anette is frustrated which leads her to act out and cause trouble. Xolani just looks like they don't care but they do. Leah is super nervous about it. Another thing they got in common is the three of them tend to look up to Loke and Jelani 'cause they feel both understand them better than their parents do.

🖋 Ginger is kinda very obsessed with portals. She's fascinated by them but also respects them as they are incredibly dangerous and unpredictable. She is basically the only person in the world that managed to control portals even if it's for a short amount of time.

🖋 Shaine got really into explosives when she was just a kid. After an accident with a dozen cherry bombs she was left partially deaf, now has to wear a hearing aid and is the explosives expert.

🖋 Before joining Oracle Katya financed her transition by making fake IDs and passports. She also doxxed corrupt government officials and ransomed vital information she got off them.

🖋 Loke is allergic to bird dandruff but would love to have a pet pigeon. At least he can have dogs which is his other favorite animal. His favorite dog is the pitbull.

🖋 Until he got together with Jelani all of Angelus's previous relationships were short and ended in kind of disaster because he constantly compared them all to Jelani and to him they didn't measure up. He ultimately said no to relationships around the 1930s and just fucked around. Obviously until he got shit faced once and confessed to Jelani he was in love with him and the rest is history.

🖋 Tre is one of the super rare seers that can see and feel visions. He's so sensitive that merely standing in an area with a lot of energy could affect him.

🖋 In Oracle there is a head of the organization and two leaders. Current head is Aleksey with Jelani and Angelus as leaders. There's always three as kind of a callback let's call it to when Oracle was started. Aleksey and two close friends started it so from then on there's always 3 leads. When Aleksey steps down Jelani will be head, Ginger will be the second lead and Angelus is the third lead, however he plans on making Trevor the third lead. The reason is because Angelus is fully aware of what he can and can't do and he knows damn well that he isn't lead of an organization material. When he steps down he'd be the Trickster team leader, that he can handle, and since Trevor left a vacant spot Loke would take that spot.

🖋 There is a place called Kironia. It's theorized to be a sort of epicenter for portal activities. Angelus and Ginger have been tasked with keeping an eye on it but it's shrouded in so much mystery most people don't think it's real.

🖋 Despite the fact that Trevor personally knows a Maker and a goddess (Jade, Latoya's girlfriend) he's still an athiest.

🖋 Trevor didn't have a name growing up, he chose the name Trevor because it sounded pleasant. He took his surname, Ravencroft, from a woman he'd heard of from other Oracle agents. He eventually got to meet Morgana Ravencroft, she thought it was flattering he took her name.

🖋 Speaking of Morgana Ravencroft, Angelus was first introduced to the concept of magic because of her. He went with Trevor to help him with some supplies and after being completely hypnotized by some illusions she gave him a book on the basics and helped him get started.

🖋 Loke stopped aging and it's something of a weird occurrence that is brought up every so often. When he was 28 years old he and Jelani (who was 15 at the time) were delivering some supplies to another village. They ran into bandits and as usual Loke was trying to protect Jelani and in doing so he was fatally wounded. Of course Jelani freaked the fuck out and his "fail safe" kicked in. Jela doesn't remember but Loke does, he saw Jelani change form and after dealing with the bandits he turned his attention to Loke and stopped him from dying. He was rusty as fuck so he put a little more oomph behind it and a tiny portion of his energy slipped into Loke. Neither of them know but Loke is basically kinda frozen in time when it comes to aging. So because of this Loke can't die unless Jelani dies.

🖋 Loke has a black feather that's warm to the touch and small embers can be seen floating out of it. He's never mentioned it to anyone and keeps it close to him. The feather came from Jelani when he changed form to fight off the bandits. After he blacked out and changed back Loke found the feather on the ground. He knew where it came from that's why he kept it. He's never told Jelani about that day because he doesn't know what it means and he thinks telling him would only serve to confuse him further.

🖋 Continuing with Loke, he's your average run of the mill berserker. That means he cannot use magic while in berserker mode or even with his weapons. The only ones that can do that are arcanist berserkers (the Nyota tribe). Sanaa is an arcanist berserker, she can use magic while in berserker mode. However, through years of practice Sanaa managed to teach Loke one spell that her people are really fond of. Falling Stars is a spell that has the user charge a single arrow. The arrow is shot upwards and as soon as it reaches high enough it splits into hundreds of arrows that rain down on the target. Loke started practicing when he was 8 years old and by the age of 30 he managed to pull it off making him the first berserker to use magic.

🖋 Jelani and Leah are two of the extremely rare and fortunate people that have gone through a portal and have returned. Whether their return was sheer luck or the fact that he's a Maker is something I'll elaborate on later.

🖋 Haakon knew Jelani wasn't a berserker. Haakon himself had a feeling that his grandson was something far more, if that makes sense. The day Jela was born Haakon had a dream but instead of fear he just felt an insurmountable amount of wonder. He's only ever told his wife, Eli, who in turn believed him. Both always made sure Jela didn't feel out of place and Haakon frequently encouraged him.

[twitchesandstitches]

Hyper Brain Jane Growth Comm

Commission fic roughly set in the Labbound AU by me and Alt-Hammer, but non-canon to that AU.

Contains hyper growth typical of my work, but is mainly focused around hyper brain/head expansion.

-----

It had been many years on Earth, since the Lalonde family had made the mysterious discoveries of cloning and other technologies. Along with the other three great families, the secrets of gene splicing and the beginning of modding: self-controlled evolution and altering the body, and with it, the birth of the troll species, and others to come.

But in those days, the legality of their existence had been a serious conflict, and that was always on the minds of some of those, like Meenah the Elder, and her heiress.

“Fer frick’s sake, girl,” the husky and incredibly resonant voice from the speaker said, making little metal fixtures in the walls rattle. “Sit up and quiet hiding when you talk. You’re my heiress. You should be making people quiver and cower when you sit up!”

“They do, ma’am, really!”

A snort. “Trying ta avoid yer tits knocking ‘em down doesn’t count.”

The voice, for its vulgarity, was a beautiful voice. The kind that hotwired your brain and hit the ‘YES MA’AM’ buttons. A primordial voice of authority, one suited to an ancient warlord or a modern corporate officer; someone of a less charitable mindset might ask if there was genuinely a difference between the two: same amount of ruthlessness, and while the carnage was less physical, it was no less obvious.

Jane Egbert - though she took the surname Crocker as pat of the legal technicalities to be the heiress to Meenah the Elder, troll celebrity, top CEO and firm fighter on behalf of trolls and all the other sapients to come from Lalonde Labs - did not feel she had the same effect, even when she was easily the most physically intimidating human in history, if you discounted fertility statues that had quite a strong resemblance to her. She was aware of the fact that she was an ultra-curvy giant of a woman, nearly as much troll as human from all the genetic treatments and even the human percentage was balanced with more cerebral-enhancing cybernetics than anyone else on record. Beneficiary of fertility on par with a troll and the enhancements to breast size and milk production that came with it, and quite a few visible signs of trollish traits, as though she were transforming into one.

It was quite a sight to see a woman more than eight feet tall, with hips even wider than that and breasts quite visibly requiring special bras to absorb the excess milk she was producing, looking mortified. She was so big that any normal human could be driven to stunned meekness by the sheer scale of her; a Polynesian woman, she had grown to immense size from all the breast enhancement, muscle reinforcing, fertility amplifying, and general boost treatments known to the public at large, and quite a few that weren’t. Girthy, a bit chubby, she had the motherly look of someone fully prepared to gestate dozens of children in a single sitting, even if she had never actually had any. Her proportions were massive, on par with trolls; breasts as large as beach balls scaled up to her size and weighing several hundred pounds each, a mammoth backside that required several chairs each… she looked exactly like the model superwoman of the modern age, and had featured in the Crocker Corp’s posters. ‘Take our stuff’, they seemed to say, ‘and you can be gorgeous like her!’

That was before the… other treatments. The ones designed to make a perfect heiress out of her, and more akin to the woman who had adopted her, with all the strengths thereof. She didn’t have human ears, but smaller versions of the colorful frond-like displays that grew from sea dwelling trolls, and feathery gills grew along her throat and the sides of her body. She couldn’t wear gloves, not with those heavy claws and webbed fingers (perfect for swimming), and long, powerful fangs shone in her mouth. Even her eyes, bright blue, had a hint of trollish slit pupils. To say nothing of the small but functional pair of wings flapping from her back!

From the speaker, a kind of two-way phone made popular by the corporation that Jane was poised to take over some day, there came a sigh. On the other end of it, somewhere on the other side of the world, Meenah Peixes the Elder was rolling her eyes. “Try to at least look cool in front of the workforce while you hold the fort down, okay? Ya wanna be taken seriously, try not to blush at everything.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jane said.

There was a pause. “...Just ma’am?”

“Yes, Condesce?” Jane tried again, using the nickname that the elder Peixes’ batch friends had coined in their youth. The Signless, the Dolorosa, and the rest; they had become troll celebrities and unintentionally set the stage for their growing people’s culture to take titles as a form of self-identity.

There was a longer pause. And then a more heartfelt sigh. “You CAN call me Meenah. Y’know. Or mother. Or… look, you don’t work for me, okay? I ain’t yer boss.”

Jane wiggled uncomfortably, causing something small and metal to glint in her cleavage. “...Yes, ma’am,” she said, looking at the ground, or at least her cleavage. It was too big to actually see any floor. She clutched at the metal object, like holding the hand of a loved one to feel more confident.

There was one last final sigh, and it spoke to a lot of regrets. Mistakes made with parenting, words you couldn’t take back, and one last attempt to try to fix it, with a fear of doing it wrong all over again. “...You’ll keep me posted on important crap going on, yeah? Like that meeting coming up.”

Jane’s heart sank, and her stomach felt queasy. “Yes. I’ll… I’ll represent our cause well.”

Meenah the Elder sighed, and there was a strong impression of eyes being rolled. “I’m doing my part here, but you’ll have to make a good case. C’mon! You can do it. I believe in ya, girl.”

“I’ll… I’ll do it!”

“That’s the spirit!” There was a sound, as if of a kiss being blown. “Don’t tell no one, but love ya.” The speaker disconnected.

Jane sighed in relief, and sat back, and her free hand came up to rub at her temples, right above a sub-dermal implanted augmenting her brain’s processing power. “Ugh…” She winced at what felt like a fairly rough headache.

The metal in her hand shimmered to life; this was not a metaphor. It glowed brightly, with a faint red color striking against a black casing, and a single bright red light glowed. It was alive, a person in its own right. Not life in the same way as cells and blood, but life in electricity and silicon: a true artificial intelligence. This particular one, having a wicked sense of humor and taste for irony that had probably been inherited from the family that had produced him, had named himself after a famous antagonistic AI; he called himself Hal Strider.

Various mechanical synapses wired into her kicked in, and the comforting presence of a familiar mind extruding into hers, at the border of consciousness, rather like a worshipper prostrating themselves before a deity. Hal’s mind hovered, and remotely took control of a small set of speakers Jane carried for this purpose. “Sup, Jane. You’re kinda freaked out.”

Jane groaned. “How can you tell…?” She asked with only a bit of sarcasm.

“I got my ways. Reading that your hearts, all three of ‘em, are pumping mad. Blood pressure is… hoo, that’s not healthy. Shoot, your muscles are tense, especially the ones built into support your… chest. And you’re getting one monster of a headache.” He stopped, perhaps in apology. “Also, it’s kind of obvious you’re freaked out. I’ll order some meds for that headache.”

“You’re a treat, Hal.” Jane slowly got up, dreading going to work. She enjoyed being an administrator, but that meeting loomed over her, and she felt queasy at it. ‘It’s just the possible future of extreme modding, all the potential benefits of self-controlled evolution and all that at stake. And if it’s penalized, trolls and carapacians and the other sapients could be legally prosecuted for having them built in… it’s all on ME.’

She sighed again. “No pressure.” She stood up straight, causing some hefty sloshing from her massive breasts, and cracking from her suit. Oh well. She had a job to do! She pocketed Hal’s corporeal container back into her cleavage, where he sank deep, right against her chest… right against her heart. It beat a bit faster, but definitely not from stress. She patted her upper swell of mammary, enjoying the feel of him so close. “Any medical issues to report?”

There was the briefest pauses from Hal, and Jane later would think this was probably a relevant point. As an artificial intelligence, Hal thought FAST; any hesitation from him was just for deliberate effect, or imitating human social behavior. He thought so fast that he never needed any time to check and report.

But any kind of pause, from him, was the equivalent of waiting several hours to just think really, really hard about something important.

In the span of that pause, Hal looked over Jane’s biology, checked her cybernetic implants, and all the rest. This was actually his job, at least in the official records, because ‘health care officer’ for the world’s most important heiress looked a lot better than ‘personal companion’ for a paycheck. There was some interesting activity going on with her brain. She was thinking so much lately, and her intelligent implants were processing over time, and there was something going on there… Hal noticed something odd there, in her brain chemistry. Chemical markers of something else-

Oh. Yes, of course. The… stuff Meenah the Elder had used to transform Jane from an ordinary, if modded, human into the behemoth she was growing into. All Hal knew about it is that it was absolutely off the books, and had come in a syringe. It hadn’t been manufactured; it had come from somewhere, and best as he could work out from the data he’d mined in old communications between the founding families, had something to do with some site that had started… well, everything.

No one did know exactly how Mom Lalonde, Roxy the First, had created the technologies and genetic splicing techniques to create the trolls in the first place. Or how easy the creation of the carapacians was, as if she had been working from a template. And there were other mysteries there… like that mutagenic stuff Meenah the Elder had used on Jane, treating it first with her own genetics, as if to fashion Jane into her own daughter in the physical sense.

It would seem it was still in Jane’s body. It was working all the time, slowly transforming her in subtle ways, making her a true fusion of human and troll, producing all kinds of mutations, and now it was interlacing with Jane’s cerebral implants and intelligence-boosting mods. And it was doing… something.

In that pause, Hal took a long time to figure out if he should tell Jane about all that, as he was honor bound to do, or if it was better not to worry here. In the end, AIs have hearts as much as anyone. Jane was stressed enough as it were. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, and onto Jane’s augmented reality-capable glasses, he made a little avatar of himself giving a thumbs up and a wink.

Jane smiled. “You’re sweet,” she said, and off they went to the offices.

Things did not improve much from there.

Several hours in: several hours of signing off on paperwork in her adoptive mother’s name, personally answering letters about their work that ranged from the merely offensive to the politically extremely disastrous if handled wrong. And then the mod stuff, addressing the medical aspects that were so crucial to their long-term success; they had to focus on the benefits of it to stay relevant in the eyes of the world, and they needed to fix so much…

Jane sighed in her office, Hal close at hand and presently extending himself into a terminal for this purpose. Letters flashed as he relayed several messages from Feferi and Roxy the Younger, and their suggestions for improving mods, and sent them to the labs once Jane gave her okay.

