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the-whatcherof-89 · 3 months

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Commission for @pixlemonade

Grian “Big Boss” Xelqua Aka The Legendary Poultry Man.

CR 17 N Medium Humanoid Strix

XP 102,400 (if used as npc for encounter)Strix Cleric 10 Evangelist 7

Neutral Medium humanoid, Strix Init +2; Senses Perception +29

AC 31, touch 13, flat-footed 29 (+2 Dex, +10 Armor, +4 Shield, +1 Intuition, +4 Natural) hp 115 (16d8+34)

Fort +11, Ref +19, Will +12

Speed 60 ft. Flying, Land speed 30ft. Melee Returning shortspear+16/11/6 1D8+4 RangedRanged Spell+14, Returning shortspear+17/12/7 1D8+4

Racial Dayguard, Suspicious, Darkvision 60ft, Low light vision 60ft, Hatred, Fly speed 60ft, Land speed 30ft.

Traits Obsession(Buttons, etc), Spark of creation.

Class features Aura, Channel Energy 9D6, Domains Artifice, Air), Divine obedience,Skilled (Use magic device, Fly), Protective grace +2, Aligned class (Cleric), Divine boons (Strategic warrior, Sensibility of crafting), Creator’s touch, Material transformation, Gift of tongues(Ignan, Auran), Multitude of talents(+4 sacred bonus on untrained skills).

Spellcasting CL17 DC17 spells per day

4/6+1/6+1/6+1/5+1/5+1/5+1/5+1/3+1/2+1/1+1

Str 12, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 24, Cha 10

Base Atk +12/7/2; CMB +13; CMD +25

Feats Brew potions, Deific obedience, Extend spell, Craft magic weapons and armors, Craft wondrous magic items, Empower spells, Quicken spells, Maximize spells, Master crafter.

Skills Appraise +5, Craft(Metal) +20, Craft(Stone) +14, Diplomacy +4, Fly +21, Heal +10, Knowledge (arcana, history, religion) +14, engineering +9 (nobility, the planes,) +5, Linguistics +5, Perception +19, Profession(architect) +19, (engineer)+14, Sense motive +14, Spellcraft +14, Use magic device +13.

Languages Common, Draconic, Strix, Ignan, Auran.

Combat gear Manual of understanding+3(used), Returning shortspear+3, Mithral catskin breastplate+4, Caster shield(greater), Amulet of natural armor+4, Dusty rose ion stone, Headband of aerial agility+6(Wis), Rainbow lenses, Eagle cape, Belt of goat strength, Rod of thunder and lighting, Robe of useful items, Arrow magnet, Band of the colorful(pride) flight (ring of feather falling+Ring of flying improved+Colored flight), 4 Potions of cure critical wounds, Cleric kit, MWK tools(stone mason), 105GP.

Spells per day 0- All. 1-Animate ropes, Bless, Command, Divine favor, Sanctuary, Shield of faith, Summon monster I 2-Wind wall, Bear’s endurance, Sonic boom, Cat’s grace, Summon monster 2, Aid, Make whole. 3-Gaseous form, Dispel magic, Summon monster 3, Remove blindness/deafness, Blindness/deafness, Remove curse, Protection from energy. 4-Airwalk, Summon minor planar ally, Summon monster 4, Divine power, Freedom of movement, Divination. 5-Fabricate, Flamestrike, Summon monster 5, Spell resistance, Truesight, Reanimate dead. 6-Major creation, Planar ally, Animate objects, Dispel magic major, Word of return, Blade wall, Mass bull strength. 7-Elemental body(air), Regeneration, Destruction, Resurrection. 8-Whirlwind, Planar ally major, Summon monster VIII. 9-Miracle, Prismatic sphere.

Mumbo Jumbo Aka Bumbo Baggins the Mustache Man.

CR 17 N Humanoid, Dwarf

XP 102,400 (if used as npc for encounter)Dwarf Wizard (Conjurer, Creation school)15 Lore master 2

Neutral Medium humanoid Init +2; Senses Perception +20

AC 22, touch 17, flat-footed 20 (+2 Dex, +5 Deflection, +5Mage armor) Hp 135 (17d6+51)

Fort +13, Ref +13, Will +17

Speed 20 ft. Melee Father’s forgehammer+11/6 1d8+31 RangedRanged Spell+10

Racial Speed 20ft, Defensive training, Unstoppable, Stone cunning, Craftsman, Industrious urbanite, Stability, Darkvision 60ft, Weapon familiarity.

Traits Spark of creation, Socially awkward.

Class features Summon familiar (archetype Valet), Arcane bond (Familiar Cat), Create gear, Creator’s will, Summoner’s charm, Scribe scroll, Specialization school (Conjuration), Arcane discoveries: Arcane builder(wondrous magic items), Fast study, Golem constructor(Iron), Lore, Secret of health, Applicable knowledge(Forge ring).

Spellcasting CL17 DC18 spells per day 4/6/6/6/6/5/5/4/3/1

Str 12, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 26, Wis 14, Cha 8

Base Atk +8/3; CMB +9; CMD +21

Feats Brew potions, Extend spell, Skill focus (Knowledge Arcana), Alchemical affinity, Craft wondrous magic items, Craft magic armors and weapons, Maximize spell, Empower spell.

Skills Appraise +16, Craft(Metal) +28, Craft(Redstone) +28, Fly +10, Knowledge (Arcana +31, Dungeoneering +16, Engineering+28, Nature+16, Geography+16, History+16, Local+16, Nobility+11, Planes +16, Religion+11), Linguistics +2, Perception +10, Profession(engineer)+22, Perform(oratory) +3, Spellcraft +28, Use magic device +19.

Languages Common, Draconic, Dwarf, Giant, Terran, Orchis, Acquan.

Combat gear Headband of mental prowess+4(Int, Wis, Craft metal), Amulet of spell mastery, monocle of flawlessness, Father’s forge hammer, Engineer’s workgloves, Winged boots, Belt of giant strength+2, All tools vest, Traveler’s any tool, Handy haversack, Mallet of building, Clock of resistance+5, Ring of protection+5, Ring of crafting improved(Redstone), Artificer portable lab, Mumbo’s top hat(functions as a Cap of light and a Hedge wizard Conjurer’s cloak), Conduit rod, Scrolls(Planar binding greater, Anywhere but here, Expeditious constructions), Staff of conjuration, Blessed book, Potions(4 Cure Critical wounds, 2 Invisibility, 2 Blur), Wand of Summon monster II, Wizard kit, 15GP.

Spells known Mostly Conjuration spells Forbidden schools: Necromancy, Enchantment (around 45)

Spells typically prepared 9-Portal. 8-Summon monster VIII, Labyrinth 7-Limited wish, Wondrous mansion, Clenched hand, Reflect spells. 6-Mass bull strength, Contingency, Chain lighting, Iron wall, Dispel magic greater. 5-Telekinesis, Teleportation, Summon monster V, Wall of stone, Cone of cold. 4-Elastic sphere, Summon monster IV, Dimensional door, Stoneskin, Black tentacles, Solid fog. 3-Haste, Shrink item, Fireball, Summon monster III, Dispel magic, Resist energy. 2-Make whole, Mirror images, Glitterdust, Summon swarm, Web, See invisibility. 1-Shrink person, Magic missile, Grease, Unseen servant, Mage armor, Shield.

0-All except forbidden schools.

