#or like coming up with a cool design for their armor markings and then it looks too similar to a canon clone or something

[gobstoppr]

first draft at a john design..

some design notes in the tags

#so like i think the common designs of just like a cloaked shadowy figure are nice n all #i think they can be decently creative in their own right #but i wanted to rlly mix things up a lil #ofc i wanted to take it in the furry direction to some degree #but i also wanted it to tow the line between natural and otherworldly #i wanted the 'decay' of him being a split entity to be very present in it #most prominantly being the hole in his chest revealing his heart #i tried to have a lot of holes. signs of things disentegrating. something torn but in an unnatural way. #i wanted some high contrast with the 'void' creeping around his tail; like the end of it was burnt #the yellow markings are all vaguely eye spots #the arm . it didnt quite come thru perfectly but i wanted the upper arm to be like; wirey. a cluster of ropes. #and the hand itself being armor like (decaying around the edges as well; as if it could grow further at any moment) #i went with a snake/slug body bc he only has the hand; no other limbs #i think if i do another draft i might have the hand just floating; not connected at all #ugh i dont wanna design an arthur but i do have an idea for how i wanna display John's vision on him.. #like a flat hologram of eyes hovering just infront of his face #i will say i rlly like when people draw these two with like john and arthurs hands physically overlapping.. its rlly cool... #malevolent #malevolent podcast #john malevolent #art

[guardian-of-fandoms]

"This is him?"

"Yup..."

Everyone crowded around the bed, staring at the stranger in a mix of confusion, astonishment, and dread.

Doc stared at the cybernetic in fascination, then studied the charts.

"Incredible... While damaged, this technology is astonishing! Powered by the body's natural bio-electricity, INGENIOUS!!!"

Dani nodded, glancing back at the charts.

"Doctor Mcswain said his body produces an unnatural amount of it, though. From what he did to the traffic light, we know he can absorb power, would that explain it?"

"Excellent deduction!"

Doc nodded, carefully scanning the metal and wires.

"If my guesses here are correct, our visitor has some truly unique abilities! It appears that the Cybernetic's ability to absorb power converts it to bio-electricity, which our visitor requires high amounts of. Not only does he require high amounts of power to power the cybernetic, but it appears that his body has simply.... altered itself to accept this electricity as a natural function. This process would've taken years.... astounding..."

"And i noticed something else.... Shields, shooting electricity, Isn't that familiar? It's just like Cody- Our Cody's- Repulsor Badge... before it blew up, anyway..."

Doc nodded again, musing at Dani's observation.

"Interesting... By the laws of the Multiverse, anything is possible! Perhaps in this other reality, the technology was perfected, and never encountered the shortcomings it did here."

Kade scoffed, leaning against the door.

"Yeah, yeah, he's a cool science experiment. Look, Can we find out who he is or not?"

"Ah, right!"

Doc held out his tablet, and a small scanner.

"I'll simply preform a Biometric scan! If he really is a version of Cody, then in theory, he should match identically on a genetic scale."

Kade rolled his eyes, watching as Dani examined the stranger's gear.

"Let's just get this over with... Once Doc does his science thing, we'll prove once and for all that this guy isn't Cody!"

Dani examined the back panel of his armor plate, frowning as she stared at the engraving.

Like she'd spotted earlier, it was the insignia for the rescue bots, but something was off.

Going diagonally across the mark was a large crack, but not a real crack. It was clearly part of the design, but she couldn't understand why....

".... Whoever this guy is... it seems like he went through a lot..."

Charlie stared at the scars, at the damaged cybernetic, the signs of struggle and pain.

"... What happened to you..."

A small chime came from Doc's scanner, and he stared at the tablet.

".... I'll be..."

Wordlessly, he handed it to Charlie, who let out a long, slow hiss.

".... My god..."

It was a match.

Dani and Graham instantly leaned in for a peek, a similar shock washing over them.

"So... That's it, then? He really is a version of Cody?"

"It... It's a genetic match.... If the Biometric is accepting him, then... that means-"

"Absolutely nothing."

Kade threw his hands out, groaning as he pinched his brow.

"No offense, Doc, but your Tech's bugged out how many times now?! No, no, it's...... it's a fluke or something!! I've said it before, THIS. ISN'T. CODY."

"WHAT IS YOUR DEAL?!?!"

Dani groaned, pushing past Graham to jab a finger at Kade's chest.

"Even if he's not Cody, he's clearly in trouble and needs our help!!! Why are you being so hard on him?!"

"Needs our help?! Are you all forgetting that he attacked us?! No matter why he's here, we can't just trust him!"

"We should at least hear him out."

Charlie tried to calm things down, coming between both his kids.

"Listen. Doc, why don't you scan him a few more times, just to be sure? In the mean time, we can at least make sure he recovers from his injuries. Once he wakes up, we'll let him tell his side of the story, and decide where to go from there."

Dani and Kade couldn't meet the other's eyes, but seemed satisfied for now.

Doc leaned over with the scanner, musing to himself as he eyed the cybernetic.

"Incredible... such advanced designs... as well as ironing out the flaws in the repulsor badge...."

He leaned in for a closer look, and gently ran a hand over the shoulder, trying to take in the connective wires and delicate parts.

"Perhaps once he wakes up, I can asess the damage, and attempt base repairs..."

Doc gently grasped the damaged plating, as Kade shook his head.

"Sure, give the random guy his electricity powers back...."

Dani shot him a dirty look, and Charlie could only sigh.

"Look. We don't know what's going on here, but we're going to find out. we just need to-"

"AH!"

Doc suddenly yelped, and everyone glanced over, the stranger's left arm tightly gripping Doc's wrist.

Everyone tensed, as the stranger quickly sat upright, his eyes wide as he gasped for breath, whipping his head around the room.

"WHERE AM I?!"

Charlie ran up to the Bed, throwing his arm in front of Doc.

"Hey, hey, you're okay, you're okay. We're not going to hurt you, we took you to the hospital. You're safe here."

He gasped, but his breath slowly evened out, and he let go of Doc, the man wincing as he rubbed his wrist.

"Quite the grip..."

"Sorry... You scared me, Doc."

"You... know me?"

The stranger stretched out, examining the damage to his arm.

"Well, yeah, You look just like the Doc Greene from my world. You even have the same tie."

"Fascinating!"

Charlie couldn't help but chuckle over how quickly Doc bounced back from the scare, but leaned closer to the bed.

"Look... We need to ask you a few questions..."

The stranger sighed, rubbing his neck.

"I figured... But first, what happened to Morocco?"

"He escaped, but-"

"YOU DIDN'T TRACK HIM?!"

He shot up, sliding his legs over the side of the bed.

He could be anywhere by now!! Do you have any idea what he's capable of?!"

He attempted to stand, but instantly felt weak, his knees nearly buckling as Charlie rushed to steady him.

"We'll find him, I promise. But you're in bad shape, you need our help."

Charlie wasn't prepared for the darkness in his eyes.

"None of you are supposed to be involved in this. I came here for ONE JOB, and i FAILED. I have to find that... Monster... before it's too late..."

"Well, we're involved now, deal with it."

Kade glared, slowly coming closer to the bed, his face set in a deep scowl.

"Don't think for one minute that i trust you. I know sketchy when I see it, and I'm not letting you out of my sight. I want answers, so start talking."

The stranger was quiet, then slowly let out a dark, sarcastic chuckle, pulling away from charlie as he leaned on the bed's railing.

"Ever stubborn, Kade... You're just like mine used to be..."

"Used to be?"

Kade felt uneasy at that, as the stranger sighed, before looking around at everyone in the room.

"My name is Cody Burns. I came here from another Dimension, a reality parallel to this one. If i'm right, i'm guessing I ran into my dimensional counterpart already."

Kade's glare didn't drop, his eyes sharp.

"You told him and Frankie your name was Cole."

"It's best if they don't get involved. I feel bad for lying to them, but it's for their own safety."

"That why you kicked our butts earlier? For our own safety?"

"I was trying to keep you all out of this, I was just trying to keep you out of the way."

"If you know so much about us, then why don't you know that it's our job to get involved with this crap?"

The visitor met his eyes, a pointed, cold, sense of emptiness in them.

"Don't do that... Don't pretend you know me...."

Cautiously, Charlie gripped his shoulder, feeling a pang in his heart.

"... How old are you?"

The visitor looked surprised, hesitating, but sighed.

"... Nineteen..."

"Nineteen..."

Charlie studied him carefully.

Was this was Cody- his cody- would look like?

He was slim, but near Kade's height.

But despite the scarring, the damaged cybernetic, what haunted him most, was the emptiness in his eyes.

His Son's eyes, so full of life, so vibrant, so kind, were now dull, pained, haunted by a darkness Charlie couldn't understand.

... What happened to him? What happened in his world to cause such pain?

"... Son-"

His face changed instantly, and he quickly pulled out of Charlie's grasp, his jaw clenching as he hissed out a slow breath, his eyes meeting the floor.

"Don't... I'm....I'm not yours, I'm not your son."

Charlie pulled away, another pang shooting through his heart as his eyes widened.

"I... I'm sorry..."

The air in the room grew tense, a heavy weight hanging overhead.

All except Kade, who only narrowed his eyes.

"... Look, Uh... Kade has a point."

Graham nervously trailed his eyes to the floor, feeling everyone turn to look at him.

"I'm sorry, but, you can't take on your Morocco alone. You're hurt, and most of your equipment needs repaired, if not completely rebuilt. As the Rescue Team, it's our job to take care of emergencies, and i'm pretty sure this counts."

Dani nodded, adding,

"Yeah, Alternate Dimension or no, you're still a Cody, right? That means you're family, and family takes care of each other. You're going to need us."

"... You have no idea how dangerous the Morocco of my world is!"

Dani practically snorted.

"He's Doctor Morocco, we have a guess. And, maybe you should tell us, then!"

"Is he... Human?"

Graham reflected on what he's been in the woods, the monster of twisted metal.

The visitor only sighed.

"... I don't even know anymore. Doctor Morocco.... He had this obsession with... Immortality."

Dani only groaned.

"Is there a version of him that doesn't?"

"He was obsessed with living forever, keeping his mind perfect for eternity. Once he discovered Cybertronians... He got... Ideas."

He leaned away from the bed, now able to support himself, but unsteadily.

"After he learned about them, he was convinced his human body was holding him back. So... he decided to upgrade. He fused his immortality technology into a robotic body, and implanted his brain inside."

Jaws dropped, and even Kade looked surprised.

"... Woah..."

"All he is now is a ghost of what was. But it doesn't matter what form he takes. He's dangerous. And he needs to PAY for what he's done..."

The pain in his eyes sent a flurry of dark possibilities through the minds of the team.

He slowly rubbed his right shoulder, His eyes closing as he grasped the metal.

".... I promised i'd hunt him down to the ends of the earth. Instead, i followed him across the fabric of reality. I won't stop now. I won't stop until I tear him to pieces with my bare hands."

Silence rang out across the room, heavy and swallowing.

Everyone exchanged glances with one another, shock and horror filling them.

Despite himself, a dark, ominous feeling sank deep into Kade's gut.

The visitor took an unsteady step forward, his face dark.

"Got any smart comments about that, hothead?"

Kade was quiet for a moment, then shook his head.

"Just wondering what happened to you."

The visitor stared at him, then slowly, barked out a slow, bitter laugh.

"Sometimes, I wonder that too..."

Charlie awkwardly cleared his throat, trying to redirect attention.

"Anyways... What do you say? Will you accept our help?"

Charlie gazed at him softly, trying to sound convincing.

"I Promise. We'll do anything we can to help you catch him."

The visitor stared at him, then sighed.

"... Do i have a choice?"

He moved to the side, spotting his equipment.

"Seeing as I don't have a choice, fine. But let me make one thing clear. Morocco. Is. Mine."

Charlie nodded sollemley, and the visitor sighed.

".... So, what now?"

"First, we need to talk to Doctor Mcswain about discharging you."

"Wait!"

Dani suddenly remembered something, explaining,

"Doctor McSwain has him on file as a John Doe, she's going to need a name."

The visitor sighed, pulling his jacket on over his bandages, surpised that somebody had apparently washed the blood out.

"Look, to avoid any confusion with my counterpart, why don't you all just call me... Cole?"

Charlie nodded, handing over his chest plate.

"If that's comfortable for you, we can call you Cole."

"Thank you..."

He buckled his chest plate in place, but struggled, his cybernetic sparking as it made erratic movements.

"Here..."

Charlie held him get it in place, frowning at the massive dent in the front.

"Hmm... After we get your discharge in order, Doc, can you fix him up at the lab?"

"Certainly!"

"No, No, I don't have time!"

Cole sighed as he pulled away from Charlie, clutching his Cybernetic as he took a step back.

"I need to find Morocco as soon as possible!"

"And we'll find him. Alright... How bout this? Doc, Graham, you and Boulder take Co- Cole... to the lab, and get him fixed up, and find a way to take out this Alternate Morocco. Dani, Kade, we'll do patrols of the island, and see if we can find any trace of him."

Cole reluctantly nodded.

"Alright... I'll go along with this, for now. But the second you find anything, i'm handling it from there."

Kade scoffed.

"Oh, I bet you will, "Cole"."

"And here we go, classic Kade!"

"Oh, I bet you know all about me, huh?"

Cole took a heavy step forward, jabbing a finger at kade.

"Yeah, I do! I know you're an arrogant hothead, and you HATE accepting that MAYBE, SOMEBODY KNOWS MORE THAN YOU!"

"You know what I know right now?"

Despite the near match in height, Kade was just barely taller, and kept his tone even as he stared into "Cole's" eyes.

"I know a thing or two about putting on a phony Tough Guy act. And I know that if you storm out there like this, you're gonna get yourself killed."

"You don't get to lecture me.... You have NO RIGHT to lecture me."

"And why not?"

"Because I've survived this long without you!"

He cut himself off, his eyes going wide, a thin gasp escaping him.

Kade's eyes went wide, before he sighed.

".... We done here?"

The visitor clutched his arm, pain etched across his face as he turned his back.

".... We're done..."

The implications of his statement rang cold, and charlie rubbed his neck.

"... Kade... Take a walk."

Kade shrugged, then motioned to Dani and Graham.

"A word?"

They followed him out, and as the door closed behind them, dug a hand through his pocket.

"... So... I think that's telling."

"You were too hard on him."

Dani gave Kade a pointed glare, and he only sighed.

"We needed answers, didn't we?"

"I wouldn't exactly call those answers a victory."

Kade stopped, and held out his find from the forest.

"... He dropped this, earlier."

"Is that... a comn?"

Kade clicked it open, revealing the photo inside.

"He hollowed it out, like a locket or something."

"Woah..."

Dani gingerly took it from Kade's hands, recognizing the photo instantly.

"Isn't that-"

"Yeah."

Graham leaned over Dani's shoulder, frowning as he studied the device.

"I don't get it... why a Comn?"

"Think about it."

Kade leaned against a wall, his eyes trained on the comn.

"We use the comns to comunicate, to talk to each other. If this one wasn't getting it's intended use-"

Dani traced the photo, a dark realization clicking inside her.