With the pain in her head, like something was trying to hammer its way out of here and making shocks that were hurting her spine, balancing the needs of modifications that could prove vital to the company’s success, and the welfare of all trolls and other beings, Jane was feeling physically ill; it was just too much, all at once.

“I can do this,” she mumbled to herself. “I can do it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hal said soothingly. “Hasn’t that stuff I got you done anything yet?”

Jane clutched her head. She swore she could feel her skull moving beneath her fingers. Little hairline segments opening, and things sliding around, very gradually. And...pressing against her fingers? It was an illusion from the pain.

It had to be. “It’s not working…!” She hissed, shutting her eyes. Hal turned off visuals to her glasses, blanketing it in blessed darkness. “Ah… that’s better.”

Hal did the digital equivalent of relaxing… and then froze up. Aw shit, he thought.

The alert got past him, and a video call appeared on a TV. “Hello, miss acting executive,” said an oily voice doing its best to be deliberately unpleasant.

Jane stared at it. “Uhhh. Oh no…”

She was a human woman, of ordinary and unmodded build, and she had a certain look of someone who just love bringing bad news, and takes too much joy in being unpleasant. She smiled, thinly. “May I assume you are the representative of your company’s chief officer in this meeting?” she said, and wiggled her fingers at ‘chief officer’. She probably had wanted to say ‘animal’ instead, and gave the words a nasty spin that had the same effect.

Jane groaned. Dealing with bigots who openly wanted trolls declared subhuman creatures was not something she was fit to do in her state. She blinked hard, trying to focus; the whole world, even with her glasses going to full visibility again, swam in and out of focus. She cried out, pain stabbing hard right from inside her skull.

And again, and another one, and one more, harder than before: she clutched her head, oh god it HURTS!

The representative stared at Jane with poorly concealed distaste, eyes lingering sourly upon Jane’s gigantic cleavage, the faint moisture visible upon her suit from inside, and the other bits of what she had once referred to as ‘oversexed grotesquery’. “Perhap we might… reschedule,” she said nastily. “To account for your troubles. An implant misfiring, perhaps.”

“N-no!” Jane cried out. “I can attend- ah!” she clutched her head, falling onto the desk. Her breasts made it creak as they slammed down, and the rest of her bored down all the way, and the poor desk couldn’t take all her weight. It slowly folded inwards, and then burst, exploding over the room.

The monitor fell onto the floor. It was cracked, and where Jane heard the sound of dollars going up in smoke for nothing, she also heard the representative sounding pleased about her suffering. “This, I’m so afraid, will not look good for the use of implants and modifications. Not if they can backfire so terribly. I will recommend that we postpone the meeting. Ta~” The video ended.

Hal could sometimes be blunt. “Aw, shit.”

“No, no no no!” Jane thrust a fist onto the floor and it shook. She almost punched right through it. “I fucked up! I was working for barely one day, I was supposed to be a good heiress and I already fucked up!” She clutched her head. “And my head hurts, it hurts, oh goddammit stop HURTING!” She raised her head up, to headbutt the ground in a desperate attempt to do SOMETHINg to make it stop.

“Jane, no!” Hal cried out.

Jane yelled, in anger and pain and frustration but mostly the unending agony in her head-

The room went blue.

Psionics flooded out from her, energy bubbling up and exploding outwards in a single pulse, and the walls exploded. Or they ceased to exist, or exploded SO fast, and in such fine form, that they might as well have been annihilated. The blast kept going but got weaker, bowling desks over and trapping the employees. It kept going, setting off alarms and rattling drinking coolers, and all the way to the outer office windows, where the glass shook. This was pretty impressive, when they’d been built to tank anything short of a direct meteor strike.

Hal, silently, noted that Jane’s psionic put out had just risen to that expected of a fully trained goldblood specialist. “Jane…?” Hal asked. “How long have you been able to do that?”

Jane stared open-mouthed, a few bits of rubble falling on her. “I… can’t.” She swallowed. “And I just keep digging myself deeper. Oh, look at all this damage…!” she clutched her head against another fresh stab of pain, and now, she didn’t even notice a swell of blue from her hands flare up at it. She wasn’t in much of a position to be aware that as the pain rose, so did her psionic ratings, while something in her head changed.

Hal did, though. “Uh, Jane?”

“WHAT.”

Hal gave up. “I’ll call someone to help you get out of here.”

Jane’s impulse to insist she could handle this and convince the officials not to postpone the meeting faltered beneath another brutal swell, and a grinding sound in her head. “Oh God… okay, okay! That, that would be best. Okay. Do it. Please…?”

She laid down there for some time, her head grinding and the pain swelling and rising in random waves. And there, Jane realized something odd. With each peak of pain, when the hurting hit the point where it was so bad she could barely think, she kept having ideas.

She didn’t know where they came from. It was as if something was pushing them together, and some part of her was working things out. That the pain was making something happen, and she was figuring things, working through them.

As Hal ran his request out to the first available person, Jane held a hand out and fumbled in the rubble. Still laying down, she found a little tablet that had survived the destruction. She couldn’t look directly at it, not with that screen glare, but she could feel it, and she typed out on it. She sent it.

As an attendant was brought in to escort Jane home, the labs were surprised to receive a write up on a mod formula that had been puzzling them for a while; it was a perfect one, an absolutely ideal suggestion that stood up to all testing. And the really tricky bit?

When they’d sent it upstairs for review, it had only been a concept. Not a fully fleshed out mod; that took months of constant research and testing to do, and Jane had finished it in moments. She’d figured it out.

Upstairs, Jane was being helped to her feet with the help of a black carapacian who called himself the Archive Ranger. “Up you get, ma’am,” he said cheerfully, supporting her massive frame with a small forklift.

“Uhhh…” Jane groaned.

“Uh, Janey. If you give me access, my implants are all over your nervous system and brain; I can shut off your pain receptors for a while-”

“DO IT, PLEASE.”

Hal did so. Jane felt satisfying numbness, and almost fell over. She clutched her head, in relief-

And froze. There was rubble in the way, obscuring her head from sight, but she still felt something round there. Protruding out from her skull, inhumanly. And she still felt her head grinding, shifting…

Transforming. Growing.

For, as the rubble fell away when she was lifted up, it revealed her head in full.

And that, from directly above her eyes, her head had swelled into a perfect sphere.

The Archive Ranger peered. “Um. You, uh. Feeling okay, ma’am?”

Jane breathed in. “What the fu-”

-----

It was a few hours later. The pain was still gone, courtesy of Hal’s presence, and that just left room for Jane to get extremely upset.

Well, not upset, per se. More angry. Or ‘blisteringly furious’.

“You could have told me!” She yelled, stomping around in one of the palatial expanses of her private suite, doing her best not to fall over. She’d been figuring that out for a while, but now she was having to balance not just gigantic hips and hyper-productive breasts larger than her torso, but… well.

That. She felt up her head again, gingerly, as if trying to remind herself it was real. Her fingers slid up from her jawline, to her temple, and there. Where she expected hair, her skull had grown up, swelling upwards, outwards, at a fairly steep angle. Her fingers slid across a strange combination of trollish, human and mechanical bits, all of it growing together in a curious melding. Swells of biomechanical implants that had grown larger from some unknown process, chitinous structure growing beneath the skin to support her new growth, and human skin, thicker than usual. And yet another troll bit, interwoven into ordinary brown skin, vein-line conduits of psionic energy, glowing a vibrant shade of light blue.

She was now in the same league as the Captor line of trolls, in terms of raw psionic power. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Mostly she was concerned about how, according to the x-ray scans that had been taken, her brain had expanded. It had grown outwards, and her skull’s expanded size, for all its disturbing girth, was actually a fairly thin layer. Robust and armored, to be sure, but almost all the mass was her brain.

Her thoughts moved fast, so fast they doubled in on themselves, they criss-crossed and planted new mini-thoughts that blossomed on their own, to unexpectedly arrive at another point and yield insights that felt so perfect, so sublime. It was a pleasure, feeling the depth of her thoughts, the sudden clarity of it.

“You could have told me,” she said again, trying to hold on to the anger. And not focus on how good it felt, thinking so… so profoundly, with such perfect clearness. And the air on her enlarged head felt so nice. It was odd, but so pleasant. Her body shivered at the sensations, and after the horrific headaches of earlier, this was a welcome change of pace.

“I…” Hal hesitated. Another one of those little pauses, so significant in a hyper intelligent AI. “Shit. You’re right. You’re correct, okay? I was scared, okay? I thought you were too stressed out, and when i picked up there was something going on with your head, I figured… I don’t know. Just a little mutation.”

Jane indicated her expanded cranium. She pointed at what had presumably been a intelligence-boosting implant. Somehow, it had grown larger, from a sub-dermal machine to a large swath of smoothly moving machinery, with an oily motion, arcing upwards into a shape uncannily like a troll’s horn. “This? A little?”

“I didn’t realize what was going on! Okay!?”

“How!? You’re a super intelligent AI, how could you not pick that up!?”

Hal tried to figure that one out. It wasn’t as if Jane’s changes had been subtle. “Best as I can figure out, your skull changing was the cause of all that pain, and, I don’t know, something with it boosted your psionics. Built in a better energy network? It interfered with my readings too much, and I was stretched thin. I had no idea any of that was happening!”

“Hmph.” Jane tapped her foot. “Okay… okay then.” Several dozen ideas ran around, meshed together, and sixteen conclusions presented themselves. “That sounds about right.”

“I suppose we could call Meenah the Elder,” Hal said. “We can figure something out-”

“No!” Jane cried out, her eyes wide, ad psionic energy rising around her. “We can’t! It hasn’t even been a day! I need to show her I can do this! I’m a worthy heiress, I need to prove it!”

“But-”

“I can handle this!” She glared at the nearest camera that she knew he was seeing her through.

It lowered dejectedly. Hal gave in. “Okay, okay… so. What do we do then.”

Jane glanced to a nearby computer. She sighed, going over to it and sitting down in the quadruple chair arrangement, suitable to her gigantic backside. “Well, for one, I start working from home. I might as well set a good example; even unexpectedly mutated, I still do as I promised!”

“Wait, don’t forget to-”

There was a crash. And the distinctive sound of a troll-scale chair falling over.

“And perhaps we can get something up her to support my head,” Jane said, from the floor.

Several days passed.

Several days of heady, rampant mutation.

Jane sat at a bench of sorts, examining a holographic blueprint of what appeared to be a purely synthetic body; a robotic shell, capable of fulfilling all relevant biological capabilities, particularly those related to reproduction.

She leaned forward. A harness looped to her head, linked to several wheeled poles to support her head, moved with her.

Her head was far from reaching its final growth. It had only gotten bigger, nearly doubling in size; it was nearly as large as Jane herself, and strangely it didn’t feel that heavy. Jane suspected that her psionics were being naturally diverted into supporting its weight, a minor use of her growing powers she didn’t even have to think about, and Hal’s investigations supported this.

Several glowing spots, reservoirs of psionic energy, shimmered like cyan sunspots on the side of her head. Peaking atop it, her cybernetic bits had just gotten bigger, angling further and further, projecting into distinctive horn shapes, which felt rather appropriate to her.

All of today’s office work is done, she thought to herself, the notion blazing past so fast it had a dozen other variations analyzing the idea from every angle. Her thoughts were coming faster these days, and more clearly; it was like having twenty other Janes thinking with her, and each day, her head got bigger, and her intelligence seemed to be growing as much as her brain was; she felt the peak of some strange singularity, hovering before her.

Surely it wasn’t usual to find… pleasure in just thinking? But here she was, a cool shiver sliding up her back with every moment of pontification. It felt like being milked; an almost shameful pleasure for how different it was from the human norm, and there was so MUCH of it!

The work of an entire week’s worth, finished before breakfast. Jane contemplated that, as fast as she could pull off work now, having an entire day with nothing in particular to do felt a bit daunting. Now what?

Thus, her pet project.

Jane, in addition to her brain, was significantly bigger than she’d been that day she had come from the office. Her appetite had grown truly terrifying; she felt compelled to just eat and eat, fueling her brain’s expansion, but it was going to the rest of her body. She was wider, taller… mostly a lot taller. She wasn’t sure how much so, but she’d had to smash through doorways, mostly with her expanding hips, and none of her clothes fit either. She expected she was upwards of ten feet tall now, and only getting bigger.

“So, what are you working on here, Jane?” Hal said, a camera tilting towards her.

“I assume you recall the project to create truly functional bodies for synthetics,” Jane said,typing on a keyboard and entering in new schematics.

“Hah, yeah. Of course. It’s only been everything I ever wanted.” He made an irritable synthetic noise. “Trapped in these shells that can’t feel, away from you except by proxy… it sucks. It’s literally the worst. Get a dictionary, look up ‘The Worst’, and you’ll find these sucker shells next to ‘em.”

“Yep.” Jane’s head did not wobble much, being about the only part of her that didn’t. It was smooth, gleaming faintly, with not a bit of hair at all now. It did crackle faintly with blue light as she thought about several significant things at once. “The problem with making a chassis that can support a digital consciousness; not being the root of it, but just a channel for it.”

‘The same way I ride in whatever shell I can get.”

“Yes. And of course…” Jane felt conscious of her potential. Her broodmother potential, in fact. “No one’s been able to work out a way to make a synthetic body that’s actual virile. Capable of reproducing.”

Hal paused for a significant amount of time. “...No. They haven’t.” Bitterness and longing twanged from his words.

“I expect that there’s ways to make synthetic reproduction work through creative application of genetic templates and delivery systems,” Jane said thoughtfully. She was built for breeding, she’d redesigned herself to be the ultimate reproductive force just like any troll woman, but… she’d never had any person she really wanted to do that with. Except for one, and he was physically incapable of it. He didn’t even have a body.

Jane glanced down at the schematic. Until now, at least.

Hal spoke up. Something seemed to have been on his mind. “We can, you know, reverse the change. Get into talk with Roxy or Feferi. They know mutation better than anyone else. If you don’t want this, we can reverse it…?” The tone hung in the air, a delicate question.

Jane let the thousands of possibilities for rebuttal soar inside her mind, circling about and becoming more loud and furious, and she reveled in how good it felt to let the thoughts grow. The clarity of her thinking, the speed of it. She felt so… smart.

“Nah,” Jane said, opting for gentleness. She reached into her cleavage with a sloshy sound as her boobs shifted, and cradled Hal with a tough. “I’m… fine with this.”

And that was the amazing part. There was no lie there. She really was happy with this.

Reflectively, she thought that it would have been surprising to others. This mutation was by far even more extreme than her fusion of troll and human traits; she’d been straddling the line between species as is.