Background Grian and Mumbo lived in a faraway land known for their hermit residents where they are renowned for their incredible talent for architecture and his incredibly complex contraptions respectively. Both of them where building some crazy structure and as always creating some cunning brain-teaser or practical joke to have a laugh while at it. Still, when one day they were about to make their usual pranks and almost detonated each other in the attempt, Grain and Mumbo heard a voice: “Your aid… needed… someone important… lost… will you aid us?” Thinking it was a prank from another Hermit known for his Scars and his fancy Top Hats they went along and accepted only to find themselves transformed and transported into a completely different world. Now they have a mission on hand: Retrieve a lost entity from far away that bestowed part of his powers upon them.

IMPORTANT: None of the images are mine they belong to the following artists in the link. I did this for no profit only for entertainment.

#pathifnder #minecraft #roleplay game #hermitcraft #mumbo jumbo #grian #grain fanart #mumbo jumbo fanart

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wmarximoff · 1 year

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𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: because Wanda is unlucky enough to understands as much as you do about the responsibility of those with great power — and the losses that come with it.

warnings (18+): smut, angst, handjob, gender neutral reader has a penis, major character death. MINORS DNI.

pairing: emo!Wanda x spider!gn!reader

word count: 4k

masterlist|

(please, don't flag the work)

༺ᱬ༻

There was something gratifying you could point to in the idea that, propelling yourself into the air, climbing in that arachnid-like acrobatics with your own body to the zephyrs of frigid wind in furrows at that high enraptured speed, the world around you could well be so tiny and contained that it would even be deprived of external evils and annoyances when seen from above.

And you always watched it from above, from above, from the corners, in swaying webs, flight towards the urban labyrinth of a city marked by its own life, in a majestic and vigorous existence – a giant that shines even when the dusk of night falls, warm even in the face of a shroud of icy snow in the middle of that October winter.

Admittedly, the cosmopolitanly avant-garde structures that made up the metropolis of New York were sprawling, treacherous, and indeed even fragile, but the charm of the Big Apple was passed right over everyone else's heads, on the surface, when you didn't peer deep into the alley violence in that capitalist machine that encompassed you as much as it did any other New York passer-by.

Your distinguishing factor, however, your peculiarity, was that for many of those people you were a protector, a masked safeguard of their integrity in the face of the everyday hostility that the system so poorly failed to sustain. You were responsible for protecting the helpless, the underprivileged, the underserved, the mainstay of the marginalized and the forgotten. You were, in accordance with your moral duties, the friend of the neighborhood.

Swinging from one building to the next was part of the job at that point. Aerial locomotion became more practical and utilitarian when dealing with moving from one point to another between the skyscrapers that rose to the dark immensity of the night, like arrows shot to the top of the borough of Queens, where a kind of human spider like you moved upwards, climbing and shooting webs, leaving behind trampled footprints in the accumulated snow on the corners of the parapets and on the lightning rod antennas.

You propelling yourself into the dark sky, your muscle cords contracting, pumping blood, gusts of icy air sliding through the fabric of your dark mask, inflating the white eight-legged spider etching emblazoned on your torso. Feeling fucking alive.

In front of panes of glass, pale lights and hums, there was the frenzy of a city that never sleeps – in an intense rustling buzz, active and dynamic amid the white snow and the thousands of lighted lamps, with people carrying briefcases, with suits and ties and sheltered in heavy clothes, with children and with animals, alone or in packs, cars mottled on the white streets, advertisements flashing everywhere. Conversations meandering through the most disparate topics possible to parrot about, a veritable array of options.

Life was happening right below you, as you swung in a black and white suit over the tops of pylons and tall buildings, beads of icy sweat pouring down the length of your back, delirious ecstasy pulsing through your veins added to your warm, radioactive blood.

But, away from the noise of the night's bustle, your web swings that night were heading towards a final stop on an otherwise quiet round – a small apartment complex with thin walls, raised in stone and red brick and in poor plumbing, rather weather-beaten, with a rent worthy of the salary of a pizza delivery person (and part-time barista) like you in Northwest Queens. A place where you've resided since you found yourself being on your own, a little over a year ago, because you weren't exactly the lucky kind of kid.

However, no longer so far from the popular residence, huddled in an arachnid position right on top of the snowy tiles of a corner market, behind the acrylic lenses in the shape of tears, both your eyes compressed their lids in a comically expression, confused in a furrow of brows, since out of the glass of that window situated on the eighth floor were beams of a white lamp luminescence – and, as far as you held a knowledge in your memory, you had left your dwelling still by the end of that partially sunny afternoon, therefore, never having even turned on the lamps that day.

“Shit,” beneath the fabric of the mask you held your frigid breath, sharpening your senses into a state of alert.

It only took a single jump propelled by your lower limbs and an accurate web shot ejected from the shooter attached to your right wrist, aimed right at the edge of the building's terrace, for you to maneuver cautiously in the air, between the light poles, like an elusive feline to then crawling up the emergency stairs outside your living room window, peering in for a glimpse of who the intruder might be that would have crept into your residence while you were away, merging with the shadows that shrouded that cold night.

But the ice in your lungs soon softened into puddles of itself, and at what lay there, laid out for your view from within those four withered walls that encompassed the narrow cubicle you called home. Your heart pumped in liquid explosion inside your ribcage that spread to the pit of your stomach, taking everything in its path in a dizzying hot drag. And that's why a tiny silly smile allowed itself to be enjoyed by the commission of your lips, against the thin fabric of your mask – it was just a natural act for you, to smile foolishly at the splendorous vision of Wanda Maximoff.

The far view alone was enough for you to find yourself smiling and truly content at your core – Wanda lying on your own bed, between thick blankets and poorly stacked piles of pillows, so oblivious to the fact that she was being watched; the pale expanses of her ring-lined fingers so subtly being nibbled on by her teeth, her nails varnished by a black nail polish chipped at the tips, one opalescent knee crossed over the other next to her chest, her dark miniskirt exposing her firm thighs in a way just as appealing to your desiring gaze.

And you loved the fact that her brown hair modulated coffee-colored tones when arranged in the dead of night, only in the pale light of a lamp placed near the right end of the bed – how even though it seemed so dark in the confines of that room, Wanda glowed in her own light sweeping a strand of profuse chestnut hair behind the shell of her right ear, her ringlet gleaming silver, her gaze so intent on the little television set in front of her.

How her irises seemed to adhere to traces of a mossy hue so bleak out of the sun, yet almost bordering on the innocence of someone who was only enjoying a television program displayed on the squalid screen of the small television set that was placed in front of the opposite wall to the bed, just above a small second-hand wooden table.

Over her torso she wore an old dark sweatshirt of yours, made of thick, warm material, bought at a Hot Topic store a few years ago, when you were still in your high school years. And Wanda was beautiful – the owner of a casual beauty, a simple natural and simple neatness, the kind in which there is no effort to pretend to be pretty. A beauty that begins and ends with itself, just because she was beautiful. The most beautiful sight anyone's eyes could be graced with. The kind that made you feel lucky, lucky to have her for yourself.

But it was then that the cold came to haunt you in a gust of stiff wind, the frozen hand of winter tracing the vertebrae of your spine in a chilling contact on your epidermis, which gelled the blood flowing in your veins and turned your bones to ice. Only then did you realize the reality where you were hanging on the snowy emergency stairs outside your apartment, away from the warm weather and away from Wanda.

And so, with your gloved right hand, you managed to lift the window and head your way into the small room, stepping on the floorboards inside with your left foot.

“Hey little witch, are you breaking and entering now? And here I thought you were one of the good guys...”

“Y/n!” Wanda got pleased immediately and, from the bed, she turned with her chin towards your voice that came from the window, a smile emerging in the outline of those pink lips she had, then getting up to receive you properly.

“It's cold outside, get in quick! You're going to catch a cold!”