".... Then there's nobody to talk to..."

Kade nodded solemly, and Graham clicked the comn closed.

"... I guess that's it, then."

"Wasn't that hard to figure out."

Kade took the comn back, his eyes softening as he glanced back at the door.

"I'm not saying i'm totally on board here, but... IF that really is Cody... Then there's no way any version of us would just send him on a crazy mission like this alone. At least...."

Dani finished the thought, slumping against the wall.

"... Not willingly..."

#transformers rescue bots #cody burns #kade burns #dani burns #graham burns #charlie burns #frankie greene #doc greene #rescue bots au #au #Multiverse Cody AU

[violetstorm273]

I would like to share a highlight reel of some of my silly colourful horses since I've recently drastically expanded the collection. In no particular order:

This is Pinkie Pie and Toolaroola, the oldest of my current collection (excluding the one breezie left over from when I was an actual child). I weaselled them out of a friend when I was around 12-13 and promptly took them home and gave Toolaroola a necklace and earrings and Pinkie Pie an eyebrow ring. I like to think they're dating.

I saw this one (Officially named Denim Blue but that's lame) on an Ebay listing recently and immediately thought ''whoa! Pre-transition Shining Armor!!'' So of course I got the whole lot because who wouldn't at that point. Makes me think about the logistics of pony transition. Do their cutie marks change? Do they dye their manes? Do they just go to their unicorn friend and ask for them to magically change their gender? Does such a spell exist? Where can I find it?

Fluttershy, carefully regarding a neon tetra who is fully ignoring her. She's a new addition as well, coming from that Ebay lot. I'd like to eventually have all of the precursors to the Mane Six, but I know they can be pretty sought after. I don't even have a Rainbow Dash yet which annoys me because I really like her G3 design.

Pretty Parasol, who I got probably five years ago at this point. She came with a couple others but I got the lot for her specifically because she's one of the two I actually had when I was little! The original fell victim to a dog and some melted balloons unfortunately, and I wasn't old enough to know how to restore her yet. I used to call her Strawberry Vanilla, so that's her name to me.

Hidden Treasure! This is a big one! She was my first real restoration job, and the only one I've ever finished. I got her in godawful condition at an op shop in late 2021 and finished her sometime this year with new glitter, a full clean, hair from (unfortunately) dollyhair.com (don't worry, I know the drama now and will not repeat this. Their customer service was horrible anyway) and a strawberry scent oil. She's meant to have tinsel in her mane but I gave up because it was annoying me, there's a little in her tail though.

Bonus:

My G2s!!!! I love this generation so much, it's definitely my favourite in terms of the actual toys. I find G1s are really expensive and hard to find (at least in Australia), G3s are cool and nostalgic and probably my second favourite, and G3.5s onward are just too small and fine to actually use a toy, plus whatever hair they use now goes frizzy in 0.2 seconds. But G2s? Man, they all have an individual gimmick, they're a good size; can fit in a pocket and also be played with, their hair is long enough to brush but not so long it gets in the way like G3s, and their sculpts are so pretty and appealing. I love the way they look much more like actual horses than any other generation and they have their own unique charm. And no one talks about them! I find it so crazy that no one else seems to appreciate them like this. So many people just ignore them, I had no idea they even existed until I connected the dots and figured out there must be something between G1 and G3 and looked them up. These five are yet another Ebay lot that was about $30 including shipping, which is unbelievable for something of this vintage, in this country, where things like this can get expensive. They're just so appealing, I can't believe more people aren't as in love with them as I am.

#my little pony #g3 mlp #g2 mlp #mlp #toys #figures #mine

[jadethest0ne]

Hi! I love your OH TMNT! The designs are so creative! Which one was the hardest to come up with? Have a great day/ night!

Aww thank you so much! I'm glad you like the designs!

Hmm... "hardest to come up with".. it's been a while, but this might be a fun excuse to show off some early concept sketches ;3

Mikey was definitely the easiest to come up with. I knew I wanted them to be a softshell turtle, and when I learned that "peacock softshell turtles" existed, which have cool swirling patterns on their shell, I knew that was a Mikey!

Next up was Donnie who I knew I wanted to be some sort of box turtle/land turtle. I was considering an eastern box turtle (left), but I went with the black pond turtle (right) because of the starry aesthetic:

Raph was a bit tricky, because I had to find a balance for what accessories to put on him. How much armor? What type of mask? I was even considering a full face mask (kinda like the "Red Reign" mask in RotTMNT). But giving him a simple bandana and some spiky pads worked out all right:

With that all said, I think Leo was the most difficult to figure out. I wasn't sure what kind of turtle to make him! The mata mata turtle, mary river turtle, spiny turtle, and various map turtles were on the potential species list for Leo. I went with the bog turtle, because I think above all else I wanted him to be smol (and also to have potential angst regarding hiding his bright cheek markings)!

Thank you so much for your question! I love talking about my turtles! I hope you have a good day/night as well!

#tmntoh #tmnt once human #once human #tmnt #leonardo #raphael #donatello #michelangelo #my turtle incarnation #character concept #concept art #character design #teenage mutant ninja turtles #my art #jadethest0ne #ask

[hungerofhadarr]

5, 7, 8, 15 for as many tavs as you feel like doing!!!!!!!!!!! 🤗💖

JAY 😭💞 you just opened the floor for me to Ramble … long post warning !!

5) what does their tent area look like? where do they prefer to pitch their tent (next to water, covered on three sides, etc)?

Giilvas’ camp is set close to water ( or as close at it can be .. ) and it is .. a controlled mess . Furs lining where he sleeps , shield set up against the tent , table set up with music sheets , ink and quill , tuning tools … Dreamcatcher set up , probably a skin drying rack too … a lot of little trinkets everywhere … if you look hard enough you can find dried flowers he’ s collected and his etchings too …

Zerxes is enclosed , tucked out of the way .. his is very clean but still dirty ? The tent itself has stains of dirt from over the years , the books are old and worn , the stool to sit at is clearly older than him .. book of rights laid out , holy symbols to Kelemvor present too … an animal skull or two on display … A Lot of Candles + incense as well .. it’ s clear everything he has he’ s been travelling with for a while and that he isn’ t going to replace them anytime soon ..

Seoras chooses someplace open and easy to see , so the others can come to him easy … he has a few small looms set up , variety degrees of finished projects on them . A travel apothecary , and a separate collection of mushrooms … bundles of dried flowers too , hanging in the breeze .. treats and an extra bed for his familiar … his first textile he has set up as the area rug for his camp

Danior’ s is very simple and hidden . Just a place where he dumps extra supplies .. a collections of boots , gloves , swords and weapon care kits … tucked away are a few books from before the fall of Netheril that are Very well loved .. the area is more for his familiar , who has a warm bed and extra food and water set up there too .. the tent has clear patches from repairs on it as well …

Lucian’ s isn’ t hidden , but it is tuck under a tree or something similar … too many things . Stacks of unread books , mismatched rugs , pillow plentiful, candles either burnt down to nothing or untouched , wind-chines and hanging ornaments .. very colourful VERY eyecatching … his flute case + music is the most well kept part of all of it but it still is marked by his flashy flair .. his tent is also covered in spilled ink splotched from accidents while travelling

Omen’ s tent placement changes , but he does try to keep close to water … his is a bit barren . Extra pieces for armor are hung , and plenty of his own writing is stacked and litters the area .. he does have a small map of Menzoberranzan and little notes about the few things he remembers … the crest of his oath is also visual at all times … he tried to get plain throws and pillows to hide some of the .. less than welcoming stains that litter his belongings ( thanks bhaal )

7) do they collect anything (gems, bottles, keys, etc)?

giilvas and zerxes answered here !

Seoras ends up collecting letters, mostly + mushrooms for his own medicines and whatnot . He has a soft spot for forgotten letters that they end up finding, and takes them with him. Sometimes, the words give them some useful information, but even if they don’t, he’ ll still fold them with care and keep them safe with him .

Danior … he doesn’t really have an itch for collecting anything .. but he does help collect things for other’ s . You tell him you like one thing and the next day he’ s gathered as much as he can of that One Thing . He does not care . You can tell him he doesn’ t have to , but he will . Slipping presents into peoples travel packs ..

Lucian collects cups and silverware … both so he can use them a) as intended b) for decorations and c) just to stare at the design and whatnot . If he likes a fork that is the fork that stays in his pack so he can look at it later like … this is such a cool fork … wow … the cups as well . He will collect broken teacups if the design is nice enough .. yes he does cut his fingertips when he does this sometimes ..

Omen collects rocks and feathers … he like the beauty of the surface world and nature is really pretty when it wants to be … he’ ll also dip into shell collecting if the water in the area permits it … he would have been the child that carrys around a ladybug because he loves it so much …

8) if either, are they part of the astarion/gale book club (magic & literature) or the wyll/shadowheart book club (trashy romance novels)?

Giilvas is in a bit of both ! He did read the entirety of the Necromancy of Thay but he also is a sucker for trashy novels … as long as it catches his eye ( literally , in the case of the Thay ) he’ ll curl up with it !

Zerxes is a strict Magics and Literature guy … he has his book of last rites , his books on undead magic , and his books on historical events and that’ s all he needs !

Seoras … leans into trashy romance . He cannot tell anyone about it , his most guarded secret … but sometimes you just need five hundred pages of some of the most well - loved trash in Baldur’ s Gate … good for his morale

Danior is a bit of both as well .. as serious as he is , and as seriously as he takes himself , sometimes he needs to let his mind defog with easy reading .. he can’ t always be noise deep in alchemy research … it ‘ s been a long day pass The Salty Mermaid !

Lucian is into the romance novels 100% .. cheap and easy entertainment for him to get .. easy to understand and follow and it was fun to get others to read it and see their reactions .. sometimes , he would memorize the more heartfelt passages to always have something sweet to think about …

Omen is a literature guy … he gets antsy and a touch flustered reading romance . He likes to learn new things , pick up a new topic to completely submerge himself in .. give him a dictionary and he would sit and read all of it then tell you a cool new word he learned about .. Drow novels are something he does try to seek out , when he thinks he can

15) what’s the description of their camp clothes in the inventory menu?

Giilvas : Wanderer’s Garb - Hand stitched with care and a flair for dramatics, they fit like a glove for the weariest of travellers.

Zerxes: Kelemvorite’s Comfort - Plain but still plush, with just enough comfort to let one sleep like the dead should.

Seoras: Farmboy’s Best - Still holding onto the fresh scent of morning dew and grain, the faded cloth still does its job.

Danior: Netheril’s Finery - Might be a by-gone relics, but they still manage to survive the tests of time… with a few repairs.

Lucian: Troubadour’s Rest - Still flashy. Still colourful. You can do a full set in your sleep and be overdressed while you do it!

Omen: Fresh Beginnings - Recently bought from a kind merchant, they’ve barely had anytime to breathe life of their own. Careful of stains.

#< 333 YAYAYA #long post #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 durge #giilvas #zerxes #seoras #danior #lucian #omen

[zdux]

Thoughts on: Faerie Court Skin Line

Alright, no one asked, but I love character/skin design and I want to write my piece on these because they have me excited.

The first thing I noticed about the Faerie Court Skins, which I will be calling "FC" for short, was the colors. Each splash art and in game model has lots of colors. I am going to be mainly talking about the splash arts here, not the in game models. I've got a couple things I wanna say about each skin, as well as the skin line as a whole, and some complaints that I am gonna tack on here and there.

Starting with Ezreal,

I really like this! I think it embodies Ezreal's silly, charismatic personality quite well. It has charm, especially with that big grin on his face and the littler faeries all around him. Seeing him playing or exploring with the smaller faeries gives this sense of playfulness, like he's leading them on an adventure. Having him lean on the tree like that gives the feeling that he just landed, mid flight. It reminds me a lot of that feeling you get from Treasure Planet, or Tinkerbell, that childhood exploration of "going on an adventure!" with all the charm and silliness that is Ezreal.

The face markings/pieces are a really nice touch. I think Ezreal's standard blue marks are all too easily forgotten, especially because I don't think we actually *know* what they are? But with FC we have these elegant, larger pieces that take up more space on his cheekbones and forehead, really adding this magical charm that he *isn't* just a human in a faerie costume. Not that they wouldn't be hard to replicate, any good cosplayer could make them, but I do think they are a nice touch that helps solidify the gem on his chest as it's own, connected piece and something separate from the gauntlet. Having the,, jewelry (?) match with the center gem, where the gauntlet takes on the color of his wings comes across quite well to me. I think those choices do a good job at showcasing which parts of him are the most magical; those of course being the faerie wings and the mystical gauntlet.

Overall, I'm a big fan of FC Ezreal, I'd honestly give this skin a 9/10.

Moving onto Kallista!

I am ESTATIC that Kallista finally got a skin, it's been too long. And I REALLY like this as well! First of all, the color scheme. The warm colors of orange and red and pink with this fall forest really make her keep purples and elegant golds stand out without alienating them. I think the splash art itself is just beautiful to look at.

I do think it was a little unnecessary to give her shorts here, I think pants and no feathers would've sufficed, but it's not a huge complaint. Having her with pink on one side and purple on the other is a little bit messy, especially since it seems to swap sides only on her hip piece (sorry don't know the armor term here) and then go back to normal on the arms and legs, but that's again, not a huge complaint. My only real complains with this skin is small things, like "quality of life" kind of stuff.

However, my absolute FAVORITE thing about this skin, is the wings. Using the sharpness of these dragonfly-esque wings to replace the shape language that her spears construct is a GREAT choice. I think it's clean, it's well done, and with the glowing details on her shoulder, headpiece and spear, I think this is a really cool skin. I will touch more on the crystal weapons once I talk about more of them, that is coming up.

Once again, high rating here, she's getting an 8/10

Next we have: Seraphine!

Now I'll be honest, I always tend to have mixed feelings when Seraphine skins come out, because many of them simply go "she's a singer!" and don't tend to change her story very much. However, without knowing the lore, I'm going to give FC Seraphine the benefit of the doubt, because this splash art does not convey "musician" to me. She is sitting on her stage, surrounded by makeup. There is a vanity in front of her, as well as someone doing their own makeup in the back. This reads much more like a makeup artist, like a faerie I would see doing court makeup than a music artist. And honestly, I like that! If that's true, if they are actually going with that concept instead of "the court musician" then I'm ecstatic! This will be really the only skin of Seraphine's to make her anything other than a singer, and she was in desperate need of that.

I love the colors here, making her hair fade from that green to pink with her bangs just slightly turning into wings is a really pretty and clever trick, as well as turning her normal hair floof at the top of her head into a cute little butterfly hairpiece is a nice touch.

My only *real* complaint with this skin is one that has a catch. If this is skin *is* Seraphine; the faerie who loves makeup, rides around on her vanity seat using pixie dust and making people feel good about themselves through the power of art and song: I think they toned her own makeup down WAY too much. I'll talk about it when I address the induvial characters more, for Fiora and Katarina have such bold makeup, Fiora in particular, that if the royal makeup artist/the one who's supposed to be good at makeup and making herself look friendly, presentable, and a little over the top because after all she is a performer, only has a bit of pink and a butterfly painted on? Seems a little bit boring. But, that's really my only complaint here, other than maybe smoothing out the shape language of the stage a bit. I do say, this is a tentative complaint, because I doubt we're getting anything other than "Seraphine, the faerie who loves to sing and brings people together by her vocal fae magic!" which is cute but, unoriginal for Seraphine.