But, as shocking as it was, as utterly inhuman this change was…

Between the pleasure of her thoughts and the vastness of her growing intellect, the expansion of her psionic abilities, and the simply physical sensations, this felt good. The thought of going back was horrifying, and it made her feel faint, and small.

She never wanted to feel small again.

That reminded her; the meeting had been rescheduled after all, the bulk of her growth rendering her unable to attend any discussions about that, and soon it would be time to prove she could handle her duties.

She swallowed. She still wasn’t feeling confident enough…

But perhaps, she thought as twenty two ways of pretending to be confident and steely of purpose instantly were plain to her, she could fake it really well. She could out think her foe here, for sure.

Her stomach rumbled. “Hal, sweetie, can you order a fifty-course meal? I’m feeling peckish and growing this much is hungry work!”

“I’ll order up the tailors again,” Hal said dryly.

She waved a finger scoldingly at the camera. “Don’t tease.”

Weeks passed as the meeting was arranged, and Jane went through a period of ‘oh god I’m making so much trouble happen, this expense is all because of me’, but some common sense came through when she thought about the situation. As Hal agreed, even if this wouldn’t look good for her image that they had to postpone a meeting on her account, the time spent organizing everything, from catering to preparing agendas to securing an appropriate venue with the right amount of prestige, was time Jane had to prepare herself.

She wouldn’t have been prepared on that meeting day. And her thoughts moved fast, and examining everything from all the possible angles, the idea emerged within her wondrous brain that she could still have done it that day. By the skin of her teeth, perhaps, but she still could have secured victory.

Meenah the Elder had all the world to pick from for her heiress. She had chosen Jane, and now Jane had the perspective to think that maybe the wily leviathan had seen something she hadn’t.

“An interesting choice of school,” Jane observed during her training regimen, as she called it. She sat at a table, laden with food to supercharge her body and a number of mutagenic package serums, running up in IVs to various parts of her body. Before here, surrounded by small mountains of food that Jane’s ravenous appetite considered a small snack, there was a small folder and it was opened to a record of the woman responsible for rearranging the meeting, seemingly just to mock Jane.

“How so?” Hal asked. Jane turned, and leaning over the table, there was a robot. It was Hal, at last in a new body, handcrafted by her. Not the most advanced sort, she had to admit, but it was the best she could do on short notice and Hal, Hal was not picky. A crude shape, similar to a crash test dummy, but he was there.

His body was just a test run, an essay in the craft she was creating all on her own. She’d make better ones. But he was holding her hand. He looked so small, for the body was human-sized, and she was already troll-sized, and his palm barely fit over one knuckle. But she could feel him, and he could feel her.

Even if she didn’t relish all the marvelous results of her enlarged brain, that alone would have made the change worth it.

“Take a look!” She handed the folder over, minding her head, and she had to lean down heavily to pass it down. Lots of things bumped into one another; her constantly swelling breasts, creaking heavily and wetly against her pajamas, made the table creak beneath them, and her expanded her almost crushed the dishes beneath it.

Hal took it. “School created by her parents, huh. And no non-humans allowed… blanket ban of AIs… charming. We’ve barely existed for more than a few decades, too. That’s a fast ban. I’m kind of proud; my people are truly irritating bastards! And her parents were also involved in politics were dealing. Nepotism there, I imagine.” He flipped through the rest of the folder, and just for fun, hacked into the relevant servers and pulled all information on her. “Okay, got the rest of it, so have fun with a personality outline. Good for strategies.”

Jane tapped her head smugly. “I’ve already figured that out, but you’re a dear. Thank you. I think I should begin my regimen for today, then.”

“No problem.” Hal began powering up the IVs, fluids pouring up into Jane. He considered one that ran up into her brain. “You’re sure about this, then?”

“Yes!” Jane’s expression was a little delirious.

Hal did a few calculations, mostly concerning the experimental nature of the mod she was applying to her brain. Mental enhancement, augmenting memory storage, processing speed, and introducing the capacity for creating shelf-minds to briefly examine a question from multiple perspectives. It was not terribly subtle as an enhancement; most of the other Crocker Corp mods of this nature simply amplified existing capacity, but this one did rearrange the structure of the brain to improve it.

He looked up. Jane’s brain was bigger than she was now; several times bigger than her, eclipsing her and it was still growing. Her skull had fully reshaped around it into a kind of cartilaginous support as hard as armor, complex networks of psionic light producing a fascinatingly complex arrangement around its curves. He wasn’t sure how this stuff would change her brain… but if Jane wanted it, he wouldn’t argue.

Hal happily considered himself an absolute bastard, but when it came to Jane, he was a doormat. “Full force on those mod delivery systems!” Jane commanded, and he did so.

She squeaked, happily, as they hit her system. Many of them were amplification mods, designed to expand on your existing shape and traits (and existing mods), and since Jane was so modded up, they had a lot to work with. Her clothes creaked, built to support her massive body but unable to withstand the pressures of her growth all at once: stitches popped as her breasts grew, expanding by a troll cup-size every few seconds, heavily swelling outwards. Her milk production ramped up, supported by some enhancements Jane had worked there with a clever little addition that made her breast tissue synchronize with her brain; more boob size and milk amplified her processing power,

Her hips grew, waistband creaking and popping right off. Her belly, already so heavy and dense, grew out and just over the swell of her groin, right onto thighs that were growing individual larger than some troll boys on the spot. It didn’t help her legs were getting longer, her bones expanding and reshaping to support such architectural weight. Jane visibly grew upwards, even as her hips grew wider than a couple trucks parked together, her backside swallowing up and crushing the chairs she sat on as it billowed out.

A foot taller. A couple feet, then three feet. Jane kept growing, taller and taller, right alone with her curves getting bigger, her enlarged breasts instantly filling up with brain-boosting milk, and she squealed with delight as her clothes popped right off, burst from her body’s best efforts to outdo itself.

And her brain was shifted, squirming from within. Jane’s eyes crossed as she momentarily blacked out. The change didn’t take long, but it was by far the most complex happening in her body, even exceeding the troll/human hybridization process. Hal supposed it was like upgrading a motherboard while the terminal was still on; you had to have some shutdown.

A fairly human brain design was being reworked from the ground up; her brain, beneath the skull, became a complex arrangement of zig-zags and criss crossed knots, not doing individual jobs but becoming a mass of interconnected processors, linked together to a central core. Amplifying it, adding additional layers to itself, and what that brain had originally been capable of was redefined, evolutionary missteps corrected instantaneously and improved upon.

At this point the other mods kicked in; the boosters, the additional intelligence amps, and some cybernetic upgrades.

Jane’s eyes opened and she squealed in delight when her head expanded. Her eyes almost went cross as her head began rapidly growing. Not an inch at a time, but rather, a whole foot, all in a second. Visibly her head swelled, skull reforming into something much more flexible, rather like an organic balloon, just to keep pace with it.

And like a balloon it grew! As if invisible hands were spreading raw material into it and kneading it all into place, Jane’s head grew larger, and larger still.  It got even rounder, with nodules of cybernetic relays, ports popping up like fins, curling whorls where her chitinous support plates and psionic networks knitted together and then grew bigger.

It was already bigger than Jane, who by now was over fifteen feet tall. A proper troll size, close to what Meenah the Elder had been at her age. A brain over sixteen feet around, nearly twenty five feet across, radiating enough raw psionic energy to erase a small mountain-

And it was still growing. It pulsed from within, glowing blue with just a hint of more neon fuchsias.

And Jane gasped, on the verge of something grand and alien, but good. Her eyes shone like someone who saw the shape of the universe, and the code thereof. She put her hands up to her head, eyes wide and full of delight. “I can see it! I understand it!”

“Understand… what?” Hal asked, baffled.

Jane took a deep breath and nearly shouted, “Everything!”

The weeks of waiting, and additional growth for Jane and all her different plans to be worked out, came to an end. The meeting, and its possible implications for the future of modding and the Lalonde offspring species, was upon them.

Jane was late, citing transportation difficulties. This did not pass unnoticed by the meeting crowd.

“The poor mutant has likely gotten herself wedged in some doorway or something,” the representative who had reorganized the meeting in the first place said with a tutting sound. “Or I dare say all those artificial hormones she’s flooded her body with have done terrible things to her memory.”

“Allowances for size problems were accounted for,” objected a thin fellow who was taking a ‘wait and see’ attitude to the whole matter at hand. He was starting to suspect some kind of personal vendetta from the first representative, and it was starting to grate at him.

The representative smirked. “They wouldn’t be necessary if they didn’t permit mutation into such overlarge forms.”

“If that was the case, the trolls would be harshly penalized for being born over the legal limit of size,” observed another person. They didn’t sound like they thought this was a good thing, or a bad thing. They just said it.

“Which would be cruel and inhumane, to punish people for their biology,” another woman said, more sternly. This got a few nods, but not many, from the fence-sitting portion of the representatives.

The first representative smiled in a very nasty way. “We’ll see.” Those on her side of the ‘lets just be absolute bastards’ crowd nodded. Though in a non committal way. They were intending on making life just the worst for trolls and those like them, but they weren’t going to put themselves onto a bullseye for it.

There came a sound, as if of footsteps, so heavy they made the walls shake even in this auditorium selected for its size. “Ah,” said another. “That must be-”

The door opened. A foot, in an elegant high heeled shoe longer than a child’s bed, crashed into the floor. Then the walls abruptly exploded into a perfect silhouette for something very big to step though; expanding hugely for monstrously huge hips, even more for breasts that looked like they needed trucks to support them, and then, an enormous globe glowing like a blue son.

The awe-inspiringly big woman, as large as any troll, dd not step in. She took another movement and floated into the air, seemingly as light as a leaf. Behind her, the wall rubble floated back into place and sealed itself back into solid form, as though it had never been broken.

“Her,” the figure who had spoken finished weakly.

“So sorry I am late,” Jane Crocker said smoothly, doing her best to hide her screaming nervousness and keep up the pretense of a Cool Business Leader Who Knows Her Stuff. “But then you were all warned, but I apologize again.”

They stared up at her, and the general attitude was of meekness and terrified shock; most of them had never actually been in the same room as a troll before, and weren’t the type to be around people who enjoyed modding themselves; it was their first time seeing someone three times as tall as a human, and so curvaceous, or floating with telekinesis.

It was probably more relevant to their shock that Jane's head, above her eyes, was a massive ball generating so much psionic energy it glowed like light, so thickly that it had taken on solid form and rather resembled her old hair style. Light blue, at that. And it was so massive, taking up a good chunk of the auditorium where she was; it had to measure almost fifty feet across, at least!

“What the fu-” the first representative, the dreadful one, started to say, her eyes widening in disgust and shock.

Jane held up a finger. “Ah. Please let’s not be vulgar?”

The representative stopped. She kept staring, openly repelled. “What have you done to yourself…?! You’re not even human anymore?”

Ah, perfect! Jane repressed the urge to smirk victoriously. Her foe was presenting an overly antagonistic front, and setting herself up to look like the bad guy. This was almost too easy. Her gigantic brain, and all the intellectual boosts it provided, gave her no less than twenty six thousand different routes, each perfectly assured to give her what she wanted, to discredit her foe’s position.

She selected one. ‘Miss, I apologize but whether or not a certain degree of modding voids my species is not the subject of this meeting, nor is it entirely appropriate to comment upon. May I ask that we proceed with the meeting?”

“Ah, yes,” another representative said, rather dazed. He coughed. “First on the agenda, I believe. Now, as representative of the… the biggest modding corporation in the world…” he paused again, trailing off. He kept glancing at Jane’s… well, everything. Jane had to admit that perhaps the low cut of her business suit was rather daring but she was feeling proud of her handiwork in reshaping herself.

“Are mods dangerous? Please!” This was the obnoxious representative, again. Jane had to give her credit; she was dogged. “You WOULD be the expert on that!”

Jane was pleased, despite the insult. The woman had likely prepared a line of questioning intended to poison the meeting against even a moderate position for modding, a subtle one, and Jane’s appearance had rattled her so much, she was showing her hand without thinking.

Making sure to keep her poise and calm demeanor intact, Jane replied evenly, her glasses gleaming in reflection from her cyan aura. A background susurration of her thinking went around, providing perfect counters to everything that might be used against her, and a stray thought observed that Jane’s glass effect probably made her look very spooky.

Jane made her point, briefly but winding her words with so much sincerity and earnestness that just objecting to them would be deeply offensive and cruel. Certainly it would make an opponent look bad, and the woman who had started all this looked uncertain how to proceed.

Appropriate, then. The whole reason that dreadful woman had rearranged the meeting had been to humiliate Jane. And Jane’s position of course; that was a political thing, Making your opponent look back, striking at their position through proxy.

Well, Jane thought. Two could play that role.

Jane reinforced her point, with no less than sixteen different arguments that also served as counter arguments for… well, at least twenty five separate retorts that were in the seventy-six most likely statements she would have to face. That was just off the top of her head of course; she had much stronger arguments in store if they really pushed her.

And she hadn’t cried at all, or showed a sign of her nervous she actually was! She was getting good at pretending to be confident.

About fifteen minutes in, there was something of a problem. “Well, I… ah… that is… I believe Miss Crocker, Egbert…? I think you’ve nicely summed up our side's position on the matter,” said a man who Jane felt certain was on her side. He looked faint, all the same, too unsteady to be certain of what he was really saying.

Jane blinked. She had seen something like this coming, her mighty brain had worked it out, but it was a surprise all the same. “But it’s only been fifteen minutes!”

“Well, yes,” said another. “You thought of everything you needed to say!”

The opponents shook their heads glumly. “What am I supposed to say to any of that?” one managed, shrugging. The first representative didn’t say anything at all. She had a venomous look, but from what Jane had gathered from her, that was just her default state of expression.

“...Oh,” Jane said, using those valuable pauses to work out what to say next. “I am so sorry, everyone!”

“No need, miss,” and this, surprisingly enough, came from the crowd opposed to her position. “I must say. I’m still not comfortably with the idea of injecting things into yourself, or eating things that do things like that to your body… but it’s helped you think faster and better, yes?”

“But of course,” Jane said primly. “The corporation I work at, we are laboring all the time to make such products available for everyone. In more subtle forms, if that pleases you.” She tapped a cybernetic extrusion that looked like the tines of a crown. “It may seem… an unusual choice, but we are all about personal freedom and respect of the body. I can assure you!”

“Certainly something to think about, ma’am,” the speaker replied, and Jane did not miss the switch from ‘Miss’ to ‘ma’am’.

This, of course, left them with nearly six hours left, and not really much less to do for the meeting. In all honesty, she hadn’t seen that coming at all.

Life went on.

Those with a political ear to the ground, or who a close on the research communities, heard of the restrictions around modding being lightened, or at least that they were being considered for it. Trolls, carapacians, and others sighed in relief, grmly waiting for the next government-sponsored threat to their existence, but felt a bit better about this support.