And her southeastern European accent, still bathed by the Adriatic Sea, made itself present in her low-toned speech, hardening the enunciation of that soft voice. That's why you smiled – the tone of Wanda's voice always warmed your loving chest.

“Fine, fine, I'm fine,” you muttered in an enthusiastic tone, bringing your left hand behind you down on the windowpane that prevented any more gusts of icy wind from piercing the blister of heat that had become infatuated through the walls of that small room.

“I'm in one piece, see? Healthy as a,” you smiled to yourself, “Well, as a spider.”

And a chaste smile flickered back between Wanda's lips, a hint of skin being scrunched across the bridge of her nose in an adorable way, “You're such a goof, web-head.”

So it was that the young woman came walking towards you, warm, smiling, with open arms to welcome you into her affections.

And you took her for yourself, pulling Wanda's body close to yours, whereupon clever fingers dressed in silver rings hooked on the seam cut of your mask right in the middle of your neck, slowly then hoisting it so that in front of the Wanda's gaze revealed the skin of your chin, and then the pulp of your lips; the jadish irises aimed at your mouth and, morosely, the young woman bent down to take a kiss from you herself.

You held her, groping your fingers around her waist, when it was that, in a dizzying, crimson electric shock, soaked in a jubilation of fiery delight, your lips touched in a prudish, measured way. It was a kiss of a simple nature, yet lingering on her lips and imbued with impetuous feelings – the need joined to longing, the happiness of a jovial and healthy love. Something in you just yearned to return to her arms every day, as if your soul fit hers like a jigsaw puzzle by your lips united in a single tune.

“Hi,” you lisped in the tiniest tone against her mouth.

“Hey, детка,” was Wanda's reply, who still had the hem of your mask pressed between her rings, before she hoisted her forearms up to her chin and completely removed the piece of cloth that covered your face expression as smiling as hers.

“I really love your eyes, Y/n.”

“I can say the same for you, my little witch.”

After a little simpler caress of love exchanged, more kisses and hugs and little oaths of longing, you two separated then in reluctance so that you would undress your cold spider suit, choosing to wear more casual clothes and comfortable on your body – a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of snug, vaguely baggy sweatpants. And while you were doing that, Wanda, sitting right on the edge of your bed, watched you in front of the tiny closet door nearby, where a small door opened onto a narrow, dark room with clothes hanging on hangers and a small yellow light dripping from the ceiling.

“I was looking over your crime board earlier, before you arrived, and...” as she talked, her chin was supplanted by the elbow resting on the right knee of her crossed legs.

“Mmm?”

Wanda looked at you for half a second, her face creasing in curiosity, “Who's Wilson Fisk?”

“Kingpin,” your voice was somewhat muffled by the dark shirt you were halfway pulling on over your head.

“He's one of the crime bosses around here, he's involved in some pretty serious shit around town,” at last, you tucked the shirt over your torso.

“And I've been on his tail for a few months now, but I need to get on with my work if I'm going to gather enough evidence to expose him to the public legally. It's going to be difficult since he has pretty much the entire political underworld in the palm of his hand and other stuff too, of course, but... but I think I'm getting somewhere with this, yeah.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, “That sounds… kinda dangerous, Y/n,” Wanda sniffed with her nose to the side, speaking more to herself than to you per se.

“Maybe if you talked to Clint or Nat they could help you with that. Steve too, even. I know they are all willing to help you if you ask. Steve… you know, he’d really like you to take a chance and be on the team for a while. He thinks you'd make a good Avenger.”

"Yeah, I don't know about that, Wands," you muttered back, raising your right eyebrow at the idea.

“I don't think it's in the Avengers' niche to worry about that kind of thing, you know? I mean, you guys kind of exist to deal with out-of-the-galaxy threats and crazed AIs and evil government organizations and all that shit, don't you? And, well, Fisk is a pretty big fish in his own way, that's true... but he's just a stupid old bald guy who blackmails the local politicians and has created a criminal empire out of bribery and corruption – which is not it's very different from the billionaires we know out there. The difference is that Fisk is not a threat on a global scale.”

At the not-so-indirect burn to Stark Industries that couldn't be ignored, Wanda couldn't help but giggle infinitesimally under her breath, an act that elicited a goofy little smile from you, swaying your shoulders into your baggy blouse.

“Well,” she smiled a little too, in a kind of assent to your words, “You're not wrong.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you turned your head toward her, as your right foot tucked into the seam of thick gray cotton sweatpants.

“Plus, I have this certain, umm, responsibility to the people of this town, I guess. It was a promise I made after all, I... I'm here for them, both to keep all that crazy shit from spilling over on them, and just to look out for them when no one else does. That's my job around here, my function. It's just what I do. I'm not a super spy, or a super soldier, a genius billionaire or a giant green strong guy, Wands. I’m, I’m only...”

“The friendly neighborhood web-head?”

At your roll of eyes, Wanda smirked, like a small rabbit with moderately larger front teeth than the rest.

“That's just mean, witchy. I really prefer Spidey, you know? Spidey.”

“Spidey,” the young enchantress reiterated to you, “Well, anything sounds better than the Witch anyway. That's so fucking pejorative, like, burn the witch or something, what the fuck. I’m not a fucking witch.”

“You aren’t?”

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes out of their sockets comically.

“The Witch, huh…” you looked at her, almost laughing when you did, “People really aren't good at coming up with superhero names, are they? Because this one is really bad. Really bad.”

“No,” Wanda chuckled in agreement, shaking her head, “They're not, not at all. And I’m not a superhero.”

“I see,” you droned, “And what are you then?”

For a second, Wanda looked at you, “A unlucky person who has made a lot of bad choices in her life.”

The television, which was flashing some old episode of a sitcom that made up Wanda's favorite series collection, was the only thing that filled the room with any kind of light or sound some time later, since, after stuffing yourself with the chicken paprikash that your beloved had prepared for you and then packed and stored in your fridge, the two of you snuggled in each other's arms, away from the cold and the chill, under a thatched hut with thick blankets on your bed during that bitter winter night.

But it was when you turned in search of a comfortable position to lean back against the pillows and your left elbow brushed Wanda's right, that you two looked at each other curiously as if only then had you realized how close you encompassed each other – two dark gazes in the middle of the room lit only by the artificial lighting of a meaningless program, together, alone.

And you craved the comforting body heat that Wanda radiated when as close to her as you were – the scent of red that wafted from her silky ebony hair and her smooth, pale skin. You felt, however, a gaze peering into you from the line of your jaw and cheekbones, and looking back, Wanda was staring at you with a voluptuous fixation on the darkened green corners of her irises. She looked at you like she could completely consume you, like something about her was going to swallow you up and eat you down, digest you to the bones.

And then, from beneath the cocoon of blankets, a subtle touch spread across your left crotch, still above the thick material of your sweatpants. Your gaze sailed from the heap of blankets placed in the region of your lap to the emerald gaze, so dimmed, of the young woman sitting next to your left elbow.

“Wanda...”

“Mm?” she hummed back, as innocent as could be, as if her fingers weren't so close to groping an area of your body that was already beginning to throb with signs of life.

“Wanda,” you lisped softly, again, so needy, pupils popping and blood bristling through your veins, “What are you…?”

“I missed you, детка,” her fingers dipped deeper and deeper into your crotch, her eyes still screwed into your field of vision as she did so, “I missed you so, so much… I get so lonely in my room in the compound, you know? And all I can think about in those moments is you... how much I miss you.”

She locked her upper teeth against the flesh of her lower lip, stifling a lusty, immoral smile when she realized something – already petrified in a flash of desire, beneath the fabric of your pants, was your semi-erection, a noticeable bulge that made Wanda's mouth throb with desire.

"And I bet you miss me too, don't you?"

“Of course I do,” you huffed out a breath of warm air, “Fuck Wanda, every goddamn night… every goddamn night I miss you.”

The bright, lively hand, with thin fingers wrapped in rings and well-cut black nails, couldn't help but travel through the dazzling skin of your abdomen, exposed by the lifting of your long-sleeved blouse, starting from the south, from your navel, into your hips, into the hem of your pants. Wanda captured your thick member and gave your shaft an alluring squeeze – her face then hidden in the contour of your neck, in the joint of your shoulder, to nibble, there, a piece of skin.

“Uh-f-fuck, Wanda...” you squirmed out of your nostrils like steam released from your bruised lungs, in a hoarse wail, somewhat drunk with the acute excitement present in your system.

Wanda smiled against your skin, her thumb lethargic caressing the strained head of your cock inside your pants and, in performed innocence, she placed a chaste kiss on the bone at the tip of your jaw.

“Just enjoy it, malышка,” was whispered in her low voice right next to your ear, in an accent hard and robust, but so dizzying when it came out of the crack of Wanda's lips, “Let me show you how much I missed you.”

And again, followed this time by a shameless tone of voice, leaking the red color from her pores, Wanda pressed the plump shaft between her slender fingers, causing a softness on your part. Following your moan, she placed a warm kiss behind your left ear.

“Allow me to make you feel good, Y/n.”

Wanda's right hand began its harassed, pleasurable work, up and down the length of your nervous member, raised to the intimate of your burning thighs – and you, wrapped in an embarrassed tremor, were exasperated as Wanda kissed your corner of the half-open mouth and the fluttering earlobe, threading your fingers through her brown locks as if it were a need between your hands, just in search of something to support yourself during that very intimate moment, shared by a couple of lovers as young and needy as you two were.

“Y/n,” she called against your cheekbone, “I… I'm sorry, but I want you inside. Now."

“Fine,” was your airy reply, “Fine.”

And without delay, Wanda passed her thighs over your knees, linking the folds of her elbows to your neck, then sitting on your lap so that a pink and expert tongue could slide inside your mouth as the damp, warm walls from her cunt slid around your erection. And then, one hefty, powerful touch, palms wide open and pressed to the flesh of her ass beneath her skirt, you screeched out of the outline of Wanda's lips a savory moan that squirmed from the very core of your lungs to pulsate against her lips during the carnal act of penetration.

“Бля, детка… тобі так добре, Y/n…” she gasped against the shell of your ear in a drawling semi-moan, “Y/n…”

"Do you like it?" was your question against her skin, to which, girding your cock with her velvety walls, Wanda nodded, bobbing her head up and down.

“I love it,” and, drunk on a wave of scarlet ledice, Wanda smiled, “I love you.”

You fell silent for a measly second, in fact barely realizing what had happened. Television still featured some sitcom that no longer mattered to you or even her, who was most attracted to the thing between you two – not being as close as you were in that primitive, carnal or even lewd way; skin with skin, flesh with flesh. Raw, visceral, passionate. It was cold outside, but your chest had never felt as warm as it did during that moment. She loved you. She loved you.

“You love me?”

Pulling her face away from your neck, Wanda looked at you with bright eyes from under thick, heavy lashes. She looked at you like no one else but her ever had before.

“I love you, детка,” was a whisper, a promise, “I love you, Y/n.”

When she started to go down everything became hazy, pulsing, hot, red. Wanda was moving up and down your body and you felt her backs arch convulsively, still continuing, creeping towards her cervix, rubbing her from the inside with the head of your cock.

And she rode you with such firmness, moaning and crying out, doing the penetration herself while your eyes converged in a single vision; Wanda moving up and down, over and over, seeking with her hips, until you both came in a delirium of dizzying pleasure; you pouring yourself inside her walls, into her flesh, and her thighs pale, wet, at the meeting with your hips. When she sighed wearily against the hollow of your neck, you smiled into a lock of her hair.

“I love you, little witch.”

It was perfect, you and her. So perfect that you pledged your love two or three more times that night, loving each other in the flesh, in the core, in the heart. Making you cling to the luck of having that miserable moment reserved for you and her, wanting to multiply it, make it last as long as possible.

It was as if, about a month or two after the event, already at the end of that winter suffered on a late December afternoon, Natasha Romanoff had not found herself leaving the corridors of the compound, walking stiff towards Wanda’s room, the soles of her boots full of soot and snow.

As if, among the strands of that short fire-colored hair, the residue of shards of sparkling glass did not shimmer after a painful fall – as if the Black Widow's lower lip were not found bloody and swollen after an arduous fight, as if she had not left a child to fight alone until it was too late for her interposition to mean anything decisive. As if Natasha hadn't been advised by Captain America to let Wanda, still as young, as damaged as she was, digest what happened, still so recent in the popular imagination, on her own.

“She's going to need some time, Nat,” pleaded Steve in a disgustingly grim tone, when they, he and she, were still sharing the elevator space just after returning from the big city with blood on their hands.

“Give Wanda a break, she's been through a lot. She doesn't need it right now. She’s… she’s just a kid. An unfortunate kid.”

But Natasha walked into Wanda's room in that snowy early evening, the emissary of news so atrocious that it had just left the streets, with blood and glass and corpses everywhere, a body count so tragic it could have had more, much lower if you hadn't intervened. Of course, you. But you weren't the one there to tell Wanda what the result of that fight with Wilson Fisk that Christmas Eve night had been. Natasha was the figure standing there, clutching the remains of your mask between the fingers of her right hand. It felt so pointless. As pointless as telling a young girl her lover was dead could be. Your mask felt meaningless.

“Wanda, I…I…”

But Wanda was nowhere to be found in her spacious bed after the Black Widow entered the room filled with posters on the walls and ceiling, stuffed animals arranged next to the pillows and the books piled orderly on the shelves. That was a young person's room, Natasha thought. Wanda was young. The television bolted to the wall adjacent to the window followed the live narration that portrayed a hideous explosion in Hell's Kitchen, where the fire department was still in the process of fully assessing the high and enigmatic number of lives claimed that night.

Wanda was in the bathroom, after all, when Natasha walked over — sitting on the floor, hugging her knees, threading her fingers through her long hair, scratching the scalp as she squinted at her burning eyes where tears were streaming from; sadness that marked her cheeks. She looked as small and as young as could be. And then it was that Natasha remembered. She realized, indeed, what had happened.

Carrying your spidery mask with her, Natasha remembered that both you and Wanda were really just a pair of unfortunate children, as she herself had once been too – children who carried greater responsibilities than you could even handle, with a maturity as mechanical and precocious as what the world demanded of you two. Children like her. Unlucky children.

“What… what– what am I going to do Nat…?” Wanda sobbed, still not lifting her eyes to the open crack in the door, where the older woman was standing, still bloody, still injured, “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”

And Natasha wanted to answer her. She wanted to, she opened her bruised lips to do so and then utter that speech she had already had in mind since she had held your body in her arms, still tucked inside that spider suit, in the snow and in the dark. But she immediately contained herself, refraining herself even before doing so, because that was when she saw it – prepared eyes spotted beside Wanda's so small and curved body a plastic rod with two lines marked in a baby pink color.

“Wanda… is... is that…?”