For my rating, I'd say she gets two. If it's "just another singer skin" Seraphine, I'm giving it 4/10. If it's something more creative, maybe using the makeup or pixie dust I mentioned, 7/10. I think this skin is going to rely HEAVILY on it's lore.

Next: Milio!

I'll be honest, I don't have a whole lot to say about this splash art. This is of course, Milio's debut skin, but I was struggling to find a good image of his original to compare it to.

Overall, I will note the things I like about this one. I think making his little companions have a little more form to them other than just blobs was a cute choice. I also like the new outfit, it's a little more form fitting and I think expresses the "court" part in faerie court. He looks like a little kid who got dressed up for a special occasion, his outfit is a little over the top because he didn't pick it, he's trying to look formal. The haircut I have mixed feelings on, I think it's cute and makes him look a little chubbier with how it frames his face (which by all means is a good thing, we have a lot of dainty itty bitty thin shapes in this line, having a character with a rounder face is a nice change of pace from your typical skinny white elves.) I think they tried to keep a bit of the boxy shape his other haircut gave him by using the headpiece, but it didn't quite work. My only real complaints is the strange shoulder light bulbs and the little crown that's somehow magically floating on his bangs.

I'll give Milio here a 6/10. I like the vibes, the playfulness, but it's got a few things it could tweak.

Next up, Fiora

This is where I slow down on singing the praises of the FC skins. Not that I don't like it, I very much like it, but I've noticed a reoccurring pattern with these skins and their splash poses looking very,,,, bland. I like some of them, but there is a lack of life to others, like Fiora's here.

Having her guard some sort of special butterfly/faerie area I like, I think this pose and the composition here is well done. But,,, it's just another Fiora splash art where she is showing off her sword. I think her design in this skin line is pretty, it's interesting! And this just covers up most of it with her sword. I want to see the details of her outfit, I want to see how it looks without her sword pointed at me. I think that this is a pretty skin, but leaning into the faerie armor that Kallista's skin brings to the table, this feels honorary, this feels like she was given permission to "bring her sword to the dinner table" because she still has her crown on. Hopefully the lore will make it a bit more interesting, but it's not doing a whole lot for me.

Note: Did realize while looking at this that there is people in the back like an audience, and that lead to the implication of like, a royal fighter in an arena, which could be cool but I do think that everything I said before still holds.

Sorry Fiora, but unless that lore drop really helps build this splash art, I can only give you a 3/10. Lovely splash, but it doesn't feel like it's bringing anything *new* to Fiora.

Up next, Karma!

I,,, still haven't made up my mind about this one yet. There's things I like and things I don't, so let's get into it.

For a few good things to start, I love the shape language here. I love the flow. Her shield feels natural here, it feels like she is truly a Faerie Queen, radiating her power, reaching out to the magic around her. I think the gold on the wings is a strong move, though could have been a bit stronger. Having inorganic pieces on one of the most organic parts of her, the wings, feels powerful, it feels like some kind of upgrade or augmentation.

However, I do have some issues with this skin. I think it's colors are a little all over the place, with her hair feeling incredibly light compared to the deep purples of her outfit and wings. The pink on her wings is very subtle, and I don't think it connects it enough. I also think they leaned REALLY hard into the butterfly theme with this entire skin line (cough elderwood rakan and xayah cough) but then kept the lotus COMPELTELY the same as usual. Her makeup seems a bit boring, and with how they gave Ezreal these fancy upgrades for his face markings, it feels unbalanced that the faerie QUEEN still just has her simple ones.

I like this skin, I think it's very pretty, but it really doesn't radiate "all powerful and elegant faerie queen" to me. 6/10

Last but not least, we have Katarina.

Since she has two, I'll sort of talk about them in tandem. My single biggest issue with these two skins is an issue Riot has a LOT: Same Face Syndrome. In this case, it applies less to the actual face, but more to the detailing in the splash art.

I'll give, normal FC Katarina doesn't do this has much as the prestige, but these two skins?

Are a bit,,, too similar for my liking. They are different, I'm not saying Diana and Kat are completely the same here, but you can't deny the similarities. White hair being held up in the air mysterious, blue color schemes with hints of lighter blue, grey, white, and maybe a little green, as well as a subtle metallic.

I like FC Katarina, but it does feel a little,,, bland, with winter blessed being so recent. However, putting that aside, there are some things I like about this skin.

For one, her expression. Kat is kind of a mischievous character, and many of her skins portray that with her expression, like Battle Queen or Battle Academia. Both of those skins give off a "ready to stab you when you aren't looking!" vibe that fits Kat, but with this? She looks somber, thinking, like she's done this fight a million times before and knows how it will play out reliably. And I like that, I like that sort of otherworldly reliance on her own magic and skills, it makes her feel confident but not arrogant. The eyes on the wings are gorgeous, and the wind moving as she spins and slices through it adds as a gracefulness that suits it very well.

Putting aside it's similarities to Winterblessed Diana, I'll give this skin an 8/10. I truly think it's beautiful, and I love the sort of "new" vibe it gives Kat.

Prestige... on the other hand...

*sigh*

Honestly, if you told me these were the same character, I would probably believe you.

Now, I will be honest and admit, I hadn't seen Prestige Star Guardian Syndra in a while and I did think it was more purple, however these two,,, they feel the exact same. They even have almost the same expression, Kat's mouth is just closed.

I've always thought that the artistic goal of prestige skins was to add to a character cosmetically in ways the original skin did not. To add details and an alternative outfit/aesthetic to their new form provided by the lore of the skin line... and this... isn't that.

I really don't know what Prestige FC Kat is supposed to convey other than the fact that Riot seems to think powerful women with cool color schemes sitting is sexy or something because I'm not getting a lot here. She's a pretty woman,, sitting,,, with her weapons. I would even give this a little more of a break if there was anything Unique here, but there isn't: The only character with an different title is Faerie Queen Karma. This skin feels much more like royalty with the big wings and the seat and everything, and I think that Karma deserved the prestige much more here. Making a "Lunar Moth Queen" Karma would've been a MILLION times better than,,, this. Sorry Kat mains, but I'm giving it a 2/10.

For my final sort of overview of all the skins, there's a couple things I need to mention. First off, the weapons. I think the "crystal weapons that match your wings" is really cool looking. I don't know how well it'll hold up lore wise when that time comes, but I like how they look at I'm curious at how that universe will talk about them. Secondly, the butterfly in the room: butterflies. I think this skin line can technically be boiled down to "upgraded elderwood rakan and xayah" but that's okay. I would've loved to see Rakan and Xayah get skins for this in sort of a "from the elderwood they have grown, and in the court of faeries they blossom" where it connects their elderwood stories with the fearie court and we get new skins for them, but that's a lot to ask right after they got new skins with Broken Covenant, like, today? I think the skinline would've been served better by having more variation than just "butterfly." My favorite skin in this would have to be Kallista, and a good part of that goes to her being unique, she's the only one who isn't completely butterfly. Overall, I think the skinline is pretty, I think it could tell a really fun fantasy story if done right, and I have my gripes with certain parts of it, but I do like it quite a bit. For the whole skin like: 7/10.

If you read this far, thank you, it really means a lot to me that you read through all this. I'm really passionate about character design/skin design and my views on it have absolutely been inspired and shaped by TBSkyen, so credit to him for inspiring me enough as a creator to feel confident enough to share these thoughts. If ya'll like this sort of thing, I would absolutely be willing to make more posts addressing skin lines and character design. Let me know in the notes! ^^

#league of legends #league skin review #character design #skin design #ezreal #kallista #seraphine #milio #fiora #karma #katarina #ezreal lol #kallista lol #seraphine lol #milio lol #fiora lol #karma lol #katarina lol #ezreal league of legends #league of legends skin #league of legends skin review #zdux #zdux speaks #character design review #league of legends faerie court #faerie court #faerie court skins #faerie court ezreal #faerie court kallista #faerie court seraphine

[spinningbuster98]

Mega Man X5 Part 1

And we’re back!

Mega Man X5 marks the beginning of the dark times for the X series. Not in the sense that this game is...bad per se, especially in comparison to what comes right afterwards, it’s just....

I like to call X5 the Sonic Forces of Mega Man, not in regards to its fan reception but moreso in regards to how much it hypes itself up despite not...really being all that special. Not bad (for the most part), but certainly not worthy of being the big finale of the X series that it was originally meant to be.

You feel this right as you boot up the game: instead of the amazingly animated anime cutscenes of MM8 and X4, X5 just has static slide shows of artworks that even look kinda blurry, certainly not befitting of a game that wants to present its story as the big, climactic ending of the series. Also no voice acting (which ok not necessarily a bad thing here)

The same goes for the in-game graphics: lots of sprites taken from X4 still look great, but most of the backgrounds look...flatter, more static, blurrier and not as detailed as before. The boss sprites also look less fluidly animated than before. The whole game just looks cheaper, like there were clear budget cuts alla round (well except for the music, this is actually one of the best OSTs in the X lineup, Squid Adler’s theme here especially is a fave of mine)

But above all else the game has plenty of....weird design decisions

First of all: Alia. She’s your navigator, constantly stopping you throughout the levels to inform you of obvious shit a la Navi from Ocarina of Time. She kinda sucks. Yeah you can skip her dialogues by button mashing but c’mon, this breaks the pace constantly

Most levels in this game are...fine, competent but also offer nothing truly special

Grizzly Slash feels like a watered down version of Slash Beast’s from X4

Squid Adler’s....I actually don’t have too many issues with the Ride Chaser section specifically because it’s short and it’s at the start of the stage, meaning you can practice it as often as you want (and I guess the animal riding levels from Crash Bandicoot have sort of trained me at collecting stuff during auto scrollers), but the rest of the stage is kinda claustrophobic and its main gimmick with switches, while functional, isn’t really interesting nor does it fit a normally fast paced series like X.

(Let’s not get into how the power up system works here, I don’t have a degree quantum physics so i wouldn’t know how to explain it to you)

Still the game does introduce one cool idea: you can now choose between X or Zero before each stage!

The first half of the game does a nice job balancing between the two, as there may be some levels or bosses which are more comfortably handled with Zero while others may be more suited for X (like Squid Adler’s) but every level can be completed by either character

This balance is gonna break by the time we reach the final stages but let’s not get too ahead of ourselves

However, for everyone wanting to play this game: ALWAYS choose X for the intro stage! Why? Because if you do he starts the game with a nerfed, but still pretty powerful, version of his X4 armor. If you pick Zero X will start with no armor and Zero will just have a dinky buster that does jack shit. And like I’ll explain next time some stages in this game were....probably not fully balanced for an unarmored X...

Also shoutout to Zero having a conversation with the Dr.Light AI, while X never once speaks to him throughout the whole series. The favoritism is still running quite high

I may really like Zero as a character (mostly his Zero series incarnation) but that won’t stop me from pointing this out. I don’t hold said favoritism against him as a character, as at least the games never once have had him, or other characters, claim that he’s better than X or anything rather it’s just the narrative always giving him the the most important moments, so I like to seperate the character from the way they are handled in these cases, much like Shadow and how obviously he was the writer’s pet in 06.

#youtube #mega man #mega man x5 #my gameplay

[nicad13]

Iron and Kyber

Chapter 3: Riduurok

Chapter summary: Din tends to a wound in his soul before he joins it to another’s.

Mandalorian weddings are simple. Just you and the words. Din strips away everything that isn’t necessary. But he also adds an element he can’t resist.

---

He looks at his first tattoo in the mirror. The lines are clean and smooth. The fresh ink in his skin reminds him of the paint he’d added to his helmet months ago. Two red lines on beskar for the birth family murdered out from under him. One gray line on beskar for the blood family denied to him. Now, black ink on skin for the found family he will, at last, get to keep.

Tags: Tattoos, edging, religious conflict, disassociation

Rating: Mature

Notes: Link to AO3 in the source at the bottom. If you like what you see, please leave a comment! If you have constructive criticism, please leave a comment! I'm having trouble stringing the last third of this story together and could use some inspiration...

---

Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull And cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull At night, I wake up with the sheets soakin’ wet And a freight train runnin’ through the middle of my head Only you can cool my desire

Bruce Springsteen, I’m on Fire

---

Rayne breathes as Din presses the needle through her skin.

The tattoo of his mudhorn signet takes shape on her right shoulder.

They’re out on the balcony as he works, the cool breeze of a warm day keeping the wind chime in motion, its soft, bass, metallic tones relaxing them both. He is in what he has come to think of as “balcony” attire – t-shirt and shorts. Unarmored. Unhelmed. Her breaths are steady despite the continuous penetration of metal and ink through her skin, and it helps to keep him focused. She’d mostly known what to expect, though her other tattoo, the Rebel Starbird on the back of her left shoulder, was done by a professional with modern equipment. By the time Din had gotten a quarter of the way through the mudhorn, she’d determined that poke-and-stick is more painful by a small degree, but nothing she can’t handle. She sits with her head against the back of the chair, eyes closed, his hand pressed against the flesh of her shoulder with the slight give of relaxed muscle.

Din had proposed their union hours after he was granted citizenship on Genesaria, a day after he’d had enough of the helmet being used against him, a day after they’d confessed their love for each other. They knew it was true, knew they were, at the very least, cemented together through their bonds with their son. He had seen no reason to wait. Rayne’s urge for patience nearly broke his heart until she’d asked to bear the signet of their clan, asked his permission to have it made permanent on her skin. Her request had healed him in an instant, and in that moment, he realized he wanted one of his own. Inasmuch as the signet on his pauldron is welded to armor that he considers his second skin, having it inked into the skin he was born with is another thing entirely. An indelible mark. A brand. A thing that cannot be taken away with ease. A score of permanence that will mark them as clan for the rest of their lives and beyond, until their very flesh is no more.

They had decided to gift the ink and the effort to each other, with their own hands. Rayne had copied the Armorer’s design from Din’s pauldron and cut the stencil out. Din had traced it to her shoulder with a marker to begin with. When Rayne checked it in the mirror and gave her approval, Yadier decided he wanted the same treatment, managing to cast his robe off and waving his arm in the air. So, she had drawn a small-scale version of it with the marker, free-handed, on his shoulder. He’d skipped around the flat with it until he wore himself out, and is now dozing in his crate under the wind chime.

So Din works, sticking with a shallow depth, only enough to push the ink through her skin. He traces the outline of the stencil first, then fills it in with a steady hand. Never once does he draw the blood of the woman he will marry. She has already shed too much blood for him and their son. She is sure to shed more in the future. The least he can do in these moments is to not take any more, to be as gentle as possible while he brands her with the icon of the animal that had brutalized him to within an inch of his life. The animal that his son had lifted from the mud, pawing and enraged, the animal he had killed with a single stab and twist of his knife.

Prone to flashbacks, he pauses for a moment, letting himself remember, letting it wash over him. Thrown into the air. Crushed into the mud. Pulling himself to one knee, drawing his knife, lowering his head, and hoping it would be enough of a warrior’s death to be bested in battle by such a ferocious beast. He breathes through his past even in the moments when he is taking steps toward his future.

Rayne notices the break in his work, opening her eyes and turning her head, otherwise remaining as still as possible. Din’s eyes are open but unseeing, brow furrowed, lips parted just a little in the middle, chest rising and falling with his steady breaths. She knows this expression, has seen this before with the same sense of him being somewhere else behind that distant, mournful gaze. Only now, she knows what to do about it. She slips out of her seat with delicate care, not wishing to startle him, the proximity with which he currently holds a sharp, ink-laden needle to her shoulder only one concern of many. She ducks inside, grabs an ice cube from the freezer, then comes back out to crouch next to him.

“Din,” she says, her voice low, tone gentle. “Din, it’s Rayne. We’re home. Can you hear me?”

He blinks, but his gaze remains unfocused. Still, his lips move, ghosting over a single word. “Yes.”

“Can I give you something? Put something in your hand? It’ll be cold. It’ll help bring you back.”

His only response is the barest head-tilt of a nod.

She slips the ice cube into his free hand. His fingers tighten around it and he pulls in a breath, short and sharp.

“Tell me what you hear, Din.”

“The windchime,” he says. He blinks again, and he’s able to focus his attention on the ice melting in his grip. He swallows. “My son. Our son. He’s snoring.”

“Yeah. That’s good. We’re on the balcony. Yadi’s asleep in his crate. We’re safe. We’re home and we’re safe, here. You’re safe with me.”

His eyes return a few moments later, dark brown irises rising to meet her watch. The same haunted eyes coming back from a past that insists on pulling him away from the present.

“Welcome back,” she says.

He blinks again, dropping his gaze down to the needle in his hand. “Sorry. I’m… here.”

“Okay in there?” she asks.

“Yeah.” His features relax back into an easy smile, eyes crinkling at the outer corners. He motions to his half-finished work on her shoulder. “Holding up?”

“Yeah,” she says, returning to her seat and closing her eyes once more. “Stings a lot, but that’s how it is. I’m good to keep going if you are.”

“Yeah.”

He continues his work, inking his signet into her skin with one hand, wiping away the small amount of translucent fluid that seeps back out with a towel held in the other. When he’s done, she checks his work in the mirror in the fresher as he places the needle in a sharps box, takes the medical gloves off, and gathers them along with the unused ink and paper towels lining the table for disposal. She’s finished cleaning her skin by the time he’s done and comes to see his work reflected in the mirror.

He takes a breath.

Seeing his signet on her shoulder… does things to him. Turns out it triggers more than just flashbacks. “Looks good on you,” he says.

She smiles, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “You did an excellent job.” Indeed, he has. The lines are even and the fills are complete. A testament to his steady hand. He helps her with the bandage.

They take a break.

Yadi wakes from his nap, Din changes into the armor, and it’s off to the playground down the street. Mother and father sit on a bench in the shade as their son bounces around with the other children. Their family is well-known in the neighborhood by now. The Jedi with the short chestnut curls, the Mandalorian with the rust-red armor, their tiny green toddler with the enormous ears. Yadi has made fast friends with the other children, even if his parents have been slow to do the same with the adults, but they’ve made a number of friendly acquaintances. They’re on a first-name basis with the other parents who have come to learn that small talk will get them nowhere with the newcomers, but conversations about battle strategy or starship engine design are greeted with more enthusiasm.

They let Yadier go at it for as long as he wants, and two hours pass before he finally gets tired, playing his way through four shifts of children who come and go from the park. The kids are generally independent from the parents, checking back for the occasional gulp of water or quick break. A few signs of sorcery are present, when one child slips off the bars and is caught in mid-air by another, or when a child launches themselves to an unnatural altitude and lands with unnatural ease. They are all well-behaved, and those who wield the Force appear not to hold it over those who don’t. When Yadi comes back for the final time, he waddles to Din’s boot, hugs his father’s leg, then falls to his back and lets out an exhausted raspberry. As clear a hint as any, they scoop him up, place him in the birikad, strap the harness to Din’s chest, and stroll home. They pick up some lunch from the street vendors on the way; several varieties of mystery-meat-on-a-stick and some fruit. Meiloorun is in season and Din is over the moon about it in his own quiet way. Rayne and Yadi share one of the meat sticks for the duration of the walk, and they consume the rest of it on the balcony once Din changes back into something more casual.

Played out, belly full, Yadier conks out for another nap, and his parents lay him down in his room.

They make love in their bed, the afternoon sunlight warm on their skin. They have the time, so they take it, and their movements are gentle, slow, and languid. Din wants to make up for the pain he’s caused Rayne, and she wants to bank his pleasure to make up for the pain she is about to cause him.

The dark, curved lines of his signet on her skin under the transparent bandage makes him grow hard as he tastes the rest of her, knowing it’s just one more step in the formalization of their union. He has grown more aggressive with his mouth and face in their time together, often using his nose to turn her head to the side so he can reach her neck with his lips. Often using his mouth to turn her knee out so he can nibble the inside of her thigh. He tastes her until she’s swollen and ready, aching and glistening at his touch. He can’t help but think of the needle penetrating her skin when he penetrates her flesh with his own. How he had used the needle to deliver the mark of his family. How he is now in the process of a different kind of delivery, one often used to build a family. It doesn’t matter that it will find no counterpart to join with in her; it doesn’t matter that they cannot add to their family with their own blood. Their one child is enough. Instead, he uses this penetration only to deliver and receive pleasure.

Neither of them wants any games in these moments. No intrigue. Life outside has enough of that. Here, they want nothing but honest sex. Desires are simple. Fulfilling them is easy.

Which is not to say that teasing is off-limits. Today, they have the time, and they agree to take it. She lets him into her mind just enough, just enough for him to know how far along she is. And when she reaches the brink, when she’s right there, he backs off. He stills. He feels her wave crest, hold, and then recede. And then he builds her up again. He edges her three more times until they inevitably miscalculate and her wave crashes, so he brings her home. He shuts her out in this moment, using the Force resistance training he’s gained over the last two months. He wants to feel the Force wrap around his spine and push through his throat and sink into his mind when she finds release, wants to let that all drag him with her immediately after.

But there’s one thing he wants even more, today.

They pull apart and he gives her time to wind down, takes pleasure in her soft sighs as he runs his hands over her, runs the tip of his tongue along the lobe of her ear.

And then she pushes him onto his back.

And she’s just as good with her mouth as he is with his. She wields as much power over him as he does over her. She can keep him on the edge just as well as he can keep her.

Now he lets her into his mind, lets her read him, just enough to know. She’s gentle with him, her mouth is hot and wet and soft, her hand is firm but not too tight. He’s close to start with, and it’s less than a minute before she pauses, softening her hold, dropping her jaw to pull her tongue away. They breathe together and he battles it back, letting it settle back into him, down low and deep. She starts again. She pauses again, and he lets the ache build. Again and again, and the ache creeps up his belly and up his spine and down his legs. Once more and he can stand it no longer and he pours himself into her and she takes every drop of him.

He runs dry and she slides back next to him. He turns his head to her and she kisses him and he tastes them both, the heady mix of himself and what of her that had been left on him. The meiloorun fruit he’d eaten with lunch has taken the edge off what he knows can sometimes be bitter. Symbols carry heavy meaning for Mandalorians, and he relishes all the symbols of their union. The taste of them together in his mouth. The mudhorn inked into her skin. The one that will soon be inked into his. The vows they will soon exchange. The beskar casings they both wear. Even the little boy who brought them together, displaying their mutual influence with his initial forays into learning to use the Force and understand Mando’a. Din cherishes all of it, holds all of it close to his heart, and when Rayne takes his hand and places his palm flat to her sternum and looks him in the eye and whispers the truth of her love for him, the weight of it all nearly crushes him. He reciprocates the gesture, pulling her hand to his chest, whispering the words. He can’t quite maintain eye contact when he says them, but she understands, and her eyes are there to meet his when he opens them once again.

They rest. She falls asleep and he lets her nap, and his hand roams her body as she twitches with oncoming dreams. She’s mostly muscle and bone and sinew, soft only in the few places that nearly all women are. Fifteen minutes pass like this, and then he kisses her awake.

His turn under the needle has come.

They shower together, exchanging a few more lingering kisses as the water rains down on them, and she scrubs his shoulder, the first step in the preparation of his skin.

Mother and father regroup outside on the balcony once more. The peach-fuzz hair on his shoulder is shaved away, skin disinfected, and Rayne applies the stencil, draws the pattern, inspects it, and asks if he’s ready. He responds with a quick affirmative, turns his head away, and relaxes as much as he can as she sets to work. This tattoo is his first and he doesn’t quite know what to expect. The sting of it builds and levels off, but she is gentle with him, as always. The wind chime’s tones distract him with the breeze, and he manages to stay in the present. Even more, he slips to the future, thinking about the possibilities for the day they will exchange their vows, when they will speak the Riduurok. He smiles despite the pain as the ideas come, and soon enough, he is branded with his signet of the mudhorn.

He cleans his shoulder in the fresher while Rayne picks everything up outside, and he looks at his first tattoo in the mirror. His betrothed was just as gentle with him as he had been with her, drawing not a single drop of blood. The lines are clean and smooth. The fresh ink in his skin reminds him of the paint he’d added to his helmet two months ago. Two red lines on beskar for the birth family murdered out from under him. One gray line on beskar for the blood family denied to him. Now, black ink on skin for the found family he will, at last, get to keep.

Something in his chest tightens with the thought. He’s noticed it more and more since first stealing Yadier. It doesn’t scare him as much anymore, now that he knows what it is. He stands with it, lets it settle down in towards the pit of his stomach, and his chest releases as he pulls a breath in and lets it back out.

Rayne steps in and inspects her work. “Happy with how it turned out?”

“Yes,” he says, meeting her gaze in the mirror, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Good.” She pulls a bandage from its package and smooths it over the ink. “No turning back now,” she says, returning his smile.

---

Din stands before a monument of Tarre Vizsla, watching the Mandalorian war banner flutter in the breeze at its base, the red mythosaur skull on a white field.

Tarre Vizsla, the first Mandalorian Jedi. The creator of the ancient weapon clipped to Din’s belt. Indeed, the Darksaber itself is immortalized in stone, its square-edged hilt carved at Vizsla’s hip. The monument stands before a modest temple. A place of congregation for Mandalorians brought to or born on a Jedi asylum world through some connection with Force-sensitives.

Two such temples exist on Genesaria. One for those of the New Mandalorian persuasion, the pacifists, those who had stood against Mandalore’s history of bloodshed and sworn off all violence. Another for those who seek a middle-ground between the New Mandalorians and Death Watch, those who wish not to glorify violence, but feel it unwise to cast away all manner of defense. Followers of the two coexist peacefully enough, here. Indeed, willingness to coexist in a multicultural society is a prerequisite of living on Genesaria.

Din stands before the temple of second group.

His feet are rooted to the ground, unable to move forward.

Doubtful.

He’s never seen a Mandalorian temple before. The chances they won’t accept him here are high. They will likely deem him too fundamentalist when he won’t remove his helmet. They may even demand the Darksaber before they turn him out, in which case he will transfer custody of it to them and leave.

Something about the weapon puts Rayne off.

They had sparred together with it on a few occasions, the Darksaber against her lightsaber, the two blades now coming together in friendly combat after their first battle to the death. Din still isn’t used to the odd weight balance, both in the blade itself and the way it seems to want to throw him off his own feet. When he’d offered it to her for inspection, she had frowned, turning the hilt over in her hands while it was deactivated, handing it back to him after only a few moments. “Weird vibe” was all she’d said. He’d offered to leave it on the Razor Crest, but she’d said that wasn’t necessary. It only gave her the heebie-jeebies when she touched it directly. When he pressed her further, she said that Tarre must have altered the kyber crystal to get the emitter matrix to produce the light-absorption properties of the blade. Altered kyber disrupts the Force around it, and most Force-users find it disturbing. Paired with the similar ways that Sith alter the crystals in their sabers to turn the blades red, it all adds up to a discomforting sensation that she does not care to experience.

“Din Djarin.”

A voice to his side startles him and he spins, hand dropping to his blaster.

A man he guesses to be about ten years his senior stands in the courtyard ten meters away from him. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, but he holds his hands open away from his sides, the Mandalorian signal meaning that he does not have a weapon in hand and does not intend to draw one.

Din feels a little less perturbed about being snuck up on given that it’s another Mando. Instead, he feels a little ashamed of himself for being caught off-guard.

The man moves one hand before him, palm down. “Easy, Mando. No threats exist for you on this world.”

You have no idea what I went through my first week here. The two trials of Force he endured flicker through his mind, but he tamps them down and forces himself into a more relaxed posture. “Sorry. I’m still not used to being addressed by name.”

“I gathered that.” The man lowers one hand and extends the other. “I’m Tarmont Berend.”

Din accepts the gesture as they grasp forearms. The greeting of warriors. “Are you a… member of the covert that… worships at this temple?” He stumbles over the words, not sure if they’re the right ones.

Indeed, Tarmont raises an eyebrow. “Covert isn’t quite it. We have no need to hide on a world that is already a secret from the rest of the galaxy. Worship probably isn’t the right word, either. It looks like a temple, but we call it a Forge. But yes, I am a member, inasmuch as I am a Mandalorian, and we come here to observe many of the Mandalorian traditions of old. Many of us come here for school as well.”

Din gives a slight nod, then turns to face the temple… the Forge, again, unsure of the appropriate means of asking for entry. Showing up unannounced at a Death Watch covert where no one knows you is a tricky affair. Presenting a mythosaur pendant gets you in the door, but you’ll still have a blaster in your face until your intentions are made clear, or you’ll get thrown back out if you’re lucky. Killed if you’re not.

Din’s pendant still hangs around his son’s neck. He couldn’t bring himself to remove it so he could have it with him this morning.

“Would you like to come in?” Tarmont asks. “I’m having some upgrades done on my helmet today. I can introduce you to our Armorer if you like.”

You wear armor? You have an Armorer? You have a working forge here? The questions flood Din’s mind and get jammed up at his mouth; he refuses to let them all tumble out as if he’s a child. Instead, he allows himself only a simple, “I would.”

They enter the Forge, and it bears no resemblance at all to the coverts that Din is familiar with. A high, multi-colored stained-transparisteel ceiling scatters rainbows of light along the floor of the main hall. Cubist artwork adorns the tapestries that hang on the walls. The bright colors and airy spaces laugh in the face of the dark mines and cramped sewers he had called home for decades.

Din stands in the middle of it all, his posture somewhere between awed, frightened, and insulted.

“This… this design… is Mandalorian?” His tone is incredulous.

“Yes,” Tarmont looks around, smiling. “It’s modeled after the temple in Sundari. Before they had to dome the city.”

Din’s shoulders drop, helpless against his ignorance of a culture that had nonetheless consumed him. “I’ve… never been to Mandalore.”

“Let me guess. You were raised on Concordia. Underground.”

“I was there for three years before the Siege.”

“And after?”

Din shrugs. “We fled to Katraasii first. Never stayed on any one planet for longer than a few years after that.” Never enough time to build. Never enough time to think of anyplace as “home.” Just skipping from one hovel to the next, staying one step ahead of the Imps, not always with success.

Tarmont looks at him with a frown, and Din can’t tell if it’s confusion, pity, or both. It makes him feel hollow, like the only parts of him that are truly Mandalorian are the armor on his body and the weapons strapped to his hip. He knows next to nothing about Mandalore; much of what he does know outside of religious training and the Resol’nare was provided by Alaria’s parents. They had told him some about Mandalorian art – the cubist form which he knows he is looking at right now. Shared some tales from their own parents of what Mandalore had been like before they had been exiled to Concordia, though the word exile had never quite been used. Hell, he’d not even known about the Darksaber until Rayne told him. His enemy sorcerer betrothed knows more about Mandalorian culture than he does, inasmuch as it intersects with such intimacy with the Jedi.

Who is he fooling? He was literally raised in sewers for the latter part of his childhood and all of his adolescence. A war rat. A child soldier. Nothing but Fighting Corps gun fodder. Always put on the front lines when the Imps came knocking from the day he swore the Creed.

The Fighting Corps kids weren’t taught about Mandalore. The only god they were taught to serve was the god of war. To fight and lay down their lives for their brothers and sisters.

Their clan-born and clan-adopted brothers and sisters.

The foundlings were the future, but only insomuch as they could sacrifice themselves for the others.

He hadn’t been meant to make it to adulthood. He’d been taught the Resol’nare, the six ways, just enough to keep him in line.  Any cultural education beyond that would have been wasted on him.

“Djarin?”

Din snaps his head up, realizing he’s been staring at the floor for far longer than is socially acceptable. “Sorry… I… I don’t think… I don’t belong here.”

Tarmont tilts his head in confusion. “Why not?”

I’m dar’manda. I’m gun fodder that didn’t know how to die. I sold my baby to Imps. His mouth hangs open and he’s caught between confessing all his sins and fleeing entirely and thank the Maker the helmet hides it all…

Indeed, all Tarmont sees is the slight upward tilt of the T-visor, and he guesses that Din has lost focus at a point somewhere over his left shoulder. He does, however, hear the wet-sounding breath through the modulator. Tarmont had attended school in this Forge as a youth and sends his own children here. He is well-versed in Mandalorian history, and Genesarian scouts had brought back much information about Death Watch over the centuries. He had served as a scout himself, in his young adulthood, and he knows trauma when he sees it. He has seen the trauma that Death Watch had inflicted on its victims and its own people. The man before him now is truly disturbed. The savior of the Lost Son is no more than another shell-shocked Mando, coming here for help but not having the slightest idea of how to ask for it.

“How about I take you to the sanctum? I find it a good place to collect my thoughts sometimes. You can have a few moments to yourself while I get the Armorer.”

It takes a second or three for Din to respond. “Okay.”

Tarmont leads the way down a winding staircase to a basement hallway. The lights are dim, but the air is warm and Din hears hammering somewhere nearby, and he realizes he feels the warmth from the Forge proper. They stop at a wooden door with the Iron Heart carved upon it – the diamond shape at the center of all Mandalorian chestplates. “I can’t go in with you at the moment,” Tarmont apologizes. “The sanctum is one of the few places here where we do require full armor to enter.” He points to the Iron Heart. “Any door with the kar'ta beskar carved on it marks such a place. But please, go in. Have a seat. Relax for a bit. I’ll have the Armorer join you shortly.”

Din stands before the door. Looks at it for a few moments. It’s an ancient design with a handle. He pulls it and opens the door. He sees that it’s even darker than the hallway in there, but not entirely, and calling up the infrared on his HUD, confirms that no one else is present. He turns to Tarmont.  “Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome.”

Din sits in the near-darkness and looks upon the carved triptych of the three ancient gods of Mandalore adorning the front of the sanctum.

Hod Ha’ran, the god of fickle fortune. A reminder that life is not fair.

Arasuum, the god of sloth and stagnation. A reminder of what not to be.

Kad Ha’rangir, the god of war and destruction. A model of what to aspire to be. The god he had been trained to emulate. The god in whose name he had been taught to dedicate his weapons and his life to.

He feels the heat of the space seep down into his bones, but the air is dry, and he does not sweat. The weight of his helmet pulls his head forward and his eyelids down.

Din Djarin is a devout man. His parents had been devout. The very name they gave him means “Faith” in the language of the first settlers of Aq Vetina. They had raised him with a spiritual upbringing until their demise. Swapping out the religion of his childhood for the religion of the Mandalorians had been easy. They both had gods. They both spoke of an afterlife of sorts. They both spoke of a soul. They both spoke of sin.

And his sins are unforgivable.

He hears the door open behind him and he opens his eyes. The sanctum brightens just a bit, then darkens again as the door is closed. The mineral smell of freshly forged beskar reaches him as the Armorer sits on the bench next to him, a few feet away.

“I was wondering if you would come to us.” Her voice has a slight rasp to it, making her sound a little older than the Armorer on Nevarro. He’d always found it strange that the Nevarro Armorer had a strong central-core accent. This one’s accent is more reflective of a native Genesarian. Middle-of-the-road Outer Rim, like his own when he speaks Basic, more casual than the haughtiness of the Core, but formal enough not to drop the Gs and clear enunciation on the Ts.

“Sorry it took me so long,” he says.

“What brings you here today?”

“I was raised by Death Watch.” It’s as good an explanation as any. It seems to be general knowledge among Genesarian Mandos anyway, given his conversation with the woman at the Mandalorian restaurant not so long ago. In a place like this, the translation is something akin to I’m lost. I’m lost and I need a path forward.

The pause that follows is heavy. When the Armorer breaks it, her tone is strong, but gentle. “You were kidnapped by Death Watch.”

“Yes. They murdered my parents.”

“You worshiped Kad Ha’rangir.”

“To wage war is divine.”

“You were taught that in the Fighting Corps.”

“This is The Way.”

Everyone is on the same page, now.

“Your beskar is newly forged. Not much more than a year old. All of the pieces are the same age, save your helmet. Highly unusual for a Death Watch captive. How did you come by it?”

Oh, boy, here it is… “My Foundling. You call him the Lost Son. I… sold him. To the Imps. I stole him back, but I sold him first. The payment was this beskar.” Din’s voice cracks at the memory. “The beskar belongs to my son. I bought it with his life. Be sure he gets it when I die.”

The Armorer nods. “I will make note of it in our registers. I or one of my successors will see to it ourselves.”

“Thank you.”

“I sense there is more.”

Din dips his head in an abbreviated nod. “The child… before I turned him in… the child saved my life. Stopped a mudhorn before it could kill me.”

The Armorer pauses again, and this silence is uncomfortable. When she breaks it this time, her tone is less gentle. “You sold a child to whom you owed a life debt to Imperials?” The fact that she is more concerned with this than the fact that the baby stopped a mudhorn reminds him of where he is, and he is glad to no longer have to explain such things.

Leaves more time to get right down to the guilt.

“Yes.” The confession that comes out is broken and miserable. Confession with no hope for forgiveness. Confession that will take more than a lifetime of redemption to heal.

“What were you thinking?”

He remembers how much it all hurt. He remembers how much pain he was in. He remembers the woozy headache of a severe concussion. He remembers thinking that he must have hallucinated what had happened with the mudhorn. That his vision of the tiny baby with his arm outstretched appearing to lift the giant rampaging beast was exactly that – a vision, generated by a delirious recipe of days without sleep, dehydration, near-starvation, and way too many hits to the head.

But the alternative was that he’d beaten the mudhorn on his own. The furious mother defending her egg, three tons of pure rage bearing down on him after already beating him to within inches of his life, having him dead to rights, only to lie down and let him stab her through the artery along her neck?

Not fucking likely.

He’d been… confused. So confused. Nothing had made sense. A fifty-year-old baby. His ship stripped to the girders. A floating mudhorn. A whole entire camtono of beskar. Things that do not exist. Things that do not happen. His mind had started to unhinge, and the things he doesn’t remember alarm him almost as much as the things he does. He has no recollection of how he got from the mudhorn nest back to the Jawa transport. He doesn’t remember the trip from Arvala-7 to Nevarro. He doesn’t remember walking from the Razor Crest to the Imperial safehouse. One moment he was in one place, the next, he was somewhere else. Had he eaten? Slept? Had enough water in his bloodstream to so much as take a piss? He has no idea if any of those things happened during any of those intervals.

He vaguely remembers having a flashback of his village, Aq Vetina, getting destroyed while in the Forge. The fight with Paz just before that.

He does remember flipping through the Razor Crest’s start-up sequence, reaching for the thruster lever, noticing the knob off to the side, and his brain coming back to life with a slow creep as he screwed the knob back on.

He had known damn well he owed a life debt to the child, that the child had become his the moment the mudhorn had been stopped. Defend your family was one tenet of the Resol’nare. Another tenet was to wear armor. Din had broken one to support the other. He’d sold his baby for the beskar. Somehow, he’d placed a higher value on the armor than on the child’s life.

How had he done such a thing?

Because he’d had to keep his word.

He’d had to honor the contract he’d agreed to. One of the many overlapping Mandalorian and Bounty Hunters Guild values – keep your promises. Do what you agreed to do.

Through his unhinged disassociation, his duty to his contract allowed him to ignore what the child had done for him, ignore the very treatment of Foundlings that he had believed saved his own life once upon a time, ignore that bond of family. He remembers shoving it away. He remembers rejecting it. He remembers rejecting the six families who had tried to take him in as a child. He remembers his belief that he was unworthy of having a family of his own as an adult. He remembers rejecting the notion that the child was his, his Foundling, convincing himself that the baby was nothing more than a bounty. A contract to be fulfilled.

And as his hand had hovered over the lever, the slow dawn of horror had risen in his mind.

Oh dear god what have I done?

Oh dear god what do I do now?

Din hears the clink of armor next to him and realizes, again, that he’s spaced out. Two or three levels deep, this time. How can he possibly explain it all? How can he possibly put the whole mess into words? He doesn’t even care about forgiveness – he doesn’t deserve it and he doesn’t want it. He just wants to make someone understand that he’d been… broken. Wrong. Foolish in his prioritization of conflicting demands. He just doesn’t have the words.

“You do not necessarily need the words here, Djarin,” the Armorer says. “I can see well enough for myself.”

“You’re Force-sensitive?”

“To a small degree, yes.” She inclines her helm just a bit. “You would be well advised to remember that you are on a world populated by many who are helpless but to see and hear what you broadcast. They do not mean to pry, but your mind is… loud.”

He sighs. Rayne has told him as much. “The volume of my mind is inverse to its usefulness. I am dar’manda as a result of my actions – I swore the Creed to the people who murdered my parents and I sold my foundling. I was raised by a terrorist organization but I am somehow the father of a powerful sorcerer baby and I am about to marry his Jedi mother. And I have no idea what to do with this.”

In his frustration, it’s all Din can do to keep himself from slamming the Darksaber down on the bench when he unclips it from his belt.

The Armorer takes a deep breath. “I was told that you understand little of Mandalore. Do you understand what it means to possess this object?”

“Leadership of an entire world as determined by winning a weapon in battle seems… less than legitimate.”

“A valuable insight for someone raised in a religion that worships weapons.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I have no clue about what I’m doing.”

The Armorer considers for a moment, parsing through the storm of confusion before her, then comes to a decision. “Do you still hold to the Resol’nare?”

Din swallows. “I’ve… started taking the armor off at home. Including the helmet. My son and the woman I will marry see my face every day. But I speak Mando’a to our son. We intend to raise him as both a Jedi and a Mandalorian. We defend ourselves and each other. We provide for each other.”

“And if you are called upon by the Mand’alor? Will you rally to the cause?”

“If the cause is worthy, yes.” His gaze falls to his feet. “Do we even have a Mand’alor at the moment?”

The Armorer picks the Darksaber up from the bench. She tests the weight of it in her hand, a reverent breath sighing through her modulator. She hands it back to Din. “No.”

Apparently not.

He takes the ancient artifact and clips it back to his belt as if he’s perturbed to be stuck with it once again.

“As far as the practices of this Forge are concerned, your application of the Resol’nare is adequate,” the Armorer says. “You may consider yourself a Mandalorian and practice under our banner if you so wish. You must understand, however, that you are the only vod to wear armor and openly bear weapons beyond these walls when not on missions. Such actions would normally be considered aggressive on a planet of peace, and many here have suffered at the hands and blasters of those wearing armor that is an homage to our own.” Din thinks of Rayne’s discomfort with his armor and his gut tightens at the realization of her response on a global level. “But allowances are made for you because you have brought the Lost Son home. For better or worse, you now represent all members of this Forge, and any aggression against any citizen of Genesaria will reflect poorly on all your sisters and brothers here. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Will you speak the Ridurrok when you make the Jedi your wife?”

“Yes. We both will.”

“Very well. As for the state of your soul, creeds sworn by pre-teens under false pretenses after brainwashing by their captors are non-binding under this roof. The honor you declare for your parents in the color of your armor is backed by your break with Death Watch.

“The matter of selling your child to those you knew to be evil while in his debt weighs much heavier. A sin such as this can only be rectified by a lifetime of utmost service to your child. You are not to abandon him. You are not to deem yourself unqualified and relinquish your responsibilities to another. You must continue to earn the honor of wearing your clan signet. Your devotion to your son must never waver. You are his father, as you must always be until your dying day. Only then will your soul be granted entry to the manda. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“As for our ancient gods,” she nods to the triptych, “we keep them merely as allegorical reminders. Fate is fickle and unfair. We must not allow ourselves to become stagnant. But we must also be cautious in our application of destruction and change. Noble hunters are selective in their kills. They take only enough to remove excess. Trim back to allow new growth. They are the dark that balances the light. No wanton slaughters. No violence for its own sake. And be very, very careful with revenge. Do you understand this as well?”

“Yes.” Damned if she hasn’t seen right through him. The three pieces that are left of him when his soul shattered under the weight of discovering the circumstances of his capture. The piece that wants to love. The piece that wants to run away. The piece that wants to destroy. She’s taken the last two and pinned them directly to the first. The fractures are still there, the pieces still very much their own, but they are now stuck together. They are now in the position to heal. “I understand.”

“Very well. Come with me. I have something you may be interested in.”

---

The Mandalorian and the Jedi stroll through the market, picking up what they’ll need for tonight’s dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast as they go. They decide on shrimp pasta for dinner, much to Yadier’s delight, his memory of the massive amounts of krill he consumed on Sorgan not forgotten. Din has mixed feelings about shellfish in general – something about boiling an animal to death in the armor it has grown around itself and then prying it out to eat it unsettles him, but even he must admit that they’re tasty, so he rolls with it.

The thought reminds him of something else.

“May I borrow your bow for the weekend?” he asks.

“Sure,” she says. “Going hunting?”

“Yeah.” He shifts the sack of groceries over his shoulder. “They have an open season on the deer species here. Their natural predator got wiped out by a virus and the deer population exploded. The Mandalorians here set up a hunting management program.”

She looks up at him, her pace slowing. “There are other Mandalorians here?”

“A few. Yes.”

“And you’re in contact with them?”

“Yes.”

She’s hard-pressed to contain her surprise. “It’s going okay?”

“I found a Forge. They’re… moderate. They only wear armor for ceremonial and certain occupational purposes. You wouldn’t recognize them outside if you don’t know what to look for.”

“How does that sit with you?” She doesn’t seem at all perturbed that he hadn’t told her outright. Her questions are driven by curiosity, and it steadies him. Grounds him.

“They’re… very accepting.” He breathes a sigh. “So far so good.”

“Do you want to take Yadier there?” She brings her free hand to the baby’s belly, but her tone is, again, one of curiosity, not of defense.

“Eventually, maybe. We’ll see how it goes for a while first.”

She nods. She has sensed that he’s felt adrift since he’d removed his helmet before her, a feeling that has grown more pronounced after he’d found out about Alaria’s death and his daughter’s existence. Unsure of where he belongs, how he can fit in, what it means to be a Mandalorian on a planet of Force users, even with the work they are starting. He needs a foundation he’s familiar with. This seems to be a good one and she’s glad he has found it. With that sorted, she gets back to his original request. “Out of all of the weapons in your collection, you don’t have anything appropriate for game hunting?” She gives him an amused smile.

“Oddly, no. Everything I have is geared for close-quarters defense or long-range disintegration.” Even if he switches out the disruptor shells to conventional slugs for the Amban, the rifle itself is so high-powered that anything he hits with it will get blown to smithereens.

He’d brought down a deer with her bow during their time on Methuselah, where the use of firearms was prohibited for game hunting as a noise-reduction measure. She knows he can use it effectively. “Sounds like a good opportunity.” She brushes the back of her hand against his and he looks down to catch her glance for a brief moment. “You need a break from the daily grind of civilized life. This’ll be good for you.”

“Yeah,” he says again. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She catches his glance again and winks. “We share all.”

He swallows at her mention of the vow they will swear in a few more weeks, and hooks a finger around hers, giving a short squeeze before letting go.

Yadier hums with satisfaction as he gnaws at his meat stick. His father has brightened over the last few days. Less like he is in three slightly different places at the same time and more like he is in one place. More solid. A welcome change from the slow descent his father had been experiencing before. Floundering. Like he’d misplaced himself, somehow. Lost. But lately, the glimmer of hope is back. The darkness has receded for now, and Yadier is happy.

His mother is battling a darkness within her, though. Her understanding of it lies just outside of her awareness. She almost notices it, the bitterness of misplaced jealousies, the hollow age-old loneliness, but not quite. Like an immune system fighting off a pathogen before the symptoms have really set in, heralded by precursors noticed only in hindsight. He’s resolved to keep an eye on it. See if he can fix it later, for he knows it’s far beyond his current abilities. The thought of losing his mother… he won’t let his mind go there. He just got her. He’s barely had her for any time at all. He can’t give her up already. He won’t. Another darkness he knows he should avoid. His mother and his teachers have shown him how to identify it, how to evade it. They have urged patience – he is too young to confront it directly now. But later, he knows he will be strong enough. Later. Grow first. Grow strong.

He’s doing the best he can. Being here, on Genesaria, on a world that exists in a peculiar nexus of the Force, surrounded by other Force users, has helped. He feels at home here. Not quite the place he was born, a place he can’t quite recall, the memory dimmed with time and the primordial state of his mind when it all happened. But Genesaria is close enough. It’s home enough. The Force flows through him here, and he grows strong. His parents give him love, and he grows strong. He’s making new friends, and he grows strong. He wants to be strong. Be strong for his buire.

The rift between his parents is almost closed, now, and for this, he is joyous. Their love for each other has grown. Their fear of each other has dimmed. They still have a little way to go, but for now, they are on the right path, and are forging it together.

The bonds of his family are growing stronger, and he grows stronger with them.

---

Din had marked the date on the calendar hanging in their kitchen when Rayne had agreed on “ask me again in three months.” She had also agreed to Mandalorian vows. Mandalorian weddings being what they are, nothing more than a private sharing of vows, the asking and the vows would happen in quick succession.

She has thus far given every indication that her answer will be “yes.” He has no reason to doubt. His signet is inked forever into her skin. She’s been low-key quoting bits and pieces of the vows for weeks, now.

Even so, when he wakes on the morning of the presumed day of their wedding, his heart skips a beat when he discovers he is alone in bed.

The sizzle of first meal cooking out in the kitchen puts him at ease, and he forces a deep breath.

Yadier is half-way through a decent-sized plate of bacon by the time Din makes it out, popping a whole raw egg into his mouth as Din pulls a t-shirt on over his head. Rayne slides a plate of bacon and eggs in his direction as he takes a seat next to his son at the counter. The bacon is just on the meaty side of crisp. The eggs are over-easy and runny. The toast is almost burnt and drowning in butter.

Exactly how he likes it.

They’ve been working their meals around managing his high blood-pressure, but he’s allowed a cheat-day every now and then. Today is as good a day as any to indulge.

“Nervous?” she asks.

“A little,” he admits. “You?”

“Nope.”

In all fairness, this is not Rayne’s first rodeo in these matters. She knows what it means to pledge her soul to another. She knows what it means to commit herself to another. She had sworn “until death do us part” before.

And death had parted her from the soul she had sworn to.

She is ready to swear it again.

Din is in the fresher a little later, trimming his beard. He’s experimented with various configurations over the last few months, all of them including a mustache in one form or another. Some were honest failures – Rayne had thought the chinstrap was hot, but its thin lines were unforgiving of the bald patches on his jaws. Some were blatant failures – the lambchops never stood a chance with his sparse growth pattern, and the handlebars had earned him the hardest eyeroll he’s ever seen in his life – totally worth the time spent in having to shave it all back down and start anew. In the end, he’d settled on something a little fuller around his jawline than the chinstrap, down to a short stubble that de-emphasized the bald patches, a little longer in the mustache, the patchy areas on his cheeks taken down all the way with a razor.

He’s left the door open, so Rayne comes in to brush her teeth. Finished with his beard, he runs his hands through his hair, three months out from the last time he cut it on Methuselah.

It’s a shaggy mess.

Hers isn’t much better.

He offers her the clippers. “Wanna give it a shot?”

She looks at him in confusion. He’s been cutting his own hair since swearing the Creed and doing a… passable job at it. He’d actually done reasonably well with cutting hers on Methuselah, but she’s never done it before and has no idea what she’s doing. Frankly, he’s tired of doing his own. Tired of trying to reach the back of his head with the clippers. Tired of grabbing fistfuls his own hair at the top of his head and mowing it down with scissors.

They bring a chair in from the kitchen so he can sit and she can reach everything. She follows the same technique he had used with her before, starting with the biggest gate and working her way all around his head, then moving to the shortest he figures he can get away with without being prickly under the helmet for the back and sides, then down to the smallest for the edges and around his ears. She manages the taper well enough, and when she is done, he looks remarkably clean-cut. Shorter than what he’s used to, but it will still lay well under the helmet and he likes it well enough.

When her turn comes he uses the same big gate for the top of her head. He runs it through once and has to pause when a memory flickers through his mind. Not an image, but a feeling in his hands. Something that had begun with practice in the light, then happened only in the dark after swearing the Creed. Braiding.

He used to braid Alaria’s hair in the dark.

He closes his eyes, lets the memory of her hair in his fingers play out until it slips away on its own, and then he opens his eyes once more.

He returns to his work, running the clippers over Rayne’s head, only her hair is so curly it seems to “thin out” more than actually get much shorter. He’s reminded of the time he happened to see a farmer shearing sheep and he can’t suppress a chuckle. “Stop,” she says, half-serious, knowing what he’s laughing about, subjected to the image he can’t help but project from his mind. “Knit a sweater with it if you think it’s so funny.” Her tone is light and she runs her finger up the back of his knee, familiar with all of his ticklish spots. He squirms out of her reach and then settles down. He uses a shorter gate for the back and sides on her than what she’d used on him.

He notices…

Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but he doesn’t think so.

Running the clippers over the back of her head, shearing off several months of hair reveals new gray behind both ears. The salt-strewn patches seem larger than they should in their sudden revelation, rather than the subtle intruding creep he’s noticed in his own hair over the last few years. He says nothing, pausing to look at the tuft of silver curls in his fingers.

“What’s up?” she asks.

Not knowing what else to do, he hands it to her over her shoulder.

She’s silent for a moment, as if she’s staring at her own mortality in her hands. “How much is there?”

“A lot.”

They both suspect the same cause.

The Force blowback of pulling down an Imperial starship as it exploded had, in fact, killed her. A new patch of gray hair should not come as a surprise, even if it is a shock.

She lowers her hand, dropping the tuft for it to join the rest on the floor. She takes a breath. “Are you still okay with… moving forward today?”

“Yes. Of course.” His response is immediate and firm, and he grips her shoulder, locking her gaze in the mirror. “That’s how you earned this,” he says, indicating the mudhorn inked there. “It’s just another kind of scar. We’re both riddled with them. We’ll both earn a lot more before we’re done. You know I understand this.”

She takes another breath, relaxing, and he watches her reflection as she nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Soon enough they are done.

They look in the mirror together, gifted haircuts looking pretty reasonable all things considered, and Din looks a little less nervous. She places a kiss on his shoulder, over the signet she had inked there.

They’re ready.

---

Rayne sits on the rock slab in the sun at the point on a bluff, the view of the valley below unfolding for miles before her. Her legs are stretched out and crossed at the ankles, amber shades masking her eyes.

They’re rimmed with tears.

She’s taking some time to reflect back on her late husband.

On Hayes.

She misses him dearly.

Like Din, he had been a man of few words. Unlike Din, he had been prone to silliness and managing to spit out only a portion of the words he ever meant to say. She misses his silliness, which had always made her laugh and set her at ease, and she hadn’t minded having to interpolate the words he spoke. And so it was that when he proposed to her, the words had come out in a stumbling laugh, some of them missing, and she’d forced herself to respond with a clarifying, “Yes, I will be your wife. That’s what you were asking, right?”

He had brought a carefree joy to her life. He had made her feel secure in her place in the world. And when he was gone, he’d left a gap in her soul that she thought would never be filled again.

Din doesn’t quite fill that gap, and she doesn’t expect him to. He is an altogether different shape. Larger in some dimensions, smaller in others. He lacks the carefree joy, bringing focused intensity in its place. Not better, not worse, but very different.

And she is glad to have him.

When Din reaches the edge of the clearing, he takes one more moment to gather his thoughts, getting the words set in his mind. The serious possibility of saying them had never crossed his mind until he had met Omera. She had cracked something open in him, shone the light on a life that was so different from the one he had always led. It had turned out to not quite be the right time, she was not quite the right woman, and Sorgan was not quite the right place, but the possibility had finally been illuminated. He knows he owes the fact that he is even capable of pledging his life to another to Omera.

He had done his best to close the door on it, told himself he was an idiot, told himself that his inability to either join or form a clan by his age was clear evidence that it was not, in fact, possible for him. He was a loner. Always had been. Always would be. All he had to do was get the kid somewhere safe and be done with it.

And then it became clear that he was incapable of doing it by himself. After that, it became clear that the kid was more than a responsibility. The kid was his son. Another truth he had tried to close the door on until the Armorer ripped the doors off and put it square in front of his face. Cara’s pre-emptive rejection of his offer to come along on the heels of that, followed by having to bury Kuiil with his own hands offered up a whole new pile of heartbreak.

And then, Rayne.

Another widow, like Omera. The galaxy is full of them, the machines of war chewing through families and spitting out the mangled remains. Yet he’s only occasionally thought of Rayne as such, lacking the constant reminder in the form of a half-orphaned child. Lacking the mannerisms of one who has any idea of what being part of a family is like. Yet offering protection had come easily for her. Offering comfort, almost as easily. Offering love… had been a clear struggle. One that he shared. One that he, if anything, had exacerbated. Love does not come easily to Mandalorians steeped in violence and loss. And he knows well the echoes in the empty places that Hayes left behind, his name murmured in the dead of night, playing out in Rayne’s dreams and nightmares.

But here she is. Waiting as promised. His words are ready. He steps forward.

She turns her head at the crunch of his boots along the trail and stands to greet him. He takes her hand and leads her to the shade of a tree so he can move her shades to the top of her head without blinding her. He wants for both of them to look each other in the eye for this. “Are we alone?”

“We are.” A small smile pulls at the corner of her mouth.

In this one thing, they will not include Yadier. His place in their lives is already carved in stone. In this one thing, they will go alone. Together.

He lifts the helmet from his head and places it on the ground, then takes his gloves off and stuffs them in his belt. His hands tremble as he takes both of her hands in his, but his smile is steady. “You have been the mother of my son for five months, now.”

“You’ve been the father of my son for much longer.”

The next words are ones he hasn’t quite found yet, but he plows ahead anyway. “If I… find my daughter. If I find her and she’s still alive… will you… if she…”

“Yes. I will accept her in whatever form works out best for the both of you.”

“Will you also be my wife? Will you be my riduur?”

“I will, if you will be my husband.”

“I will.” He pauses, then says “Right now,” as she knew he would.

“Right now,” she agrees, as he knew she would.

He tips his chin up, looking over her shoulder. “In the forest.” As she knew he would.

“Okay,” she smiles. She leads him along a path for a short distance, then steps off, and weaves through a maze of boulders strewn through the pines, stepping down into an isolated hollow. A blanket is spread on a thick bed of pine needles. A warm breeze sighs through the trees above, surrounding them with the scent of pine. She had asked if they could consummate their vows outside and he had agreed, so long as the location was remote and protected. She turns to face him. “Does this work?”

He looks around, taking it all in. “It does.” He places his helmet on the corner of the blanket. Then, he detaches the pauldron from his right shoulder. The one with their clan signet. He holds it in his hands, looking at it for a moment, then looks back up at her. He tips his head to the left in an invitation for her to remove the other pauldron.

Her brow furrows in confusion. She’d assumed he’d want to say their vows dressed in full armor with the exception of the helmet. He smiles, knowing he’s thrown her a curveball, and holds his hand out. She steps forward to take it in hers. “Nothing between us,” he says.

She raises an eyebrow. “Oohh…” She hadn’t expected this, but… why not? Once again, she is reminded of the importance he places on symbolism, and the importance of shedding all barriers before speaking the vows that will make them one makes perfect sense. She helps him remove the armor now as she so often has, removing the pieces on the left as he removes the pieces on the right, helping with the chest and back plates. Clothes come next for them both, and soon enough, it’s just them, wearing nothing but the beskar casings at their throats, the symbols of shared parenthood that they never remove, the symbols of their first connection through their son.

The breeze is warm against their bare skin, and Din is… Din is ready.

Rayne takes him in her arms and kisses him, presses herself to him, thankful that the vows are short, because seeing him like this, touching him like this, having his skin against hers like this, warm and firm and trembling, makes her ready, too.

When he pulls his lips away from hers, he catches her gaze once more, heart pounding. “Connected,” he says.

It takes her a moment to figure it out. “You want… while we’re…”

“Yes.” He can’t help the half-smile that pulls at one corner of his mouth, his face otherwise hardened with desire.

He wants to say the vows of the Riduurok while making love in the forest. He wants to establish the link between their souls through the link already formed in their flesh.

Good god, this man.

They sink to the blanket. The ground is soft. Rayne watches the trees sway above them as Din maps the topography of her body with his mouth, the breeze sighing through the needles as she sighs her anticipation.

Even now, even out here, they take their time. He trusts her senses, trusts that they will not be disturbed. He listens for the pace of her breath, notes the pressure of her fingertips along his spine, the arch of her body against his, the glide of her tongue along the edge of his ear. But still he waits. He continues to give her what she needs, holding off on giving her what they both want, holding off until he hears the words.

“Please,” she whispers. “Din, please…”

And they begin.

They indulge themselves with a minute or so of movement, lips pressed together, slow, deep motions. Din takes Rayne’s left hand in his right, fingers intertwined, and presses their hands to the blanket by her head. He plants the rest of his weight on his other elbow. “Open your eyes.” His voice cracks over his pleading demand.

She does, and finds herself pinned beneath his dark brown gaze. Their eyes, their hands, their flesh. Their connection is complete. “I’m ready,” she whispers. She has studied the words. They are easy enough, and there aren’t that many. So when he begins, his voice low and steady, she joins him, and they say them together, in unison, gazes locked, each line punctuated with a slow easing of flesh.

“Mhi solus tome.” We are one when together.

“Mhi solus dar’tome.” We are one when apart.

“Mhi me’dinui an.” We share all.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.” We will raise warriors.

He presses his head to hers and kisses her, long and deep and hard. They can’t help themselves and they do not last long. He welcomes the Force of her release as it grips him and he follows immediately after, and once again she welcomes his warmth as it blooms in her mind. They are, at this moment, linked in every way.

He lets his weight sink to her and they stay that way for a long time, breaths transitioning from damp panting to relaxed draws, savoring the moment, savoring each other. Understanding that this is just the beginning of the next chapter of their lives.

For him, a chapter he thought would never be written, now suddenly open to a fresh, blank page in the story of his life that had taken such an unexpected turn more than a year ago.

For her, a second chance, a sequel to a story she had once feared ended and forgotten on a dusty shelf.

Theirs is the same story, now, and they are ready to write it together.

He traces the mudhorn tattoo on her shoulder, remembers it taking shape under his own hands, remembers the sting of it when she had given him his. The indelible symbol of their union inked into their skin, now made official, sealed with the sacred words, consummated in love.

She holds her lips to his ear. “My name is Rez. Rez Rohan. I’d rather that didn’t get around too far, but I won’t hide from you anymore.”

His breath catches in his throat, understanding that this is how she had wanted him to know, this was how she had told Hayes, the only other person who had known. And yet, she makes it uniquely his moment at the same time, mirroring the phrasing of how he had first told her his name, five months ago. He brings his lips to her ear in turn, and mirrors the response she had given him then. “Good to meet you, Rez Rohan.”

#the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu

[science-lings]

I got distracted reading a couple of your fics (the one where Wild ends up in AoC era and also the one where he can be possessed by the champions, I left kudos on both and subscribed)

Fierce! My lad. So I did come up with a name for them (he/they), and it's Fuyuki. Fuyuki is the very first "Link" and the origins of the Spirit of Courage and also the Chosen's Hero mark on having mythological creature traits because he was a Hylian/Thunderbird. He fought alongside Hylia during the war the first sealed Demise and sent the Hylian's to Skyloft.

They'd been mortally wounded, so Hylia split her soul into two so that she could A. Ensure that the two of them would always re-emerge when Hyrule needed them the most and also so that she could save her beloveds life via bringing Fuyuki to the Golden Realm (where the Golden Goddesses live) where Fuyuki married Hylia and the two have watched over Hyrule and also guided their reincarnation's after Demise both made his brief return and then uttered his curse of hatred. I don't have a design for Fuyuki yet, but he is born from the Sheikah tribe so he has the classic white hair.

The armor he wears in both the war and also as Fierce Deity was a gift from Hylia and speaking of Fierce Deity, I do have an idea for how that came about.

Fuyuki's body, having remained on Hyrule's surface, transformed into that mask because of the power left inside from Hylia's blessing and also his own intertwined and turned into something to be used when in dire need. Fuyuki is capable of rejecting the use of his power, so that's how it doesn't end up in the wrong hands.

(oooh cool I'm glad you're enjoying them!)

The Fierce Deity is such an interesting character to build off of, I guess bc he's both extremely powerful and extremely low on background information so you can do almost anything you want with him.

Also, Hylia/Fierce Deity is an underrated ship, I just like two war gods with similar-colored swords seducing each other on the field of battle. Primordial Divine Zelink deserves more attention to me.

I'm in love with the idea that the FD is linked to the Sheikah, like they start out as a servant of the goddess who loves him so much that she gives up parts of her own soul to assure that he won't die for good. Gotta love godly devotion that can lose more than what any mortal could even imagine. It's very neat.

#ooooooh loreeeeee #ask andromeda #links meeting au

[crusaderguy]

Now I have yet to complete the Arkham trilogy and watch every piece of DCAU media along with watching the Dark Knight trilogy, Batman v Superman and the rest of the Snyderverse, every episode from Batman the brave and the bold, rewatch the Batman 2004, and since the Batman 2 is coming out in a specific amount of years that I don't know about, then a Master Chief armor ranking or in other words, my own personal opinions of Master Chief's designs and how much I like them.

Coming up at number 8 is Halo 4 Master Chief, now it isn't that bad but if they kept the Halo 3 armor at the beginning then that would have been pretty cool. Honestly all someone has to do to fix the design is to change the shoulders, connect parts of the armor to make it look like the classic armor, make the visor gold, give it the og backpack thing, and change the helmet to the original look. Overall 6/10

Now while I do think that Halo 5 is the worst of the mainline games and people who prefer it over Infinite or 4 should have their rights taken away, Chief's armor in this is better than in Halo 4, I mean it has the golden visor and isn't as over detailed as in Halo 4, that being said, it looks like a toy and looks mostly the same. 6/10

Now I do agree that Halo CE deserves a better remaster or remake whatever, but the armor here looks kinda fire and it looks like it came from Halo Reach, in fact this is a better mark V helmet than Reach, but the problem is that it would have been better for it to be in Halo Reach, it should have looked like an HD version of Halo CE's armor. 7/10

Now we're getting to the best designs, we all know the armor is great, it's bulky but it doesn't make Chief look fat, I like the green and it's a solid 8/10

The Mjolnir armor we all know and love, my only complaint is that Chief looks a little skinny but who gives a shit? The man looks great and he deserves a 9/10

Now while Halo 3 is the best Halo and I do love this design, I just feel that there are 2 designs that are better, now the design is fucking amazing, I love the battle damage and the green, I also prefer the 3 dots on the back of his hand rather than the 5 in Halo 2, this shit is beautiful dawg. 9/10

Now this is a proper remaster/remake, this is what Master Chief is supposed to look like, Chief looks awesome in the cutscenes but in the gameplay, it's still good but not as good as the cutscenes. 9/10

And at number 1 is Master Chief from Halo Infinite, yes Infinite has it's problems but Master Chief's armor in the game is the best one, it's bulky and make Chief look muscular, it has the 117 on it, it's a mix of all the greatest parts of all his other looks, it's the best one in my opinion. 10/10

#master chief #halo ce #halo 2 #halo 3 #halo ce anniversary #halo 4 #halo 5: guardians #halo 2 anniversary #halo infinite

[frostbite-merun]

My opinions on every final evolution starter pokemon beneath the cut

Venusaur is cool. It's just that Ivysaur and Bulbasaur appeal more to me. 7/10

There is literally nothing wrong with Charizard. It's one of THE pokemon of all time. Not complex and it doesn't need to be. Keep on trucking. 9/10

Why he have cat ears? :( Why he lose Wartortle's soft and flowy water bits? :( Cannons are cool though. 5/10

Bayleef was just so good that Meganium is kinda eeehhhhhh... It feels like it's missing SOMETHING. Still cute as hell. 6/10

Badass. Kinda wish it had fire on it's butt like Quilava did though. Looks like a Jotaro Kujo's fursona 8/10

This was my first starter so I'm biased but why can't they ever find a good way to pose this poor guy? It's like those 'eagles facing forward' photos. Also he has human hands. 6/10

GROVYLE'S BETTER GROVYLE'S BETTER GROVYLE'S BETTER -100/10

Excellent. No notes. 10/10

Not my cup of tea but a good design! 7/10

This would be a 10/10 if the tree was just a biiiitttt bushier. 9/10

Favorite starter hands-down. He's monkey. He's fire. He's Sun Wukong. He's well-balanced. He's MONKEY 100/10

This guy sunk the Titanic. 10/10

Back at it again with wonky posing issues. Not as bad as poor Feraligatr though. Could be longer 7/10

Why'd they shade his face like that? Also I love this guy but you can't really see his neck so he looks like an egg. 7/10

I really don't like him. There's no reason for it, I just think Dewott's better. 4/10

Also this guy marks the spot where Gamefreak start making starters that just... don't look like their first evolutions at all. I hate it.

I SHOULD like this guy as a noted armor-enjoyer but like... what the fuuuuccckkkk. The like... pauldrons and face are good but the rest is just lazy. Like it's just lines on a Gumby body! And this isn't them having to work around graphical constraints because the games were in 3D at this point. I was robbed. 2/10

EAR. TOO. BIG. Face looks smug and horny. Weird proportions and I don't know where he keeps his stick 0/10

HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE -2 MILLION OUT OF 10

THEY BAITED ME WITH A CUTE LITTLE BUBBLE FROG

I can't gather up an emotion to feel. Rowlett cute. This is bird with weird hands. Blegh. 4/10

Again with the HANDS. If he had better hands I'd like him more but he's got like... Mickey Mouse ass hands. 6/10

The eyes, man. The eyes are just off. 3/10

Okay so this guy looks good... In this picture without his drums. Fuck those drums. Gorillas pound their chests so Gamefreak could have used THAT for their drummer thing but instead they gave this whole-ass gorilla an actual DRUM SET. Does he just carry it around? Can he summon it? Is the drum a Pokemon? Does it go in the Pokeball or does the trainer have to carry it around? 8/10 without drums, 0/10 with drums

That is a middle-stage evolution and Raboot doesn't exist. 5/10

SKINNY ASS CREEPY LIZARD WITH YAOI HANDS I HATE HIM SO MUCH 0/10

So my issue with this one is exclusively how they rendered his weird flower thing in the games. It looks like a knockoff beyblade 5/10

I've got mixed feelings. Like he's supposed to be a singer but that doesn't come across at all except when his bird becomes a mic. IThe fire's also just... weird. He's angular and his tail's awkward. But the bird is so cute and the ideas are THERE. This feels like a rough draft tbh 6/10

HATE HIS LEGS HATE HIS FEET HATE HIS LEGS HATE HIS FEET HATE HIS LEGS HATE HIS FEET HATE HIS LEGS HATE HIS FEET 0/10

#queue #pokemon #shitpost #long post #really long post

[ainarosewood]

Encounters

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

FFxivWrite2022 Day 19 Prompt Turning a Blind Eye

Alsenne cursed her luck as the heretic managed to get behind her and hit her in the head with his cudgel causing stars to fill her eyes then her vision to blur as she fell to her knees.

This is it, she thought tears filling Elezen's eyes, I’m going to die alone out here in the snow…

Only for her to suddenly hear the fast crunching of a laden chocobo across the snow followed by the solid thud of a chocobo foot connecting with a human body.  Though her vision was blurred she did see the heretic that had hit her go flying and felt a large warm presence behind her that was Kwehing in warning.  

The other heretics that had surrounded her for their friend to get the upper hand turned toward the new threat and the sounds of steel on steel rang harshly over the keening wind and Alsenne attempted to see who had joined the fray.

Through the swimming vision she could see a figure clad in armor that definitely didn’t come from any of the High Houses of Ishgard.  This was a design from Eorzea which marked her rescuer as an adventurer.  She honestly didn’t care, the fact that someone was there was all that mattered.

Within moments the adventurer cut down the heretics leaving their bodies to cool in the snow as she knelt before the injured knight.

“My thanks,” Alsenne stated, her head still reeling from the blow.

The adventurer started at her voice and then asked, “Can you stand?  I saw as riding up he got you in the back of the head.”

Confusion filled Alsenne at the reaction until she heard the voice, “Sallee? I might have known it would one day be you saving my neck.”

The other Elezen gave a rueful grin, “I should have known the short hair and armor wouldn’t fool you Alse.  And I did only what was needed.”

“Humble as always, and I should be able to stand shortly, rang my bell something fierce he did with that blow.”

“Rose, come here boy give her some support eh?” Sallee stated and the chocobo kwehed in response before settling down in the snow next to her.  Gratefully the Elezen knight leaned against the chocobo’s warm bulk waiting for her vision to stop spinning.

“Would that I had taken up one of the healing arts offered by the guilds in Eorzea. I could be of more help then,” Sallee stated, worry etching her voice.

“I should have suspected what the bastard was up to,” Aslenne retorted, “I will be fine, just need my head to stop spinning.  You already did more than enough saving my hide.”

Sallee just shook her head and stared out into the snow watching for any more heretics.  It didn’t take much longer before Alsenne’s head stopped spinning and her vision to clear.  Slowly she pushed herself to her feet, Rose following, offering the knight support to lean on.

Once she was on her feet she pulled the other Elezen into a warm hug stating, “Good to see you again old friend.  I had heard you had disappeared and your father was less than pleased at it.  I had a feeling that you would be alright but I worried all the same.”

“I…he was going to try to force me to marry one of the House Fortemps sons in order to strengthen our ties with the house.  I just couldn’t do it, I’m not fit to be a noble lady. So..I left. I never expected to come back here to Coerthas but, seems Nymeia had other ideas.”  Sallee explained returning her old friend's hug.

“Hah I suspected it had to be something like that.  He has disowned you completely.  Some of the house knights have even heard him deny he ever had a daughter.”  Alsenne replied releasing the other Elezen and then shook her head, “I never understood why he was so insistent on you being a lady of the house.  It never suited you.”

Sallee sighed as she looked the other woman in the eye, “He was afraid, afraid he would lose me as he did grandmother.  She, as you well know, was a knight of some renown before Svara ended her…”

“So that's why he was so hells bent on you never becoming a knight, I always wondered.” Aslenne once again shook her head grimacing as it began to pound in protest of the movement.

Sallee nodded then stated, “Mount up, you're in no condition to walk back to Camp Dragonhead on your own. And we both are bound to freeze out here if we keep just chatting,”

Aslenne knew better than to protest and climbed into the saddle swaying slightly before actually getting her balance.  She knew Sallee was right, she was definitely worse for wear due to those heretics.

On the way back they both began light chit chat catching up on what each had been up to.  Aslenne was amazed at what she heard.  While she knew her old friend well enough to know she was down playing the importance it was clear that the Wildwood had become an adventurer of some renown in Eorzea.  And in Aslenne’s opinion that suited her far better than either lady of a house or even knight.

For as long as she had known her, Sallee had been very much free spirited. To be able to travel and explore was truly what Sallee had wanted even if she had thought her desires were to simply be a knight.  But as Aslenne well knew a knight was bound to the house they served.  Sallee however as an adventurer was free to go and help whomever she chose no matter where they were or who they were.

And deep down that was what the Wildwood had always wanted to do, help others. Aslenne had seen that from a very early age when the two of them had been starting their friendship.

As they reached Camp Dragonhead Sallee helped her dismount and as they walked together to the infirmary Aslenne stated, “The mantle of Adventurer suits you well old friend, and worry not your family will hear nothing of this.   If asked, an adventure came to my aid, no names, no descriptions.”

The tension that had been in Sallee’s frame since she had recognized her instantly eased and the other Elezen said softly, “Thank you,”

As she went inside Aslenne simply replied, “Take care of yourself and send a letter a time or two will you, I’d love to hear more about your adventures.”

She then went inside and watched as the other Elezen mount up and ride out again into the snows knowing full well she was off somewhere else to aid someone else in need.

#FFxivWrite2022 #oc Sallee Reinard #wildwood #elezen #sentinal elf #aether data center #midgardsomr

[talietikasero]

My GG shirts from 10/0 came in today and here's a little review on them because I promised @6ayonetta and @eattheentirehell I'd make one

I would've taken pics of how they look on me (I'm a 5'11" woman, wear a size large (unisex/men's), and have a larger than average chest size) but it was super hot today and I'm sweaty. I'm gonna take a shower after posting this. Photos are kinda funky quality because it's nighttime and the light's coming from my desk lamp 😅

First up is the [Heaven or Hell] long sleeve

Image ID: two photos of the same shirt -- a black long sleeve for the game Guilty Gear -Strive-. On the front it has the G logo in the upper left, and on the right sleeve in all bold capital letters it says [HEAVEN OR HELL], alternating between full and outline lettering for the words. On the back, it has a center graphic of the weapons of Sol Badguy (Outrage) and Ky Kiske (Thunderseal) crossed and piercing the ground. Underneath it says the round intro in all caps: [Mankind knew that they cannot change society. So, instead of reflecting on themselves, they blamed the beasts.]

It fits pretty well considering my large frame. Material isn't specified on the inside but it feels like a regular t-shirt so I'm guessing it's mostly cotton -- blended with some other material? Soft to the touch, I kept cool despite it being warm today. Unfortunately, when I wore it, I was driving and noticed that the bottom of the Outrage graphic had some damage. Not really noticeable unless you look super closely. Rating: 8/10

Second is [Keep Out]

Image ID: two photos of another black shirt, with a design of the -Strive- boss character and newcomer Nagoriyuki on it. The back has his white mask with the teeth showing, accompanied by the character's hair in a highly stylized black/red color scheme. To the mask's left is the phrase [KEEP OUT] in all caps, with a cross shape at the end. The front has the symbol on his mask on the upper left.

Haven't worn this one yet, but it's also super soft to the touch. Graphics are crisp and fits perfectly on me. Pre-wearing rating: 9/10

And finally, [Justice - Resurrection]

Image ID: the last black shirt. Front: a collage of the frames of Justice's boss stage introduction from Guilty Gear: the Missing Link. Frames are outlined in thin white lines, and show the character's shadow portrait, her left claw/hand, one of her heels, a close-up of her face, her tail, and a backview of her hair and one of her shoulders (the armor is exhausting steam). The back of the shirt has artwork of Justice powering up from the cutscene's ending, with the Gear mark behind her.

So, I haven't worn this one either, but my god this is the softest shirt I own now. Feels plush to the touch, and I can't wait to wear it. Pre-wearing rating: 12/10 (ok, ok 10/10)

#my stuff #merch review #guilty gear #i'm glad these came in before my next semester started #i ordered the long sleeve back during combo breaker #and the boss shirts when they had the store restock #unfortunately they're all sold out now

[ml-typhonverse]

How our Heroes look

Now that we have our hero names, we should probably look into designing their hero outfits. I’m not artistic in the slightest, so there likely won’t ever be a drawing of our heroes, or of Typhon for that matter. But I can at least get an idea of how I want to describe them when I’m writing.

Let’s start with Kermes. As the Ladybug Miraculous wielder, his color scheme has already been decided. Black and red with his yo-yo on his hip. Except Kermes really doesn’t want to look like a ladybug. He can already see all the jokes coming in because of ‘lady’ and he had enough of that as a kid. So Kermes had a long talk (aka: fight) with Tikki on costume design.

Rather than the traditional ladybug, Kermes’s hero outfit is based on the firebug. They aren’t native to the US, except apparently in Utah for some reason, but they have the red coloring with black markings that he can use. It’s also where he got his hero name; Kermes is the genus of scale insects that the firebug is a part of. It’s also a term for the red dye that females produce, which is the natural source of crimson. (Kermes didn’t put too much thought into it; he just thought it sounded vaguely heroic and close enough to a ladybug, but not enough for people to associate him with one.)

The suit is that bright crimson color, and his mask will have the black triangle pointed down the bridge of his nose with those two black dots on the sides. This same design would be on his back, with a black collar around his neck. I’m imagining black boots up to mid-calf and black gloves as well. The yo-yo has a similar design as well, instead of the usual spot pattern.

As Kermes, his hair is red with black roots done like Link’s in BoTW. It’s longer as a hero than it is in his civilian form, and the color change also helps to hide his identity. This does mean it gets in his eyes sometimes, a fact that amuses Sabotage whenever Kermes starts to complain about it. His eyes are also the same shade of blue as Tikki’s in costume, though he wasn’t aware of it at first. Kermes wears the earrings in his cartilage piercings instead of his lobes, so they’re harder to see.

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Now for Sabotage. As the black cat, his costume is also pretty simple. It’s mostly black, with the bright green eyes with no visible whites that Plagg also sports. He also has the same cat ears that many other Black Cats have. But that’s when the differences start.

Sabotage’s outfit looks mostly like armored leather. From a distance, it looks like a one-piece outfit; it’s only when you get closer that you can see the separate pieces all in very similar shades of black. He has a hood that’s kept up at all times, helped by the two holes for his ears to poke through, which also covers the short black hair. Like Kermes, this is not his usual hair length or color.

His costume also looks a bit worn in places. It’s most visible on his mask, where there are four silver lines slicing down at an angle over his left eye, like a cat swiped its claws over it. There are similar scar-like markings on his arms, legs, and quite a few on his stomach. There’s a notch in his left ear and his right looks like something took a bite out of it. If Chat Noir is a house cat with his little bell, then Sabotage is a street cat willing to protect his territory.

The boots he wears are around the same height as Kermes, though Sabotage’s have little white markings that look like claws. He wears his ring on his right hand, though it’s masked a bit by thicker gloves that make it stand out less. Unlike a lot of other cat heroes, Sabotage doesn’t have the belt tail.

As for the name, Sabotage mostly relates to the Black Cat’s power of destruction. It’s also in relation to how the Industrial Workers of the World or IWW used black cats to signal sabotage or wildcat strikes. (I really know nothing about IWW, but I thought it sounded cool.)

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Trisca does not look like a typical fox. Instead of Volpina, the closest she is design-wise is probably Rena Furitive in terms of coloring. Her costume is silvery gray with almost invisible white flicks decorating her arms and legs. Her stomach up to her throat, gloves, and boots are all white. There’s some padded-down fluff covering her throat and chest, mostly to keep the fox necklace hidden and held down during a fight.

This is because Trisca based her costume design on the ‘marble fox’. Marble foxes are crossbreeds between the traditional red fox and silver foxes, and only found in captivity. A subconscious choice as Trisca too is unnatural in a way. It also gives her a ghost-like appearance, fitting for her ability to walk through walls.

Trisca’s hair is very pale silver, pulled back in a long French braid, with the tip turning white. This braid takes the place of the fox tail. She has the black tipped ears that Trixx has, and her eyes are the same shade of purple. The flute has the same coloring as her suit.

As for her name, Trisca didn’t come up with it until after their second battle. (It was actually the hardest name for me to come up with. My placeholder was ‘Charm’, but I didn’t like it because of ‘Lucky Charm’. I really wanted to avoid sounding like the other canonical foxes, but that took out a lot of the V names and just Vixen didn’t sound right.) She went with Trisca partially because it sounds like ‘Trixx’, though most people assume it sounds like ‘tricky’, and trisca is a term for the smallest fluier, which relates to her flute. More information below if you want to know!

https://eliznik.org.uk/traditions-in-romania/traditional-music/pipes/fluier-the-romanian-6-hole-pipe/

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If there’s one thing I don’t get, it’s why the Peacock apparently makes you change your skin tone when you wear it. No other Miraculous we’ve seen does that! Well, Typhon isn’t turning completely blue; I’ve decided that much!

For Typhon, his suit isn’t designed for fighting and combat like our three heroes. After all, he doesn’t need to dirty himself with actual fighting. His mask looks like the ends of two peacock feathers stuck together, with red rims around the eyes and the green and yellow fading out to traditional blue.

His outfit consists of a dark blue peacoat, dark green trousers, heeled boots for that satisfying clicking sound when he walks, and feathered trim on the edges of his hands and at his throat. His hair turns that dark blue color and the brooch looks like the eye of a peacock nestled at his throat. Think rich entitled bastard you see in a regency era movie, maybe?

Typhon’s name was the easiest to come up with, especially since I came up with Andromeda first. Typhon was the mate of the monster Echidna, known as the ‘mother of monsters’. (And yes, I know it’s also an anteater. She had it first, it’s not her fault!) I considered Argus as well, for the 100 eyes and the peacock reference, but considering Typhon was probably the deadliest monster that the Olympians ever faced, plus sounding a bit like ‘typhoon’, I thought it worked better.

#typhonverse #story planning #story background #character design #kermes #sabotage #trisca #miraculous ladybug au #typhon

[vasquezsvendsen55]

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#hermes silk scarf replica #hermes scarf replica #replica hermes twilly

[ct-7045]

Screw's blog masterpost

Well, hello there. I'm Screw, designation CT-7045, of the 501st Legion. Torrent Company, specifically. My batchmates are troopers Tup and Dogma.

A few of my brothers have convinced me into creating this blog on the holonet. Fives said it would be good for me to interact with civvies? Don't know about that, but this seemed fun all the same.

Asks are open! I think! Whatever those are!

《Mun speaks: Hey hiya thanks for visiting! This is my clone oc screw and I decided to make a rp blog for him. But i'm inexperienced at this whole thing fyi (as evidenced by my lack of lots of content lol). main blog: @salubriousbean

I decided to make a masterpost for Screw instead of that janky first post i made on a whim. I'll add more to this masterpost as I think of things I promise. Q&A's and other info under the cut so y'all know what's up :

/\ = signifies a POV change, like Screw's POV to a third person POV and vice versa (at least for this blog idk about other rp blogs)

《 》 = mun speaks (personal preference for these symbols I just like them, also just for this blog idk about other rp blogs)

questions n stuff (agh sorry about the capitalization, it's wack):

Are you open to rp with other blogs?

lol I don't even know why I included this question as I'm too chicken to tag anyone to rp with

but yes! I'd love to rp with you as long as it's appropriate. I will also only answer appropriate (ex. sfw) asks. disclaimer: responses may take a little longer as I've got a wack schedule but I'll do my best

Is this canon compliant?

if I'm being honest, not usually, but it depends on if I'm rp-ing with someone who is being canon compliant. This is kind of an au (considering that Tup and Dogma are the only ones left of their batch if my knowledge is correct, so Screw wouldn't exist. but he does here ahahahhaha). Also in this au I've decided that domino squad all survives and all become ARCs, huzzah! This is all sort of just bending canon lol

How did Screw get his name?

That's actually one of my wips, I'll link to it when it's finished (here's a snippet!) (btw it includes Fordo and Alpha-17, more not really canon compliant stuff (??) but who cares? not me!)

What does Screw look like?

I promise I'll add a photo of him to this post . . . as soon as I finish it that is . . . Anyways he uses a DC-17 like his two batchmates. He originally was going to cut his hair shorter like Dogma's, but Tup convinced Screw to grow his hair out like with him. It's not quite as long as Tup's yet, but it's getting there. It's longer than regulation, so Tup and Screw can tie most of it up if they want, but not all of it yet.

Screw and Tup also came up with the teardrop tattoo idea and they're proud of it. I'm currently brainstorming tattoo ideas for him.

He has a large scar across his face, from his forehead, across the bridge of his nose, and off his cheek. He got it in their squad's first posting, where they lost the other members.

(The following is subject to change) Screw's helmet is painted to kind of match his scar, but symmetrical, it almost looks like a peace sign on the front. His armor is pretty random, he has two big stars on his knee plates, an intricate star on one of his shoulders, and the other shoulder is solid blue. On the top of his chest plate is some clouds, with lightning and raindrops coming down from them. On the back of one of his hand plates is Tup's teardrop, and on the other is Dogma's chevron. On one of his forearms are patterns from his other two squadmates' armor (the ones who are no longer with them), and other patterns from other clones who have made a difference in Screw's life. On the other of his forearms is Ahsoka's markings, and some other TBD markings. The rest of his armor is TBD

What's Screw's personality like?

He, uh, let's just say he's got a loose screw or two. Also I have taken large chunks of my personality and made it his personality too. so there's that.

Screw likes cool stories (they live in his head rent-free) and he was able to bond with Hardcase over explosions. and once he met Fives, he was a teensy bit less lax with rules, but Dogma gently reminds him here and there when needed.

The 501st is all convinced that Screw also had a leak in his growth jar, like Hardcase, 'cause how else could you explain all his randomness and occasional chaos? However, this leak thing has never been officially confirmed by the Kaminoans. But Kix said "Most likely." so it's basically confirmed. at least for the 501st.

Screw also has trouble going to bed/sleeping at normal hours. A lot of the times he's up late, with only Rex up too, doing reports and captain stuff. Screw would love to go spend time with his Captain but he's a bit (socially) anxious, like Tup, so he's too scared to ask. luckily, those late nights are perfect for blogging. Though Screw does have trouble waking up in the morning. Also sometimes he gets matching headaches with Tup, and less frequently, Dogma.

Screw loves his brothers, especially his two other batchers (platonically, no cloneshipping here). He's also fascinated with mando'a, he thinks the language is really cool and already mostly knows it. He's a slight nerd and will sometimes hyperfixate on various topics. Likes learning new words. painted a mouse droid once and named it Slayer. And named a mop Enrad. Screw is also besties with 99 (and Omega a bit) :>

Thanks for reading all this guys, I'm excited to develop my boy's character some more and have some fun with him!》

#clone trooper Screw #tcw rp #mun speaks #the 501st #clone oc #star wars the clone wars #sw tcw #clone trooper oc #rp blog #the tags are an interdimensional space where sometimes the muse is speaking n sometimes the mun is and sometimes it's both at once