That said, the precise events of the meeting were unknown to most people. The authorities involved were too embarrassed to own up to what had actually happened, and were keeping the particulars under wraps.

This was certainly interesting to Meenah the Elder, known to her friends and employees as the Condesce. She fancied herself a shrewd political player, even if it was mostly of the ‘smash your face against the wall until the wall breaks’ kind of play, and badly wanted to know the specifics.

“Couldn’t tell ya, I didn’t actually attend,” said Li’l Hal, sitting across from her on her personal jet, and he was drinking a cup of milk that was apparently of excellent source, with a hint of alcoholic spice. This was interesting to the Condesce, as he was. Well. In a physical body.

Of all the people to have arrived specifically to meet her at the eve of her trip ending and escorting her to Jane’s mysterious post-politics retreat, she had not expected Jane’s assistant. Particularly in person.

Several questions posed themselves. She settled for, “How the hell did you get a body?”

Hal smirked. His physical body was obviously robotic; a shining and shimmering automaton modeled broadly on the human form, with a hint of carapacian, and facial features from all of those. He didn’t have many features from humans; his antipathy towards the species that had made them was rather infamous, and no doubt he had refused to honor his makers in any way possible with his design.

“Jane designed it,” he said.

She paused. “Janey.”

“Yep.”

“Janey built you a body.”

“Yep.”

“Janey, who has absolutely no interest in mechanics, worked out a branch of robotics we’ve been trying to figure out for decades.”

“Yep.”

“And in the course of mah little trip out, yeah?”

“If I said yep again, would that be redundant.”

Meenah the Elder scoffed. She sat back, a giantess even by the standard of trolls, her engorged figure so enormously swelled that it was said her bras qualified as architectural support and her custom chairs made from old tanks. “Sure, fine. Don’t tell me, chumbait.”

Hal chuckled again, in that very dark way he’d worked out to make people as worried as possible.

Meenah glanced outside. The jet approached an island, the sea visible far below. It offended her ancestry to be so far away from the sea, which was a bit perplexing when she was the first troll of her blood color, but you couldn’t help how you felt. “Huh. That’s the island the Harleys keep all their weird experiments at, right? Where they test the new lusii and keep those big monster things at.”

Hal glanced out the window. A pteranodon was drifting in view, without paying them much interest. “The dinosaurs and stuff. Yeah. Nepeta comes here for hunting and isolation when she’s pregnant.”

“So what’s Janey doing here.”

Hal scratched the side of his arm absently, apparently itching. “She’s working on something and she’s finishing a round of transformation. I guess she wanted to be alone in peace for it.” With a hint of smugness he added, “Except for me.”

“Don’t go breaking yer arm patting yourself on the back,” Meenah the Elder said dryly. “Ya only just got the body.” She glanced out, looking pleased. “Transformation, eh? Janey’s sent me messages ‘bout that. She finally growing big as a troll, like I always figured?”

“Well. Uh. She has. But…?” Hal felt uncharacteristically uncertain. “What DID Jane tell you?”

“Talk about how she’s gotten bigger. And she thinks she’s full of herself.”

“She what?”

“Y’know. She said she’s got a swelled head. Ain’t a bad thing. She knows how good she is, now!”

“I. okay. Wow. I think you may have misunderstood what she meant. I mean. She IS big like a troll now, but-”

“But what?” Meenah the Elder frowned. “Whatta ya getting at?”

Hal considered just telling her, and decided against it. Firstly, it would be a breach of Jane’s trust, telling people without her say so. Secondly, she wanted to greet Meenah the Elder in person, on this eve of her great success. And three, and perhaps most importantly, it was gonna be goddamn hilarious.

“Better to show you,” he said, and successfully did not burst out into a round of maniacal cackling.

The jet touched down onto a runway on a part of the island not particularly frequented by recombinant tyrannosaurs produced by the Harleys (and the meek personalities of kakapo birds, apparently) or rampaging lusii grown to kaiju size from unforeseen complications in the mutations, and the gigantically curvy older troll was pleased by the palatial estate sprawling partway into the sea. Jane liked the finer things in life, and Meenah approved. A short distance away, was… Meenah squinted.

A hill, floating in the air? And beneath it was some kind of round building. Hrm, she considered. Janey was working on some kinda experiment. Worth investigating.

Hal escorted her out and led her, not to the estate, but to Meenah’s surprise, to the hill.

As they got closer, she became aware of a radiant light she had initially believed was a fancy lightshow, but as they walked up a path going to it, she felt the distinctive tingle and skin rippling pressure of psionics. Very powerful ones, at that. “The hell is she doing here? Some kinda psionic battery?”

“That’s… technically true,” Hal said. “I wouldn’t know, though. Not my field.”

She grunted in disinterest.

They came up to it, and small bits of stony rubble, with bits of moss there, were gently floating down. Blue light engulfed them and, as they fell, were reshaped. Carved, perhaps, by an unseen hand. Meenah looked up and saw the hill above them, eclipsed by the vast shape overhead, being changed. The rough edges were being smoothed out, ground down. Little statuettes and gargoyles were extending outwards, getting longer and more ludicrously detailed. The middle of the hill’s bottom half looked like an overworked stonemason’s idea of perfect Gothic architecture, and it was spreading to the rest of it.

Meenah held a hand out. A bit of hill was formed into what was unmistakably a small hand that pressed against her palm. It turned blue and fell away. “Some serious psionics there! Is she carving the damn thing!?”

“I guess so?” Hal said, shrugging.

Meenah looked down, and stars extended from beneath her toe claws. They rose up, moving upwards, all the way up to the top of the hill, but below the big globe above it.

Her wings, fashioned after a manta rays, fluttered and closed. “Guess we go up,” she said, and did so. The stairs didn’t creak beneath her weight, but flexed at the same time her monster hips did. She tried to swat Hal off the stars behind her with her tail, just for mischief, but he dodged it without comment. It was an automatic reaction from her, too.

Meenah came to the top. “Janey! Where are you, girl!?”

“Hey!” A voice said brightly, from in front of her.

Meenah looked up, towards the globe, and for a moment her vision failed her. She saw Jane, sure enough, and from her perspective, floating right below the big globe above them. A globe that was radiant blue, and obscured in a way that made it hard to make out. Jane looked different; bigger, wider, more of that sweet troll bigness.e

Meenah held her arms out, commanding. “C’mere, didn’t come halfway around the world and not get a hug first thing!”

Jane slowly floated down and inside, Meenah thought: ‘Psionics? Hell yeah! That’s a big change, how’d you get to do that!?’ She had been working on that upgrade for a while now. The big globe came with her, so perhaps it really was a battery of some kind.

Jane’s arms, broad and thick with muscle but thicker with softness, came around Meenah’s middle and squeezed her tightly. Meenah hugged her back, and took stock of her in a second; bigger body, much bigger, way more curvy. Hips huge enough to wreck doors; she was a little below Meenah’s elbow and just the right size for a tall troll girl, breasts so big they made up most of her body weight - good and milky, from the sound! - and at this point Condy took in face.

Or rather, Jane’s head.

The globe she had seen was Jane’s head. That massive round shape, larger than an entire apartment building, was a part of Jane! Her head expanded outwards above the temples, into a complex curve of chitinous support frames and complicated psionic networks and great chunks of cybernetic designs, all glowing with so much blue light that it looked like a rather calming star.

Meenah could feel the power emanating from her. That Jane wasn’t even trying to float, and hold up the hill, and carve it up at the microscopic level, all at once.

“Holy shit, yes,” she breathed out, with a rather frightening grin.

“I did it!” Jane said, full of delight and joy. “I did so well at that meeting!”

“I knew it, didn’t I?” Meenah agreed. “Told ya, all those years, you had it! And you did good!” She hugged her again, and then clasped the closest curves of Jane’s enlarged head. “And what’s this beauty I see, eh?”

“Um. The mutagens in my system reacted with my brain boosts and my head sort of … swelled. I tried to tell you.”

“What’s it do for ya? Huh?”

“Psionic boosts,” Jane said promptly. “And a vast increase to intelligence! And, oh, all manner of things. Better reasoning ability, memory retaining, new forms of thinking…”

“Learning a whole new branch of robotics, in a day?” Meenah said.

Jane blushed. “That too…”

“Ya robot boy’s body looks nice.”

“Thank you!”

Meenah patted Jane’s head. It was firm to the touch, very solid, and crackled against her skin. “So, that’s what you meant by a swelled head, huh?” Jane nodded, almost bonking Meenah it he rhead, and this gave Meenah the opportunity to note that the largest bits of biomechanical parts looked like horns. Long, rather thin and… she tried to ignore her hearts skipping a beat. They looked like, her own horns.

Meenah hugged her again. Full of pride, no small amount of respect, and a lot of professional fascination with what Jane had done. “Don’t you tell no one, but I’m this proud of ya. Knew you had it in you.”

Jane grinned, and for once, the pride she felt was not feigned. “Aw!” She thought, in rapid succession, of the best thing to reply, and the obvious one suggested itself. “Thank you… Mother.”

Meenah’s expression, the delighted widening of that smile into something more genuine and sweet, was the finest thing she’d ever seen.

[melyaliz]

Chapter 3: Enchanted

Starcrossed part 3

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: Pureblood and perfect. Everything during his years at Hogwarts was going to be pureblood and perfect.

Pairing: Draco x OC

Notes: Do we like the flip to Draco’s POV? I’m not sure how much I will do it but I do want this to be a coming of age story for both of them so I feel like a little bit of his perspective is important.

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

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The first time Draco Malfoy saw Calista he knew,

He was going to marry that girl.

She sat on a golden chair in the corner of the dance floor as the adults mixed and mingled. Dressed in an intricate beautiful golden dress that wouldn’t normally suite a young 6-year-old girl regardless of the elegance of the party. The beadwork and golden threads seemed to catch the light in such a way that they let off an almost hazy glow around the small girl.

This mixed with her own beautiful curls placed perfectly set on her head and large deep blue-green eyes that peacefully watched the world spin around her gave her an almost unearthly look. If it wasn’t for the occasional blink or head nod Draco might have thought she was one of the statues that would sit on the shelves in the many rooms of his home. The ones his mother always told him he could look at but never touch.

“Oh look the Royals are here” his mother sniffed, her voice laced with sarcasm. Something a 6-year-old Draco didn’t quite understand at the time.

“Royals?”

“Oh yes dear, see that little girl over there? She’s basically an object, the seconds always are.”

“Object?”

“Someday that little girl will be married to a very handsome rich pureblood and have little babies.”

At the time he wasn’t quite sure what married meant but he assumed it was something good if it involved a pureblood. Plus, Draco was very handsome, his mother told him so. So that meant he was going to marry the little golden girl.

She never talked, the golden girl. She would just sit there watching them all go by as if glued to the chair or floor, or blanket her mother would place her. Always watching while the other children ran around laughing.

During those early days Draco never thought it was odd, after all, she would smile and looked quite content obediently rooted in her position. That was just who his golden girl was. The girl who sat there and looked like something out of a bedtime story.

Watching him. He was sure of it, after all, they were to be married one day so she obviously paid attention to him the way he paid attention to her. When she was around he made sure to show off. Played a little louder, explained a little brighter, smiled a little wider.

But he never talked to the golden girl.

Or he didn’t until the day she wasn’t just standing there watching.

Instead of her blue gaze taking in the merriment around her, her eyes were locked on a book. Swept up in its pages. Lost to the world around her.

Many of the adults whispered shaking their heads. Too much reading. It wasn’t good for a girl her age. Didn’t her parents know it would make her dull? Possibility, even cross-eyed. Merlin forbid she needed glasses, it would ruin her pretty face.

Of course, they were right. The adults always knew what was right. Besides with her gaze on the books, she wasn’t watching him. And Draco couldn’t have that.

“If you always have your nose in a book, it’ll make you cross-eyed” he informed her smartly using the same inflictions his father had used when he explained the world to Draco. The golden girl looked up at him. Deep blue eyes blinking as if unsure where they were. After a moment she gently closed her book, her finger between the pages saving her place.

“What do you think?” she asked crossing her eyes. The question caught him off guard. Her voice was flat if not a bit high pitched, not quite how he had imagined it so many times in his head. Serious, it showed no hint of a joke or sarcasm (something the now 8-year-old understood quite well). Merely a question, genuine and pure.

Her crossed eyes made her look silly, it was as if the spell of the golden girl was broken. No longer a pretty little thing in the corner. Now she had a voice and looked like any of the other kids playing.

“You look like a mudblood” he knew he wasn’t supposed to use that word, but that made it even more impactful. Learning it’s meaning a year or so earlier it's taboo nature made him want to use it any chance he could. He and his friends saying it with naughty giggles worried the adults would hear but pretending they didn’t care.

“If I looked like a mud - blood would that mean I could read as many books as I wanted?” her next question seemed a little more light. As if she wasn’t sure the meaning of the word but also didn’t seem to care. More curious about her plight to the meaning. Was she mocking him? There was no way, his golden girl must be genuinely confused.

“I guess, but then no one would ever want to marry you” He shrugged casually giving her the threat his mother had murmured about many of the unwed girls at their parties. All women wanted was to get married. Even he knew that.

“What would happen to me do you think, if no one wanted to marry me?” the statement was soft as if speaking more to herself than him. Her eyes looking beyond him to a world where she wasn’t married.

“You’d be alone” it was obviously, words like “old maid” and “loveless” crossed his mind as he tried to remember what his mother would say when gossiping to her friends. Wasn’t the threat of being alone always on the tip of everyone’s tongue?

“So not much different than now.”

Her comment caught him off guard. Simple and soft but to the point. For the first time since… maybe forever her gaze was truly on him. Boring a hole into his very soul. Looking at him as if he was the only person in the whole world. Just the two of them

Alone.

It was a frightening thought really. Living alone. Having no one at your side. At your beck and call. Who would tell him things of the world? Explain how he was pureblood and deserving of everything he wanted?

No, he was not alone. He had his mother who doted over him. He had his father who showed him how to be a man like him.

He had his friends, the children at the parties. His own crew of admirers.

And he had his golden girl.

But something shifted that day. He wasn’t quite sure how to explain it but it was as if from that day on she would look right at him. Would catch his gaze anywhere in a room.

And would cross her eyes.

---------

Draco had long ago learned his golden girl’s name, Calista. And while she wasn’t directly royal her father, a Frenchman was some sort of 9th degree of prince or something. His mother had offhandedly mentioned it once. It was obvious to Draco now that his mother wasn’t much of a fan of Calista’s parents.

But then again she wasn’t much of a fan of anyone really. Only throwing these lavish parties to show off. It was what they all did, the pureblood women. As if a way to prove they were well off, happy, and the best of the bunch.

After all, what else does one do when they have as much money and prestige like the Malfoys did?

Yet even now knowing her name and not so royal heritage Calista always felt like something special to him. Something golden that you kept on the top shelf out of the reach of dirty hands.

Maybe it was because he only saw her at their parties, dressed head to toe in the latest most fashionable robes that suited her so well they couldn’t have been made for anyone else.

Or maybe it was because she would always sit away from everyone else. Just out of reach, always there for her mother to show off but far enough away you couldn’t talk to her without the parental permission.

Which was why when he saw her on the train to Hogwarts he barely recognized her.

Among the hustle of other students, she was just standing there looking so… normal. No gold dresses. Her hair still perfectly in place but in a simple bow no intricate updo. She looked so average he hadn’t even recognized her at first as she backed into him.

“Hey watch it!”

She turned and he instantly knew who she was. How could he not? Even in her plain clothes, she had a grace about her that only royalty could.

“ Langlais ?” her surname came out more of a question as if he was still confused that this rather normal looking child was really his golden girl. What was she doing here? Didn’t she have a golden shelf to sit on?

She smiled up at him before bowing her head slightly unable to curtsy “Malfoy.”

They sat on the train ride together. This was the first time they had a proper conversation. Granted several lower class students chimed in with their own rubbish opinions about houses. (Honestly who could possibly think Hufflepuff was anything but total garbage for mudbloods and squibs?)

It was interesting to see how excited Calista was. She had never shown so much emotion. Asking so many questions, blue eyes wide as she seemed to find every little fact about everyone around her fascinating. It was strange yes, but also thrilling. After all Draco Malfoy was not one to pass down an opportunity to show off.  

Or that was his plan until that nosey Hannah - whatever her name was- kept chiming in with false information.

But he didn’t really let it bother him too much because it didn’t matter. This was his year. He would be the most popular boy in school. Get the best grades, have the best friends and be the captain of the Quidditch team. How could he not? He was the best and wouldn’t settle for anything less.

Calista’s excitement seemed to grow as they entered Hogwarts. Hannah nudged her as they got ready to enter the great hall.

“Good luck with the sorting hat. I know that it will give you the right house.”

Even Draco could tell that this bothered his golden girl. Calista bit her bottom lip giving a small wave to the other girl. Honestly, she didn’t need to worry, it was obvious which house she would get.

“Of course it will,” he said to ease her nerves. She just needed to trust him, he knew.

Or that was what he told himself until she was standing on the steps and the Hat was screaming Hufflepuff for the whole world to hear.

Draco watched in pure shock as she walked slowly back to her seat before turning to look at him. Then she crossed her eyes.

It was then that Draco realized something may be wrong with his little golden girl.

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[jordanjaeger]

Headcanons: Special Operations Squad as Parents

Levi Ackerman

Levi would be totally against having kids from the very beginning, even after he's married his s/o and the two of them are happily settled. His s/o will have known what she was getting herself into from the moment she started dating Levi, so she would be completely fine with or without kids, until one day they both get caught up and his she ends up pregnant.

Levi’s s/o will be a sobbing mess when she finds out she's pregnant after missing her period and taking several pregnancy tests. She would take the tests alone, while Levi is away or at work one day. She would sit in the bathroom for hours, crying, wallowing in her own thoughts about how it could have happened, what she was going to do, what Levi was going to say or think, and how they were going to handle the situation.

After a couple days of changed behavior, Levi will finally confront his s/o about why she's been acting the way she has. His s/o won’t be able to hold herself together and will break down crying while dropping the big news to Levi. At first Levi will be stunned, wondering exactly how something like so could have happened considering the fact that they were both careful, but then he would brush it off and comfort his s/o, reassuring her that everything will be alright.

I feel like Levi would be the type to let his s/o decide what they would want to do. He would feel like because they are the ones who have to undergo all of the physical changes, they should mostly get to decide whether or not they really want to go through with the pregnancy. Whichever choice they make, he would stand by their side. When his s/o decides to keep the baby, his only response will be, ‘alright.’

He would feel very overwhelmed and troublesome about becoming a father, fearing that he would not be cut out for the job due to losing his mother at an early age in his life and lacking the needed attention as a child. But with the help of his wife, Eld, Gunther, Petra, and Oluo, Levi will learn the definition of what it means to be a parent and will grow to become a great father towards his daughter.

He would fall in love with his daughter the moment he laid eyes on her. He would cherish and protect her and would bring hell to anyone who tries to hurt her. He would raise and teach her how to be confident, strong, and to not take shit from anybody. It would be left up to his wife to teach her how to love and show kindness, all of the traits that come with being an overall nice person.

Levi would spoil his daughter, but only to a certain extent and usually it would be out of bribery for not telling his wife something mean/rude he did/said about or to someone. His daughter will always oblige knowing that she will get a treat in return, making her the epitome of “you are your father’s daughter.”

Eld Jinn

Eld would definitely want children because he's a family man. Girl or boy, it wouldn't matter to him because he will love them unconditionally. He'd probably end up having three kids. Two boys and one girl.

He would teach his children common courtesies as well as how to treat others with kindness and respect. He would raise his children equally. They also would learn how to do basic household chores when they become of age, like cleaning, cooking, building and fixing things, wash clothes. Eld wouldn't want his wife to be the only one making sure the house is in order since he as well as the kids live there, too, so he will make sure she gets all the help she deserves.

Since Eld would be family oriented, he will often take time out of his day to spend it with his kids despite his busy schedule. Whether it be playing a board game, cards or watching cartoons on a rainy day, or participating in games like tag or hide-and-go-seek along with them outside, Eld will make sure his kids get the attention they want and need, even as they grow older.

Eld would not spoil his children. He believes in discipline and earning what you work for. If they want a piece of cake after dinner, then they'll have to eat their greens. If they want to go play outside, then they’ll have to do their chores first, etc. Some may think he is too harsh or mean, but Eld believes that as a parent, it will be his responsibility to make sure he raises his kids to act and behave as proper human beings to society.

Overall Eld would be a bomb dad. Though he may be old schooled, and maybe even a little bit strict, his children will grow to look up to and respect him more and more each day. He would also serve as an inspiration to people like Levi and others who may be struggling with parenting.

Gunther Schultz

Gunther would want at least two children. I see him ending up with a boy and a girl. Much like Eld, Gunther would love his kids unconditionally and teach them how to be decent members of society. He would be a little bit more relaxed than Eld, but would still make sure his kids are disciplined to where they aren't going around thinking everything should be handed to them on a silver platter.

Learning how to do things for themselves will be a crucial part of Gunther’s teachings. He refuses to allow his kids to grow up not knowing how to do basic household chores or not have any idea on how to work certain household items.

Gunther would spoil his kids, especially his little girl. He would try to act tough whenever he has to scold his daughter for something bad she did, but his hard exterior will melt once his daughter begins to cry. As a result, Gunther would buy her a treat of some sort to cheer her up, much to his son and wife’s demise. Gunther would be much more capable of scolding his son without falling victim to feeling bad because he will expect his son to be tougher than his sister, which, in many cases, is true because his son will more than likely take after him.

As his kids grow older, things like dating, mental illness, sex, drugs, etc. will be mentioned and discussed regularly, as Gunther will want his kids to be completely comfortable talking to him about personal things that most kids would otherwise feel embarrassed about. He also would want them to be able to come to him if they ever needed him no matter the situation. Honesty and safety are his top priorities, therefore, he could care less about what his kid did. As long as they tell the truth and are safe from any mental or physical harm.

He and Eld’s children would be the best of friends, often referring to each other’s parents as their aunt and uncle. They will spend many nights at each other’s houses, attend the same school, and grow up to be closer than ever, making proud fathers out of Gunther and Eld.

Petra Ral

Petra would only have one son and boy would she be crazy about him. She would spoil him rotten and treat him like her little prince. She would love him with every fiber in her being and threaten anyone who has anything bad to say about him.

Despite spoiling him, Petra would make sure to teach her son how to remain humble. She would want to raise him to show compassion, which in turn will motivate him to act graciously and kindly towards others.

He would adopt her natural trait to help people and to make sure his family and friends are taken care of, making a super proud and emotional Petra at times.

Petra’s son will look up to Levi, Eld, and Gunther as role models, but Petra will be sure to set the record straight that her son does not fall victim to Oluo’s dramatism. She will often scold her son for listening to Oluo or for going along with any of his shenanigans. Of course, she would still allow her son to look up to Oluo for his overall bravery, intellect, and talents.

Petra would be the type of parent to make sure her baby boy looks spick and span every time he leaves the house. Whether it's fixing his hair, licking her thumb and wiping off something on his face, or adjusting his clothes so that they look and fit properly, Petra would want her son to go out representing what a job well done she did as a parent.

Oluo Bozado

Oluo would want kids, of course. Who else would he pass down his beloved surname to? He would want two boys, but his luck is so bad he would end up with two girls. Nevertheless he will love them equally and treat them all as princesses, holding them to the highest standards and making sure everyone and their mom knows who they are.

He would want the best of the best for his princesses, no matter how much he has to pay. He will dress them in beautiful, frilly clothing, and if any boy so much as looks their way he will threaten their life.

Oluo would raise and teach his daughters how to be confident, work hard, and overall slay in everything they do. School, sports, household chores, you name it. They will make sure to do it with the utmost perfection.

When it comes to Levi, Eld, Gunther, and Petra’s kids, Oluo’s daughters will dominate all of them in literally everything. They will still get along really well with everyone, but will have a natural competitive attitude towards each other as sisters, thus making them a bit more aggressive.

They will look up to Petra as a strong feminine figure, which Oluo would object to, but his lack of valid points won't be enough to convince his daughters.

[martinlawless]

Tour of Malta 2019

Foreign National, General Classification Staged Race Masters E1234 10-13 April 2019

Extracts from my tour diary, to CC Ashwell’s club forum…

Tour registration day Wednesday 10 April 2019

Team CC Ashwell have arrived in Malta all safe and well. Mitchy - riding for Contour Cycles - had a nightmare getting over but he got here eventually. Me, Dave W and Jenny are representing the club. My dad and young Ellie Mitchinson are here in support. The Tour of Malta is a four stage GC race, registered as a Foreign Race with British Cycling, so hard to earn points for individual stages and overall GC are out there for the taking. But primarily, this is racing at its most enjoyable. It’s truly a friendly Tour, very much in the Maltese spirit. We are messing around on bikes in a warm country and drinking coffee in between: so we're all winners.

Among the registered riders, former multi GB national champ, Colin Sturgess, is in with me and Dave in the ‘Masters’ (40+) GC. A former stablemate of Bradley Wiggins, I fully expect to see Colin's wheel briefly before he rides off into the distance. Go get him Mitchy!

I’m staying in the official Tour hotel, so it's nice to bump into others, including Steve and Rachel from Verulam in St Albans. The weather forecast is pretty good. Around 16-20 degrees. Dry. Windy. It’s always windy on these small Mediterranean islands. Malta looks pretty in the Spring with lots of flowers and the grass not yet sun-baked brown. The drivers here are friendly. Just as well, as the major roads are quite busy and some of them are in poor quality.

The first stage is a 7 miles TT. I remember it from last year. It uses one of the National courses here, up and down the hill several times, besides the amazing ancient walled city of Mdina. It’s a nightmare to get any kind of TT rhythm and doesn’t play to whatever strengths I might have. But that’s the way it goes for us all. Fair enough. After that, there are three road race stages. The fourth of which is the one featuring the famous local climb of San Martin: Malta’s mini Alpe d’Huez. We’ll be hitting that seven times.

To check my bike over, I rode a few miles to Mosta this morning to buy a pump. Mosta is famous for its massive domed church, where in the Second World War a gigantic bomb landed through the roof but failed to explode. Sending an already ultra-religious nation into overdrive. Hopefully, this big failing bomb is not a metaphor for my performance on this tour. My objective is to simply enjoy it this time.

I spoke to an old boy outside his bicycle workshop in Mosta. Turns out it’s 78 years old John Magri. Maltese cycling legend, several times national champ and among other accolades finished 31st in the 1972 Olympics. Over an hour later, I’m getting nano-detail on some of his best races and cycling stories from this complete stranger. He’d make a great guest speaker for a Club social evening. He fixed his first bike in 1949. His gran opened the bike shop in 1899. I bought a pump from his son who now runs the shop who laughingly asked if his dad had been talking to me for a while...

In the afternoon, we all met up to ride gently over to Golden Bay for a coffee in the beachside cafe. Dave and Jenny had a swim in the sea and we tootled back. A leisurely way to spend an afternoon. The climb up San Martin has been partially resurfaced, but up top, the surface is not unlike Paris-Roubaix.This Stage 4 will have a bit of everything.

We register this evening and get briefed and find out out TT start times for tomorrow. Then a bit of local pasta and an evening of fettling with bike and kit. I’ve had a decent winter of training by my standards. It’s not at all scientific, but I gauge myself as being just about as fit as last year - so let’s see how we get on. The word is, the Masters field is tougher this year in general.

We'll be updating this thread as much as we can. Writing helps pass the time as we don't really want to ride or drink or eat too much to rest in between stages. And the messages of support give us a great boost. Racing day after day for four days is draining. Imagine the pros doing it for three weeks in a grand tour!

If there was ever a bike race to suit Ashwell, it would be this: it has the competitive element and camaraderie of our grass track events... But with sunshine. They drive on the left, use three-way plugs, Malta has it all. Stick it in your diary for 2020 and it will motivate you to train throughout the winter.

Tour of Malta, Stage 1 Individual Time Trial Mdina Bypass Thursday 11 April 2019 It’s warm and calm today. In fact, it’s the hottest day that I’ve raced here. It’s going to be a fast day. Certainly faster than this stage last year in the wind and rain. Luckily, it’s still quite early. All stages start at 10am.

The team muster on a side street off the TT course: which is a modern dual carriageway bypass road, bookended by roundabouts, by the side of the UNESCO World Heritage ancient walled city Mdina, which is not out of place if it were in Game of Thrones. The road is pretty much a straight line with quite a slope on it: think like the gentler part of the slope to Tadlow on our TT course, but around a half mile long. We have to repeat the loop five times for a 7 miles course.

The local teams always turn out in force and set up well: gazebos, pumping music, bottles and gels neatly laid out, rollers, their DSs do a great job. It gives each stage a festival-like feeling. We chat to various people. We spot (World Champ) Colin getting ready. He looks big and strong. We are friendly with Mosta Cycling Club mostly, so park ourselves there. We see our smiling Italian friend from last year. The Gibraltar team have good team branded kit: I note to up our tour kit game next time. We catch up with a few Brits. Everyone is pepped and excited, and a little nervous too of course and keen to get going.

With the road closed, we tootle around to warm up and familiarise ourselves with the loop and test our bikes. I’m delighted to see that last year’s dodgy eroded part of the road is well patched up. At the bottom corner, there is a lot of debris. Daryl, from CC london who we have adopted, asks the organisers to brush it, but I take the opportunity to remove the big bits while down there. I pick up a twig, then realise it’s a squashed giant centipede. As big as your big finger. I’m reminded that we’re not that far from Africa and Libya.

Team Ashwell and Contour prep well. Everything is easier when the weather is good. I've removed my bottle cage. Put on rubber aero socks. I’ve got tri-bars on which means I have no computer to look at, but actually don’t mind that: I intend to not use numbers - but riders - to gauge my effort and define my power exertions.

Jenny is the second rider off. Before you know it she is up and down the loop like a yo-yo. The start/finish is in the middle of the course and we get a good opportunity to cheer our team on twice a lap. Soon enough Dave is off, then Mitchy is off just in front of me and Daryl a few riders behind.

The good conditions mean we get the ramp start. Quite a nervous thing as there’ll be instant gravity in effect from the moment you’re released: you go hard instantly or you’ll slide off. “Watch this one, he’s Lawless. Breaking the law.” say the organisers in thick Maltese English, fascinated by the surname as I’m counted down. Three two one. Go. I’m off.

Despite the initial climb, months of stockpiled adrenaline from thinking about this start is released in an instant and I go off like a rocket to the top of the loop in what feels like three breaths. This course is technical in as much as gear selection is everything with no level section. I turn and go down in a high-ish gear not really knowing if I’m being optimal. The legs instantly hurt. To be expected. I can feel a soft wind in my face going downhill and think it will suit me as it will inhibit the power guys who can smash me on this section. I turn quite confidently in the good, bone-dry conditions and break the imminent uphill down into parts: an easier first bit until the fifth lamppost and then a hard gear on the steadier section in search of a good rhythm before nudging back a touch for the steeper peak and then turning for the downhill again. I count each lap out aloud to myself when going over the line. Without a computer I have a small fear that in the midst of the effort I’ll ride too few, or too many, laps.

I can’t yet see my minute-man, but on the second lap, Daryl goes past me on the downward section like a rocket. I know he’s good but all the same am impressed he’s caught me so soon. I’m delighted, all of a sudden I’ve got a perfect rabbit to chase after: someone better than me. It really focuses me. On the uphill, Daryl is surprised that I actually overtake him, such is the difference between my uphill and downhill power outputs. But I only serve to galvanise him and 20 seconds later he’s back in front. But this is good for me and I can sense I am pushing hard as I’ve got quite a stitch now and breathing hard. The air is hot. I move to my highest gear on the downhills to try and keep sight of him. It’s super hard and hurtful: but I know it’s short-term.

By lap 4, Daryl is too far ahead to be any use as a marker. I’m motivated by my team mates’ cheers and picking off the various riders on the course. Some are way off any TT form: but credit to them for turning up on a working day and having a go and enjoying themselves. Into the last lap and I spot my 2-minute man. He makes a good target, but eventually I catch him with three-quarters of a lap to go. It’s the downhill run and I’m like John Noakes in that Blue Peter episode when he’s training with the paratroopers in a plane in high-up thin air and he can’t remember his name or the name of Shep. I endeavour to glance at the big digital clock at the start line, on the other side of the road as I go past - because I start to doubt myself on how many laps I’ve done. It tells me I’ve got exactly two and half minutes to cross the line if I want to break 20 minutes. Righto: I’ve got one final thing to aim for to make me push hard in the final run in.

Out of nowhere, ‘Safety Dance’ by Men Without Hats pops into my head. It’s a song I know is very short and just over two and a half minutes long as it took a tiny amount of space on my Now That’s What I Call Music album. I hurtle down to the bottom of the course with ‘We can dance if we want to...’ going through my mind. I turn for the uphill and happily go into the red in the knowledge I can blow up over the line. ‘Am I in the second chorus bit?’ I think to myself as I see the finishing line coming up. ‘It’s the Safety Daaaaance’ I can hear as I make out Jenny urging me on on the line. Surely there’s still some of the song left? - I think as I blast over the line and glide to a stop where Mitchy is recovering by the side of the road.

We stumble back to the start, sweat is dribbling down my face and my uncomfortable TT helmet is about to get thrown into the cacti as I find out that I had broken 20 minutes with 19:46. Happy days!

There’s a short wait for all the Masters to complete their rides to find out I’d come 8th. I’m delighted. I’ve beaten local sports legend Fabio by 3 seconds, who has his own branded car with his face on it and ’Team Fabio’ written on it and everything. Dave W is 15th and Mitchy 6th. Jenny is 7th in her race, smashing the gap to the winner from over two minutes last year, to just 40 seconds. Wow. So, great results for us all considering the quality of the field. Of course, Colin Sturgess wins the Masters. Indeed, his time beats the winner of the Elites race. Wow. He will be hard to undo for the GC race in the next three road stages - that’s for sure. It will be great to be involved as things unfold. Daryl gets 3rd and takes the podium after we have a drink in the most delightful cafe nearby that’s utterly hidden away from anywhere.

So, we are now prepping for Stage 2. A hilly crit near the hotel, essentially. We’re all unsure as to how the dynamic of the peloton will work out: if it will break? More than once? Who’s where? How everyone will place and how it will affect GC? These are the thoughts I will take to my 10 euro buffet hotel dinner downstairs.

Tour of Malta, Stage 2 Road Race St Paul’s Bay Friday 12 April 2019 Last year, this stage got cancelled. It’s on top of a big hill really near where we are staying and totally exposed to the weather. It was so windy it wasn’t safe, and some club gazebos and the podium blew away.

This year: it’s much better. It’s a bit cooler this morning than yesterday. Mainly because of the stiff breeze coming in from the sea. But it’s fine. Sunny. This stage sends us up and over the road seven times. Each side is a bit like the climb up through the Weston Hills tunnel Baldock bypass road: about as long as it takes to get to the roundabout at the top and yes, pretty steep!

We make our base at the start/finish line at the top of the hill, sign on and prep. I realise I’ve left my aero socks behind, so will be racing in my bed socks that I left on all morning. Other than that, we’re all good. We are all thinking a one bottle strategy as this race is only 26 miles or so. I need to think carefully about this for the fourth stage as I drank much more than anticipated in the warmth and ran pretty low towards the end. We wonder what Colin will do who is in the Red Jersey following his win yesterday. The Elites start first. Then us in the Masters and Juniors races, then the Ladies race, with Jenny looking to improve on her last time here two years ago when she got dropped from the peloton.

We’re off. We take it fairly easy at the start, as to be expected. The first climb is almost like a warm-up. Everyone is settling in and it’s a bit cagey. The riding standard seems pretty high and there doesn’t seem to be any wild antics from anyone. Up, we crest the top and get cheers, then lurch down the steep winding west side of the hill into the wind. It’s a fairly tight turn on both sides. My new brake blocks squeak to let me know they’re working. We turn to climb back up east. This side is steeper. I resolve to keep it in the big ring all the way - but am in the granny ring at the back. The angle suits me and find it OK to stay at the spearhead of the peloton. All eyes are on Colin, waiting to see what he does. First lap done though and he keeps his cards to his chest as we descend to start the second lap.

It starts to crank up from here. Eventually, Colin shows a bit of his strength. The group respond. A few Maltesers have a go but are brought in. The big Gibraltarian who smashed the TT yesterday has a dig. I’m impressed, he’s a big powerful unit. He must have lungs the size of a blue whale. It’s great to have Steve from Veralum around whose wheel I can trust. He’s a very animated rider and nosing around at the front a lot. I’m just being careful and being really quite disciplined on positioning among the riders and tuning my position to shelter from the breeze.

The climb east is hurting some riders and I can hear it getting quieter at the back. I can see Dave W is over his bike in a way to suggest he’s in the red. There’s nothing I can do to stop the momentum of the front and eventually I catch Dave in the corner of my eye when he’s detached with a couple of other Brits who are forming up a second group.

Colin and co are doing that thing of putting the hammer down as we crest the hill so that there’s no respite. I’m holding on OK all the same, as are Mitchy and Daryl. We begin to tonk it down the long descent, comfortably holding 38mph until we squeak brakes, turn and generally take it easyish for the climb. The group puts in pulses of effort and I can see we are shelling riders. Soon, I see its down to twelve of us. Of which, I’m very much in the lower ranks! I ride alongside Colin. He’s a strong looking fella. I get the sense he could do us all if he wanted to. But hasn’t really done so yet.

In a lull, Daryl goes for it and pings off the front. On his wheel an Italian I’d not really noticed before. Daryl and the man from Milan quickly establish a gap of several seconds. The rest of us look to Colin who is watching his Red Jersey disappear. But there really isn’t a response. I can see Mitchy isn’t in the mood to chase his friend, or risk doing a lot of work on his own and blowing up. As we approach the last two laps, it’s clear that the break won’t be chased down and the two brave breakaways will get first and second. Well done to them for their bravery.

So, back in the bunch of ten, it’s going to be a bunch sprint for third place onwards. I really don’t want the last two places and be out of the BC points in eleventh or twelfth. I also want to preserve my GC position too if I can. It’s the bell lap. It’s laughably slow on the initial climb. I even find myself on the front for the first and only time here. Me: in front of this group. lol. I get a bit irritated after a while as no one will take the front off me, even though I'm doing that snakey whiplash thing across the road to shake the front. Then, Mitchy bursts through to ripple the group and I’m relieved of duty. We shoot down the other side and turn for the final climb. I look to see if somehow we’d dropped anyone, but alas, two people will miss on points here.

I’m feeling pretty good as we climb for the final time. I tell myself I can do all right and spin in a strongish gear near the front. We get down to the final 200 metres and there are several riders dropped from the Elites race in the way ahead of us. It’s a bit of a mess as we lurch into the gallop and I miss out on having a decent clean sprint. It’s eyeballs out. As we approach the line, I see Fabio in front who I have 3 seconds on in GC and focus on his wheel. Another 25 metres, I might have caught him, but he beats me by 0.5 second. In the cheering and melee, it’s hard to count my position, but I’m excited to think I got 10th. Mitchy beats Colin in the bunch sprint to get 3rd. Verulam Steve gets 7th. Daryl gets 1st by over 40 seconds and we work out he’s taken the Red Jersey off Colin by around 15 seconds or something (GC positions unconfirmed at the mo) I wander to the race HQ and see I’m confirmed as 9th. I’m delighted.

We gather and swap stories. Dave and Ellie go for a photo with Colin and he gives Ellie his cap! Jenny comes through for the Ladies race finish. She’s in the lead bunch and grabs 6th. This is proper amazing when you consider she got spat out on this same race two years ago. She has transformed herself in that time. Dave, working with the Brits, comes in 17th. I’ll be keen to see that he has kept or even improved on his GC position.

This afternoon, Jenny gets a massage. Mitchy and Ellie go to the beach. We catch up with Dave for a coffee, and then spend ages cleaning kit with hand wash in the bathroom sink. It’s Friday night. But all revelry is to be bottled for Sunday night. Stage 3 tomorrow is designed to give our climbing legs a rest: it’s a flat crit. Surely it will be a bunch sprint. Will it? Will it?? Or, will it? Tune in tomorrow for the continued adventures of Ashwell racing abroad.

Tour of Malta, Stage 3 Crit Zebbug bypass Saturday 13 April 2019 Today was a flat, super simple crit. It’s designed to give the legs a break after yesterday’s hilly road race - and in anticipation of the fourth and final stage: the San Martin road race stage with its steep climb. The course is quite far away from the hotel base and in the middle of the island.

In truth, the straight lined course does tilt. Gently so, but with a fierce headwind on top, today wouldn’t have the simple rhythm that could have been expected. It would swing from steady to bullet fast - depending on head or tailwind.

We would do 10 laps of the 2.6 miles course in the Masters race. As would Jenny in the Ladies race. The wind made the weather feel fresh. It was sunny, but there would be very light showers now and then all morning.

Most of this race went as predicted. Any idea of a break was impossible to imagine. Dave W was clearly loving his favourite course ever - and happily burning watts on the front during the fast tailwind side. There were silly solo attempts, including one by Fabio who I have to keep in check as I only have 3 seconds on him in GC. I think he just wanted to give the fans something to cheer for a little while. But we hauled him in soon enough. At one point it was all Hertfordshire and surrounding areas on the front, with me, Dave, Mitchy, Daryl and Steve from Verulam in a line. Indeed, we were always generally knocking around the front or thereabouts.

10 laps is hard to count accurately what with everything going on. What doesn’t help is when the lapboard gets out of sync which I’m fairly sure is what happened. We thought we were approaching one lap to go, when Colin’s team mate launched a late attack - in an obvious attempt to lure us and give Colin an opportunity to spring the trap. But we brought him in eventually quite easily as we had further to go than thought.

As we approach the final lap, I hear the sudden bang and hiss of a puncturing tyre. Sadly, it turns out to be our Dave. Rotten luck - especially when he’d animated the race so well. He’d hit a pothole at high speed. To his massive credit, he runs to the Start/finish line where young Ellie Mitchinson is waiting with a spare rear wheel. He’d lose a good couple of minutes from the rest of us, but finished and still holds on to a good chance of clawing back up the GC in Stage 4.

Meanwhile, back in the bunch, it’s all winding up to the big sprint finish we’d anticipated. This would be one for the sprinters. Without the ability to compete, my plan was to go long and build up momentum. Weeks and weeks of road race training all winter with all the talent down at Welwyn had taught me that if I can make the sprint over 20 seconds, I begin to compete and negate the power of the fast sprinters. As we turn the final corner, there’s a lot of hustle and bustle. A few shoulders to shoulders. Mitchy touches wheels with Colin - and quickly apologises. This bit is not for the faint-hearted. Some riders back off. But, I’m loving the rush. I’ve got my eye on Colin and Mitchy and plan to jump into the gap they will leave when they fire the afterburners. The line is fast approaching and I can hear the shouts of support. It cranks up early as I’d hoped and indeed I seize the gap. I’m clear on the right and have a delightfully clear dash to the line. I can’t hear riders huffing behind me but quickly running out of road to do more damage up front. I’m 8th. Mitchy: wins! Beating Colin by a handsome margin. Daryl in the Red Jersey is on my left in 6th. Verulam Steve is 10th. He’d have placed higher for sure but did way too much work on the front earlier on.

We cruise around and congratulate each other for a good race. I tell Colin how impressed I was by his racing style: so bullish and confident. We get back to see Jenny finish. She’s in the bunch chasing 2nd place downwards, and comes in 7th. She is frustrated as other riders lolling after their race got in her way and pegged her sprint. It’s a shame, but still a massive result. She’s got no team mates and fighting on her own all the way, all the time.

We reconvene and swap stories as we wait for the presentations. It’s great to see Mitchy get a win and pop the champagne on the podium: all in front of his daughter. Daryl retains the Red Jersey. It will be an exciting final stage as a final race, and in GC it will be a great game of chess. A lot can change. Friendships, pacts and allies will be made, then turn on each other. We will be doing calculations in our head to work out time gaps. There will be competitions within the competition. There’ll be heroes, villains, good fortune and cruel fate played out on the winding slope of San Martin hill, its vertiginous descent towards the sea and the crazy fast tailwind valley, repeated seven times. The French say ‘Allez!’, the Maltese say ‘Imshi!’.

Tour of Malta, Stage 4 Road race San Martin Saturday 13 April 2019 In GC terms, this final stage is the decider. Forget what has gone on before.

The San Martin race course is famous here. It has three parts: a vicious, long climb. With a much needed switchback. It varies from not very steep at all to out of the saddle steep for a mile or so. It levels off at the top for a flat fast section before turning for a fast descent on new tarmac. We then turn for a ridiculously fast flat road section through the valley until we start the climb again. For us Masters and Ladies races, we’d do this six times.

The day was pretty fresh, but very warm in the sun. A lot of riders were nervous about this race, though I was pretty calm. I was quite philosophical about everything. What will be will be.

Off we go and Dave hits the front for most of the first lap. It’s steady enough, though I feel my legs are tired. I’m a bit surprised by this and wish I’d done some massage work. We turn for the first climb of San Martin. One of the Italians, Gerloamo, pings off the front straight away. There’s an initial lull as we don’t think the guy is a contender. Then, there’s a surge. Led by another Italian, Tommaso. On reflection: this was a pre-planned Italian move. The weaker guy (not that weak) getting a head start before the stronger guy then stretches the group ensuring both make it.

It’s the first climb, and we are absolutely and suddenly in the red. We are attacking on a massive slope. This is outrageous riding. I know that we’ve instantly shed riders and the race hasn’t even done a lap. This is brutal. Like organ failingly brutal. Seeing stars. Can’t feel my hands. Can’t think. Breathing like a steam train. This is the fastest climb of the hill I’ve ever done, in the smallest group. I cling on as the climb stretches out and try and hold onto the selection at the top. I almost make it, but six guys make a few bike lengths of distance, including Mitchy, Daryl and Colin, while I’m with Verulam Steve and six others in group two. By the time we approach the descent, there’s not enough firepower into our group to bridge back and we have to work with what we’ve got.

That’s not to say things got easier. The GC factor kicks in. This second group is aggressive too. Derek from Gibraltar wants to keep his high place. Fabio wants to do me in. Steve knows he can climb the ranks. The second climb of San Martin is equally devastating. Steve, a rider considerably better than me, records his highest power 5 mins, 15 mins, 1hr and 90 minutes on this race. I mirror him so will have likely done the same stats.

We spin like mad to the top. I don’t know how I do it but I keep with the second group. I keep thinking that I've come all this way for this so am not going to give in. We drop big Derek, but he fights back. I really know we are burning watts: when we catch and pass the Elites race! They started two minutes ahead too. It’s a mess, but we get through them. This race is nuts.

Again and again we go up. It’s super hard. The Elites peloton eventually passes us on the climb. Fabio jumps on to the back of their bunch. A probable DQ in Britain, but acceptable here. He disappears out of view and I know I’ve slipped down a place in GC. At the top Derek puts in a great effort. I can’t believe his power: he’s a proper unit but can do the climbs too. Amazingly, he solos off the front and he too consolidates his GC position when I least expected him to do so.

So six riders up front, plus Fabio and Derek in between us in the second group, means we’re fighting for 9th place down.

We enter the last lap, I lob one bidon and squirt all but a swig of liquid from the other. Grammage counts now. As we climb San Martin for the final time, I actually feel pretty good. I take to the front with Steve and get into a rhythm. I can tell somehow that i’m hurting the others. No one is coming through and it’s very quiet behind me. We approach the line and Steve takes a lead. I hold his wheel but I can’t get past it and to be fair: he’d done so much work on the front, I'd feel bad if I nicked him on the line. Steve gets 9th and I get 10th. Despite the pain: a single BC point for my efforts. All good.

We are all breathing hard, but soon recover to chat. Fabio gives us all respect for holding on to the second group, and my nemesis Ivan from last year is very friendly and kind and says he remembers me from last year and is impressed with my improvements. I was in awe of everyone: this race was a brute to take on.

Mitchy gets 5th from the front group. Colin wins the stage, but Daryl preserves his Red Jersey and we get to see him on the podium to celebrate his GC win.

All of a sudden, it’s all done. The trophies are handed out and we make plans to watch Paris-Roubaix in the hotel bar with everyone. Johnnie, the MCF president and main organiser, has a tearful moment while wrapping everything up, having had the chance to meet the Pope recently for all his efforts to promote cycling in Malta. It’s a big deal to this highly Catholic country.

Jenny comes in 7th on her race. Another great performance on the front bunch. She really has had a strong Tour: up there and in the mix at the tip of each race. Dave comes in around 20th in a third group, along with a couple of friendly Colchester lads who thought Malta would be a bit like Majorca.

10th place today, and 10th in GC for me in end. A very successful trip, especially when the quality of the field is accounted for. The Tour of Malta has awarded me I think 12 BC points. Half the total required for preservation of 2nd Category status. I can’t wait to hit the grass track and score more.

:-)

[lasselantanariel]

Steam and Shadow: Birds Of A Feather Book 1: Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The edge of The Dairataya Forest, near Qeloura.

(16, Fearn. Night, Early.)

"We are lost."

"We are not lost. I got turned around."

"What is your people's definition of lost?! We have passed this tree three times!" Suleeta pointed at one of the giant oaks. "That is the same owl that has been staring at us this whole time!"

"Oh come on, how can you possibly tell it's the same owl?"

"Because she is glaring at us like we are fools! She has looked more irritated each time we have passed!"

Gavin glanced dubiously at the owl. It did seem to be glaring at him. The tree was definitely familiar too. "They always look like that. And we've passed it twice, at most."

Suleeta threw her arms up with a cry of frustration.

"It's dark," he began defensively "I just got a bit turned around-"

"I offered to make you a torch!"

"And you probably would've made me into a torch and burned the forest down! I'll pass, thank you."

"That was an accident!"

"Oh? I suppose someone else put those flammable, and explosive things in your bag, did they?" He retorted. He picked a direction and started walking. He hoped they reached Qeloura soon, he truly needed a drink.

"No, that was your fault."

"MY fault?!" He stopped and turned around to stare at her.

"Yes. You were too heavy, and the rafter broke."

"Too heavy-" he couldn't believe this, his mouth searched for words, "you're the one who pulled me up there, I was going to go out the back window!"

"If we went out the window we couldn't have observed him, to see what he did. We would learn nothing." She explained practically.

"Observe him! You blew up that poor guy's house!"

"We don't know it was his house."

"He had a key!"

"Which he could have stolen."

"This is insane. You are insane! Listen pyro princess-"

"I am not a princess!"

"Really, that's the part you're going to object to? Whatever. Look, you said that paper mentioned Qeloura-"

"It does!" She replied defensively, holding the paper closer so he couldn't see it.

"Fine. Good for it. I'm taking you there, as requested, and there is where we shall part ways. Me to find a drink, and something for these burns, and you to do...whatever it is you intend to do." He turned and strode away again in what he really hoped was the right direction.

Suleeta followed, slipping the torn paper into her satchel while Gavin wasn't watching. Not that he could read it anyway, as it was in Nasimi. Which was good because it didn't mention Qeloura at all. At least she didn't think it did, Suleeta couldn't actually read it either. But Gavin didn't need to know that.

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

All day. They had walked all day. And they had not stopped arguing once. All. Day. As the fourth of six children, Askari was both appalled and impressed. How could anyone talk so much in one day? She didn't need her tracking skills to follow them, she had but to follow in the wake of their ceaseless chatter. She didn't even have to be particularly quiet. They were too busy arguing to notice her presence! She had never wanted to give up a contract so badly just for the sake of quiet! The fact they'd gotten lost several times, which, of course, they had ALSO argued about, did nothing to improve her mood. At last, they'd finally found the road again and made it out, she wasn't sure she could take much more. She sat in one of the large oak trees at the edge of the forest and surveyed the town ahead. It was late, but the town was clearly still awake, the faint sounds of laughter and singing mixed with the loading and unloading of cargo on the docks, and near the railway. She glanced at her quarry. Unsurprisingly they were still arguing, but they had finally chosen a direction and headed toward the docks. Askari's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He'd better not be headed to another tavern. If he headed for another blasted tavern she'd have to either reveal her purpose, and question him, or abandon him entirely. The northern lands of Eshana had terrible taste in liquor. She slowly climbed down and followed them.

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

"Here we are, Qeloura, in all her salty smelling, whiskey infused glory. And this is where we part ways,  m'lady." Gavin bowed "Have fun, and try not to burn it all down in one night." With that, he spun around sharply and headed towards the tavern.

Suleeta gazed out at the bay. She'd read about the ocean, she imagined it as a rather large lake. It was definitely large. She approached the cliff edge and stared down through the mist at the lower docks. They were a long way down. The cities of Bronfaire Harbor were known for their multi story docks, as the bay was surrounded by tall cliffs. The lower docks were used for naval ships, while the upper docks were for aerial ships. A steam-powered elevator system moved between the two, its engines humming even at this late hour. The salty air tickled her nose as it mixed with the scents of oak and damp grass. And coal. She turned slowly, looking at the town. What now? She knew little more than she had when she left home. Now she was in Qeloura, she had no idea what she was going to do here. She'd claimed it was on the paper in the hope she could learn something more about the bookbinder, but he was dead, and she had no idea whether his family had stayed here afterwards, or left years ago. She bit her lip. Blast. She would need the idiot's help again. Steeling herself, she too spun around and walked towards the tavern. A tall figure stepped out of the shadows suddenly, blocking her path.

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

The interior of The Wild Rose Tavern was warm, loud, and smelled of crab, sausage, whiskey, and beer. Gavin breathed it in appreciatively. Home. He sat back, sipping his drink, and mulled over the events of the past few days. He still had no idea where his mother was, the trail had run cold in that mapmaker's house, but he did know there were other people searching for either her or whatever she was after. Or, given her profession, she may have been after one of said people. The man who'd entered the house with a key had arrived after the house was trashed, so he was probably not involved. At least not directly. The crazy woman though...he sighed, he didn't want to think about her. She was pretty, in a mad way, and clearly involved in this mess somehow, but he wasn't certain he wanted to know how. He was better off forgetting her involvement entirely. Especially if she was on a different side from his mother. He shuddered at the thought of those two meeting, they'd probably blow up the entire continent of Eshana. And that would be if they got along. He tried not to imagine what she was up to, wandering through the dark streets of a strange city. What if she ran into a cutpurse or something? Those poor unsuspecting street thieves being set so carelessly ablaze. He imagined her lost, and alone, frightening dockworkers, setting people on fire. Badgering other people into helping her, like she had with him. She argued better than his brother. Bossed him around more too. He frowned at his drink. He was doing a poor job of forgetting her. Storyteller’s grace he was going to help her, wasn't he? He was going to help the crazy firestarter. This was probably the worst terrible idea of all the terrible ideas he'd had yet. He tossed back the remainder of his drink and stood.

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

"Excuse me miss" A low-pitched husky voice interrupted Suleeta mid-stride.

She tensed, one hand on her vials, and saw a tall athletic woman, with smooth brown skin, and long braids step out of the shadows. Her clothing partially hidden under a dark green cloak. Her hands were palm out in a gesture of peace. Suleeta relaxed her stance slightly. She would hear this woman out. She spoke common, but her accent was different from those Suleeta had heard before, Paswellan perhaps? Southern Eshana, certainly. Another place she'd never been.

"My name is Askari, and I search for a Qasceor woman called Branwen McMurrough. Do you know where I might find her?"

McMurrough? Wasn't that the idiot's surname? Suleeta considered the woman carefully, debating whether to share this information. "I do not know her."

"No? Then perhaps you've heard the name before? I'd appreciate any help you might give me.” The woman smiled, her teeth bright against the darkness around her.

"I'm afraid I do not know many Qaceor, and am unfamiliar with this city. I would not be much help to you."

"Then perhaps we might help each other." Askari stepped closer, "I can certainly recommend a better establishment," she added gesturing at the Wild Rose Tavern. "Their drink is quite unpleasant."

Suleeta hesitated, she did not trust this woman, but she did need help, and this woman had offered, which would mean she didn't have to find and convince the idiot. After all, she had no reason to trust him either. She knew he was a thief, and had only his word that the mother he searched for was uninvolved...

http://lasselantanariel.deviantart.com/gallery/62581434/Steam-and-Shadow

[biofunmy]

As Joe Burrow Spoke of Hunger, His Hometown Felt the Lift

THE PLAINS, Ohio — Athens High School is perched atop a hill. As the hill slopes toward flat lands to the west, a terraced parking lot and a tidy football stadium have been carved out. At the bottom are trailer homes stacked side by side.

To the students whose parents work at nearby Ohio University, or who might otherwise enjoy the fruits of a comfortable existence in a tight-knit community, those homes at the bottom of the hill are a persistent reminder of the cycle of poverty, the scourge of drug addiction and the fading light of hope that has long enveloped Appalachia.

Joe Burrow has been gone from Athens High School for five years now, off to climb other mountains. But when he jotted down a few bullet points on a hotel notepad and walked up six steps of a Midtown Manhattan stage last month to accept the Heisman Trophy, he had not forgotten what it was like at the bottom of the hill.

“I’m up here for all those kids in Athens and Athens County that go home to not a lot of food on the table, hungry after school,” Burrow said that night, pausing at times for effect. “You guys can be up here, too.”

Burrow spoke for six minutes, thanking his family, his teammates and his coaches at Louisiana State University — which he, as the team’s quarterback, has led to Monday night’s national championship game, against Clemson. He also thanked the coaches at Ohio State, where he began his college career. Several times, he stopped to wipe away tears.

But it was those 30 seconds that he spoke, with clarity and authority, about the troubles of his hometown, where he arrived in the third grade as a son of a football coach and stayed put, that carried the greatest resonance.

Ask any of the people from this rural region, from Athens up to Buchtel and down to Tuppers Plains, what they thought of Burrow’s speech, and chances are they will admit — not at all grudgingly — that it brought tears to their eyes. One of them was Will Drabold, who graduated from Athens High School three years ahead of Burrow.

A communications consultant who worked in Washington after graduating from Ohio University, he is the rare young person migrating back to Athens. Burrow’s speech “was like being struck by lightning,” he said. The next morning, Drabold was determined to do something: He put up a Facebook page asking for donations to the Athens County Food Pantry. The goal was $1,000, which he started with a $50 pledge.

Within 24 hours, the drive had raised $80,000. By Sunday, nearly a month later, it had raised more than $503,000 — more than five times the all-volunteer organization’s annual budget. Similarly, a food pantry in Baton Rouge, La., has raised more than $60,000. Other charitable groups in southern Ohio have received a modest bump.

Karin Bright, the board president of the Athens County Food Pantry, said that the board would be deliberate in how it used the windfall, but that a primary objective would be expanding the reach of the organization, which provides food for about 400 families per month. That could mean adding commercial freezer space so that more meat, as well as frozen fruit and vegetables, can be distributed. Also on the table: further connecting with the area’s social workers.

“The financial impact is going to be enormous,” Bright said. “We want to make sure this money is used wisely.”

On Thursday, dozens of paper grocery bags stocked with beef stew, chicken, tuna, canned fruit and vegetables, rice, pasta, sauce and bread stood ready on a broad table at the Athens County Job and Family Services offices, where volunteers from the pantry logged arrivals, asked families how much they needed and distributed a corresponding amount of food.

One man came for a household of 10. A young woman with scabbed skin toting a young boy arrived. Another man came for an older neighbor who was ill. By midafternoon, 42 families had been served.

“There’s a lot of research, and you hear ‘food insecurity,’ but you don’t know it until you live it,” said Nicolette Dioguardi, a retired lawyer who volunteers. “Until you’ve eaten chicken back soup and popcorn for dinner, you don’t know what food insecurity is.”

Cheryl, a neatly dressed woman who did not want to give her surname, never expected to be stopping by. It is one of three places where she receives food each month. She said that she retired from the county health department after 15 years and that her husband, a diabetic, retired from a supermarket chain with plans to spend winters in Florida. But a mudslide badly damaged their home and wiped out their savings. Their pension checks leave them $200 a month for food and gas.

“I’m embarrassed to be here,” she said. “It’s a lifestyle I never planned on.”

There are few better places in southeast Ohio to get a window into poverty and hunger than at its schools, many of which draw from large, sparsely populated districts set among the wooded hills and valleys. Teachers are attuned to spot backpacks with a broken strap, shoes with a flapping sole. At Meigs High School in Pomeroy, Ohio, teachers stocked a closet with winter jackets, mittens and socks for any student in need.

“We’re trying to help them survive,” said Courtney Irvin, a teacher at the school, which is in Meigs County, one of the state’s poorest.

Thus, the conditions for canceling school in Meigs County for cold weather are extreme: below 20 degrees for multiple hours during bus times. The reality is that for some children, they will be safer at school, where they can be assured of being warm and getting one substantial meal.

That concern is so pervasive that many teachers keep food supplies in their desk. So, too, does Robin Burrow, the principal at Eastern Elementary School in Meigs County. She is also Joe’s mother.

Her office is bright and cheery, a welcoming place for “kiddos,” as she calls them, from kindergarten through fourth grade. The office is dotted with photos of her husband, Jimmy, and Joe; there is a bookcase filled with stuffed animal tigers and teddy bears, bracelets and candles; and the accent colors are purple and gold.

Below her desk is a box of macaroni-and-cheese dinners.

How often does she give them out?

“Every day,” she said.

The poverty rate at the school — or those eligible for free or reduced lunch — is 36 percent. Every other Friday, bags of food are sent home with 100 children, about 20 percent of the school’s enrollment. One of Robin Burrow’s biggest concerns is what happens during the two weeks that schools are closed over winter break.

“Honestly, some kiddos we could go do home visits and electricity is an extension cord down the street to run a refrigerator,” she said. “I guess my umbrella statement would be that when our kiddos are in our building, they know 100 percent that they are taken care of, that we’ll do everything for them to be safe, happy and healthy. Until a child’s basic needs are met, they can’t even begin to be educated.”

The Burrows have lived a comfortable life on Jimmy’s salary as an assistant coach at Ohio University, where he retired last year, and Robin’s as an educator. They tried to cushion Joe from the poverty in the area, but sheltering him from it would never have been possible the way it is in areas where private schools and exclusive communities can build moats between the haves and the have-nots.

“I understood it was a poor area when I was young because you’re driving through it and you see these low-income homes that I hadn’t really seen before,” said Joe Burrow, who was born in Ames, Iowa, and lived in Fargo, N.D., before arriving in The Plains when he was 8. “I’d lived in upper-middle-class neighborhoods before we moved to Athens and The Plains. You understand, but you don’t really understand the magnitude until you get older.”

Joe’s father was thinking of selling their house last year and moving to Baton Rouge, but Joe Burrow didn’t want to lose his connection to the place.

He said he mentioned poverty and hunger in his speech not because he hoped for an outpouring of support, but because he wanted to acknowledge where he was from and how growing up in southeast Ohio had shaped him. “I just mentioned it because that was in my heart at the time,” he said on Saturday.

Nathan White, who is Athens High School’s football coach and was the offensive coordinator when Burrow played there, traveled to New York last month. He watched the speech at a hotel before joining the Burrows’ party.

“That’s the first moment I didn’t feel like his former football coach,” White said. “I just felt like a guy from Athens.”

Joseph D. Kittle Jr., back home at a bar in Athens, was another who watched the speech as if Burrow were speaking only to him. Kittle grew up dirt poor in Trimble, Ohio, at a time when the brick plants, iron works and coal mines were flickering out, the hills were stripped bare of timber and the rivers were dying from chemicals. He graduated from Ohio University, went to Harvard for graduate school and was gone until later in life, returning to care for his parents and then marrying a childhood friend, Beverly Drake.

“We haven’t been in charge of our destiny for a long time,” Kittle said. “We weren’t really taught to brag a lot, and in fact we were taught not to draw attention to ourselves. Here’s someone who has every reason in the world to brag, and he’s not doing that.”

Kittle noted how Burrow, after being announced as the Heisman winner, went over to hug two of his former coaches from Ohio State, who had two of their own players as finalists.

“If you think about it, nothing was about him,” Kittle added. “The speech itself had this flow to it and a cadence — the way it was delivered was so powerful, and then what he had to say was very simple and very elegant. It was really written in a style that reflects how people think here. He wasn’t trying to have an impact on the food bank, but the humility spoke for itself and it tore at people’s heartstrings.”

When school let out on Thursday, Athens High looked like any other campus — students scrambled down to the parking lot, eager to jump in their cars and get to wherever they were going. It was easy to imagine young Joey Burrow being among them — and how on some days he might take note of the trailers at the bottom of the hill.

In one of them now lives one of his old classmates, home with her three children. A block away, Amanda Cochran lives with her young child in a trailer, trying to make ends meet as a home health care worker. She would sit in the stands at the football games when Burrow was in high school, cheering for the team. It was nice, she said, that he remained just as she remembered him, down to earth.

“You know, we’re a pretty poor county,” she said. “For him to come from this community and to show it, you can really tell where his heart is.”

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[annaelis-blog1]

Blogging to remember!

  Last January 18, 2017. I took my MCAT at San Beda College as pre-requisite for admission to their College of Medicine. It comprised of simple arithmetics, grammar and punctuations, and a little bit of essay about the social issues currently. It was relatively easy, and if I were to compare it – I would compare it to the NCAE I took when I was in 3rd year high school, and the USTET I took August 2012 (not that I remember those really clearly, but because the experience wasn’t traumatizing like NMAT)

My essay was about the economic growth of the Philippines, I’m not sure if I remembered it clearly but the question kind of went off like this, ‘despite the potential of the Philippines to grow economically from 1965-1985, why didn’t it thrive unlike it’s neighboring countries in South East Asia?’. I know that I didn’t answer as ideally as I should have, but since I saw a #MarcosNoHero placard around San Beda that time, it got stuck inside my head and I just wrote about Marcos, about his dictatorship and plunder cases.

Today, (April 3, 2017) – TWO MONTHS AFTER THE SAID MCAT AND THE SAID WEIRD ESSAY – I was scheduled –FINALLY!- for an interview. I received an e-mail and a text message about what I should wear, where and who will be with me. It was kind of frustrating since I was promised confidentiality on my part (when I took the MCAT) that only my applicant number will appear on the notifications/announcements. Instead, it beared my full name down to the last initial!

Since I am unsearchable through facebook (courtesy of my preference for my nickname rather than my full name) I took the opportunity to peek through the facebook profiles of my future colleagues and/or classmates! HIHIHI ~

The text had 24 names, divided equally into the morning interview session and the afternoon interview session. I was blessed to be in the first batch to be interviewed, since I took the MCAT earlier than most of the applicants. I was in the afternoon session, meaning I had time in the morning to look through my closet for the corporate-iest corporate clothing I had (the email and text message said to wear corporate clothes).

My grandmother wanted to tour Manila while she was visiting for my graduation so my mother and grandmother took advantage of the moment to tour and also give me moral support. I wore a pale pink long-sleeved (idk what that was) I brought from a thrift shop and a neon peach pencil skirt I bought several months ago from sale somewhere – the conclusion after an hour long debate on what I should wear – my mother insisted I wear her clothes! HER CLOTHES! Of course

We arrived at the campus at around 11:30am and my mother insisted we take pictures, I was soooooo embarrassed ‘cause my mother was insisting on it like, just ‘take a picture on this weird looking poster right here’. I tried to compensate and had our picture (I and my grandmother) on that garden with a fountain.

We went to the church and prayed a bit. Then the clock chimed twelve, and they played a prayer on the speakers everywhere. I remember it being the ‘Lord’s Prayer’ and me thinking, hey – I wanna hear this prayer everyday for the rest of my medical student life!

At around 12pm, I could not contain my anxiety (a bit, and also the fact that they –mom and lola- talked a lot and they made me nervous) so I told them I better go ahead. My grandmother was reminding me about my bag and where I should put it while in church to avoid it being stolen or something - while that was deeply appreciated - It added anxiety to my already anxious-self.

So I went to the Medicine Building, looking like a carrot with my neon peach pencil skirt.  A door had instructions posted in it, it went like this: APPLICANTS FOR INTERVIEW PLEASE GO TO ROOM 22B and a little map on it. Room 22B was in the second floor so I saw some Bedan med students on the way there.

I went to ROOM 22B. It wasn’t surprising how I was the only one there. The room seemed like a holding area for students for interview. I paced around a bit, trying to see myself there. The lighting was a bit dim, but that could be easily changed – apart from that, the room looks nice, conducive for learning! Although the wooden catholic cross was hidden by the projector screen.

At around 12:45pm, I had company! His initials were K.A.D. and I met him in pinoy.md and through facebook! He’s nice and friendly, and his mom accompanied him! I suddenly felt bad I made my grandma and mom go away. Soon, we were around seven in the holding area. Another acquaintance I met through a facebook group with initials E.E. arrived, and we just talked about med school in general.

A man, sir Rey(?), went to the room at around 12:55pm. He asked of our surnames, I said my measly 2-letter surname to him and he gave me a number with a pink background. The color of the background dictated who our interviewer will be.

At around 1:05pm, I went to the bathroom for the last time, having the gut feeling the interview is bound soon. When I returned to the room at 1:10pm, sir Rey(?) told me to go downstairs and go to the door which had a pink background on it.

I was led to a small office with a computer chair – I remember the computer chair because I feared falling on it or slipping the wheel and making a fall somehow! Haha! How the mind works when one is nervous.

My interviewer was a male, he introduced himself and I I remember just ‘Enrique’, I don’t remember his surname at all (or maybe Enrique is his surname?). He didn’t offer his hand, so I didn’t offer mind cause that would be awkward (I wish I had though, it bugged me). He asked for my name, so I replied. Then he called me Doktora (my name) after that.

He had a lot of papers in his hand, it had the questions on it. First, he read the general instructions. ‘You will be given a set of hypothetical situations in which you should answer briefly and honestly. You will be given a maximum of five minutes per question. This interview will comprise of a maximum of 30 minutes. I will be taking notes while you are speaking, but please continue speaking’ something like that.

Hypothetical situations (not in any order, just how I remembered it) and my answers: (not the actual verbatim, of course! Just the way I remember it! I excluded the stuttering of course! But yes! I answered in English):

(1)

Q: Your father had a drinking spree and could not go to work the day after because of a bad hangover. He asked you to write him a medical certiciate so his boss will excuse him, or else, his boss will suspend him. As a newly licensed physician, what will you do?

A: I will advise my father to go to a clinic due to body weakness of malaise, however I will not write the medical certificate for him because it would not be professional.

(2)

Q: Your mother bought you an all-expense trip to Europe unfortunately, it coincides with your already rescheduled final exam.

A: I am very determined in becoming a medical doctor. I will simply tell my mother to give the trip to my sister because I am passionate and determined in reaching my goal.

(3)

Q: As a medical intern, you are presenting a case to consultants, residents and fellow interns. A consultant told you as you were presenting that your case presentations lacked some stuff.

A: As a student I know that I will not be able to make a case presentation perfectly. I will take note of what he commented and will put it on my next case analysis. Yet, I will continue presenting my case emphasizing on its strengths rather than on its weaknesses or what it’s lacking.

(4)

Q: You are looking through some proposals for a new drug. The project will sponsor 5million to the best proposal. Among the proposals was a paper made by your sister and it was among the TOP 3.

A: I will suspend all biases and look through all of the proposals as objectively so that the person who will be chosen will deserve it.

(5)

Q: After an exhausting day with no snacks, you finally had time to go to Mcdo and you bought apple pie, fries and a burger. A street child goes to you and asks for food.

A: (This was fortunate because I did not like McDo! I love Jollibee!) It has always been a habit of mine to give street children food rather than money. Of course I will give the child my apple pie and I will ask him if he has friends so they can all share the small feast I can offer.

(6)

Q: In a group project, a leader assigned you some work to do. You noticed that the tasks were not equally divided. A groupmate of yours offers to help you.

A: I believe in the assessment of the leader because I know that people have different sets of strengths and weakness. Yet, if I was assigned a task I find hard to do, I will accept the help given to me.

(7)

Q: You are a group leader. Two of your members have difficulty working together because of personal differences.

A: I will advise my members to set aside their personal differences and work objectively and professionally.

(8)

Q: No matter how much you try, you will can’t understand the topic of your upcoming exam. You tried and tried but you could not understand it.

A: I will use my resources such as the library, the internet. I will ask my classmates if they could help me. If I still could not understand it, I will ask the professor for the things I find most difficult. And should I still fail to understand it, I will do my very best in the exam.

After that, I was surprised that the interview concluded. It took around 10 minutes? I’m not sure. The interviewer, doctor Enrique(?) wished me luck and he told me, he’ll see mee soon. I don’t know what that meant. I guess, I have a strong standing!