“I don’t know what to do,” she cried, “I don’t know, I don’t know…”

A pregnancy test of the kind one can buy at any local pharmacy, and the result was positive. And your mask was in her hands because you were gone. She was supposed to give it to Wanda as a reminder of your memory, but Wanda would have more to remember you by than a simple torn and bloody piece of cloth. She was pregnant after all. And you – you were dead. You were nothing but an unlucky dead bastard.

“I… I don't know,” Natasha's fingers tightened on the damn tattered fabric, “I'm so sorry, Wanda. I don't know… I don’t know.”

Wanda's tears, wide and warm, dripped between her bare feet on the pale bathroom floor tile. She had never felt so unlucky as she did at that moment.

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mist-the-wannabe-linguist · 1 month

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A dragon is usually capable of managing navigation on its own, but there are times, such as when the dragon is inexperienced, flying under low visibility conditions, injured or otherwise disadvantaged, when the crew's aid may be crucial.

A captain's chest is an interesting piece of furniture appearing commonly as part of harnesses of larger dragons. It is an irregularly shaped chest of drawers containing all the necessities for aerial navigation. Among these are:

chronometers for timekeeping and determining longitude,

sextants and/or kamals,

barometers,

compasses,

spirit levels or inclinometers for determining the dragon's angles of flight,

"Pitot's device", a tool for measuring airspeed consisting of a narrow tube attached to a circular box with a scale,

kites, an alternative to measuring airspeed,

spyglasses,

speaking trumpets,

writing supplies,

maps, charts and other important diagrams,

a captain's logbook, typically kept in shorthand and frequently updated

The chest is covered with a "tent" of tarred canvas stretched on willow rods or whalebone which protects the wood from rain, snow and wind and increases the aerodynamic shape. The top desk serves as a map table, with attachments for navigation tools, all of which feature various clips and straps of their own to minimize the risk of falling out of the aviator's hands. The overhanging piece of the protective tent may be fitted with a small lantern for night flights.

#temeraire #worldbuilding #temeraire headcanons

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breannasfluff · 1 year

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Link doesn’t mind being a ghost. For the most part, he isn’t aware of time passing like the living. He jumps from moment to moment, fading in and out of focus.

In battles, he guides Wild’s movements, meshing with the body that was once his to lend sword skills wiped by the Shrine.

Sometimes he’ll tune in as Wild jumps on a shield, whooping as he slides down a hill. Or his taste buds light up with a new flavor when Wild tries a recipe. They still have the same favorite food; wildberry crepes.

Link, the Champion of the past, died on the battlefield to a multitude of Guardian injuries. The boy who woke up in his place, now dubbed Wild, was not him. In most ways, the new boy is better. Link wants nothing more than to watch the person he could have been live life to the fullest.

If only Wild hadn’t forgotten his sister and mother; those would have been good memories to keep. The rest of it? Link is happy to let those memories die with him.

Wild travels with a group of heroes and Link delights in the bonds he forms with the group. Wild may not remember his family, but these boys become a new family.

Link even heard mention that the youngest, Wind, could see ghosts, but the sailor never acknowledges him. Still, he can remain on the sidelines, lending his skill and watching Wild love life.

The love, though, comes with a never-ending guilt for failing his mission. Even death isn’t enough to make up for it. The goddess gave them another chance and they can’t waste it.

Wizzrobes are rapidly becoming the Chain’s least favorite enemy. Wild’s monsters not only have elemental magic, but wild magic as well. Mystery spells have to be dodged in battle and getting hit by one leads to unknown effects.

Once, Four was frozen by something similar to Wild’s stasis rune; out of commission for most of the battle. When Warriors was hit, trying to dodge an incoming slash, his directions became unintelligible. Time promptly picked up directions, but it was a full day before the Captain could speak normally.

The wizzrobe in today’s battle has an ice rod. Warriors is happily blasting back at it with Legend’s fire rod. Hyrule cuts down enemies behind him, protecting his back.

A moblin kicks Wind, sending him crashing into Wild’s side. They both go down in a flail of limbs and weapons, struggling to get up before being impaled.

Taking a chance, the wizzrobe throws another spell at the downed heroes. Unable to see it coming, it lands squarely in the middle of Wild’s back.

Wind is left standing guard, grabbing the Champion’s dropped shield to fend off further spells.

The wizzrobe is aiming again, laughing, when an arrow sprouts from its head. Twilight’s already letting loose a second one to take it down.

Without aerial attacks to dodge, the heroes quickly finish the battle.

“Time! I think you need to come here!” Wind’s voice has them running to where he still stands over Wild.

“What in Farore’s ass happened?”

“Language,” Time tries with a defeated sigh. Legend seems to delight in teaching Wind new swears.

On the ground lays Wild but not…Wild? There is something slightly off about him; tense where Wild is loose.

“He’s fine, just knocked out.” Hyrule checks him efficiently, then turns to their leader. “What now?”

Whatever the spell did, they won’t figure it out with him unconscious. “Let’s take him and set up camp. We can figure this out when he wakes up. The spells seem to wear off after not too long, so let’s hope this is the same.”

Wind circles Twilight as he hefts the hero in his arms. “But What happened?”

Time grits his teeth at the question. “I don’t know.”

Pain isn’t what Link expects when he wakes up, but it’s a familiar feeling. Pain was the defining factor of most of his life.

Along with the pain is a host of bodily sensations that overwhelm him; ghosts aren’t so readily grounded in the physical. What happened?

With a groan, Link opens his eyes. Branches full of leaves frame the sky; a green more vivid than he’s seen in a long time. Beneath his fingers is the rough wool of a blanket. His stomach grumbles; he’s…hungry?

A head enters his field of view; Sky. “Hey, Wild, how are you feeling?”

Wild. But he’s Link. Link who is a ghost, who doesn’t feel physical sensations like this. Who isn’t alive, chest rising and falling with every crisp breath of air.

The wizzrobe—

“You were hit by a spell,” Sky unknowingly supplies. “Something seems off but…we were hoping you could tell us what happened?”

“Please let him still be able to talk,” Warriors grumbles from somewhere behind him.

“He’s more fluent in sign than you are,” Four shoots back.

“Yeah, yeah, I know; I’ve got too many battle signals.”

Link can almost hear the eye roll with the statement. He takes a deep breath because he can, then pushes himself upright. He’s sore in strange places—what does Wild do to use those muscles—but otherwise okay.

Focusing on Sky, he signs, I’m able to continue. What’s the plan?

Sky stares, as do half the other boys. “Um.” Helplessly, Sky looks at Time who pushes himself off his log.

“The wizzrobe, Wild. Do you remember what happened?”

Well, he’s not doing a good job of pretending to be Wild. Then again, he doesn’t know how to be the person he’s become. Training and duty are the defining factors of his life and he can’t break the habit. As a ghost, he could relax into Wild’s emotions as they bleed over. Now he had only his own.

Link tests his legs, and when he finds they work he snaps a salute to Time. Yes sir. The wizzrobe’s spell hit Wild’s body, he signs. My hypothesis is that it pushed his spirit free. Rather than leaving him a shell, easy to defeat, I was pulled into the empty vessel. If the past pattern continues, you should have Wild back within 24 hours.

His report finished, he moves into a parade stance and waits.

“Holy shit.” Legend stares at Link. “Who the hell are you then?”

Read the rest here!

#linked universe #botw link #lu sky #lu wild #lu time #botw champion #hurt/comfort #linkeduniverse #breannasfluff #my writing

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tfdaycare · 1 month

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Welcome to GHOST Daycare! A place where baby Cybertronians are found and taken care of until they find a new forever home. I’m Optimus, one of the head teachers and in charge of the autobot class. With me I have my conjunx, Megatron, who’s in charge of the Decepticon class, and Elita-1 who’s in charge of the Floodwater class, which is everyone else that Megatron and I can’t take in.

We also have lots of other teachers who help us with everything. Such as:

Our son Starscream, in charge of the seekers

Wheeljack, in charge of the wreckers

Tarantulas, in charge of the predacons

Grimlock, in charge of the dinobots

Airazor, in charge of the maximals

Moonsplinter, a moth, in charge of the Insecticon class

Ratchet, who take in a couple bots to teach them to be a medic

Jetfire/Skyjet, who’s our main TA

Ironhide & Chromia, our PE teachers

Beachcomber, the Earth biology teacher

Blaster & Soundwave, in charge of cassettes and cassette commanders

Drift & Cyclonus, who are our spiritualist teachers

Yoketron, our art teacher

Seaspray, the swim teacher

Powerglide, in charge of the Aerials

Hot Rod, who’s the substitute teacher for the autobot class

Arcee, who’s the TA specifically for the autobots class.

Our other doctors, Velocity, Shockwave and Ambulom

We also have our human staff:

Principal Karen Croft

Vice Principal Jon “No H” Schloder

Doctor Meridian

Ranger Dorothy Malto

History Teacher Alex Malto

Our wonderful Volunteers:

Robby Malto

Morgan Malto

Twitch

Thrash

Hashtag

Nightshade

Jawbreaker

Sam

Miko Nakadai

Jack Darby

Rafael Esquivel

And lastly we have our other staff:

Rewind, our Librarian and in charge of the paperwork

Chromedome, our grief counselor

Rung, our therapist

Tailgate, our janitor

Blurr and Eject, the sports coaches

Ultra Magnus, our administration

Rubble and Gauge, the assistants

Our hope for this blog is to help find new homes for all the little ones we’ve found since the war sadly caused a lot of sparklings to be orphaned or abandoned.

We have sparklings of all sizes and ages who may just be the perfect fit, so don’t be afraid to put yourself out there and apply to be a potential adoptee! They’re organized in generations since so many have been found.

Our sparklings are organized into five categories depending on age.

First gen: 20-25 years old

Second gen: 14-19 years old

Third gen: 8-13 years old

Fourth gen: 2-7 years old

Fifth gen: currently being born or found now.

We’ll go into more detail another time on who’s up for adoption as multiple bots have been adopted now while others are still waiting for their forever home and Kup can’t take them all in.

#transformers #transformers au #transformers daycare au #tf multiverse newsletter #transformers sparklings #sparklings #multiverse #transformers multiverse

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bellshazes · 2 years

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companion to my bdubs best-of, here's a cheat sheet of my personal favorite etho mindcrack episodes. going to organize this by topic, then miscellaneous stuff by season under the cut. because there is so much.

king of the ladder is one of the best, although you might want to watch the sky shrooms prank episodes leading up to it too. best hour you'll ever spend watching people climb a ladder over and over. sick aerial maneuvers.

boat prank with doc - boat boy! boat boys.

team canada - the first big prank on zisteau, and the painting one - payback will be a bitch. also, ???.

obsidian coffin prank - bdubs falsely claims etho pranked him, so etho builds bdubs a numbers puzzle. of death.

onion pranked - team boobee gifts etho one of his favorite foods.

fun house prank and von sway - a new architectural design style is born.

death games - in order to avenge pause, etho hunts his friends for sport but says if they kill each other, they can increase the amount of times etho will kill the other person. sometimes fails, but also this absolutely spectacular kill on nebris using respawn mechanics to surprise is so good. see also hostility rises.

death games 2.0 - now server-wide opt-in event in the following season. bdubs (and guude) try to kill etho. civil war and an arkas kill.

mass pvp - arena fight night, LENS BATTLE. spawn UHCs, arkasdam pvp,

horsegirl activities - the horse drive-thru, beyonc? and taylor swift, a horse timer, doing wheelies,

season 1

nether project - taking one for the team, etho begins his first nether hub construction in classic nether brick and sandstone. later expanded with help from the b-team.

nice prank - please enjoy this kevin mcleod speed cleaning montage. if you can.

bdoubleo - just before the trial, etho and bdubs discuss their upcoming court case while making trees, 3D cubes, and a big hole at spawn. tune in next to the etho vs the b-team trial to find out why he's got chocolate on his knees.

the underside - etho finds out he's got a roommate and continues his quest for an anvil kill.

the pet shop - etho prepares to open his extremely legitimate, fully-licensed, no illegal activity pet shop and feels just so bad for the poor b-team. also, this is the first episode hoppers existed, which has nothing to do with his new quartz generator.

king of the boat - a bunch of people come together to fix bdubs' flammable arena. shenanigans ensue.

seinfeld fans - etho shows beef his new trivia game.

pvp lesson with generikb - etho teaches pvp skills and learns a new word.

season 2

nether hub again - the nether hub falls on etho again but bdubs pitches in this time. ghost zombies, quartz tragedies, etho's little buddy (betrayal)

i feel fine - etho is NOT sick, tells firework stories while helping with doc's perimeter and helps bdubs fishing rod kill a piglin.

canadian killers - etho's escort service, live, from pauseunpause's gaping hole.

this one just for the wither kill at the end.

workers shack - i literally just love this build fr. he steals bdub's color scheme. for more arena work, see capture points, the layout, bed respawn, death counter, arena chit chat,

#are we all needing etho recommendations. i have a couple #mainly go watch the lens battle and also the kevin mcleod cleaning montage #AND WORKERS SHACK. it's important to me.#etho #mindcrack #don't mind that s3 isn't on there i've been meaning ot add it for like eight months and i will someday.#oh and the nebris /kill attempts those are sooooooooo good. please #masterpost

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wing-ed-thing · 11 months

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Mutilated (Sasori x UndergroundDoc!Reader) Part I

Synopsis: Sasori get gravely injured in the early days of his and Deidara's partnership. Luckily, the Akatsuki have a roster of resources to help in case of emergencies. During his stay at your underground clinic, Sasori gets a bit more invested than he intended.

Word Count: 5.6k

Tags/Warnings: Underground Doctor Reader, No Reader Pronouns, Younger!Sasori, Timeline Liberties, Canon-Typical Body Horror, Fake Medical Talk, Kinda Fake Engineering Talk, Prosthetics, Minor Original Characters

Notes: Sometimes, I like to think about if the Akatsuki were treated like One Piece villains. When they're not in the main plot they just go off and became small-town heroes somewhere.

Deidara knelt away from the airstream, holding Sasori’s unconscious form on his back. His blond hair whipped around his face as the wind rushed in his ears, keeping his scope trained on the city below for a place to land. The buildings were packed together. The clouds were thick, and while they provided excellent cover for Deidara’s clay, winged beast, the absence of a moon only proved to impede his landing strategy.

The giant bird descended, flying quietly among the tall fixtures of the village. Without proper light, the obstructions only became visible as Deidara grew near. Deidara’s bird managed to maneuver them all, artfully dodging tall buildings, statues, and poles with limber aerial acrobatics.

When it finally grew as close as possible to the ground, Deidara dropped between the buildings with Sasori on his shoulders, landing in a kneeling position as the winged creation swooped back up and out of sight.

Sasori groaned, causing Deidara to tilt his head to look over his shoulder. Sasori’s eyes were still closed, the slightest bit of tension collected on his furrowed brow. Deidara clutched a small paper between his fingers, holding it up to his face as he tried to reread it in the dimness. He brushed the pad of his finger over it, hoping to get an idea of the writing from the deep pen indentation.

And in one last moment of deliberation, Deidara hooked his arms around Sasori’s legs and ran off into the night in search of a doctor to help his injured partner.

The streets were empty, and the night would have been still if it weren’t for the wandering searchlights that periodically swept across the roads. Deidara ducked around a corner, squatting by a dumpster as the bright circle of light paced across the road before disappearing at the other end of the street.

Deidara dashed across, scurrying through the maze of alleyways between buildings with the note clutched in his hand. He kept his eyes on the hanging signs above his head. He rushed past a few circular ones, perhaps a few rectangles, as they wavered in the slight breeze of the night. Those businesses had closed hours before the sun had set.

He took a turn, ducking down next to a compilation of scrapped palette boards as another beam of light flickered across the ground. Lost in the darkness, Deidara had no idea how he managed to stumble upon the oddly shaped sign that hung over a dip in the alley. He could barely distinguish the shape of a snake, the head and the tail hanging by two thick chains connected to a metal rod.

Deidara looked again at the paper, but it was too dark to read. But as the searchlights flashed overhead, Deidara took the leap, descending the steep stairs into the ground where the darkness only deepened.

A solid mass smacked him in the forehead, his grunt of pain all that seemed to exist in the void. He leaned forward, unhooking an arm from Sasori’s leg to grope around in the shadows. It was a door, a wooden one, and with a few more taps, he managed to find a wobbly doorknob. Deidara turned it, only to smack into the unmoving door again as the knob spun, rattling in the socket with little resistance. Sasori began to slip. Deidara smushed his cheek against the solid wood of the door, fidgeting as he tried to adjust his partner.

“For being splinters and string, you sure are fuckin’ heavy,” Deidara muttered as he tried again at the knob. Pushing the handle inward seemed to do the trick as he stumbled forward, barely catching himself before the door creaked shut behind him.

The room was pitch black, even darker than the moonless night outside. Deidara heaved a steady breath, eyes scanning his surroundings for a hint of anything. He fiddled with his scope; sure enough, the green night vision revealed a long hallway before him. Deidara blew a few strands of hair away from his face. They settled back where they had just been.

“Okay,” he muttered, adjusting Sasori again on his back. “We’re gonna find someone to put you back together again, hm, Humpty Dumpty? Then you owe me big time for makin’ us have to come to a place like this.”

He started down the hall, and the sound of water rushing through pipes resounded all around, reverberating off the cement walls. He could hear his footsteps and labored breathing as he traveled deeper into the abyss. The single pathway turned into a stairwell, the rusting metal clambering under his step as he nearly tumbled down the two flights.

Deidara traveled through the cement labyrinth for what felt like hours with nothing to go off of other than the sound of trickling water. His scope showed half battery in the corner of his vision as he took random turns, each hall almost identical to the last. It was cold cement in front and an incomprehensive abyss of darkness behind him.

Deidara pressed on, running down the halls quicker, turning the corners more sharply as he ran deeper and deeper into the underground network. He had gone too far to turn back now.

His efforts seemed to pay off. Just as the battery of his scope lost another bar of health, he found himself standing in front of another wooden door. The same snake sign hung above this one, the same thick chains connected to the head and tail like the talons of a hawk lifting it into the sky. Deidara adjusted Sasori on his back once more, and with frustration-fueled determination, he kicked down the door.

The wood flew forward, knocking against a metal railing before tumbling halfway down a set of steel steps. Light flooded into Deidara’s scope, causing him to recoil and move swiftly to turn it off. He looked back into the large room, his eyes adjusting to the warm lantern light. Harsh shadows swiped across his face as he moved to the top of the staircase, the startled people below looking up at him warily. A mother collected her sick child in her arms, already backing toward the opposite exit.

“Yo!” he exclaimed, kicking his foot onto the lower railing. His brow was furrowed with tension, and his clenched jaw betrayed his cocky smile. “We need the Doc!” Deidara bit the length of torn cloth that hung from Sasori’s shoulder, proudly displaying the red clouds of the Akatsuki organization from his lips.

You had scrambled from your makeshift office on the ground, staring up at the sight as your breath hitched in your throat.

“Mercenaries,” you mumbled to yourself. “I should have known.”

“A little help over here!” Deidara called, and you stormed out from under the balcony to make your approach.

“Second room to your right!” you called, and someone threw your medical bag toward you. You caught it without having to look. Deidara turned to his left, despite the railing in his way and lack of platform. “Your other right! And you better have brought quite the sum of cash if you’re bargaining in here and breaking things in my clinic!”

Deidara found the room as you reached the top of the steps. He left a trail of blood in his wake. You made wordless eye contact with a member of your community who had been leaning against the railing just outside the exam room. As a doctor caring for the underprivileged people in your city, they held you in high regard.

“Go into the Warren and make sure this idiot didn’t leave a trail straight here.”

She nodded, departing past a few people already working on fixing the broken-in door.

“Don’t worry, Doc, Kakuzu will shell out for anything your little heart desires.” Deidara laid Sasori down on the table as you entered.

“I’m sure he would be thrilled to hear you say that,” you scoffed, washing your hands.

You pushed a few trays of supplies forward. Deidara had no idea what any of them did but considered them to look more like torture tools than medical devices. He tore away Sasori’s robe, balling the blood-soaked fabric in his hands and throwing it into the corner of the room.

But you didn’t have time to scold him for dirtying your sterile exam room. If you were less composed, your hand might have shot to your mouth in disgust and horror at the sight of Sasori’s shirtless form. You had seen many things during your time in the medical field: stab wounds, projectile wounds, amputations, and raging infections. And yet…

“What the hell happened to him?” Your voice nearly cracked as you immediately put on a pair of gloves.

“Sword to the liver?” Deidara shrugged, his nonchalant attitude making you stop in your tracks. All of your disbelief manifested in one slow blink.

“Are you fucking kidding me—?” You shooed him toward the door as you hurried about your little room, pulling all the supplies you’d need for a no doubt lengthy procedure. Even with your complex knowledge of medical ninjutsu, liver damage wasn’t anything to stick your nose up at. “And what about the rest of him?” You adjusted the mask on your face with your shoulder.

“Eh?” Deidara sounded rudely, cheek scrunched against the lower part of his eye as his nose wrinkled.

Your eyes darted across Sasori’s body, holding a surgical towel over his side wound as it bubbled with blood.

The man didn’t have any limbs.

At least not true limbs, nor any prosthetic you had ever seen. All of them appeared to be wooden. The left had been damaged, leaving everything below the elbow missing. You had seen prosthetics before. Hell, you had a good friend who made them for your patients, but these were not prosthetics.

The joints where the wood met the body were covered with flesh, perfectly soldered to the torso. You could see the intricate network of veins through his pale skin; all inflamed in a mutilated mess of blood, flesh, and wood. His condition was critical, although his partner didn’t seem to understand that.

“So, can you fix him or not?” Deidara asked from behind you. His footsteps grew nearer.

“Out!” You turned, pointing toward the door. He tried to protest. “Out!”

With all further distractions out of the way, you began your work.

***

Sasori awoke about a day later after the exhaustion of a good chunk of your chakra and a few hours of your labor. The ambient noise from the large room rattled around in his pounding skull, his muscles aching as he sat himself up on the cot under him.

He had been moved from the makeshift exam room upstairs to a cot in the open on the main level, not that he remembered. Two different colored curtains on rusty wheels provided flimsy walls around him. Sasori glanced up at the cement ceiling, making accidental eye contact with various loitering patients staring down from the metal balcony above. He twisted his neck to the side, allowing an audible crack to pop from his joints. Only when he moved to brush over the thick bandages on his torso did he notice the bundle of splinters his forearm had been reduced to.

“That’s not a kekkei genkai.” You appeared in front of Sasori’s cot, hands tucked in the pockets of your white coat. You didn’t bother hiding your blatant staring as you studied his wooden limbs. Sasori collapsed from his palm to his elbow, fighting back the flinch that scrunched the skin around his eyes. You looked him up and down from where you stood. “What the hell did you do to yourself?”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s no way to talk to someone who just saved your sorry ass.” With three long strides, you moved to the side of Sasori’s cot, placing a palm between his collarbones and pushing him back down against the pillow. Sasori couldn’t help the grunt that escaped his chest as the wound on his side suddenly stretched.

“Arhg!” Sasori glared at you from behind, squinted eyes, groaning and cursing from behind clenched teeth. You stared at him from above with disdain. You frowned, letting the choice insults roll off your indifferent demeanor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Sasori struggled against you for a moment before he sank into the white sheets in exhaustion. Color drained from his face, leaving him even paler than his complexion usually was.

“Deidara!” Sasori barked with a snarl. His voice rang out, bouncing across the high ceiling. He moved to sit up again, only to be slammed back down once more.

“Your partner is busy. Lay back down, or I’ll knock you out myself. I’m not here to catch an attitude.” Sasori huffed, breathing shallowly as his head began to spin. “You need your bandages changed. Or if you insist on being difficult, I can throw you out into the Warren. I’m sure the rats will appreciate eating you from the inside out starting here.”

You pressed down on a section of his bandages, causing a guttural howl to escape his throat. Sasori didn’t acknowledge your threats, dizziness warping his vision. You snapped your fingers in front of his face, but he didn’t appear to respond. You fiddled with something under his cot to Sasori’s left, causing the upper section to decline slightly back. He didn’t fight you as you worked methodically at his bandages, not that he probably could.

His vision had turned to static, the prickling sensation extending down his numb face to his shoulders. The nerves that connected his flesh to his wood parts tingled and popped, leaving him sore around the circumference of his artificial limbs.

Your hands were cold as they worked across his torso. He could feel his muscle tissue being stitched together with chakra, leaving an itching sensation in its wake.

You had him cleaned up and rewrapped just as the dizziness began to fade. Appearing over him, a blue aura radiated from the palm you held over his forehead.

“That feels much better, doesn’t it?” Sasori blinked as you withdrew. His breathing had returned to normal, and as you popped the cot back to standard elevation, he hardly felt a tugging at his wound. His muscles were sore, but the pain had faded. “I have never seen prosthetics like these before.” You traced the seam where the wood met skin. Sasori shivered. “Were you injured in one of the bombings?”

“They aren’t prosthetics,” Sasori said, brushing you off. He held his right arm up, watching the wooden joints as he flexed his knuckles. “They’re my art. I didn’t lose anything anywhere.” He peered at you from between his fingers.

“You did this to yourself?”

Sasori propped up on his elbow with a deep frown. Unlike last time, you didn’t try to stop him.

“I detest what you’re insinuating,” he sneered. Sasori managed to support himself on his palm before he collapsed against the pillow at his back. He could just barely get himself into a sitting position. You didn’t bother to help. “Like a medic who lives in a cave has any right to criticize my craft.”

“Doctor,” you corrected, receiving a scoff in return. “I would have thought that with your level of medical ninjutsu, you could have done the patchwork yourself.” You trailed off, distracted as Deidara ran across the other side of the room with a restocking of sterile bandages. Sasori squinted from his bed, wondering if he had seen his partner correctly. “Overall, I’d say it was good that the kid brought you here. No matter your skill, self-operation would have been quite the undertaking.”

Deidara appeared on the upper balcony with a rag in one hand and a bottle of cleaning spray in the other. He wiped down the railings.

“He’s working harder than he ever has in the Akatsuki, that’s for sure,” Sasori muttered. He shifted to take the strain off of his tender wound. “Maybe you should keep him.” You let out a shallow chuckle, holding up your hand with a shake of your head.

“Oh, no, you Akatsuki boys can keep to your own. We already have enough dogs sniffing around this city without you all making a ruckus.” You sat at the foot of the bed, the both of you lost in watching Deidara clean upstairs. You hummed to yourself, turning to glance at Sasori. “You’re sure recruiting them young, huh?”

“I didn’t recruit him at all.”

“Ah, so that’s why you’re trying to pawn him off.” You sighed, and with a slight heave, you stood. With a roll of your shoulders, you stretched, surveying the room. “You should get him out of here quickly once you feel better.” You turned to face him with hands in your pockets. “People don’t take kindly to bombers around here. I’ll check on you sometime tomorrow.”

***

Sasori took the day to mend his arm with a rare disregard for time. He dislodged the ball socket from his bicep before opening one of his scrolls for spare parts. A white puff of smoke materialized over the marking labeled “left arm,” and with a bit of tinkering, he managed to isolate just the hand and the forearm. The extra bicep was sealed back into the scroll.

The new forearm and hand were lighter in color compared to the battle-worn part they were replacing, but the replacement limb clicked into place without fuss. Sasori was still tightening the joint when two new patients entered the clinic. He could hear you speaking to them from your office, which consisted of little more than a cluttered desk and a few thin metal panels.

“You just missed him. Shig left yesterday for Rain country,” you said. Your voice was muffled, but Sasori could just make out your words from across the room.

“Is there anything you could do for her? She can’t even walk. Her legs are giving out on her,” another voice pleaded earnestly through the thin walls.

“I’m sorry; I wish there was something I could do to help, but that’s just not my field of expertise. The best I can do is let you know when Shig is back.”

“Doctor, please. If she lost her legs again, I—” The second voice’s breath hitched. Light shuffling sounded from your office before Sasori heard a sniffle. —“With everything going on, I just… She can’t make it down the evacuation route. Please, Doctor, they’ve already taken so much from us.”

Sasori perked up as the second voice grew softer. He slowly rose from his bed, crossing the large room on bare feet as he listened closer.

“Believe me, I understand what the stakes are. My heart goes out to you, and if I could help, I would, but that doesn’t change the fact that I simply don’t know how to fix this. If you’d like to pack some things from the surface, you’re welcome to stay in the Warren until Shig’s return.”

Sasori stopped in front of your office, paying no mind to the other patients in beds despite their gruesome burn scars. He stared at the door, listening to the conversation behind it.

A metallic click sounded to Sasori’s left, and instinctively, he pivoted into a battle stance, fingertips already spinning chakra threads as he heard a soft thump. But no enemy was to be found. Instead, a young girl cowered on the floor.

Her legs consisted of a dark wood supported by small metal pieces. Or her legs would have been supported by small metal pieces if they weren’t hanging loosely from her knee joints. One appeared worse than the other, as if someone tried to fix them but only served to break the parts further.

Her eyes widened at the very sight of Sasori, eyes glued to the seam where his torso met his arms. A little gasp escaped her as she tried to stand, but her legs gave out. Sasori frowned; he could see the problem. She scooted back, no doubt at Sasori’s deep scowl and grotesque appearance.

“You should really know how to fix those things yourself,” he spat, eyes glued to the busted parts of the hastily made joints. If he had to give this Shig character credit for anything, it was the creativity of the build. A union of metal and wood, the girl’s two legs looked more akin to two artisan clocks than a simple and functional prosthetic. The designs were hardly symmetrical, likely because the materials looked like they were dug out of a scrap bin. That was the first issue.

He sighed, squatting down only for the little girl to scoot back. Sasori’s expression sunk in vexation, and the girl’s nervous gulp went unnoticed.

“You call this art? They’re pitiful.” With a grunt of effort, