#these being back to back chapters is such a small sample size too

[geekeryisafoot]

One of the subtle things I appreciate about Akane Banashi is the background character designs. Like they're sterotypical but not malicious in any way. It's just different people living their normal, mundane daily lives

Like this woman at Chocho's introductory performance scene. Most manga use someone who looks like that as a set up to a transphobic joke, but she's just... existing. She's just a random person filling out a crowd scene. And while I wouldn't say it's a good thing she's drawn in a way that harkens to transphobic stereotypes, it's just her being completely normal and unremarkable

Or Asagao's friends who, like Asagao himself, look like stock punk characters to show the dangerous side of town. But they're just completely normal people leading normal lives juggling friends, work, and family

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (AOS Edition) Chapter Fourteen

AOS! Spock x Empath! Reader

Chapter Fourteen: True Mision

Summary: (Y/N), Spock, and Kirk speak to Harrison and learn some suspicious truths.

            Everyone stared as Harrison was escorted through the halls of the Enterprise towards the brig. He had six security guards standing around him, and yet his face betrayed no worry or concern, just a calm, focused gaze forward.

(Y/N) felt no fear in his aura, nothing to betray that this wasn’t an ideal situation for him. It sent concerned shivers down their spine since this could only mean he was getting something out of this, out of being taken here.

            “Bones, meet me in the brig,” said Kirk to his communicator.

            “Be right there,” said Bones.

            “Uhura,” said Kirk to the bridge. “Contact Starfleet, let them know we have Harrison in custody and that we’ll be on our way once the warp core is repaired.”

            “Yes, sir,” said Uhura.

            “Spock, (L/N), I’ll meet you in the brig,” said Kirk.

            “Yes, sir,” said (Y/N).

            Spock caught their arm before they walked away, and (Y/N) looked at him curiously.

            “T’hy’la, you worried me,” said Spock quietly. “I wish you had not put yourself in harm’s way.”

            “It’s my duty, Spock. Just like you know it’s yours,” said (Y/N), reminding him of what he’d nearly done what felt like forever ago.

            “Yes, but I don’t…I want you to be safe, T’hy’la,” said Spock. “I am glad you are safe.” He touched his fingers to theirs.

            (Y/N) smiled. “I’m still here, Spock. Don’t worry.” They leaned up and kissed him softly. “I’m here.”

            Spock allowed himself a small smile. “I love you,” he said softly.

            “I love you, too,” promised (Y/N).

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            “Why the hell did he surrender?” said Bones as soon as he caught up to Kirk, (Y/N), and Spock, dressed in uniform and walking to the brig.

            “I don’t know,” said Kirk. “But he just took out a squad of Klingons single-handedly. I want to know how.”

            “Sounds like we have a superman on board,” said Bones.

            “You tell me,” said Kirk. “(L/N), have you gotten any emotion readings from him?”

            (Y/N) considered. “He had a very calm emotional aura while he fought and when he went to the brig. The only time he’s showed anything else is anger when he attacked the meeting and a combination of negative emotions and nervousness about the torpedoes.”

            “Fascinating,” said Spock.

            “We’ll keep that in mind,” said Kirk. “Let me know if anything changes.” They entered the brig and approached the only occupied cell with Harrison pacing inside.

            Bones placed the force-field opened in the middle, and it expanded to create an arm-sized hole. “Put your arm through the hole. I’m gonna take a blood sample.”

            Harrison approached, still no emotion but calm self-assurance in his face of aura. He rolled up his sleeve and put his arm through the hole. Bones took it, inserted the needle, and let it take some of his blood. Harrison didn’t even flinch and just looked at Kirk.

            “Why aren’t we moving, Captain?” said Harrison. He raised a brow. “An unexpected malfunction, perhaps in your warp core, conveniently stranding you on the edge of Klingon space?”

            Bones looked at Harrison in confusion as he got it exactly right. Spock tilted his head, and (Y/N) furrowed their brow.

            “How the hell do you know that?” said Bones.

            “Bones,” said (Y/N), warning him to not let him know anything. Harrison was clearly more intelligent than the average person. Not only was his strength and stamina more impressive, his mind was, too. He was a formidable man.

            Harrison’s eyes flitted to them, and he tilted his head as he considered them. “I think you’d find my insight valuable.”

            (Y/N) looked back at him evenly, and Spock narrowed his eyes slightly, not liking Harrison’s attention on them.

            “We good?” said Kirk, speaking before Harrison could say anything else.

            “Yeah,” said Bones, drawing his hand back and closing the hole.

            “Let me know what you find,” said Kirk.

            “Ignore me, and you will get everyone on this ship killed,” said Harrison as they walked away.

            Kirk slowed to a stop.

            “Captain, I believe he will only attempt to manipulate you,” said Spock. “I would not recommend engaging this prisoner further.”

            “(L/N)…is he trying to trick us?” asked Kirk.

            “His emotions haven’t changed, but I can’t see if he’s lying or not. And even if he isn’t, he could still be using us,” said (Y/N).

            Kirk pursed his lips and turned back to Harrison. “Let me explain what’s happening here,” he said harshly. “You are a criminal. I watched you murder innocent people. I was authorized to end you! And the only reason why you are still alive is because I am allowing it. So shut your mouth.”

            Harrison looked back at Kirk, and condescension swirled around him. “Oh, Captain, are you going to punch me again over and over till your arm weakens? Why did you allow me to live?”

            “We all make mistakes,” said Kirk coldly.

            “No,” said Harrison. “I surrendered to you because, despite your attempt to convince me otherwise, you seem to have a conscience, Mr. Kirk.” His eyes flicked to (Y/N). “As does your crew. If you did not, it would be impossible for me to convince you of the truth. Two-three. One-seven. Four-six. One-one. Coordinates not far from Earth. If you want to know why I did what I did, go and take a look.”

            “Give me one reason why I should listen to you,” said Kirk.

            “I can give you seventy-two,” said Harrison. “And they’re on board your ship, Captain. They have been all along. I suggest you open one up.” He looked at (Y/N). “And let your Celian take a look. They’ll understand immediately.”

            (Y/N) furrowed their brow.

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            “Are you out of your corn-fed mind?” snapped Bones on the Bridge once he heard Kirk’s plan to send Scotty to investigate what Harrison had said and open a torpedo. “You’re not actually going to listen to this guy?! He killed Pike, he almost killed you, and now you think it’s a good idea to pop open a torpedo because he dared you to.”

            “Why did he save our lives, Bones?” said Kirk.

            “The Doctor has a point, Captain,” said Spock.

            “Don’t agree with me, Spock. It makes me very uncomfortable,” said Bones.

            “Perhaps you too should learn to govern your emotions, Doctor,” said Spock. “In this situation, logic dictates—”

            “Logic? Oh my god, there’s a maniac trying to make us blow up our own damn ship and—”

            “That’s not it,” said (Y/N), crossing their arms and shaking their head. Everyone looked at them. “I don’t know why he surrendered, but that’s not it. And I have to say, I think we should open a torpedo. We should’ve done that from the beginning. Scotty was right, we don’t know what’s in it, and it’s been kept secret from us. Harrison was worried about them and wanted to know the number for some reason. There’s something going on here, and we seem to be the only ones in the dark. We can’t keep going without knowing all the facts.”

            “I agree with (L/N),” said Kirk, nodding.

            Bones threw up his hands. “Okay, but without Scotty on board, who exactly is qualified to just pop open a four-ton stick of dynamite?”

            “The Admiral’s daughter appeared to have an interest in the torpedoes, and she’s a weapons specialist,” said Spock. “Perhaps she could be of use.”

            (Y/N) nodded. “Good point.”

            Kirk and Bones looked at them in confusion.

            “What Admiral’s daughter?” asked Kirk.

            “Carol Marcus. Your new science officer concealed her identity to board the ship,” said Spock.

            “When were you going to tell me that?” asked Kirk, bewildered.

            “When it became relevant. And it just did,” said Spock.

            “In our defense, we found out just as we were forced out of warp, so we had other problems to deal with,” said (Y/N). “But she seemed to be scanning the torpedoes. If I had to guess, she’s as curious as we are about what’s in them. And that means there’s even more suspicion surrounding them. We really need to open one.”

            “Let’s go get her, then,” said Kirk, moving to the elevator.

l

            Barely a half-hour later, poor Bones (who had surgical expertise) and Carol had gone down to a small planetoid to open the torpedo (Spock had been vehemently against (Y/N) going down despite what Harrison had said. He drew the line of listening to him there). Carol, too, had no idea what was in the torpedo, and since her father had been so secretive, she had forged the papers to get to the Enterprise and find out what was going on.

            “Lieutenant Uhura, did you let Starfleet know we have Harrison in custody?” asked Kirk.

            “Yes, sir, no response yet,” said Uhura.

            “Engineering to Bridge,” said Chekov. “Hello. Captain, can you hear me?”

            “Mr. Chekov, give me some good news,” said Kirk.

            “We found the leak, sir, but damage was substantial. We’re working on it,” said Chekov.

            “Any idea what caused it?” asked Kirk.

            “Uh, no, sir. But I accept full responsibility,” said Chekov.

            “Something tells me it wasn’t your fault. Stay on it,” said Kirk.

            “You think something else is going on,” said (Y/N).

            “You and Spock were right,” said Kirk. “We know too little about this situation, and now…there’s too much going on to ignore it.”

            “Shuttle is standing by,” said Sulu.

            “Bones, thanks for helping out,” said Kirk to the shuttle. “Dr. Marcus asked for the steadiest hands on the ship.”

            “When I get you for your next physical, you’re gonna pay for this,” muttered Bones as he walked out of the shuttle.

            “To understand how powerful these weapons are, we need to open the warheads,” said Carol matter-of-factly. “To do that, we need to access the fuel compartment. Unfortunately for us, the warheads on these weapons are live.”

            “I once performed an emergency C-section on a pregnant Gorn. Octuplets,” said Bones. “And let me tell you, those little bastards bite. I think I can work some magic on your missile.”

            “Dr. McCoy, there’s a bundle of fiberoptic cables against the inner casing,” said Carol. “You’ll need to cut the twenty-third wire down. Whatever you do, do not touch anything else. Do you understand?”

            “Right. The thought never crossed my mind,” said Bones. He inserted the wire cutters.

            “Dr. McCoy, wait for my word,” said Carol. “I’m rerouting the detonation process.”

            Everyone on the bridge tensed and waited to see what would happen.

            “Are you ready?” asked Carol.

            “And raring,” said Bones.

            “Good luck,” said Carol, pressing a button.

            Bones let out a shocked yell as something constricted around his arm.

            “Sir, the torpedo just armed itself,” said Sulu in alarm.

            “Bones!” (Y/N) sucked on a breath.

            “The warhead’s gonna detonate in thirty seconds, sir!” said Sulu.

            “What the hell happened?! I can’t get my arm out!” said Bones.

            “The Transporter cannot differentiate between Dr. McCoy and the torpedo,” reported Spock, his voice clipped and hurried as he looked at the readings in frustration. He stood. “We cannot beam back on without the other.”

            “Dr. Marcus, can you disarm it?” said Kirk, trying to keep calm through his fear.

            “I’m trying, I’m trying,” said Carol.

            “Jim, get her the hell out of here!” said Bones.

            “No, if you beam me back, he dies!” said Carol. “Just let me do it!”

            “Ten, nine, eight!” said Bones in alarm.

            “Standing by to transport Dr. Marcus on your command, sir,” said Sulu.

            “Four, three!” cursed Bones.

            “Shit!” Carol pulled an entire device out of the machine instead of trying to clip the right wire.

            The panel opened, and Bones and Carol fell back. The torpedo powered down, and they both let out a sigh of relief, the same sound which went up on the Bridge.

            “Deactivation successful, Captain,” reported Spock.

            “Bones, you alright?” asked Kirk.

            The top of the torpedo slid off, and Bones and Carol stood to look in.

            “Bones!” repeated Kirk.

            “Jim?” said Bones in shock as he looked into the torpedo. “You’re going to want to see this.”

            Kirk looked at Spock and (Y/N). What had they found?

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            “What have we got?” asked Kirk instantly as they entered the Medbay to find Carol and Bones looking over the torpedo.

            “The fuel container’s been removed from this torpedo and retrofitted to hide a cryotube,” said Carol matter-of-factly.

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and they walked to the head of the torpedo. Sure enough, a person lay in stasis within it, soft, barely present emotions pulsing with them in their sleep. That was why Harrison wanted them to see it—(Y/N) could feel the emotions of the person.

            “Is he alive?” asked Kirk.

            “He’s alive,” confirmed Bones. “But if we try to revive him without the proper sequencing, medical attention, and psychological protection, it could kill him. This technology’s beyond me.”

            “How advanced, Doctor?” asked Spock.

            Carol shook her head. “It’s not advanced. That cryotube is ancient.”

            “We haven’t needed to freeze anybody since we developed warp capability,” said Bones. “Which explains the most interesting thing about our friend here. He’s three hundred years old.”

            “Harrison must know them,” said (Y/N).

            Spock and Kirk looked at them.

            “He needed to know seventy torpedoes were present. There must be seventy-two people,” said (Y/N). “And he wanted them to be kept alive, not fired at him…But the question is still why these people are here to begin with…”

            “We need to talk to him,” said Kirk, grimacing.

            Spock narrowed his eyes. “Unfortunately, we must.”

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            Harrison looked up as they walked into the brig.

            “Why is there a man in that torpedo?” questioned Kirk, getting straight tot eh point.

            “There are people in all those torpedoes, Captain,” said Harrison. When Kirk’s glance went to (Y/N), who had figured out the same thing, Harrison’s eyes went with him. “Though it appears your Lieutenant figured that out. Good. You need to keep an observant mind.”

            “Why are they there?” repeated Kirk, disliking Harrison’s focus on (Y/N). There was no reason for it (Spock liked it even less).

            “Because I put them there,” said Harrison.

            “Who the hell are you?” questioned Kirk.

            “A remnant of a time long past,” said Harrison evenly. “Genetically engineered to be superior so as to lead others to peace in a world at war.” Frustration threaded his aura. “But we were condemned as criminals, forced into exile. For centuries, we slept, hoping when we awoke, things would be different. But as a result of the destruction of Vulcan—” Spock tensed “—your Starfleet began to aggressively search distant quadrants of space. My ship was found adrift. I alone was revived.”

            Which would indicate he was the leader of his group. The first to revive is always programmed to be the captain, thought (Y/N). That meant Harrison was even more dangerous than they supposed. He was genetically stronger and smarter than they were, and he accustomed to using and commanding others.

            “We looked up ‘John Harrison,’ ” said (Y/N). “He didn’t exist until a year ago. I suppose that was a name given to you.”

            Harrison stood, and he smirked for just a moment. “Precisely. John Harrison was a fiction created the moment I was awoken by your Admiral Marcus to advance his cause.” (Y/N)’s eyes didn’t betray any reaction to Marcus being the one to find him. “Good. You don’t trust him. That will serve you well. It seems you’re the only observant or intelligent one on this ship.”

            “Who are you really?” said (Y/N), crossing their arms and refusing to acknowledge the “compliment.” They didn’t like Harrison’s gaze or the emotions that accompanied it.

            “My name is ‘Khan.’ ” The name hung in the air and felt dangerous, far more suited to the man before them than “Harrison.”

            “Why would a Starfleet Admiral ask a three-hundred-year-old froze man for help?” questioned Kirk.

            “Because I am better,” said Khan matter-of-factly.

            “At what?” said Kirk.

            “Everything,” said Khan. His gaze darkened, and when he next spoke, anger, deep and dark, accompanied his words. “Alexander Marcus needed to respond to an uncivilized threat in a civilized time, and for that, he needed a warrior’s mind. My mind. To design weapons and warships.”

            “You are suggesting the Admiral violated every regulation he vowed to uphold simply because he wanted to exploit your intellect,” said Spock.

            “He wanted to exploit my savagery,” said Khan coldly. “Intellect alone is useless in a fight, Mr. Spock.” He smirked cruelly. “You…You can’t even break a rule. How would you be expected to break bone?”

            Spock looked back at Khan evenly, and (Y/N) shifted towards him.

            “Marcus used me to design weapons,” continued Khan. “To help him realize his vision of a militarized Starfleet.”

            “The war he expected to come soon,” said (Y/N), remembering Marcus’s words.

            Khan nodded and looked at them. “You understand now, of course, that he sent you to use those weapons, to fire torpedoes on an unsuspecting planet. And you understand the rest.” He tilted his head, daring (Y/N) to continue.

            (Y/N) crossed their arms as if to guard against his gaze and emotions. “He crippled our ship in enemy space. Eventually, Klingons would find us. We wouldn’t escape.”

            Kirk’s eyes widened, and Spock tensed.

            “Marcus gets the war he wants,” said (Y/N).

            They were sick to their stomach, but after all the strange feelings they’d had around Marcus, it made sense that this was the secret he was holding. And all the facts lined up. Yes, Khan was likely trying to use them or going to do something, but there was no sign and no reason to lie right now, not when his people were in reach.

            “I can’t…I can’t believe that,” said Kirk, shaking his head. “I watched you fire into a room full of unarmed Starfleet officers. You killed them in cold blood.”

            Yes, but being a cruel, terrible man didn’t change that Khan could tell the truth.

            “Marcus took my crew from me,” said Khan.

            “You are a murderer!” shouted Kirk.

            “He used my friends to control me,” spat Khan. “I tried to smuggle them to safety by concealing them in the very weapons I had designed, but I was discovered. I had no choice but to escape alone. And when I did, I had every reason to suspect that Marcus had killed every single one of the people I hold most dear—” grief wound through him, as intense as his anger “—So I responded in kind. My crew is my family, Kirk. Is there anything you would not do for your family?”

            The words hung in the silence.

            “Proximity alert, Captain!” Sulu’s voice over the comms cut through the quiet. “There’s a ship at warp heading right for us!”

            “Klingons?” asked Kirk.

            “At warp?” Khan scoffed. “No, Kirk. We both know who it is.”

            “I don’t think so,” replied Sulu. “It’s not coming from Kronos.”

            Kirk turned and broke into a run towards the bridge. “Lieutenant, move Khan to Medbay,” he said the guard. He needed Khan to be someone another ship wouldn’t look for a prisoner. “Post six security guards on him.”

            (Y/N) and Spock followed Kirk, and Spock murmured to (Y/N).

            “Do you believe him?”

            “I believe Khan,” said (Y/N). “But I don’t trust him.”

            “No. Neither do I,” said Spock.

Taglist:

@a-ofzest

@grippleback-galaxy

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@groovy-lady

@im-making-an-effort

@unending-screaming

@h-l-vlovesvintage

@neenieweenie

@keylimeconstellation

@wormwig

@technikerin23

@ilyatan

@nthdarkqueen

@kyalov

@starlit-cass

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 14: Wormfail

Not every dragon can fly. Astraia can’t. She doesn’t even have wings.

I’ve only seen Whitman and Wilhelm flying.

It seems like everyone else has been homebodies so far.

I’m kind of really hoping, of all things, that Waits can fly. And I’ll feel really lucky and fortunate if more than half of the others can fly, too.

It could be that they could fly if they tried and practiced, but haven’t gotten to that point yet.

Oh, and I have no idea how truly eclectic they all are. I just have some guesses based on their calls, and the other three dragons I’ve seen. Wilhelm looked kind of like a sheep-horned buzzard with a serpentine tail, by the way. I think that’s actually a significant sample size for a small population of local dragons, four out of fourteen. Three others and me out of thirteen others and me. Not all the city’s dragons. Just the ones I get to talk to in the morning, plus Whitman. There have been other cries further out, but they’re too faint for me to describe.

I’m going to leave Whitman out of this plan, because they don’t actually need any more harassment and trouble from me, assuming they even survived our last encounter.

Anyway, I decide to give Waits some warning, because I need them to call out a few times as I fly around their territory, so that I know where they are. Because a single distant fly-by challenge isn’t going to do the trick.

I start squawking. Not so loud that it might carry to other neighborhoods, but loud enough for Waits to get annoyed and answer. It’s not my full challenge. I want them confused.

As I’m doing this, I notice that one of the helicopters is pacing me from higher up. Which makes me really nervous, but they’re not going to be firing anything at me over the city.

The rest of the eviction force, including the other helicopter, is surrounding and securing my building.

I can guess which chopper has come after me.

I adjust my calls to be louder than its blades, and Waits returns them with their challenge, loud enough to annoy their neighbors.

Fine.

A couple more call-and-responses, and I manage to triangulate where they are and wing it over there while Waits’ neighbors add their clamoring to the night’s racket.

All in all, the humans are actually being a little louder than us dragons. We sound like rather large birds, really. The humans sound like machined bullshit.

Helicopters are loud.

Which means it takes a lot of work to get Waits to pay attention to me.

Waits is the closest other dragon to me. Way closer to my own lair than any of the other dragons are to each other. Which makes it so that my lair isn’t actually in the middle of my territory, nor theirs their own. Which is also why I think of the library and courthouse as belonging to them.

And there’s really only one of three places Waits could hide during the day.

There’s a creek with three bridges that go over it, and they’re under the largest one, across the creek from the trail that goes under the bridge.

And if I go fast enough, which I do, I can pull my wings in and zip under the bridge, right past Waits, without plowing into the creek, and I’ve got plenty of winging room on the other side to pull up and circle around to do it again.

I do my full challenge as I make my first pass, and Waits hates that.

Waits’ challenge sounds almost mechanical, creaky and squeaky and rattly. I’ve heard a cockatiel make a similar sound, but much more quietly. And there’s a definite rhythm to it, like a contraption that’s being cranked. They’re the only other dragon I’ve heard so far that incorporates knocking into their cry, too. And their sound follows me as I take back to the sky and work to get the altitude I need for another strafe.

My helicopter circles the opposite direction to me as I rise, and I can’t decide if they decided to do that or I did. It’s grandly annoying that it’s there, and I think that’s the idea.

Briefly, I get that search light beamed right into my eyes, and my nictitating membranes flip shut immediately. I’m not as blinded as they might have hoped, but it does delay my next dive.

This time, as I start my cry, Waits starts theirs, and we’re shouting as loudly at each other as we can as I pass under their bridge.

I love it.

Third time’s a charm, and this time I manage to avoid the search light.

As I shoot under the bridge, a giant ball of porcupine quills with wings built like gorilla arms launches itself at me and just brushes my tail barb before slamming into one of the bridge supports. I don’t get a better look at Waits than that. Neither of us are appreciably hurt.

There’s a growl and a sound like a tree falling, and I glance behind myself to see a shadow flapping out from under the bridge to follow me. So I circle a couple of times, challenging repeatedly to stir up their ire some more, and let them get closer.

Then I shoot out toward Wilhem’s territory in the lettered streets, because I want at least one other flier as soon as possible, with Waits’ rhythmic cacophony following me.

The helicopter lazily alters course to maintain pursuit and harassment at a safe altitude.

Waits and I are chattering back and forth at each other for several blocks of the city.

And Wilhelm panics and takes to the sky long before I get us near them.

Nice.

Maybe.

With how skittish they are, I’m not sure I can taunt them into joining the chase, rather than simply flee. But their dying man’s anguished scream fills the night, and that’s cool.

I veer to try to circle them and intercept them, but they’re much faster than me with their feathers.

And that change in angle gives me a better view of Waits, who is gaining on me.

The helicopter’s search light washes over Waits’ form as I’m paying attention to them, and I get a good look at what’s about to slam into me.

Have you ever seen a potoo? It’s this weird frog mouthed bird with huge black eyes and a body that looks like it’s a small broken off stump of a tree branch. Take that and blow it up to the size of a wolf, which means every time you look at it it is bigger than you remember. Cover it in long quills. Give it those weird gorilla arm wings and freaking frog legs. And a whole damn scorpion tail with horizontal fish fins on it. That’s Waits.

If I couldn’t figure out how Whitman flew, Waits has me utterly stymied.

I pull in my wings and drop.

And I feel a sharp searing ripping sensation across my left shoulder as Waits’ beak, or something, scrapes along my wing and into my back. And I almost go all the way down hard.

I don’t know how deep they got, but that’s one of my flight muscles there. I need that.

And I’m reluctant to move it from the pain.

But my body knows that unless I move that wing I’ll be dead against the ground, and it stretches out nearly of its own accord. 

It’s almost like an autopilot has kicked in and is insisting on making a landing. Weak, rapid flapping slows my descent just enough to give me time to think while Waits wheels around to make another attack, and the helicopter pins me with light.

Not. Good.

And having used my fire to get the attention of the helicopter in the first place, it’ll be a while before I can use it again.

I need to start thinking of my fire like it’s the wave motion gun of the Space Battleship Yamato. The one anime I’ve watched, way back when I was five.

Why am I thinking about cartoons when I’m about to be obliterated by something that looks like John Carpenter’s Where the Wild Things Are?

Landing seems like as bad an idea as continuing to fly.

Waits is faster than me in both realms and pointier than me. And that helicopter is bent on making me an easier target.

I thought what I was going to do was a play made by one of my favorite web serial heroines - well, villainess - and instead, I think I may have allowed myself to be played by a spicy egg beater with a stadium grade flashlight and piloted by a semi-domesticated ape. And I’m not talking about Waits there.

The whole show of force by the police and whoever else is helping them was meant to flush me out and scare me off my building. And then drive me into some other dragon’s territory to stir up a fight.

Of course it was.

They wouldn’t have sent a chopper across the bay, my only safe escape, if they weren’t trying to do that.

And I thought I’d turn it against them by gathering a string of angry airborne monsters to tether along and bring back to the action.

I was so worried not enough of them could fly, I didn’t think about if they could fly better than me.

I feel a shift from the direction of downtown.

I mentally brace myself for an impact from Waits again, but then drop just as I hear their chattering rise in volume over the helicopter blades.

Waits can pounce. In that short distance, they can move faster than I can over ground. But in an all out sprint, or maybe the closest thing to an endurance run that a dragon can do, I’m thinking I’m faster on average then they are.

Waits flies right over me without contact as I plummet.

Well before I hit the ground, I screech against the pain in my shoulder as I stretch my wings out as far as they’ll go. Once there, the unharmed muscles across my chest are more important for keeping them there, and it’s easier to just glide and even swerve to go another direction. I feel my left back muscles tighten and stiffen as I’m doing this, though.

And I shoot down a street at just below tree level and come to a skidding, stumbling halt on the pavement just at an intersection with an alleyway running between houses.

I flap my wings a couple of times, inflaming the agony in my back, then pull them tight against me and dodge into the alley and start galloping down it, turning my head this way and that to get a visual bead on Waits.

That damn chopper and its light are making that hard.

There’s another shift.

Chapman is doing something, but what? And does it matter to me right this instant?

Oh, there’s Waits!

I duck and dodge into the direction they’re swooping in from, so that I go under them and have as little potential contact time as possible.

This sends me right at a classic white picket fence, and instead of scrambling over it like a civilized dragon, I bow my head and hit it full force with my horned skull.

I honestly didn’t think I was that strong or impervious to impact.

Planks and splinters shatter around me and I’m stumbling into someone’s backyard.

There’s a dog.

Suddenly awake, startled, barking immediately, brown, dense, and under me as I turn and leap over them to land and then bound over another part of the fence into a neighbor’s yard.

The light’s following me with ease and I know Waits is circling to dive at me again. Which is why I’m sticking to the sides of houses now.

I partially circle this house, dashing left down a walkway between houses toward the street, then turn right again to cut across the next neighbor’s front porch, where I get a short reprieve from the light because of the awning there.

But then I’m crossing another street and out in the open and Waits is ready for me, swooping in perpendicular to my path, following the street.

To slam right into a furious Wilhelm, just as I duck and dodge again!

Which is good for me, because I’m feeling wiped out.

But also bad, because none of this is helping our cause at all.

I don’t pause.

I don’t catch my breath.

I don’t look.

I keep moving, against the burning in my back and the growing empty aching of the rest of my muscles. The sudden drop in energy reminds me of my old chronic fatigue, and I don’t need that.

Part of me panics that I’m going to collapse unexpectedly and then be bed bound for several days after this. An old part of me that isn’t up to date on my situation.

An even older part of me that predates my own birth drives me to keep going.

I veer toward the alley again and dash down it in the direction I was going before. And dammit, the helicopter is still dogging me, undistracted by the furball I left behind me.

Another shift.

I wish that would do something clear and obvious here.

Yet another shift.

I can tell now that Chapman is definitely on the move.

And another shift, and the helicopter sputters and veers away.

I save my thoughts for when I’m not moving.

Which is soon, because I fortuitously find a beat up looking garage with a door that’s stuck open. Or carelessly left open by the owners, and just slide into it amongst the crap they’re keeping in there. Into a space that rapidly gets too small for me, and makes noise as I jostle all the boxes and piles around me.

And then I hold still, craning my neck to peer out of the garage, out the short drive and into the alley, on the look out for following trouble.

Shift.

There seem to be two categories of things Chapman is good at. Either reading my mind or my near future and seeing what I’m about to do, which I know elicits a shift. And altering technology, which, in at least one case, didn’t cause a shift to occur. But putting a file on my tablet may have involved slight of hand while sie was out of sight and mind, while sabotaging a helicopter probably required some supernatural or metaphysical effort.

Assuming I’m correct in identifying Chapman as a wizard.

As if sie possibly isn't.

I have the glimmer of an idea, but I don’t know exactly what I’ll use it for.

Oh.

Haha.

I can also communicate with my tablet, which I brought with me, and which is still safe and unharmed hanging from my neck.

I can do the think loudly and repeatedly about an important thing to see if Chapman can read it later, when the tablet isn’t handy.

Shift.

Or maybe we should practice it, but not right now.

Carefully, slowly so as not to jostle anything more, and failing a little at that, I pull out my tablet to look at it and think.

I have to extricate myself from junk and turn around to get enough floor to lie it down and turn it on. But I can hear squabbling between my neighbors still going on down the street, and the helicopter having trouble as it retreats. I think I’m fine.

Turning the tablet on, I see a considerable number of notifications in our group chat, and I open that.

It’s a lot.

But the latest message is from Chapman, saying simply, “Unnecessary, Meg. It doesn’t work like that.” And it’s a total non-sequitur to the rest of the conversation.

I respond with a single letter, “k.”

[radwolf76]

WH40K Homebrew Space Marine Chapter: Stormwolves — December 2024 Update #2

Today's Grotmas 2024 Drop from Games Workshop brought both the new improvements to the core (AKA no supplements) Space Marine Codex experience, as well as the rest of the Balance Dataslate and updated Points Costs.

If your Marine Army doesn't include Black Templars, Blood Angels, Dark Angels, Deathwatch, or Space Wolves, you get the original 10E Oath of Moment back against your Oath of Moment target. Since my rules proxies for my Stormwolves Homebrew Chapter use either Deathwatch or Space Wolves, this doesn't change anything for me.

(Named characters from the Codex Chapters not on that above list also get extra bonuses, but again, that has nothing to do with my Armylists.)

As for the Points Adjustments, as predicted, the impacts to my sample lists were small. Took me maybe a half hour with a spreadsheet to get the numbers straightened out again, and that's across FOUR Army Lists.

That's right, I said four. Previously I've posted at most three lists for my Stormwolves, but with the extra fluff I've been generating between brainstorming new unit configurations, doing pixel art with the Space Marine Chapter Generator, or making virtual minis in Hero Forge, I decided to run the full gamut of Army Sizes, each drawing from a different source, to be able to incorporate all of my Fluff.

Onslaught (3k): This is the one that I've posted several times before. SM Vanguard Spearhead with Deathwatch and some Rogue Trader Fleet Void Troops sprinkled in for spice.

Strike Force (2K): This one is the flip side of that. Imperial Guard Elite Units to stand in for a whole Expeditionary Force of Void Troops, with a few Deathwatch for a bit of extra punch. Previously shared as a 1K list, but has since been expanded.

Incursion (1K): New as of yesterday, this uses the new Veiled Blade Elimination Force detachment for a 'Pure' Imperial Agents Armylist. A few Assassins, Some Deathwatch Imperial Agent Legends Units (Including Proteus, which can't be played in the new DW Index), and Some Void Troops.

Boarding Patrol (0.5K): Since Apothecaries are nigh useless under the new Boarding Patrol rules, I don't feel bad about using Space Wolves for this sample Armylist, even though being Apothecary heavy is a thing for my Homebrew Chapter and taking Space Wolves locks you out of them. My original concepts for the Stormwolves were rooted in being a Space Wolves successor, and this Armylist which I've shared an earlier version here before is a way to maintain that, eventhough Deathwatch gives me better fitting rules most other places.

However, that's too much Armylist for me to actually post here. Instead I've made a Google Doc with them, along with the latest updated version of the Loredump for the army. With Pictures! Some that have been posted before, and some that are brand new. All in one convenient place, instead of having to comb through my old posts.

But for any of you who aren't clicking through to look at this document which is more or less my Homebrew Codex, I'll at least drop some pics of the latest version of the armor for my 1st Selene Contingent Voidswomen-at-Arms:

[trying-not-horny-on-main]

Mozart x Vessel Ch5

SUMMARY : Following Sleep’s wishes, Vessel must continue to flourish. The trouble is, who do you turn to when you’ve already poured your life into music? Well, fortunately, Sleep isn’t restricted to who is alive and who is dead. (AO3 link to the start here, its all pretty self explanatory though if you wanna read smoochies)

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Following the open mic with Mozart, Mozart and Vessel wait for the bus together.

***CHAPTER SAMPLE***

Taking a breath, Mozart giggled, “Leibling, you kiss like you’re going to consume me.”

“Yes,” Vessel responded, big hands pulled Mozart closer to him.

CHAPTER 4: Post Performance (AO3 link to Ch 5 here)

~~~“Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.”― Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart~~~

“I’m going to take the bus,” Vessel nodded in the direction of the bus stop, its bench and signage.

He and ii said their goodbyes, and Mozart waited patiently. Finally having taken an emotional hit from performing live, Mozart finally seemed subdued.

As ii left, Vessel realized just how empty the street was save for him and Mozart. They walked quietly towards the bus stop, suddenly feeling extraordinarily far apart after Mozart had Vessel resting on him after being on stage. Exhausted, although fortunately feeling more in his body than he had right after the performance, Vessel felt himself unwind on the bench. At this point of his growing familiarity with his deceased tutor, Vessel was unsurprised that Mozart opted to pace around the bus stop reading the various signage.

Watching him, Vessel felt his eyes wandering. Features that he had judged harshly initially were becoming increasingly endearing; Mozart’s too large nose and his too small mouth were suddenly unique and attractive. For a man of his time, Mozart had a stronger jawline than what Vessel had seen in portraits and he wondered how much of his had been thanks to styles of art when the images had been painted. The slope of his eyebrows almost had a rhythm of their own as they reached towards his temple, and the way his eyes rested on the perfect foundation of his cheekbones.

“Were you ever intimate with anyone other than Constanze?” Vessel asked, suddenly.

“Yes.”

The silence came back in a tidal rush.

Mozart didn’t offer more information.

Vessel kept looking at him.

Of course, there was the sharpness of his shoulders tailored down to his waist, yielding an assertively masculine silhouette despite his size. Conflicting feelings of scooping up Mozart or being held by him flashed through Vessel like a summer flood.

This yearning would not be crushed so easily.

Courage , Vessel thought, courage .

“Were…you ever in love or intimate or… anything private with someone who wasn’t a woman?” Vessel heard his voice shake.

Eyeing him sideways, face close to a papered up sign that had been pasted nearby, Mozart smirked. “Not officially.” Then, he turned to fully look at Vessel and the full barrage of his attention was almost too much. “Have you?”

“Not officially.” Vessel stared straight forward. He slid the sunglasses on his face, desperate to hide. A futile hope that he wasn’t blushing rushed through him but his body seemed to have little interest in not betraying him. Armies of neurotransmitters dilated blood vessels in his cheeks and armadas of blood cells worked their way into his skin until a fierce blush worked across his face. His cheeks felt hot and as if he could feel his pulse on the surface of his skin.

Now it was Mozart’s turn to stare.

Carefully setting the violin case down, Mozart took a few steps to stand directly in front of Vessel. Mozart was so close that his knees bumped against Vessel’s shins; the touch of leg to leg made Vessel’s stomach clench and bit his lip. Mozart’s position now was undeniably forward and confrontational while leaving little room to misinterpret the kind of confrontation that Mozart had seemingly decided to engage Vessel in. There was nowhere to look but Mozart, filling his vision, filling his mind. Perhaps he should apologize, perhaps he should explain, perhaps he should ignore Mozart, perhaps he…

Fortunately for Vessel, Mozart had never been one for delayed gratification.

“Silly, beautiful boy.” Mozart leaned just enough so his face was at the same height as Vessel’s, admittedly not very far. “I’ll have you know that I do not typically kiss my students.”

Mozart lingered, giving Vessel a chance to stop him.

“I’ll have you know,” Vessel breathed, “I do not typically kiss men who died over two hundred years ago.”

It would be unclear to either man who officially started their first kiss because their hands both reached for each other nearly simultaneously. Mozart’s hands fisted in Vessel’s shirt and Vessel pulled Mozart towards him with a hand around his head and another at his back. In a whimper, Vessel remarked at the size difference between them and an urgent thrill rolled through him at the thought.

Taking a breath, Mozart giggled, “ Leibling , you kiss like you’re going to consume me.”

“Yes,” Vessel responded, big hands pulled Mozart closer to him.

As their mouths met again, he dipped his tongue into Mozart’s. When Mozart let out a surprised gasp but did not pull away, Vessel felt even more courage and let his hands drift down until he found Mozart’s hips and ass. Resisting the urge to overwhelm him, Vessel tried to stay his hands from adventuring up and beneath his clothes.

Emboldened and awakened, Mozart’s hands on Vessel’s chest splayed wide, stroking across his collarbone, wandering like errant scales.

Tugging him towards him, Vessel spread his legs so Mozart could stand between his knees, and scooted himself to the edge of the bus stop bench so their fronts could press into each other. The softest breath ground out of Mozart when Vessel pressed them against each other and felt the telltale grind of arousal.

The shame at seducing his teacher made Vessel even more aroused.

The guilt that he shouldn’t be enamored by Mozart but focused on Sleeps’ wishes made the desire engulf him even more.

The sweet forbidden man made his.

Kicking up one of his legs, Mozart leaned a knee on the bench, pressing ever more easily forward. His small frame was no longer enveloped by Vessel’s but equally piercing into the silhouette.

Breaking the kiss, Vessel moved to Mozart’s neck, surprised by the softness and reveling in the responses he got.

“You really are far too good with your mouth,” Mozart gasped.

“Just imagine what I could do with my fingers if we were in private,” Vessel replied, tongue swirling down the composer’s sweet, pale skin.

A string of German expressions rattled out of Mozart’s mouth. “Your fingers?” Mozart angled his head and imitated the movement down Vessel’s neck. “What do you want to do to me with your fingers?” The question sounded innocent but his blue eyes were mischievous.

In response, Vessel tugged on Mozart’s perfectly curled ponytail with one hand. His other slid onto Mozart’s eagerly propped up thigh, flattening his hand to run down the inner crease where his leg met his hip.

“A dead man will have never felt so good,” Vessel growled.

He was so close, fingers eager.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mozart panted. “I need…a moment. I have a million thoughts and I might burst into flames if you keep going.”

Disappointed but understanding, Vessel’s hand retreated back to the relative safety of resting on Mozart’s firmly slender thigh. Gently, Vessel kissed Mozart’s neck and cheek. Wrapping his arms around, he held him in a vice grip as Mozart sagged into him.

Delicately, Mozart’s  foot dropped back to the ground.

Mozart hummed three notes before whispering, “Despite speaking four languages, I don’t think there are words for the way I feel.” He kissed his cheek. He hummed the three notes again, music forever the best way for him to communicate his sentiments.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find some words for you,” Vessel squeezed briefly tighter. Then, in response, he hummed back Mozart’s three notes and elaborated.

Chest to chest, they hummed a little round.

“That’s pretty,” Vessel noted, trying to think through the haze of emotions and arousal. He let out a small laugh at the absurdity and the relief in falling into someone’s arms.

Agreeing, Mozart hummed a little more. Parting his lips, the hum became a soft wordless little tune between them. Beneath the main melody lay boundless potential. Music rattled through their bones, it sang in their blood, and there was little to be done to resist it. There was more magic than sense in the air. Before either of them could stop themselves, bodies and minds in a beautiful abandon, they softly sang back the melody to each other.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Mozart let out a sudden sputtering choking sound.

Vessel recoiled, scanning his face. “Are you alright?”

“Oh,” Mozart let out a cough. Clutching his chest, he frowned. “Oh dear.”

When Mozart coughed again, it was as though he was tugged away, slipping through Vessel’s fingers. As much as they both should have expected, Mozart disappeared back to the land of the dead.

~~~”You need the melody // I only need the silence” - Higher, Sleep Token ~~~

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, there are fireworks. Sort of.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 2,790. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 22: Hardly Working

The Inquisition’s red lyrium sample was kept far, far below.

Far below the Undercroft, where Trevelyan and Dagna prepared for their descent. Far below the dungeons, where two guards escorted them deeper still. Far below the sounds of people and life. Far, far below.

Door after door barred their path, each more fortified than the last. The keys were old and rusted, having existed much longer than the castle’s current occupants. The passages beyond were long and winding. One was not supposed to know the way. The stone of the stairs they descended appeared as if new. Few feet had ever trespassed here.

Trevelyan could not help but wonder for what this place had originally been built to contain.

Further they went. The darkness that had settled upon these steps was cast aside by the light of a torch, held aloft in the hand of one of their guides. Trevelyan felt its warmth in the air, and glanced nervously at the small chest Dagna carried. Their device lay inside—insulated, inert. But it was still within Trevelyan to worry.

The long stairwell curved, the end at last coming into sight, a chamber door revealed. Daylight—somehow, daylight—poured through its barred window, casting a slotted shadow upon the floor. Had they come so far as to breach the bottom of the mountain?

“Here we are,” said a guard, producing the largest, oldest, and most complex key yet. “Be careful, Arcanist; your Ladyship.”

He opened the door. Breath escaped Trevelyan’s body.

The cavern beyond was thrice the size of the Undercroft, in both height and depth. And like the Undercroft, it, too, had a maw: a narrow fissure running high across the back wall, like the slash of a gigas claw, through which light spilled in its gallons.

This, however, was not the central feature of the space. Indeed, it was only there to light the central feature of the space. For in this chamber, suspended by the strength of three large chains, was a small stone chest. Red.

The size of the cavern was such that, in the doorway as they were, Trevelyan and Dagna still stood a good sixty feet from it. But its glow was evident. Cracks in the stone, where the red lyrium had broken its bonds, pulsated with that eerie colour. Trevelyan felt she should step no closer.

“Smart to keep it off the ground,” she commented.

“Have to,” Dagna replied. “Grows fast! We change the casket every three weeks—sometimes the chains, too, if it’s gotten a little enthusiastic.”

“I take it that’s why it’s made of stone?”

“Yeah! Grows through it slower than metal or wood—especially wood. It loves organic material! But for stone, I think it… respects it, kind of? Like it remembers where it comes from, almost… Anyway! Let’s get to it!”

With brazen confidence, Dagna marched beyond the threshold. Trevelyan remained reluctant to follow. No wonder she was being paid so well.

Swallowing her unease, she left the guards posted at the door, and entered the room. But as soon as she did, she could feel it.

She had been near lyrium, before. The Formari in her Circle used it, and she would sometimes have to visit their workshops in the midst of her storeroom duties. Dagna employed it quiet frequently, too, but Trevelyan would keep to the other side of the Undercroft, or run errands. She didn’t like it, particularly. It made her dizzy.

Red lyrium was worse. Only a few feet closer, and a hum entered her mind. A constant, droning hum. There was pressure on her head, too—like a hand, pushing down with all its might. Trevelyan tried not to give it her attention.

“All right,” Dagna said, setting the chest down about forty feet from the casket, “let’s activate!”

Slow and careful, she lifted the lid. Trevelyan held her breath.

But as their device was revealed, the world remained still—and Trevelyan was grateful for it. Though it did not look one, this thing they had created was better called a bomb.

Dagna reached in, and lifted it out: a thick, metal disc—about the size of a dinner plate—held best and most carefully in two hands. Trevelyan’s eyes scoured the surface for any change. But the runes inscribed onto it—runes of her own design—maintained a faint glow. Safe.

The moment it touched the ground, Dagna whipped out her toolbelt. Trevelyan took up the usual position beside her, ready and willing to do or hold anything that Dagna instructed her to. Theory was more her domain. The practical—this—was best left to Dagna.

And so she tinkered away, runes beginning to brighten. The buzz of their growing magic competed for space in Trevelyan’s mind. She began to gather Fade energy around her fingers. Just… in… case...

“Ooh, shiny!”

Trevelyan startled, and whirled. Dorian Pavus stood behind her, gazing down on Dagna’s work. He noticed Trevelyan’s stare, and smiled.

“Dorian?”

“Don’t mind me”—he winked—“just came to see the show.”

Though Trevelyan rolled her eyes, she could not help but smile. “Very well,” she said, and returned her focus to Dagna.

Dorian did the same. He even managed to stay quiet for some number of seconds—though it seemed the banality of observation could not satisfy his ever-operational mind for long. Whilst Trevelyan handed Dagna a precise-looking implement, Dorian asked:

“Will you be attending the banquet?”

Maker, that thing kept slipping her mind. She would have to make certain her gown was ready.

“Yes,” she told him, “will you?”

“Physically, yes. Mentally? No.”

Trevelyan laughed. “Likewise.”

There followed a brief moment of quiet. But Dorian would not be quelled so easily.

“...Have you seen the guest list?”

Trevelyan gave him an exasperated look, yet answered regardless: “I have. Though I fear I recognise very few of the names, and know only their characters from the descriptions given to me by the other Ladies.”

“Oh,” Dorian chuckled. “Then you are in for quite the evening! I met some of these people at the Winter Palace. I also met some demons. Completely indistinguishable.”

“Which did you prefer?”

“Oh, I think you know. After all, it’s at least socially acceptable to strike demons with lightning.”

Trevelyan laughed. “The more I hear, the more I wonder why they have all been invited in the first place.”

“Because ‘keeping the peace’, something like that.”

“But why are we all to be involved?” Trevelyan complained.

Dorian smiled. “I hardly know. But far be it from anyone to refuse our lovely Ambassador.”

A flare of magic stole Trevelyan’s attention. She looked back at Dagna, whose grinning face reflected a blue glow. The device below her pulsated, lyrium energy blooming from its carved runes.

“There we go!” she sang. “Activated. How’s that magic amplification feeling?”

“I can certainly feel it!” answered Trevelyan. “I merely hope it’s enough to bypass the anti-magic effects.”

Dagna hauled the device into her arms. “So do I, because I added a little extra oomph. Just in case!”

Trevelyan’s eyes widened. “Are you sure that’s a good—!?”

Dagna punted the device towards the red lyrium casket. Trevelyan scarcely had time to draw breath.

It was like a clap of thunder. Booming sound and blinding light plunged them into darkness. Smoke and dust and falling debris. Reverberations rumbled through the stone around them. Clanging of chains. Whining in the ears. All of Skyhold shuddered, and then fell to silence.

When Trevelyan dared open her firm-shut eyes, a dark and burning haze surrounded her. Yet, it did not touch her. Her arms were outstretched; energy cocooned her. Smoke shifted and moved against the shimmering surface of a protective barrier. She’d got it up just in time.

A quick glance to either side. Dagna was all right, thanks to her shield. Seemingly unfazed by the explosion, the Arcanist looked with shining eyes into the cloud of dust from whence it had come.

Dorian, meanwhile, appeared to have had the same idea as Trevelyan—arms outstretched, barrier up. He met her gaze.

“Great minds!” he said, his levity not quite masking the shake in his voice. “Would you like to do the honours”—he nodded towards the smoke—“or shall I?”

“You,” Trevelyan told him, “I’ll hold.”

“Very well. In three, two, one—” Dorian dropped his share of the barrier. Trevelyan held firm.

With her protection, he began to twist his hands. She felt a pull, as he put out his call, and summoned the Fade.

One of his fists balled up tight, a gathering of energy thickening within. He raised this hand to his face, fingers unfurling before his mouth. With one deep and powerful exhalation, he blew.

His breath turned to a hurricane wind, and blasted forth, unimpeded by Trevelyan’s barrier. Smoke and dust was banished from the chamber. Light poured in once more.

“Wow…” breathed Dagna.

Wow, indeed.

The scene before them had changed entirely. The chains that once suspended the red lyrium chest hung loose, half-extant, against the stone walls. They rattled in the breeze of Dorian’s spell.

The casket they had held? Gone. All that remained in its wake was a large, circular scorch mark, burnt into the floor.

Trevelyan dropped her barrier. “Oh Maker, it worked!”

“Yes!” cheered Dagna, pumping a fist into the air. “It worked! Though, I guess the bad news is, we lost our red lyrium sample!”

Dorian grinned. “Rather the point, wasn’t it?”

“Are you all well?” called one of the guards, from the doorway. Trevelyan had just been about to ask the same of them.

“We’re well!” she replied.

“Mainly because of that barrier of yours,” Dorian muttered. “Good form. Strong. I know very few mages who could create one so stable without a focus—other than myself, of course.”

Trevelyan chuckled. “It was only a barrier.”

“True, but I’ve seen very little magic of yours, and I feel I should like to see more. You’ve got more power than you’re letting on.”

There was a good reason for that: “I suppose I got accustomed to not practicing it. My parents weren’t exactly keen on my using magic around the house.”

Dorian laughed. “We had very different upbringings! But—anyway, you aren’t under the thumb of your parents now. You ought to be loosing fireballs upon the sky.”

“Or causing large explosions?” Trevelyan suggested, gesturing to where Dagna prowled the scorch-circle.

“Fair point.”

Dagna interrupted: “Your Ladyship, we should get started on sweeping the room for trace remains. I want to know if anything was left at all.”

“Absolutely,” said Trevelyan, curious of that herself. She had noticed that the head-pressure was gone—but that did not mean every shard of red lyrium was.

Dorian, meanwhile, took a step back. “Well, you have my congratulations, both of you—but I am leaving before someone asks me to help clean up.”

“I don’t think she meant that kind of sweeping,” said Trevelyan.

“I heard the word ‘sweeping’, I’m leaving,” insisted Dorian. “Best of luck.”

They gave him their farewells and waved him off. Trevelyan watched him as far as the door, then turned away as he disappeared up the stairs. Her eyes were needed on the floor.

But her mind lingered elsewhere.

“Dagna, I’ll be just a moment,” she said, “I need Dorian to pass a message along.”

Dagna permitted her leave, and Trevelyan hurried away. With any luck, the sheer amount of stairs would have slowed Dorian down.

And indeed she found him, halfway up the first ascent. Nearly out of breath, she managed to call:

“Dorian, wait!”

He stopped and waited, sure enough—probably glad of the break. “Miss me already?”

“Naturally, but that is not why I came,” she said, taking a moment. “I wanted to ask, will you tell the Commander we’ve succeeded? He’ll have likely heard the explosion—most of Skyhold will, and I want him to know it’s all right.”

Dorian folded his arms. “And when exactly did I become your messenger boy?”

“I know this is far beneath your standards, but I think he would better see a friend right now, than a... suitor. Given his, ah, current circumstances.”

A sly little chuckle spilled from Dorian’s mouth. “Oh, I think he’d much prefer to see you than I, on any given day. But if you think it best, I shall go and take your glory.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the trouble.”

She expected him to take the message and dart off, but Dorian seemed to settle himself upon the stair on which he stood, and fixed her with a frown.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Why would I not be?”

“Cullen—the Commander—believed you weren’t, the last we spoke. He mentioned you found him… you know.”

So Dorian knew. Of course he would, given his friendship with the Commander. Trevelyan did not blame him for not telling her of the circumstances. Such closeness required confidence.

Regardless, she sighed. “I told him yesterday I was fine. Several times.”

Dorian laughed, and hopped down a step—to meet her eye-to-eye, and speak in more hushed tones. Those guards were still down there, somewhere. “He is something of a worrywart. You seem all right to me.”

Trevelyan nodded, her back slumping against the wall of the passage. Maker, the stone was cold. “Have you ever seen him like that?”

“No. Though as I understand it, it’s a rare occurrence for him,” Dorian explained. “The Inquisitor’s seen it, though. Cullen once threw something at our dear Herald’s head!”

Trevelyan’s eyes widened. Dorian must have taken note, for he immediately followed with:

“Well, not at the Inquisitor; the Inquisitor just so happened to walk in at precisely the wrong moment. A habit. Cullen was throwing it at the door, in anger, unaware someone was about to walk through. We all joke about it—it’s how we know he isn’t a spy for Corypheus. If he was, he wouldn’t have missed.”

Trevelyan smiled. She could hardly judge the Commander for acting upon his anger whilst believing himself to be alone. One needed to, sometimes. She’d set some things on fire in private moments. Most recently being yesterday.

Dorian sighed, and shook his head. “I thought he was on the up, you know. He said this one was bad—though you, especially, are already aware of that. Peaks and troughs, I suppose, and you can’t predict when one will follow the other.”

“It is impossible to know,” commiserated Trevelyan. “No one has managed to survive it, to my knowledge. It’s like the Grey Wardens. Departure comes only through death.”

The mention of the latter word seemed to light a fire in Dorian. “Well, let’s hope that’s not the case, shall we? I’m sure it’ll all shake out. After all, the Inquisition’s best boffins are on it—Dagna included! And it’s more than the Chantry’s ever done—though the southern Chantry isn’t particularly known for doing much…”

Yet another person Trevelyan was now convinced that Baroness Touledy could have a scintillating conversation with. She would merely need an opportunity for introduction. Banquet, perhaps?

“Anyway, I best be off to deliver your message,” he continued. “Though, if I am to do so, I’ll no doubt be asked if I doubled-checked: are you sure you’re all right?”

“Of course,” Trevelyan confirmed. “Is he?”

“Peaks and troughs.”

“I see. Do you think he will attend the banquet?”

Dorian laughed. “I hope not. His table manners are very Fereldan.”

She knew the joke was to make her smile, but she could barely manage it. Her worries were too overpowering. “It’s hardly going to be good for him,” she muttered, continuing—without thinking—to say: “having us suitors running around after him is strife enough.”

Dorian’s lip quirked upward. “Oh, if you want to talk the ethics of this little competition of yours, it goes far deeper than that.”

The comment pulled Trevelyan from her own mind. “Oh?”

He shrugged. “Well, I’ve not quite put my finger on it yet, but… it all feels rather sordid. Not quite right. Not quite right at all.”

Trevelyan was at once reminded of the argument she overheard between the Commander and Lady Montilyet. Just what had that been about, truly?

“Have you spoken to the Commander about it?”

Dorian chuckled. “Oh, you have no idea of what we talk about. You come up quite frequently.”

Trevelyan did not know how to feel about that. Though she was certainly feeling something.

“Ergo,” continued Dorian, “I have. But the man is obstinate, and I feel there may be powers at play that I cannot interfere with.”

“Whose?” asked Trevelyan.

Dorian smiled. “Oh, it’s as I say: far be it from anyone to refuse our lovely Ambassador.”

[oatslemonade]

I have an account on AO3/Archive of Our Own. I'm OatsLemonade over there too. Always read fanfiction Tags/lables/warnings/ratings.

Here's the link to the main fanfiction

Over there, I have a Fan Fiction series about the Murder Time Trio, as Bitties. Here is a sample chapter of the series, plus related artwork.

*********************

*********************

Nightmare did not need mortal food. He was perfectly fine with feeding off the Negativity of Humans and Monsters.

But he started to enjoy Mortal snacks when Killer became his employee. At first he would return with little candy bars or other small items that could fit in his much smaller inventory.

He'd remark with such things as, "that chump was a walking disaster, but they knew their treats!" He'd hand over whatever he thought he'd like, while giving his report. It wasn't needed, but appreciated.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Killer's cat, Orange Peal, started to hunt.

Nightmare thought it commendable. The feline's only job was to keep Killer company. The fact it decided on its own to keep the local rodent population down was a bonus. The rats would sometimes dare to damage his books.

One day the cat... Well it was between kittenhood and adulthood, began to leave dead rats at his office door.

"You don't need to prove you are hunting. That is not your job." Nightmare said to the cat.

Orange Peal meowed at him. A fresh kill laid at his paws. He yowled at the Guardian of Negativity. He knelt down and pushed the rodent towards Nightmare.

"... You did a good job of vanquishing your enemy?" He was answered with another yowl. "What are you trying to communicate?"

Killer used the Bitty sized walkway. He liked being at Nightmare's eye level. As he rounded the corner he was confused seeing his Boss try to talk to his cat. Killer smirked.

"Boss? Have you never dealt with a cat before?" He leaned against the wall. "Cats sometimes kill prey and bring them back to... Those they think can't hunt for themselves." His smirk was wide.

"Are you telling me, that your cat is insulting me?" Nightmare asked.

"Nope. He might be worried. He never sees you eat." Killer jumped down and petted Orange Peal. "Plus it's a normal cat thing. They just think they're doing their part to keep their loved ones happy and healthy." He lovingly head bonked his pet.

"Do I need to eat the dead vermin?"

"No! Just no! Do not eat random dead things he brings you. Just praise him and wait until he's gone to dispose of the dead rats." Killer explained.

"As I said before, you did a good job."

"I think he wants a head pat or a treat." Killer added.

Nightmare used one of his tentacles to gently pat the cat's back. He was rewarded with a deep purr.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Dust held so much power, and a much larger inventory. It took months for the small Monster to show any level of affection towards Nightmare. But one day, Dust brought Nightmare a whole restaurant's worth of fast food.

It was greasy and so odd. It was very modern food. Nothing like what he experienced in his childhood. It didn't seem appealing, but he chose the least greasy item, a fried chicken salad and ate some in front of Dust.

"Thank you Dust. The breading is delightful." Nightmare gave a small smile. He enjoyed the fact that Dust becoming more sociable the most, but the salad wasn't bad.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Horror was the last of the trio to join. The Bitty grew up in a proper Bitty colony. Unlike Killer and Dust, that had grown up like small pets. He was the most polite out of the three.

He was taught practical life skills like cooking.

One evening Nightmare heard the intercom buzz. "Hey Boss! Horror wants everyone to eat together tonight for dinner! That includes you! See you at the table in an hour!" Killer spoke with such excitement.

Nightmare glanced at the clock on the wall. "I will join you then. I'll finish up this last plan." He didn't need to eat, but he didn't want to disappoint his employees. According to Horror, mealtime is a traditional time to bond as a group.

When Nightmare arrived at the dining table he was surprised his henchmen set him a plate and teacup his size. It was thoughtful.

The three Bitties used the Bitty bridge to cross from the kitchen to the dinning room table. Dust used his gravity magic to levitate the meal. A full roasted chicken, potatoes, carrots, other vegetables and bread rolls.

"Horror, did you use the full sized kitchen just to make a large enough quantity to include me?" The Guardian was surprised. He was expecting a small Bitty sized meal... "How did you manage to prepare all of this?"

"I had Dust do the heavy lifting. Honestly cooking isn't hard once everything is in place." Horror answered. "Go on, dish yourself up." He warmly smiled.

Nightmare took a little of everything. He bit into the potato, it was more than he imagined. Never in his entire life, had he had a home cooked meal. As a child he and his brother foraged for their meals and gave up when they realized they fed off of Positivity and Negativity. The feeling of intent was overwhelming. Horror's cooking translated his feelings of thankfulness, purpose and loyalty.

"I don't have words. I never had such good food."

"Boss! That's just the potato! Try some of the chicken! And later there's dessert!" Killer butted in.

"Shh that was supposed to be a surprise! But I made cheesecake." Horror mumbled. A blush blossomed on his face at the praise.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

"Do you know why the Boss called us to his office?" Dust asked.

"No clue, but I don't think there's anything to worry about." Killer replied. "He seemed chill."

"I smell tea, and cookies." Horror stated.

The two Bitties looked at Horror. Killer rang the intercom. "Hey Boss, we're here!"

The door opened, revealing Nightmare sitting on the office couch. Orange Peal purred in his lap. The coffee table had a whole Bitty sized tea set. On a regular plate were a couple of cookies broken up into several uneven tiny pieces.

"Boss?" Killer was pleasantly surprised. "Did you..."

"I made tea," Nightmare shifted. "I got the tea set at a shop... But I couldn't manage to make miniature cookies. They kept burning up. I decided to make one big cookie and divided it up." He straightened up. "All of you have been doing very well at your missions. I wanted to show you... What Horror called team bonding with food."

"Boss...it looks great! Thanks." Killer praised.

Horror ate some of the cookie crumbs. "Love it!"

Dust took a cup into his hands. He looked into his reflection, closed his eyes and breathed in the aroma. Dust took a sip. "I like the blend." Dust's mind wandered off to bittersweet memories as he smiled.

Nightmare didn't need mortal food. But he enjoyed what came with it.

[obsidianmama]

HGP REVIEW- Ch 2, Why Do We Parent the Way We Do?

My prediction made at the end of the last chapter's review is quickly proven false as we get into this chapter. I thought the question about why one parents a certain way was going to delve into things like the way one was parented, an avenue that I have seen explored elsewhere and find very interesting. But this chapter is taking a much broader look at why our (US) culture parents a certain way.

The gist of this chapter is that a great deal of modern pediatrics can actually be traced back to advice pamphlets written for foundling hospitals, which had to industrialize baby care due to scale. This advice got repackaged and sold with the promise of making exhausted parents' lives easier, and this has heavily impacted the development of childhood medicine and psychology.

This might strike some as anti-intellectual, but I think there's a good point about how the historical goals of the field have impacted the conclusions that have been reached and broadly accepted. In fact, I think that for marginalized readers, this is going to sound incredibly plausible, as they're already far too familiar with medical bias and misinformation being taught as standards to their physicians. Medical curricula are already rife with racism, fatphobia, ableism, misogyny. It's not really a stretch to imagine that ageism is also deeply entrenched.

I mean, children ARE pretty marginalized in our culture, consistently othered, disrespected, and routinely excluded even from spaces that are otherwise safe for them for the comfort of others. I'm not really shocked to learn that much of the standard wisdom on child welfare has more to do with making kids convenient than with helping them live safe, happy lives.

I've even noticed it myself on the post-visit handouts I received from L's doctors. Some of the advice makes sense, much of it is definitely an improvement from the norms in decades past, but some of it is also outright damaging or counter-productive. Like, yes, thank you for reminding parents not to assault their children for doing something wrong. No, please do not recommend parents instead isolate children for making mistakes. I'm really bothered by the recommendation that I should put my child in time-out, withholding attention, affection and co-regulation, if she doesn't act how I want. It's less damaging, I'm sure, but it's still hurtful and still counterproductive to the goal of raising a good human.

Somewhere in here I get an answer to my question from chapter 1 about whether or not Doucleff tried to find respectful parenting sources from her own culture before taking her 3 year old jetsetting across the globe. Apparently the answer is yes, she read many parenting books before Rosy was born, but when she delved into their sources (for those that even had sources) she found major flaws in their methodologies, like small sample sizes. This is why science-based parenting advice flip-flops so much from decade to decade, she claims: because studies are done on too few children to be reliable.

Keep that in mind as we follow our amateur anthropologist across the planet.

It's not wrong to point out. It also makes some sense as to why it would be that way; I can't imagine many parents are eager to sign their kids up to be experimented on, even relatively unintrusive experiments. I can believe that sample sizes are an issue in the field of child psychology. I just think it's important to keep in mind that Doucleff is not a psychologist or anthropologist or anything of the sort- she has a doctorate in chemistry and worked for NPR- and I can think of at least one book written by people with more relevant qualifications (that was out at the time Doucleff was reading and dismissing parenting books*, though that doesn't mean she's even heard of it) that I would recommend before this one, based on what I've read so far. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

These first two chapters were mildly interesting but pretty skippable if you're just looking for parenting advice. The next section begins the actual discussion of parenting techniques, and I have mixed feelings about it. We'll get into it in the next review segment.

*Oh yeah, I did find a possible answer as to "When did all of this travel and interviewing occur?" A later chapter has an illustration of a family member ID card for Rosy, and if her real birthdate is used, she was born in 2015, placing the events of the anecdotes in about 2018 and later.

[jageraftermidnight]

Camp Director: Chapter 4 - Finale

               A year later, the camp was just as beautiful in the early morning as it ever was. Mist hung in between the trees under a twilight sky before sunrise. The morning's violet hue would stick around a few more moments like it usually did. It was truly an unbelievably gorgeous place seemingly impervious to time. But as far as the camp was concerned, some things had changed drastically since the incident at the retreat. In other ways they hadn't changed at all.

               Cassie the once punchy crossfitter continued indulging, steadily blowing up to nearly 500 pounds. Her once tight little 130 pound freckled body was so overfilled with treats she was almost too big to fit through doors at this point. She loved the thought of being teased at her old gym, waddling inside and her old friends gasping at her size. Cassie loved turning into a complete pig and the erasing all semblance of her fitness. She was spending a lot of her time in the dining hall these days with the newest arrivals. At present, she was sidled up next to a new brunette guest who was skinnier than she had ever been. The new arrival had a teal headband she wore to her own crossfit competitions and a thin body except for a disproportionately large chest. Above the table, Cassie was alternating lifting forkfulls of pie to the thin brunettes lips and then her own. Below the table, the thin woman's hand had made it past Cassie's belly and was tracing the spandex covered contours of Cassie's soft fattened pussy.

               Amanda, predictably, continued stuff her cheeks and as a result continued packing on the pounds below her well padded waist. It was a early weekend morning, so she pushed herself through the well worn door frame of Hazel Eyes cabin with her enormous pajama clad hips. Finally through with a toothy smile her lips couldn't hide, she was ready to wake him up the best way she knew how. She licked her lips as she cautiously lowered her jiggling bulk onto her knees beside his bed. Measuring at 90 inches around at her widest, her massive ass and thighs wobbled with every move until she finally got her head under the top sheet. Then while moving her small upper body gently under the blankets and leaving her gigantic lower half exposed, she took him half asleep in her mouth. She loved the reaction she got, getting wetter by the second, yet she often found herself longing for the same feeling of fullness she had that one night in the office at the hands of Aurora and her hose. She sucked harder.

               The kitchen's morning shift was already operating at top speed and a once-thin latina sat at the table inside the kitchen. A chubby hand begrudgingly raised seemingly endless plates slid infront of her. The clumsy latina had ballooned up after her failure and reassignment as taste tester. She had gained over 150 pounds since her reassignment, and the excess fat found itself in her massive tits which were a major recipient of the extra calories. The seams on her chefs jacket were screaming, and the recently upsized black lycra pants were already splitting in the back...again. Uniformed kitchen personnel swarmed around the kitchen completely ignoring her unless it was to frequently drop off a fattening sample .She rested her heavy mammaries on the stainless steel table in front of her while she lifted another sample to her plump lips. "When will it end?" she thought to herself as an oversized plate of muffins slid infront of her.

               A lot had changed for Chrissy and Aurora as well. They were almost inseparable since that ill-fated night a year before. A nozzle fell free from a pair of glistening lips as the now empty tube hung limply from the ceiling, sweet remnants slowly dripping onto the carpet. Their soft lips met as a quiet burp unexpectedly escaped one pair into the other's mouth. The other pair's lifted into a smile, not leaving contact until one pulled away and the sweetness hung on their lips. The combativeness between the two had turned from unbridled hatred into ethereal passion and the effects of a year of punishment had taken it's toll.

               Standing at the footboard of the bed was Aurora, a year later and she had changed. Her longer hair was pulled up into a bun like Chrissy's was when she had first arrived. And her face, while always beautiful, now looked like it never had before...content. Other than that, she looked as trim as she ever did, well, except for that little problem area behind her. She turned her back to the bed.

               In her left hand she held three gel gushers, in her right she held a black leash, and around her neck was the necklace and pendant that came in the mail mysteriously all those years ago. With her longer hair pulled up in an Auburn bun of her own, her toned back and shoulders were completely exposed. Aurora arched her back and reached up above her, tightening her grip until the gushers burst. The shimmering purple liquid seeped between her fingers and ran down the center of her back. It flowed down, passing between her soft cheeks until finally covering her vulva in glistening wetness. Aurora looked back over her shoulder to where the leash she was holding led to.

               The other end of the leash connected to a collar clasped around the once wasp-figured Chrissy's neck. Her face showed only the faintest signs of her gain, still framed by the loose hairs on either side. Aurora had made sure her makeup and hair were always tended to. Aurora slowly bent forward even further while pulling the lead. "Time to eat you fat bitch," Aurora teased over her shoulder as she pulled Chrissy's face between the cheeks of her bubble butt. As soon as Chrissy's tongue met her liquid coated cunt her eyes rolled back as she ate. Biting her lip, Aurora reached back and grabbed the massive black bun with her other hand and forced her mouth harder against her love. Chrissy's moaning with a full mouth only made her gush harder. While the leash was still a fun toy for them it had long since passed its utility for Chrissy. Aurora had fattened  her up so much she could barely move on her own.

               The once sharp tongued wasp-waisted object of jealousy and admiration was gone. Her face had remained largely unchanged but from her neck down she was unrecognizable as the fitness fanatic she was before. Her naturally large breasts expanded bigger with every stuffing until they were bigger than her head. Overfilled and overly sensitive they lay mashed against the soft duvet cover helping to prop her up. Her heavy arms, fattened so much she could barely lift them, were nevertheless stuck to the magnetic squares at the end of the footboard, her dainty hands having long left their imprint in the wood from her relentless feedings. Any discernable waist for Chrissy was gone 300 pounds ago as her round belly spread underneath her also aiding in propping her up in this submissive position. Her once enviable round, but toned, ass had plumped bigger and bigger against her will. Looking over Aurora's shoulder, she could see Chrissy's enormous ass rising up behind her. Her once perfect butt, now two round giant wobbling globes where, if she was a good girl and ate everything she was told to, Aurora would plunge her face between them and return the favor. Even with Aurora's attention and constant care faint stretch marks showed her rapid growth to her remarkable size. Thankfully, for Aurora's sake, Chrissy's was so fat from the endless feedings pumped into her that she could only briefly waddle around the admin office apartment, let alone get into any mischief now.

               There on the bed, desperately eating Aurora from behind, was the once venemous but now just enormous Chrissy, completely defanged. From the neck down she showed all the effects of being pumped fatter with the retractable hose on a daily basis. And it was daily. Gusher enhancements, like the ones Aurora had dripping down her back now was the norm for her. As Aurora reached closer and closer to climax, pulling Chrissy's face harder between her cheeks as she came thinking about what would come next for her favorite camp guest. Her legs shook for what seemed like eternity until Aurora finally unlocked her knees, turned and wiped the remnants of her wet purple palm over the morbidly obese woman's soft lips.

               The black haired girl remained in a daze as Aurora lifted her chin in one hand.  The hose which led back to corner of the ceiling shook rapidly as the weight of white cream refilled it, surging through the clear tube until it reached the nozzle. Aurora brought it back to Chrissy's glistening lips, still soaked with her own taste. She gently stuffed it past them, and Chrissy obediently held it in her mouth. The Camp Director stared in deeply into her dilated eyes, looking for any sign of the fitness bitch who had first arrived, then punched a button on the end of the bed. Chrissy's cheeks bulged instantly and as she struggled to gulp the calories down and the dark tears carrying mascara made it's familiar trip down them. The rhythmic pulsing continued as Aurora caressed a stuffed cheek and leaned in brushing her own against the other. She parted the soft lips of her own once they reached a diamond pierced ear. "Not a single pound, huh?" the Camp Director whispered. The bed shook as the enormous Chrissy came, moaning through the tube. Her eyes rolled back and she gulped swallowing more of the endless pulsing cream being pumped down her throat.

------

The End

[wolfboyvirus]

ok originally i was gonna reblog this with some tags and thats it but i kept going and i feared i would hit the tag limit, so, reblogging with my thoughts in the actual post this time! hopefully i don't ramble away too much.

basically i agree with most of this post but i just wanna add more details because im a nerd.

i think, the mix of data they use collectively as their memories, would consist namely of environmental scans instead of videos (similar to Connor's reconstruction and Markus's deconstruction), and digital audio samples (think like, waveforms). both of these can be turned into something for human processing as needed; the pure data from scans can be compiled into a visual, and the audio samples can be converted into an actual recording you can hear- which is actually how audio works normally irl! i only learned that bc of this post fhfjhkd

additionally, there would be a lot of other less important things that could be generated, saved, or linked back to different data. for example, the audio transcripts mentioned in the original post, as well as visual transcripts, both generated based on the initial scans and audio samples. lidar scans, also already mentioned in the original post. "links" redirecting back to personnel files that the android already has saved, instead of generating new ones for the same person every single second in each memory. catalogues of their system status, objectives, etc. and of course the date/time. prolly a ton of other shit im not thinking of too.

also, of course, i think androids would prioritize the actually important parts of their memories in this way, using some kind of algorithm to sort out what's "significant" and what isn't, and the rest would be compressed as small as possible, possibly sent into cloud storage instead of local storage. for example, with Markus. the memory of the junkyard would be very readily available, because that was a life changing and traumatic moment for him, whereas he would need to go through a bit more retrieving and processing to remember a random day years ago with carl, where neither of them really did anything of note. easy access when needed, but it doesn't take up the android's space when they don't need it, and in the full memory's place you'd likely have a much smaller bit of data that would essentially be a summary. so the android isn't left with a complete blank space. though, that does bring up an issue of deviants being tracked through that information transfer into, presumably, cyberlife servers. nnnnot actually sure what to do about that part, really? if someone does lmk

a particular concept im not really seeing is the idea of an android like... capturing moments fully in a picture or video clip, and then basically remaking the full memory with information from that, like ai generated videos in real life. because that would make it just as fallible as human memory, since it has the opportunity to remake the memory in a way that isn't actually completely accurate, no matter how insignificant the minuscule details really are. which, can be okay, its technically completely functional this way. but i have a feeling elijah cyberlife would have higher standards than that, yknow? the way i see it, its a lot more like.. a mix of motion tracking animation (ironic), lidar, and... some form of color mapping. a lot of laser scanning involved basically. im actually not sure if that would be better or worse as far as storage goes though; I can't seem to find anything about it online, as most people irl are focused less on the size of the files and more that scans can offer accurate 3d renders while videos can't. scanners seem heavily used by law enforcement in particular to scan crime scenes. hell, i think hank was seen using a handheld one during the carlos ortiz chapter, he was using it to scan the stab wounds. im just gonna assume its worth it??

went slightly off topic sorry, anyways

one thing im still kinda trying to figure out is the glitchiness of the memories we see in-game. if retrieving memories is basically just remaking a 3d animation using various saved components, then, the glitchiness just doesnt make much sense?? it could be the compression of a specific component involved, likely the colors, because iirc all the android memories are extremely desaturated as well.

i think thats everything i had to say actually, i didn't have many new ideas to contribute now that im reading back but. shrug. idk this is fun to think about!! cool post op :]

I don't think androids store memories as videos or that they can even be extracted as ones. Almost, but not exactly.

Firstly, because their memories include other data such as their tactile information, their emotional state, probably 3d markers of their surrounding...a lot of different information. So, their memories are not in a video-format, but some kind of a mix of many things, that may not be as easily separated from each other. I don't think a software necessary to read those types of files are publicly available.

Even if they have some absolute massive storage, filming good-quality videos and storing them is just not an optimal way to use their resources. It's extremely wasteful. I think, instead, their memories consist of snapshots that are taken every once in a while (depending on how much is going on), that consist of compressed version of all their relevant inputs like mentioned above. Like, a snapshot of a LiDAR in a specific moment + heavily compressed photo with additional data about some details that'll later help to upscale it and interpolate from one snapshot into the next one, some audio samples of the voices and transcript of the conversation so that it'd take less storage to save. My main point is, their memories are probably stored in a format that not only doesn't actually contain original video material, but is a product of some extreme compression, and in this case reviewing memories is not like watching HD video footage, but rather an ai restoration of those snapshots. Perhaps it may be eventually converted into some sort of a video readable to human eye, but it would be more of an ai-generated video from specific snapshots with standardised prompts with some parts of the image/audio missing than a perfectly exact video recording.

When Connor extracts video we see that they are a bit glitchy. It may be attributed to some details getting lost during transmission from one android to another, but then we've also got flashbacks with android's own memories, that are just as "glitchy". Which kinda backs up a theory of it being a restoration of some sort of a compressed version rather than original video recording.

Then we've also got that scene where Josh records Markus where it is shown that when he starts to film, his eyes indicate the change that he is not just watching but recording now. Which means that is an option, but not the default. I find it a really nice detail. Like, androids can record videos, but then the people around them can see exactly when they do that, and "be at ease" when they don't. It may be purely a design choice, like that of the loading bar to signalise that something is in progress and not just frozen, or mandatory shutter sound effect on smartphones cameras in Japan.

So, yeah. Androids purpose is to correctly interpret their inputs and store relevant information about it in their long term memory, and not necessarily to record every present moment in a video-archive that will likely never be seen by a human and reviewed as a pure video footage again. If it happened to be needed to be seen — it'll be restored as a "video" file, but this video won't be an actual video recording unless android was specifically set to record mode.

[raspberryranpo]

Can I ask what the BL honeymoon is like as a follow up to the Wedding?

on your honeymoon

fire emblem three houses: blue lions

i’m convinced that every role takaya kuroda has is made to look like kiryu

DIMITRI

has the softest look on his face for the entire honeymoon. there isn’t a wrinkle or frown to be seen anywhere, and his soft smile is always present

has his hand in yours or on the small of your back at all times, making sure that everyone knows that he’s there at your side to protect you

plus, whenever he’s holding your hand with the ring on, he finds himself running his thumb over the ring, thinking about how lucky he is to have you

lots of kisses. whenever you look over at him, he’s staring at you with love in his eye, and he leans over to kiss your cheek or hold your head in his hands gently

DEDUE

takes you to duscur, where you both stay in a small cabin surrounded by fields of flowers. it’s the prettiest spot in fodlan, but dedue likes to insist that it’s second only to you

you spend the days cooking together, and making picnics to sit outside & eat. he teaches you how to make flower crowns and you both return home sporting one each

he’s never that far from you, making sure to always stay by your side (not incase there’s danger about, but simply because being closer to you means that he can reach out and kiss you more often)

you stay up late at night, led outside on the picnic blanket, watching the stars and talking about your plans for the future

SYLVAIN

stays latched onto your back for most of the time you’re there, telling you that there’s no place he’d rather be - which was true, actually, he says often that he’d love to spend the rest of his life holding you

enjoys flustering you by talking about how many children he wants, and about how they’ll all grow up to be great people due to him being about (he makes out that he’s the good influence, but on the inside, he knows it’s you)

his attention is constantly on you, so expect tons of drawn out embraces and soft kisses, and he doesn’t intend to stop being like that even after you return home, either, so prepare for that

you’re woken up every morning by him plastering your entire face and neck with kisses, and him saying that he simply can’t help it

FELIX

felix has the most tender, softest look on his face for the entire time you’re on your honeymoon. you’ll see his smile every five minutes whilst you’re out & he won’t tell you off for pointing it out, but will rather smile even more

finds himself telling you jokes and trying to make you laugh now that you’re both married, and he finds himself laughing more often too, which is the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard

takes you somewhere quiet, where the two of you can be completely alone without worrying about people interrupting you - knowing that there’s no chance of embarrassing himself, felix is a lot more touchy and clingy

refuses to wake up in the morning and would much rather sleep in your arms for the entire day. your honeymoon is the only time where he allows himself to be lazy, so make sure to take full advantage of that

ASHE

he’s full of sunshine and smiles, and everytime he makes eye contact with you, his heart threatens to flutter out of his chest. he’s more in love with you now than ever before, which is something he thought was impossible

runs up behind you and wraps his arms around your back or your neck, refusing to let go, kissing whatever’s available to him

every night, he reads a small chapter from the book he’s currently reading, which sends you both off to sleep. this carries on to be a habit even after you’re no longer on your honeymoon phase

he talks very often about how lucky he is to have you, and about how he knows that every day he’s going to love you more than he did the day before (he goes bright red after he says this, knowing that it’s cheesy, but he doesn’t regret it at all)

MERCEDES

also takes you somewhere quiet and private so that all of her attention can be on you - not that her attention isn’t always on you anyway

probably takes you to where she used to live in where adrestia used to be, showing you all the places she used to frequent back when she and emil were still together - her arm stays linked in yours, and occasionally she leans over to kiss your cheek

you both spend the days brushing and styling your hair, with her being incredibly gentle & constantly leaning over to plant kisses all over your face, insisting that you’re too cute to resist

you return back home with huge smiles on your faces, unable to take your gaze away from each other, and everyone wonders what happened that made you both even more enamoured with each other

ANNETTE

takes you somewhere with great cuisine. maybe to almyra, or somewhere in the leicester alliance - either way, you’re both trying everything on the menu in any restaurant you go to

insists on feeding you the food, much to everyone else’s chagrin. although, you both notice that the elderly couples around you all say that you make a cute couple

holds your hand up to hers, comparing the sizes and admiring the sparkle of the rings in the sunlight. kisses your knuckles to show just how much she appreciates you

tries to smuggle samples of all the desserts you try back to mercedes but she ends up dropping most of it on the floor. you both laugh your heads off about it & it’s quickly forgotten

INGRID

you’ve never seen her smile more than you do on your honeymoon. she says that she feels more free, and that she doesn’t have to be afraid to show whatever emotions she wants

sheds a few tears in your arms on the first night, crying about how grateful she is and how genuinely happy she feels, saying that she hasn’t felt this happy in years

takes you out on her pegasus, taking you on a tour of the skies, showing you her favourite spots in fodlan & sneaking you both into her favourite restaurant at night

she’s more clingy now than she’ll ever be - make sure you get all the hugs and affection out of her now before it’s too late

[makeste]

some follow-up thoughts on BnHA 285

1. “at that moment...”

you guys. I still can’t get over this. just -- guys. this is Kacchan telling the story.

he’s not the first character to narrate, mind you. characters like Twice, Tomura, Ochako, and Kirishima have all narrated in the past. but it’s always been past-tense narration of their own flashbacks, or else present-tense narration explaining their thoughts (e.g. Twice in chapter 115). Kacchan himself has done present-tense POV narration before. but this isn’t that. this is past-tense narration of an event that’s happening now. this is the future Kacchan narrating the present day Kacchan’s story.

has any other character done that, aside from Deku himself?? am I just crazy overreacting here, lol. idk but either way it’s cool.

2. “...there were no thoughts in my head.”

there was a post yesterday talking about Kacchan’s big moment at the end of this chapter being a little disappointing because of it being an automatic “my body moved on its own” save on Kacchan’s part. the argument was basically that it made the moment less meaningful because of it being a subconscious thing rather than a conscious decision on Katsuki’s part.

but I disagree! for me the “my body moved on its own” is actually way more impactful. and rather than describing it as “subconscious”, I think the word that fits better in this case is instinct. first of all, even though he says there were no thoughts in his head, we know that’s not exactly true, as we can see for ourselves the images that were flashing through his mind. I’m just gonna list them out:

“I’ll even surpass All Might and become the best hero out there.”

“why was it me who put an end to All Might?”

“I made a pledge! I will achieve absolute victory, every time! we’re taking this 4-0, no casualties! the strong don’t settle for anything less!”

“I’m not gonna lose... I can’t afford to stay a loser!”

“you... you looked like you needed saving.”

thoughts about what it means to be a hero. what it used to mean to him, and what it means to him now. thoughts about rescuing others. about saving to win. thoughts about his failures. thoughts about him and Deku. and last but certainly not least, vivid memories of a moment when he needed someone to save him, and Deku was there.

he has these thoughts, but he’s not aware of himself having them. it happens too fast for him to be able to process. but all the same, his body isn’t just moving here of its own accord. it’s simply that in this instance, it’s not thought that’s driving him, but emotion. at the risk of sounding INCREDIBLY CORNY, it’s not his head that makes the decision, but his heart.

and that’s why it’s so meaningful to me. in this moment, it’s not conscious thought that’s driving him, but emotion, instinct, will. he sees the attack, sees that it will hit Deku, and he just reacts. something at the core of him screams that he can’t let it happen, and he just moves. and to me that’s even more powerful than him consciously doing the math and making the sacrifice play (though I’m not saying I wouldn’t have enjoyed that as well). specifically because it’s a moment where he doesn’t have a chance to think or analyze or panic or doubt. it’s a moment that shows us who he is when you strip all that away from him. he doesn’t have time to get in his own head; he doesn’t have time to feel any fear; he doesn’t have time to think about himself at all. he takes himself out of the equation. he sees that Deku needs saving. and the rest is pure instinct. it’s the most heroic he has ever been.

3. “even if One for All is a cursed power... at the same time, it’s...”

I was wondering what was up with this part, lol. Caleb’s translation makes it much clearer; to Katsuki, OFA is both a blessing and a curse right now. the “cursed” part is becoming more and more obvious with each new chapter. it’s putting Deku in danger; it’s made him a target; it’s destroying his body; and there are other, darker and more dangerous factors also at play that Katsuki doesn’t even know about but fears nonetheless. I honestly feel like he’s been anxious about all of this ever since he learned Deku and All Might’s secret. it’s been on the back of his mind for months now.

but at the same time, OFA is what brought him and Deku back together. sorry, am I getting cheesy again lol. BUT IT’S TRUE THOUGH. All Might’s quirk gave Deku the chance to compete with Katsuki on equal footing for the first time. it forced Katsuki to acknowledge him. and both he and Deku have grown so much on so many levels over the course of this past year, and all of it stems back to Deku receiving this quirk.

and just... fucking look at these flashbacks, though.

unless I’m reading this completely wrong, the gist of this scene is that Katsuki is grateful for OFA because it’s what lifted Deku up and allowed him to try and achieve his dream. the scenes of Katsuki bullying Deku and burning his notebook are contrasted with the scenes of Deku standing up to him and vowing that he won’t be his punching bag anymore. Deku before OFA, contrasted with Deku after. I get the sense that Katsuki feels a lot of gratitude for fate stepping in and working to undo his mistakes before he himself could finally get his act together and start atoning for them as well.

and then that last page is really interesting, because it’s like the “blessing” and “curse” parts of OFA all together in a single image. Deku is going all out against Tomura, giving everything he has, ready to sacrifice himself if that’s what it takes. there’s so much strength there (even though he looks completely insane lmao), but at the same time it’s literally killing him. mixed feelings, for sure.

4. “Katsuki Bakugou: Rising”

last but not least! so there’s quite a bit of discussion going on about what exactly a “rising” chapter actually consists of, lol. Momo is the only other character who’s had one before (at least if you don’t count the movies, and the movie spin-offs). so it’s hard to say for sure with such a small sample size, but if I had to guess, I’d say the “rising” chapters are about characters coming into their own as heroes. Momo’s chapter was all about her letting go of her insecurities and starting to believe in herself. and this chapter was all about Katsuki letting go of both his fear and his pride, and just getting the job done.

in the span of a single chapter, he lets go of every single thing that’s ever held him back. I felt like we really got a glimpse of the hero he can -- and hopefully will, if future!Kacchan the Narrator is anything to go by -- become. he was amazing. he took charge; he came up with a plan that absolutely would have worked if Tomura wasn’t LITERALLY FUCKING UNKILLABLE LULZ; and when that failed, he didn’t hesitate to make the sacrifice play. Bakugou fucking Katsuki, He of Zero Rescue Points, made the fucking sacrifice play. do you even know how much I love that you guys. I love it so, so much.

but of course, when you make the sacrifice play it tends to have the not-so-surprising side effect of getting you ALL FUCKED UP afterwards. so perhaps a less ideal outcome than he would have hoped. but he still did good. and he stopped Deku from getting murdered, and so now hopefully Deku and Shouto can mount some sort of aggrieved revenge counterattack to do their fallen friend justice. time for my other two sons to get to work! maybe Shouto can make Deku some new arms out of ice.

[cf56]

Here's a sample of chapter 7 of The Curious Case of Yakko Warner, just to prove I really do have stuff written. I was hoping to get it out today, the one year anniversary of the last time I updated the story, but it didn't happen. I did make a lot of progress- it's around 2/3 or 3/4 done now. I just don't have much time to write currently, working 20 hours a week and going to college full time. When I do get free time, I feel like relaxing and playing video games rather than writing much. But I'm still trying to chug along. Next semester I'll have much more time.

Eventually the line of hallways and rooms tapered off into another busy film set. Yakko sighed, exasperated. This was impossible. He had no idea where to look, or who to ask about what, or even how to ask it. He decided it was time to give up and return to his…

“Sibs?” Yakko said to himself, suddenly becoming aware of the massive size of the room around him. The mobs of people roaming around, the loud, busy chattering in the background- it was all a little overwhelming. Well, more than a little. He quickly realized, in horror, that he had no idea where he actually was.

“Sibs?” He called again, his voice now quivering with worry. People continued to walk past, not taking notice of him at all. He turned back, trying to retrace his steps to the hallway he had just emerged from, but it was just… gone! He couldn’t see it anywhere. Instead, panicked, he began to absentmindedly follow the closest adult he saw, winding up standing at the catering table. With wide eyes, he looked all around him, not knowing what to do. His siblings always knew exactly what to do, but they weren’t here, and he didn’t recognize a single face passing him by. Now terrified, he just needed someone to comfort him. Anyone. Without thinking, he grabbed tightly onto the leg of the person nearest to him, hugging it tightly. The woman looked down.

“Well, hey there. Look at you. What a silly little cartoon guy you are.”

He stared up at her, eyes big, unwilling to loosen his grip and unable to make himself speak.

“Is something the matter?” She asked, gently, placing a hand lightly on the top of his head between his ears. He nodded silently. “Well, let’s get it fixed then.”

Reaching down, she used all her strength to pry the little toon off her leg and then pick him up into her arms. As soon as he was up, he started to clutch tightly onto her shoulders. Though he was physically seven, the general small size of his species meant he was about the same size as a human toddler. This allowed the woman to hold him without much effort.

“Now, where do you belong?” She questioned cheerfully, trying to lift his spirits by proxy. “Are you here with anyone?”

“M-my… my… my sibs…” He sputtered the words out, hoping desperately that the lady would understand and know what to do.

“You have siblings? Where are they?”

“I don’t… I dunno…” He responded, almost on the verge of a total breakdown. The woman pondered his response, not quite sure what to do next. Just as she was about to ask another question, a gruff voice interrupted from behind.

“Hey, Cassie.” The bearded man said. Yakko buried his face in her shoulder, the prospect of having to interact with another stranger simply being too much for him. “Aren’t they shooting some cartoon show over next door? Could be where he came from.”

“Really?” She responded, turning around. “I hadn’t heard about that. But I guess that makes sense. Let's go check.”

[mochegato]

Hope on Board

Chapter 7 –  Polished, Public Appropriate First Date

Chapter 1     Chapter 6

“She will like whatever you do with her.  She’s pretty easy going.” Tim advised plopping down on the couch next to an upside Stephanie, poking her in her exposed side and receiving a warning kick to the head as a result.

Dick gave Tim a cynical look and ran his hands through his hair.  He groaned and ran to the mirror to fix his now messed up hair.  

“No cologne tonight?” Stephanie asked sniffing the air.

“No.  She asked if I would hold off on it for a few weeks until her stomach settles a bit more.”  He turned to look at Tim.  “And I want it to be special.  I want her to feel special.”  His anxiety apparent in his every fidget, hesitation, and tap of his foot.

“What, you don’t think making her feel constant nausea is special?” Stephanie asked with a smirk.

Dick threw his comb at her which she caught easily.  “No, I think I have to make up for making her feel like that.  She’s been miserable constantly.  I want her to feel good.”

“You think stuffy and pretentious is the way to go if she’s feeling miserable?” Stephanie asked curiously, trying to cock her head closer to right side up in order to see him better.

“It’ll be something nice for her.  This is going to work.  She’s going to love it,” he said more to reassure himself than convince the others. “She’ll get to dress up.  Get really nice food.  Everything she needs to feel better.”

“She told you she’s been miserable?” Damian asked suspiciously.  “Seems manipulative.  If she’s even really feeling sick at all.”  He batted away the pillow Stephanie threw at him without bothering to look up from his homework.

“She isn’t like that. And she’s pregnant you tiny gremlin, with your niece or nephew, if you remember.” Tim hissed.  “And she doesn’t need to latch onto anyone.  Give her ten years and she will be one of the leading names in fashion in the world.  Why do you think I partnered with her in the first place?  She doesn’t need Dick for money.”

“Enough.  I’m not discussing this tonight,” Dick thundered, scowling at Damian.  “She hasn’t said anything, but I can hear it in her voice whenever we talk and see it in her eyes whenever I see her.  She keeps saying she’s fine and plasters on this fake smile, like she doesn’t want me to worry.”

Damian scoffed, but refrained from continuing.  Tim spoke up instead.  “She didn’t fake the vomit before our meeting earlier today… or after.”

Dick’s head whipped over to him.  “She threw up in your office today?  Twice?”

“In the bathroom, but yeah.” Tim nodded in confirmation.  “I don’t think she expected Tam to see her or tell me about it.  She threw up then went into our meeting like nothing was wrong. As soon as the meeting was over and I’d returned to the office she rushed to the bathroom and Tam said was just heaving that time.”

Steph nodded. “Probably didn’t have anything in her stomach to throw up anymore.  Happens a lot.  I don’t know if it makes it better or worse.  They both really sucked.  It all really sucked actually.  The idea of eating made you unbelievably sick, but not eating made it worse.”  She righted herself on the couch, throwing her legs over Tim’s lap and leaning against the arm rest.  “And don’t even get me started on those bitches who don’t get any morning sickness.”

Dick hummed in consideration. His brow furrowed deeper the more he thought about it.  He really didn’t want her hiding things from him, which admittedly was rather hypocritical of him, but if she was suffering, he wanted to know.  “If it’s as bad as Tim says, maybe you should let her decide where you go instead.  There’s probably food she can’t eat or makes her feel sicker than others and there may be something that her body is craving.  And it may change from moment to moment.  It did for me.”

Dick gave her a small, understanding smile.  “Thanks, Steph.  I’ll think about it.  Now, wish me luck.”  He shot them a nervous smile and left to pick up Marinette for their first date.

<><><><><> 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this,” Marinette asked again.

Dick laughed and shook his head.  “I told you, it’s fine.  I like Batburger.  This is great.”  

“But you put so much effort into something nicer.  And you definitely dressed for something more elegant,” she moaned.

He pulled her into a side hug as he guided her to a place to sit in the park.  “I hate pretentious.  I’d rather just hang around and have fun… I mean, unless you like fancy restaurants, then…”

Marinette cut him off with a laugh.  “No. No, I don’t.  I mean every once in a while is fun and I love the outfits at big events obviously, but I’d rather just do something where we can relax and have fun.  Act like ourselves, not a polished, public appropriate version of ourselves.”

Dick smiled and motioned to a bench with a nice view of the park.  She nodded and sat sideways on the bench so she could talk to him better. “You mean polished, public appropriate like cursing repeatedly at the host’s son at the biggest social event of the year?” He smirked at her.

Marinette groaned and hid her head in her hands.  “Don’t remind me.  I can’t believe I did that.”

Dick laughed and wrapped his arms around her to pull her into a comforting hug.  “It’s fine.  Very justified… considering.”  Marinette made a noncommittal grunt and leaned into his chest, lowering her hands slightly.  “But I agree,” he started slowly, “occasionally is nice, but relaxed is better.  And galas especially are draining.  They’re so boring and annoying.  Maybe next time… we can go together?” he finished quietly. His heart was pounding in his chest as he asked.  Was he being too forward?  Was it too forward to ask the mother of your child to attend a family event?  That wasn’t too forward, right?  He didn’t want to scare her off on their first date.  

Marinette looked up at him in surprise.  “You…” She smiled at him for a few moments.  She turned back to her food and pulled out her batburger.  She looked back at him with a smirk.  “Pretty confident this date’s going to go well, huh?”

Dick blinked a few times. He chuckled and gave her a charming smile, pulling his burger out as well.  “I’m hopeful.”  

Marinette looked at the burger before she took a bite and shook her head.  “I can’t believe you have a restaurant themed after your heroes.”

“Vigilantes,” he corrected her.

“Vigilantes, right. Sorry.  I’m not used to that.  Paris and New York had heroes not vigilantes.”  She moaned happily as she took a bite of her burger.  “Oh my God.  I don’t know if it’s just the pregnancy, but this is the best thing ever.”

Dick laughed and took a bite of his food.  “That’s definitely the pregnancy.”

She hummed again as she rapidly ate her first small burger.  “I don’t care.  This is exactly what I needed.”

Dick watched her for a few moments before taking another bite himself.  “So, how was your day today?  I heard you had a meeting with Tim,” he asked in as casual tone as he could manage.

Marinette’s eyes lit up. She rapidly chewed the bite that was in her mouth before launching into a description.  “It was great!  We finalized the designs today, well as much as we can considering I’m just now seeing the fabrics they designed, which means I can start working on making the designs.  Tim had some really great suggestions and now we’re starting to plan for the show for fashion week.  Thankfully, a team at WE is handling all that so I can focus on the designs.  I have more than enough time for the show, but I’ll need to have options in my store for people to buy once the show is over and that will take time.”

She took another quick bite of her second child sized burger and started bouncing in her seat.  “I’m so excited to get my hands on the textiles. I’d only been briefed on what they were designed to do and felt samples before today.  Next week I’ll get to actually work with them.  Oh, and Tim introduced me to the man who did most of the designing for the textiles.  That was amazing.  I really liked speaking with him.  I’m really looking forward to working with him more.  He was so knowledgeable and had great suggestions and considered my suggestions.  It was really enlightening for both of us, I think.  He might go back and adjust his designs based on my suggestions.  It felt like a really good understanding and respect. I was so nervous about signing the contract considering I am so new and I’ve never done… well anything, and WE is so huge.  But I think this is going to be really great for both of us.”  

Dick felt his chest tighten slightly.  Not that he was jealous.  And there was no reason to be.  This was a work colleague.  It was important that she had a good relationship with her colleagues in order to succeed and he wanted her time at WE to be enjoyable.  But that did nothing to lessen the tightening in his chest. “So, who was the designer?”  Was that nonchalant?  That was totally nonchalant, right?  He was cool.  It was fine. The woman he liked and was carrying his baby was having enlightening, amazing conversations with another man. That was fine.  Good even.  That was ideal for her.  He absolutely did not want to punch the enlightened, amazing man in his amazing, enlightened jaw.

“Lucius Fox.  He’s the sweetest man and so smart.  I don’t know how he thinks of all the things he does but it’s amazing to watch.”

Dick let out the breath he had been holding and gave her a beaming smile.  “Yeah, Lucius is amazing.  We all love him.  He’s a close friend of the family.”

“I can see why.” She nodded taking another bite.

“Anything else happen?” he prompted casually.

She considered his question. “That’s pretty much everything.  I can go into more detail on things if you want me to, but yeah, pretty much.  How was your day?  You never told me what you do.”

“Oh, I… do security with Bruce… in my own division.” He gave her a disarming smile.  It was his standard lie, but for some reason it felt wrong to use it.

“You work at WE, too?” Her eyes lit up with excitement.  “Maybe I’ll bump into you next time!  Or maybe we can get lunch together.”

“We can try.  My hours are odd.” He winced internally.  The lie was going to be harder to maintain if she was going to be there frequently.  He looked up to continue deferring the possibility but got caught in her eyes.  They were so bright and hopeful.  He couldn’t let that fade away.  He was sure she would understand, but he didn’t want her to have to.  He could come into the building more often, make the lie more realistic.  He smiled back at her.  “But I can make sure I’m there for that.  I can pick you up and take you to WE.  I can walk you to Tim’s office and give you a kiss for good luck before you start your day.”

“That sounds like an incredibly lucky start to my day.” She snuggled closer to him and gazed up in his eyes.

“It will definitely make my day better.  Anytime I see you, it makes my day better, happier,” he said earnestly, running his fingers up her arm.

She beamed at him. “Yeah?”

He looked lovingly in her eyes as he traced along her cheeks and jaw, resting his hand gently around her throat.  “Yeah,” he whispered back.

She bit her lip and looked down, a blush settling on her cheeks.  She suddenly swallowed heavily and threaded her fingers through his. She moved their hands to her lap with a reassuring squeeze.  She breathed out slowly a few times before finally looking back up with a strained smile. Dick furrowed his brow.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She diverted her eyes and took a small bite of her burger.  

He didn’t need to be a trained detective to read the signs she was giving out, the sudden shift from affectionate to slightly closed off.  From leaning into his touch to leaning away from him.  Her soft, warm smile turned tight and strained.  Her breathing had turned labored.  Her relaxed posture was rigid.  He would think he had done something and she was uncomfortable but she was still squeezing his hand.  “Marinette…” he urged her softly.

“Sorry,” she grumbled, looking down with a guilty look on her face.

“Morning sickness?”  She nodded, still not looking him in the eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not going to last forever, just a few more weeks, and… I like you touching me.  It’s just the pressure on my neck triggered a reflex. In a few weeks it’ll be fine and I don’t want you to think you should stop,” she explained, the blush on her cheeks now from embarrassment.

Dick smiled roguishly at her. “You like me touching you, huh?” Marinette rolled her eyes but her deep blush betrayed her pleasure at his comment.  Dick brushed the bangs out of her eyes, and let his fingers linger in her hair, making sure not to put too much pressure on her.  “Marinette, it’s okay to tell me the truth.  I want to know.  It isn’t a burden you’re laying on me by being honest.  You aren’t just complaining.  You’re telling me the truth.  You’re letting me be part of this.  We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered automatically.

“Then I want the truth. You’re not going to scare me off. I’m not going anywhere.  I’m not going to be disappointed in you or the baby. I’m not going to get frustrated and pull away.  I’m here for the whole messy, miserable, chaotic, amazing, miraculous process.  I want to support you, both of you.  So if you’re so sick you’re throwing up before and after meetings,” he gave her a pointed look. “I want to help.  I can pick you up or bring you food or interrupt the meeting so it doesn’t go long.”

Marinette looked down guiltily and started fidgeting with her fingers.  “Tim knew about that, huh?”

“Tim knows everything that goes on at WE,” he confirmed.

Marinette let out a long, deep sigh.  “I didn’t want him to know.”

“Why not?”

“I… I can still do my job,” she insisted.  “I don’t want special treatment because I’m carrying his niece or nephew.  I want to get better and make sure this project is successful, not get coddled.”

Dick opened him mouth then shut it again.  “Tim would go soft on you.  So would Lucius,” Dick agreed.  “But only if they thought you were doing your best.  If they thought you were shirking or not putting your best effort in, they would let you know.  But they aren’t going to push you into the hospital.  They wouldn’t do that even if you weren’t pregnant.  Okay?”

Marinette gave him an unconvinced smile but nodded.  “Okay,” she agreed.

“Alright.  So, how are you feeling?”

She shrugged.  “Right now, pretty close to okay.”

“So… not good?”

“There is no good. There’s just less terrible.  And this is just the first week of it.  I’m scared I’m going to have to start taking medicine for it and I’d really prefer not to do that.  They say it’s safe but… I don’t want to take anything unless I absolutely have to.  Hey, do you think I can get another burger?”  Dick smiled and started to pull out his second burger for her before Marinette put her hand on his arm to stop him.  “Actually, ignore that.”

He shook his head at her again.  “Marinette, you can have my burger if you want another one.”

She looked at him self-consciously.  “I know. Thank you for that, but if I eat too much it’ll make me feel sick too.  It’s better to maybe come back another time or get something small on the way home.”

Dick nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure.”  She nodded and reached into her bag, pulling out the last item in it.  She giggled and held it up for Dick to see. “Hey, baby’s first toy!” He exclaimed excitedly.

She looked at him with soft eyes and nodded.  “Baby’s first toy,” she repeated dreamily.  

Dick reached out to rub her belly but stopped just short of touching her.  “Is it… is it okay for me to…” he nodded toward his hand and her belly.

Marinette pointedly eyed his arm that were already wound around her waist, but his gaze was so earnest, her teasing comment died on her lips.  “Yeah, yeah it’s okay,” she whispered softly instead.

He ran his hand over her belly reverently.  This was his first time running his hand over the baby.  Her belly was still flat, no external indication there was more developing beneath the surface.  He could feel her lithe muscles through her shirt.  But underneath the muscles was their baby.  Their baby.  Their baby was growing and developing.  And then one day in no time at all the baby would be there, in his arms, looking at him, trusting him, needing him to protect it. And he would do anything he had to in order to make sure his child was safe.

He looked back up at Marinette with a warm smile.  He tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.  She cupped his cheek and stretched up to kiss him.

She hummed contentedly as she pulled away and laid her head on his shoulder.  He laid his head on hers and squeezed her again.  Marinette picked up the figurine to get a better look at it.  “It’s Nightwing!” She held up the small black and blue figurine for Dick to see.

Dick shook his head out of his stupor and sent her a sly smile.  “Yeah, I remember you saying he’s your favorite.”

“Oh my God.  I don’t even remember talking about him.  How embarrassing was I?”

“How embarrassing do you get?”

She stuck her tongue out at him and shoved a few fries in her mouth.  “Sorry can’t,” she motioned to her full mouth, “eating.”

Dick laughed and stole a fry from her.  Marinette gasped in mock outrage.  “You would steal a pregnant woman’s fries?  I think I need to call Nightwing to take you away.”  She winked at him.

“You’re right that was ungentlemanly of me.  Here take my fries in reparation.”  He pushed his fries over to her.

“I was kidding.  I’m not going to steal half your dinner.”

“It just means you have more for me to steal.” He smirked at her as he reached over her and past his fries to steal a few more of her fries.

She giggled and took one of his fries.  “Who’s your favorite?”

“Mine? Oh, um…” he had to think about that.  “Wonder Girl, I guess.”

“Oh I didn’t know we could include heroes.  That changes my answer.  Why is she your favorite?” She turned back to her fries missing the pout that settled on Dick’s face.

“She’s got really good moves in battle.  She uses just enough force, but not too much.  Like she is more concerned about hurting anyone unnecessarily.  But she’s really protective of her team and goes out of her way to help anyone who needs it.  Or maybe I just have a thing for black haired, blue eyed, kickass women.” He smirked at her.  He stared at her for a few moments and he knew he shouldn’t.  He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself.  “But let’s go back.  Who’s your favorite if you’re including heroes?”

“Chat Noir.”

“Wow no hesitation there at all.  That… that hurts.  I feel betrayed.  And why is he your favorite?”

“That I’m choosing a Parisian hero instead of a Gothamite?” She raised an eyebrow.  Dick mentally cursed himself.  She didn’t know he was Nightwing.  Of course she wouldn’t get the reference.  Marinette missed his grimace as she reached back to grab more fries to eat as she talked.  “He’s a really good guy.  Really sweet and kind.  I guess kind of like Wonder Girl.  He went out of his way to help everyone he came across, though I suppose all the Paris heroes did that.  He had amazing control over his powers and was so compassionate.  Always thinking of others before himself.  He saved me a few times.  Used to stop by my balcony to talk sometimes… eat some free pastries. He was a friend.  We kind of grew up together… I mean… as much as a hero can with a civilian.”

She gave him what she hoped was a convincing smile.  It wasn’t. Dick made a mental note to do some research on Chat Noir and see how close he was to Marinette.  He cringed again.  That sounded pretty creepy.  He couldn’t do that.  “I haven’t even met Nightwing,” Marinette continued oblivious to Dick’s inner turmoil, “so Chat wins by default.”  She looked at the figurine again and cocked her head to the side.  “I need to make some Miraculous team dolls for the baby.”

“Should I be jealous?” Dick raised his brow playfully.

“Over me or the Parisian hero dolls or the pastries?”  Her smile was coy but her eyes were sultry.

“How good were the pastries?” He leaned closer to her.

“Very.” She leaned in closer. “My parents make amazing pastries. So do I.”

“Maybe you can show me sometime.”

She nodded “I’d like to. I just need to know what you like.”

He traced her jaw with his finger. “I like you.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes, but moved closer to him with rosy cheeks. “You are so cheesy.”

He gave her a cheeky grin. “I haven’t even started yet.  I like your eyes.” He slowly kissed both of her eyes.  “I like your nose.” He kissed the tip of her nose.  “I like your cheeks.” He kissed both cheeks and brushed his thumbs over her cheeks after he kissed them.  “I like your ears.” He gently grazed his teeth over her ear’s shell.  His felt a warming in his chest when her breath hitched. “I like your jaw.” He laid small kisses along her jaw to the other side of her face.  “I like this spot right here a lot.” She sighed happily as he ghosted nose over a spot below her ear and kissed it.  “I like you.” He pulled her in for a passionate kiss.  She whimpered as his tongue slipped between her lips to meet hers.  She trailed her hands across his shoulders and up his neck slowly until she reached his hair.  She pulled gently to pull him closer.  His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her into his lap.

After a few moments she pulled away breathing hard and rested her head on his shoulder, focusing on the ground.  Dick waited for his breath to level back out and leaned close to her ear.  “And chocolate.  I like chocolate.”

She nodded slightly, still not looking at him and breathing deeply.  His brow furrowed in concern.  He gently rubbed her back.  “Marinette?” She hummed quietly and held up a finger to let him know to wait.  He gave her a nervous smile.  “That bad, huh?”

She chuckled lightly and took another deep breath before looking back up at him.  “Maybe we should hold off on tongues for a few weeks too.”

“Ah,” he nodded in understanding and cringed.  “Gag reflex.”

Marinette hummed and settled back against his shoulder again.  “And everything triggers it right now.  Breathing triggers it.  Thinking triggers it.  Ugh.  I can’t wait for this part to be over.”

Dick wrapped his arms tighter around her, but made sure to leave them light enough not to put too much pressure on her stomach.  “Sorry you have to go through this.  I promise to work on making my kissing less gag inducing.”

She giggled into his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his chest shaking with laughter as well.  She pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes and rested her arms around his shoulders.  “Chocolate.  I can make that happen.”

Dick frowned at her.  “You just almost threw up again.  Maybe don’t push yourself.  I’m more worried about you than getting some pastries,” his voice was suddenly tender.

Marinette smiled up at him and ran her fingers along his cheek, settling her hand on his neck.  “I think it’s funny that you think I’m going to wait to start baking things for you or designing things for you.  I’ve already started making plans and coming up with ideas.”

“I’m not going to convince you to take it easy am I?”  She gave a resolute shake of her head.  Dick shook his head and gave a defeated sigh. “Then, I’m sure I’ll love whatever you come up with.” He leaned down to give her a chaste kiss.

Chapter 8

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 31: Home For Christmas

Chapter 30

Read on AO3

Christmas morning began with a solid weight on Claire’s back that knocked the wind out of her. Eyes still closed, she let out a stifled oomf, and heard a low chuckle beside her. (They’d both made sure they were fully clothed before falling asleep for this exact reason.)

“Aye, good morning, leannan.”

Claire groaned; of course the man was already awake, and had probably been more than capable of stopping Faith from pouncing on her. When the tiny slaps to her head began, he finally intervened.

“Alright, alright, let’s be nice.” The weight was removed, and Claire finally opened her eyes, rolling over to see that Jamie had lifted Faith bodily off of her, and was holding her up on his shins, holding her hands: playing airplane.

“Merry Christmas,” Jamie crooned up to Faith, and she squealed, kicking her legs. If Jamie didn’t have her hands, she’d have toppled over. But Claire knew he’d never let her fall. “Aye, merry Christmas, lass.”

Claire sighed heavily and forced herself to sit up, smiling lazily at the pair of them. “Merry Christmas, baby girl.”

Claire might as well have not said a thing; she was still giggling at Jamie and kicking her legs. Claire gave him a look, and he winked at her before letting Faith gently plop on the mattress between them. 

“Hi,” Claire said, bending down to kiss her. “Merry Christmas.”

Faith hummed in response, squirming out of bed by climbing over Claire.

“Merry Christmas, Sassenach.”

Claire looked up to see Jamie sitting up, hair tousled, clothes rumpled from playing with her daughter, a lazy, peaceful grin on his face. Even as Faith relentlessly tugged on Claire’s hand, groaning impatiently, Claire leaned over to kiss him.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

Faith could be held up no longer, and soon both adults were being led to the tree, crouched over so as to have one each of her little hands. Gillian, thank God, already had coffee brewing, having already been trampled by Faith herself on the air mattress. Gillian had offered to get a hotel room this year, not wanting to overcrowd Claire now that she knew Jamie would be joining them, but Claire would not hear of it, and neither would Jamie. Both ladies were wearing their matching set of Christmas pajamas, and Jamie dramatically remarked how left out he felt to not have received his own pair for this year.

“I’ll remember that fer next year,” Gillian said wryly, handing them each their own festive mugs of coffee.

Air mattress out of the way and coffee distributed, Faith was tearing into the first of three bigger boxes before anybody could stop her.

“That’s from Auntie Gi, darling,” Claire said, nestled tightly against Jamie, laying her still sleepy head on his shoulder, smiling contentedly. Claire knew exactly what was in those three identically sized boxes, and she fully expected the joyful stimming that erupted from Faith. It was an Animator Doll, the Anna one. Claire had seen them in the Disney store and decided that Faith absolutely had to have one, then Gi had offered to get her one, and so had Jamie.

Faith handed the unwrapped box to Gillian without so much as looking at her before she moved onto the next one, a gesture that very clearly meant: free her from her box immediately.

The three adults chuckled, Gillian muttering to herself as she headed to the kitchen to get scissors.

“That’s from Mummy,” Claire said, though she was sure it was falling on deaf ears. Claire had gotten the Elsa one, and the box was shuffled over to Gillian, still just beginning to open the Anna box. Faith moved onto the third box, Claire reminding her it was from Jamie as she got up from the couch, abandoning his warmth to help Gillian with the boxes before they fell behind and Faith had a fit.

The third doll was Merida, the one Jamie insisted he get for her. Faith hummed loudly and flapped her hands, squealing with delight. She looked over to see Auntie Gi and Mummy busy trying to free Anna and Elsa, so she picked up the box to shuffle over to Jamie in her silent request.

“D’ye like it, Faith?” Jamie said, setting his mug down to take the box. “She’s our lass, aye?”

Faith nodded, then bounded back to the tree.

“Faith Julia,” Claire called. “I won’t finish opening these until you say thank you.”

She hastily kissed Gillian’s cheek, to which she replied, “Ye’re welcome, Pipsqueak,” then Claire’s, answered by “You’re welcome, lovie,” and then Jamie’s.

“Ye’re very welcome, mo chridhe.”

The next few gifts were from Santa: a few DVD’s Faith had been asking for (one day she pulled up a list on her tablet of every single Disney film ever made alongside their DVD cover and started pointing to the ones they didn’t own, some that Claire hadn’t thought about in years) and a few she had not, a plush of the pig and chicken from Moana, a new puzzle, and a set of Merida pajamas. By the time Faith got through tearing all the wrapping off, all of her new treasures were freed from their boxes and plastic wrapping. The pajamas had come last, and before anyone could stop her, she was pulling her nightgown over her head.

“Faith, wait, that’s not — ”

Before Claire could remind her that she was to get dressed in her bedroom, and that anywhere else was inappropriate, Jamie was already holding the shirt over her head, smiling at her as she poked her head through. Claire shook her head, trying to suppress the smile that insisted on making its way across her face. She just sighed, letting Jamie finish dressing her, and Gillian snorted into her coffee mug.

While Faith got started arranging her dolls and toys on the coffee table and finding spaces for her new DVD’s among the rest of her collection, the adults began their own gift exchange. Gillian and Jamie exchanged gifts first, each giving the other Scottish-themed holiday baubles, causing all three adults to laugh. Claire got Gillian a shot glass with a bawdy quote that served her all too well, and Gillian got Claire a small potted succulent, the pot having been hand painted by her.

Claire was nervous; she was always a terrible gift-giver. Frank had been content to receive the most generic man-gifts known to humankind, but Claire knew full well that Jamie deserved more than that. Yet even as she handed him the box, she was worried she’d still gotten just another generic man-gift.

Jamie grinned at her as he took the box, opening it with care, as if to not disturb the wrapping. He would be the type to open presents that way. He set the paper aside and opened the box.

“Open the card second,” Claire said quickly as he picked up the envelope. He looked at her sideways, then set the envelope aside. After unfolding the wrapping paper, he pulled it out: a gray Scottish tweed cap.

Jamie was grinning ear to ear, examining the fabric. “It’s authentic,” Claire chimed in. “Made sure of it.”

“It’s braw, Sassenach.”

“I saw on Facebook your father had one in a lot of your photos, but I never saw you with one. So I thought I’d give you a bit of Scotland for Christmas.”

His grin spread wider, if that was even possible. “Thank you, Sassenach. I love it.”

“Put it on,” Claire demanded. “I want to see.”

Jamie chuckled, but he obliged, and Claire’s heart fluttered.

“What d’ye think?”

Claire leaned in so their faces were inches apart. “You’re as dashing as ever.”

He captured her lips sweetly, both of them grinning into the kiss.

“Oi,” Gillian barked. “Ye’ve an audience, here.”

They broke apart, still grinning, and Claire rolled her eyes. “Alright.” She swiped the cap off of Jamie’s head and put it on herself. “Open the card now.”

Jamie chuckled, taking up the envelope. “Ye dinna look bad yerself, lass.”

Claire stuck her chin up proudly. “A girlfriend always ensures she looks good in the clothing she buys her boyfriend.”

Jamie shook his head as he tore open the envelope, a blush creeping up his neck.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“What?” she demanded, shoving him by the shoulder.

He glanced at Gillian and then sighed in resignation. “I was thinkin’,” he whispered in her ear so that only she could hear, “what ye might look like wearing just the cap.”

Claire’s stomach flipped, her breath stuttering. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

He bit her earlobe in response, and she squealed.

“Oi!” Gillian shouted. “There’s a bairn. No’ to mention me.”

The pair of them just laughed, and Jamie continued tearing into the envelope. Claire remembered exactly what she’d written; she’d agonized over it for hours and days:

Merry Christmas, Jamie. You’ve changed my life for the better in every imaginable way. I love you.

Your Sassenach,

Claire

He kissed her again, and Gillian was no doubt rolling her eyes.

“Trust me, mo ghraidh,” he said. “Ye’ve changed my life, too. Made me whole.”

Claire briefly indulged his beautiful words, stroking his jaw, before pulling away so he would look at what was inside the card.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a subscription to something called Flaviar,” Claire explained. “Once a quarter you get all these samples of rare whisky. Right up your alley.”

Jamie beamed. “This is unbelievable!”

“You can go on the website and customize your account with your personal preferences,” Claire went on.

“Sassenach…” he laughed. “It’s great. It’s so great.”

Claire smiled back at him. “I’m glad you like it.”

With one final kiss (and an eye roll from Gillian), Jamie picked up his gift to Claire and handed it to her, a large square box. He looked just as antsy as she had felt giving him her gift. She tore open the paper with no such grace that he’d possessed when opening his. There was a plain white box, and Claire opened the lid and gasped. She reached in and pulled out a miniature greenhouse of sorts: a white framed structure of clear plastic, open on one side. There was tissue paper packed inside the structure, and Claire unburied a box labeled: Medicinal & Herbal Tea Indoor Herb Garden Starter Kit.

Her heart positively melted as another small gasp escaped her lips. “Jamie…”

“I noticed yer wee balcony garden a while back, Faith’s party I think,” he said. “Figured ye missed yer wee herbs in the cold months. So.”

“Oh, Jamie…there’s so much here!” She turned the box over and rattled off the list of seeds included. “Chamomile, Lavender, Lemon Mint, Calendula, Yarrow, Sage, Rosemary, Fennel, Lemon Balm, Peppermint, Hyssop…” She trailed off, realizing no one else had any bloody clue what she was saying. “This is more than I was even able to find myself.”

He shrugged. “Amazon has it all.”

“It’s perfect. It’s wonderful.” Her heart was fluttering; she felt like a kid in a candy store. “This, did you get this on Amazon, too?” She gestured to the greenhouse.

“Oh. I made that.”

Claire was gobsmacked, her mouth falling open. “Made it?”

“Aye. Wasna too difficult. Ye could just put them on the windowsill, but I thought it would be nicer in something a bit more decorative.” He suddenly looked very shy, as if apprehensive of the quality of his own handiwork.

“It’s beautiful.” She cupped his face in her hands, having put the box of herbs in her lap. “All of it. You are amazing.”

He was blushing, and Claire wanted to kiss every inch of his face that was splotching red. He still had no idea how bloody wonderful he was.

“There’s, ehm, one more thing.” He pointed to the packed tissue paper inside the greenhouse, and Claire reached inside, pulling out a small, long and narrow box. She tossed her head back, laughing out loud. It was a little dirt poker with a ceramic heart on the end that read: “I Dig You.”

Claire tossed it to Gillian, who also began snorting with laughter. “Oh, that’s awful.”

“Aye, aye,” Jamie said, laughing. “I couldna resist.”

“Oh, God…” Claire said, still laughing as she cupped his face again. “I dig you, too, love.”

Claire felt very much like Faith with her toys, wanting to tear into her gift and begin planting everything immediately. Sadly, it would have to wait, as there was much to do today before they met the Murrays at Jamie’s apartment.

“Faithie,” Claire crooned. She had finished filing away her DVD’s and was now surveying the dolls and toys she’d arranged atop the coffee table. “It’s your turn, lovie. Remember your gifts?”

She did not respond at all or give any indication that she’d heard her.

“Faith, come here,” Claire said, getting an idea. She took off Jamie’s cap. “Do you want to wear Jamie’s hat?”

She immediately picked her head up and scampered over to them, grabbing greedily for the cap. Claire let Faith feel the textures inside and out before plopping it on her little head.

“You look lovely,” Claire said, poking her nose. “This was my gift to Jamie. Where are your gifts, baby? Do you remember?”

Faith just giggled, spinning around with her hands on her head, on the hat. Claire sighed with a laugh, taking her by the shoulders and redirecting her to the tree. “Here, darling. See? Give one to Auntie Gi, one to Jamie, and one to me.”

Claire knew what was inside the shoddy wrapping; Faith had brought them home from school and they’d wrapped them together. She watched as Faith obeyed, handing one to each of the three adults, and Claire had to pull her into her lap to stop her from bolting off. They all opened them at the same time, Claire letting Faith “help” to keep her engaged.

“Oh! Look at that!” Claire said with exaggerated excitement, despite having seen it already. The other adults gave similar verbal reactions. “Oh, who is that? Who’s that, Faith?”

It was a large foam snowflake, each of the three decorated generously with glitter of all festive colors, a photograph in the center. The teacher had asked how many adults were in Faith’s life that would need one, which Claire appreciated. Faith still did not like to be photographed, so only half of her face was visible, due to the fact that she was hiding in Angus’s fur. But, it was better than the ones with her hands covering her entire face. And it was rather sweet, really, the way she was hugging her dog.

“Who is that, Faith?” Claire said again, pointing. Faith jabbed her finger into the picture, humming and bouncing in her lap. “Yes, who is it?” With an explosive squeal, Faith poked herself in the chest over and over. “Yes, good job!”

“Good girl,” Jamie echoed, and Gillian said, “Yay!”

“Who else?” Jamie chimed in, pointing at Angus in the photograph. “Who’s that, Faith?”

Faith gave another little shriek and pointed at Angus, chewing at his Christmas treat in the corner of the room on his bed.

“Ah! Good job!” Jamie gave her tiny thigh a squeeze, and the women cheered quietly as well.

“Thank you, baby,” Claire crooned, hugging her tightly and kissing her temple. “I love my present. Go give hugs.” She passed Faith over to Jamie, who held her tightly to his chest in his lap.

“Thank you, m’annsachd. I love it very much. I’m gonnae put it right on my tree when we get to my house.” He gave her one final squeeze before sending her off to Gillian, who had to call Faith’s name several times to get her to actually come to her.

“Thank ye very much, my sweet wee lass.” She gave her a loud kiss on the cheek. “Best present yet this year.”

Presents all distributed and Faith’s ornament hung on the tree, they moved into the kitchen for their Edible Arrangement breakfast. When Claire had explained to Jamie the Christmas traditions, he’d offered to pick up the ingredients for the cookies. When he’d asked, “What don’t ye have?” and Claire had answered: “Uh…the cookie mix and the icing?” he’d laughed out loud. Evidently, he’d thought they’d be making them from scratch, which was quite bold of him to assume, considering who he was dating. In the end, Jamie brought over ingredients for homemade sugar cookies, and the four of them had a grand old time forming the dough, rolling it out, and using the cookie cutters, all with Christmas music playing, of course.

While they were baking, Jamie encouraged Faith to pick out one of her new Christmas DVDs to watch. Claire had mentioned that she was not a fan of using streaming services, wanting to feel the physical copy in her hands and have a space where it belonged that was in her control. So Jamie purchased half a dozen movies that were already streaming somewhere, being that he wanted to watch a Christmas movie with his girls, but wanted to do it in a way that Faith would be happiest with.

And so, Jamie sat squished into the corner of the couch with Claire curled into him like a kitten, Faith at attention between the cushions with Gillian on the other side of her, with Home Alone playing on the tellie. Claire was nursing her second mug of coffee, warmed by it head to toe, along with Jamie’s occasional kiss to her head, or the deep rumbling in his chest that echoed against Claire’s back when he laughed.

Last Christmas, Claire had confidently told Gillian that it was the best one she’d ever had. And now, the future was bright with possibility, the promise of each holiday getting better and better with Jamie there. Hell, each month, each week, each day, every hour, minute, and second was better than the last with Jamie in her life.

God, she was never letting him go.

——

Jamie had given his sister a key to his apartment for her to use in the event that they were late coming from Claire's apartment because of Faith or any other mishaps. They were, in fact, perfectly on time, arriving at 1:30 exactly, giving them plenty of time to get things in order for the arrival of Jamie’s family.

And yet, Jenny’s rental car was there waiting anyway.

Jamie sighed, rolling his eyes as he parked his car.

“Shoulda known,” he said. “Maybe she’d come when I wanted her to if I told her four.”

Claire squeezed his knee, and he could tell she was trying not to laugh. “She’s going to have all the food out already, isn’t she?”

“Aye, that she is.”

Faith insisted on being carried by Jamie, refusing to even let herself be unbuckled from her car seat until Jamie tried. This left Claire and Gillian to handle the presents and Angus. Gillian had driven over Claire’s car so Jamie could spend the night with his family after they had to go back to Claire’s.

Jamie announced his presence as he unlocked the front door, but there was no need. Everyone was sitting in his living room, everyone except Jenny. Before he could ask, his father cut in:

“We tried tae offer help,” he said wryly. “Yer darling martyr sister shoved us out of the kitchen and told us she didna need us mucking anything up.”

“Out of my kitchen,” Jamie grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Aye, well, Merry Christmas, everyone.”

“Merry Christmas, son.” Brian stood up out of the recliner to embrace his son, cupping Faith’s head gently as he pulled away. “Merry Christmas, lassie. Great to see ye again.”

Jamie took note that his nephew was playing the Wii again, and he briefly wondered which of the three adults had known how to set it up. Unless the wee imp already figured it out.

“Merry Christmas, Claire,” Brian said warmly, embracing Claire tightly. “This is Gillian?”

“Yes! My best friend, and a Scot to boot,” Claire stepped aside.

“Pleasure,” Gillian said, shaking Brian’s hand. “Thank ye so much fer having me.”

“Any family of my son’s lass is family of mine,” he said, genuine as anything.

Ian greeted everyone next, and it only took a few seconds before Maggie was on Claire’s hip. Jamie watched with weak knees as she babbled to the baby and made adorable faces at her, reveling in the sound of their mingled giggling. Offers of playing with the baby was the only way to get Faith to allow herself to be put down, and then Jamie was off to the kitchen.

“Merry Christmas, Janet,” he said, watching as she finished arranging appetizers on a large serving plate.

“Merry Christmas, brother,” she said, her voice chipper.

“I see ye’ve got yer son on more of those mind-numbing video games.”

“Och, come off it. It was the only way to get him out of my hair.”

“Ye could have waited fer us. I could have helped.”

“Nonsense. I’m used to being the host on Christmas. Why should that change?”

“…Because ye’re not the host this Christmas?”

She shot him a dangerous look, and he gave up, putting his hands up in surrender. “We’re just inside when ye’re finished, o gracious host.”

Jamie produced the ornament Faith had made him and let her place it on the tree, and Ian and Brian remarked how lovely it was, how fine it looked on the tree. Shortly after, Jenny fluttered in with the tray of arranged food, and then the whisky and wine was flowing. Wee Jamie was pulled away from the Wii so the repeat marathon of A Christmas Story could be put on, and the adults sat and talked and laughed while Faith went back and forth between her mother’s lap, Auntie Gi’s lap, Jamie’s lap, and the baby mat that Maggie was playing on.

Jamie was going on and on about how great Faith was doing at the stables, how well her transition had gone between therapists. He knew full well that around this time last year, Jenny had been overly concerned with the propriety of this relationship, whether or not it was a relationship back then not mattering in the least to her. He emphasized how important it had been for there to be a boundary set between mom’s boyfriend and horse therapist. Jessica and Faith were developing a really special bond that was really lovely to see from the outside.

Not to mention that standing there with Claire and cheering her on together was one of the highlights of his entire week.

“What day of the week did ye say she goes?” Ian asked.

“Fridays,” Claire answered.

“Oh, and there’s a break fer the holidays,” Ian said, sounding sad. “I would ha’ loved to see her ride. We’ll be flying back before it starts again.”

Jamie’s chest warmed, and he felt Claire melt against him, and looked down to see her genuinely touched.

“I…I have videos, if you want to see,” Claire said tentatively.

“Oh do ye?” Ian lit up, and Jenny and Brian beamed.

“Yeah, hold on…”

Jamie watched as Claire clicked through her photos and found all the ones grouped by location at the stables. She scrolled all the way back to last September, and Jamie’s heart flipped.

“I’ve never seen these,” he said, leaning in.

“Oh,” Claire said, and he could feel her blush before he saw it, heat radiating from her sweater-clad form. “Well, at the time it didn’t seem appropriate to show you. But yes…there are quite a few that you…haven’t seen.”

Before long, Claire was sitting back as Jamie and his family combed through every photo and video of Faith at the stables. There were hundreds from her first day alone, and when they got to Halloween, Jenny smacked her brother’s arm.

“Oh, come on! Dinna tell me that wasna planned!”

“It wasn’t,” Claire said. “Faith chose it because Merida rides horses.”

“She’s sae smart,” Brian said, oozing with pride. Jamie’s eyes twinkled.

“Oh…look at this one…” Jenny put a hand on her heart. “The way he’s looking at her, even all the way back then!”

Ian and Brian nodded in agreement, smiling. Jamie leaned in and felt his breath catch in his throat. He remembered the moment clear as anything.

“Could I get one of her with Pippi before you put her away? Without the helmet?”

“Aye, of course.”

Faith hadn’t wanted to move just yet, and Jamie hadn’t seen the harm in letting them have one more moment together. And apparently Claire had snapped the exact moment where Jamie was struck by how amazing it was that the stars had aligned just so to allow him to have even the smallest part in this child’s life, remarkable as she was.

Even all the way back then.

“I used to stare at that one,” Claire admitted sheepishly, quietly, as if trying to confess to Jamie alone. “Random times during the day, I’d find myself looking at it. And I still managed to convince myself until July that that wasn’t strange at all.”

Jamie chuckled wetly, blinking away unexpected tears. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and fervently kissed the crown of her head.

“It’s like I knew,” Claire said, even quieter, as Jamie’s family started playing a video on the phone. “Like I knew that someday she’d be yours.”

Yours.

Jamie’s eyes lifted up to see Faith rocking and flapping her hands on Maggie’s play mat, bottom lip tucked firmly under her teeth, humming.

Mine.

“That,” Jamie whispered into her curls, “is the greatest gift you could give me, Sassenach.”

She kissed his cheek, and they returned their attention to the phone. After several minutes and several repeated, “Oh, beautiful!” “She’s a fine rider!” and “What a braw lass!”, the conversation steered in different directions. Jamie noticed that Claire kept turning her head toward wee Jamie, and during a lull in the conversation, she called out to him.

“Your uncle told me you play football, is that true?”

“Aye!” the lad burst proudly, eyes immediately lighting up. He shuffled closer to her, standing in front of where she sat on the couch.

“That’s amazing.” Claire beamed. “I wish I could see you play. I bet you’re so good.”

“I am,” he said, nodding curtly. “Ye can come next Christmas, and watch me then!”

Claire looked up at Jamie, who nodded encouragingly. “Yes, I’ll have to do just that.”

“I’ve got videos of some of his games,” Jenny chimed in. “If ye really want to see.”

“Of course I do!” Claire’s voice was filled with genuine excitement, and little Jamie was alight with joy.

“I want tae see! Let me watch!”

“Dinna crowd her, now.”

“No, it’s alright. Do you want to sit with me?”

The boy bit his lip and scrambled into Claire’s lap, and she accepted him into her embrace like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jamie watched, his heart melting as his nephew snuggled closer and closer into her, giggling every time Claire cheered for him on the screen. When he was able to tear his eyes away from them, he looked up to see Jenny beaming at them as well. She looked up, and their eyes met over Claire’s head, and Jenny’s smile widened.

It struck Jamie that of course his wee nephew would feel left out with all this talk about Faith, and he was far too young to understand that her achievements were all the more special because of her disability. So naturally he would feel like nobody cared as much about him as they did about Faith. And it was just so like Claire to notice that, and to take the initiative to make him feel included, make him feel special.

“Oh! What a save!” Claire exclaimed, and little Jamie laughed. Apparently he’d been playing goalie that day, and had actually managed to toe away the ball that was headed at him at about half a mile an hour. “You saved the whole game!”

Jenny flicked her eyes back to the screen. “Aye, that’s one of my favorites.” She ruffled her son’s hair, and Claire smiled at her. Jenny glanced up at Jamie once more, and she winked at him. In that moment, Jamie heard her loud and clear.

She's a keeper, brother.

Before long, dinner was served. When Claire complimented the ham, both Jamie and Jenny answered with thanks, and Jamie shot Jenny a look.

“Just because you put it in the oven doesna take away the marinating and seasoning I did.”

Claire just laughed, shaking her head at the two of them. “I can’t imagine what it was like to have raised those two,” she said, leaning over to Brian.

“Aye, ye’ve no idea.” They shared a laugh like lifelong friends cracking an inside joke, and Jamie had to laugh, too.

Could she have fit in any more perfectly?

After dinner was present time. Wee Jamie was bouncing off the walls nearly as bad as Faith. The kids of course went first, and Jamie made sure to emphasize that his nephew’s gift was from him and Claire both. She had helped him pick it and they split the cost. It was a wooden train set, complete with curves and ups and downs and Thomas and a few friends. Jenny chided both of them for buying something so expensive, but Claire waved it off.

“It’s from both of us,” Claire insisted. “And look how happy he is.”

“Thank you, Uncle! Thank you, Auntie!”

Jamie’s stomach flipped. “Lad—”

“You’re very welcome,” Claire interrupted, accepting the crushing embrace he was squeezing around her legs. “I’m so glad you love it.”

“Aye, you’re welcome, lad. But—”

“No, Jamie, he can call me that. It’s okay.” Claire said quickly. “If that’s how it makes sense to him, then I don’t see why not.”

He looked back and forth between the lad’s shining face and Claire’s flushed cheeks, then up at Jenny, who shrugged with a smirk.

“Aye. That’s…that’s fine.”

By the time Jamie’s head stopped spinning, Faith was already halfway finished tearing open the first box that she’d reached for. It was a horse for a barbie doll to accompany the rest of the gift in another box. Wee Jamie tore open the gift from his grandda while Faith reached for the other box, and Jamie watched with bated breath, knowing exactly what was inside. Claire crouched down next to her daughter, cheering on Faith’s paper tearing excitedly.

“Oh, Faithie, look!”

Jamie met Jenny’s eye; she looked nervous.

“It’s a barbie with a dog, and he looks just like Angus!” Claire opened her mouth to keep talking, but her breath caught in her throat, and her fingertips rested tentatively on the fabric taped to the plastic of the box, right over the dog inside. Her mouth hung open, and she looked up at Jenny, her eyes glistening.

“Where…did you get this…?”

“I made it,” Jenny said sheepishly.

Claire’s mouth fell open wider, and she blinked rapidly. Faith, completely oblivious to her mother’s emotion, thrust both boxes toward her, demanding they be opened. Jamie stepped in to help, having already grabbed the scissors in anticipation of this request. He sat down next to Claire and put his hand on her knee.

“I sent her a picture of Angus,” Jamie explained, poking the fabric on the box. “And Jen hunted down a small enough print, made a pattern, everything.”

Jamie freed the plastic dog first and untaped Jenny’s creation, then slipped it on.

“Look, Faith, see?” Faith took it in her hands eagerly. “Now he’s just like Angus.”

Barbie’s dog now proudly wore a rainbow, puzzle piece-patterned vest that read, in tiny, carefully stitched lettering: “Autism Service Dog.”

“See, lass?” Jenny chimed in, kneeling in front of Faith. “This barbie is just like you.”

Jamie’s heart was fit to burst as Faith flapped her hands with glee, and Claire half laughed, half sobbed beside him.

“Jenny…” Claire croaked. “This is…beyond…” She sniffled and swallowed, quickly swiping tears off her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater.

“Every wee lass deserves to see herself in Barbie,” Jenny said it like she was reciting a cheesy toy advertisement on the tellie, but Jamie could see the emotion behind her eyes.

Claire leaned forward and threw her arms around Jenny, and she squeezed right back.

“That means…so much to me. More than I can ever say.”

“You’re very welcome, Claire. So very welcome.”

Jamie felt tears pricking his own eyes, and might have succumbed to them if Faith hadn’t been moaning impatiently about freeing her doll and its horse from their confines.

Jamie’s girls pulled away from one another, each smiling wetly.

“If my son can call ye Auntie, d’ye think it’s alright if I call ye Sister?”

Claire’s smile grew impossibly wider, and she nodded. “I would be absolutely honored.”

And suddenly, for Jamie, every single thing was right in the world.

[inonibird]

Sahuldeem/Kaleesh Q&A #6

Holy shit, a backlog of asks to address! Let’s DO it! (questions bold; answers italic) — I love all your Kaleesh stuff so much aaaaaa. Have you ever played Star Wars the Old Republic? Thoughts on Xalek? Thank you! I’ve never actually played it, but I’ve watched clips of Xalek interactions and he seems like a swell fellow, all [Sith] things considered. Curious if anyone’s written in-depth about him, fanfic or otherwise! More Kaleesh content, please and thank you. <3

Who’s your favorite original character from Sahuldeem? Ooooh, that’s a doozy. Hmm. Can’t pick just one. In terms of characters y’all have met so far in the story, I’d say Jindra is a personal favorite, if partially for the fact that she’s one of the most-developed. There’s another enjoyable minor Kaleesh original character who will arrive in the next part. We have quite a while before we meet my favorite original character overall, who we will not see until Part SIX of Sahuldeem (and who plays a rather important role for such a late showing). And then, yeah, okay, not an ORIGINAL character, but I think my absolute favorite character to write for is the insufferably snarky sassy smugness that is Chairman San Hill of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. God I want to punch him so badly. He’s great. Can’t wait for him to show up.

I noticed Sahuldeem hasn't dropped the name Qymaen just yet... Does he ever formally forsake it, or does it just get to the point where he doesn't have anyone to be on a first-name basis with and his forename just... fades into irrelevance? Short answer? No. Long answer? No, and also sort of yes, but not really, because it’s sad and complicated and you’ll just have to wait and see.

So, Huk is also the home planet of the Yam’rii. How did the Kaleesh even hear the word, much less come to associate it with the Yam’rii themselves, to the point it means soulless insect? Oh, boy. Yes. Exactly. It is the most ridiculous part of Kaleesh/Yam’rii “established canon” and something I almost immediately said “yeah no” to; it’s one the few flat-out changes I made for this fic. Within the universe of Sahuldeem, “Huk” is purely a Kaleesh word meaning “soulless bug” and NOT the name of the Yam’rii home planet (which I haven’t referred to by name in the story, but might as well simply be “Yam’rii”). And that’s it. Otherwise you’d have to assume that somehow Huk is a word both in Yam’rii and Kaleesh and just happens to mean what it means in Kaleesh and—yeah, no, that’s nonsensical. I don’t care. No. Bad.

Is fashioning kakmusmal from the skulls of other Kaleesh unheard of? I’m sure it’s taboo, but has anyone ever crossed that line? Way, WAY back in the day such things were done (like prehistorically speaking, before certain theological practices were finessed and upheld), but at least for the past few thousand years, yes, calling it “taboo” would be accurate. That’s not to say it HASN’T been done recently, but such a person would be considered a sociopathic monster.

Something something, Ronderu is taller than Qymaen, something something, I wonder how often Grievous thinks about how that wouldn’t be true anymore You assume Grievous thinks about such things post-crash…

Were any Force-sensitive Kaleesh discovered by the Jedi during the Bitthævrian War? Personally, I think that the relatively small number of Kaleesh that the Jedi would have encountered/exploited during the Bitthævrian War would mean that the sample size simply wouldn’t be enough to include a Force-sensitive individual, since such a thing IS pretty rare on Kalee. But that would be a heck of a fanfic. ;)

We know Shahulla was taken alive— is it possible she’s survived this long? Certainly possible. But I can confirm she’s out of the picture.

How did you go about designing your (iconic!) versions of Qymaen and Ronderu, since they differ visually slightly from the only canon images we have? I don’t think I changed them TOO much, but, uh, thank you for thinking of them as iconic! I took cues from the official Kaleesh art out there + the only art of Ronderu we have + various concept art of Qymaen, made my own lazy shortcuts when it came to costume design (since I was thinking this might end up being a comic, aka, oh-god-simplify-this-shit), and picked out some clear key colors for each of them (bluish-grey + red for Ronderu, gold/beige/brown for Qymaen). Ah, and I think I mentioned before that I was just looking to design something “different” than what we saw in concept art when it came to Qy’s hair. Still probably my favorite part about drawing him!

(oops, made myself sad)

When is Part Three coming? Haha, joke’s on YOU, no one actually asked me this!! …I’m still answering. Part Three is the hardest part to write (it was also originally the hardest part to script), and I’m STILL struggling to get past the more challenging aspects (between staging space battles and the overall more grim tone). I’ve got a schedule drafted up to see how long it will take to post what I have already written, and…though part of me is worried I’ll catch up to myself too quickly, even with a biweekly posting schedule, I also recognize that giving myself deadlines is going to help me push forward instead of wallowing in the uncertainty of some of these chapters. So, ASSUMING I can haul myself out of this rut, it’s possible I may start posting by the end of the month. And possibly no longer on Friday. Stay tuned and thanks for your patience. Hopefully it will be worth the wait~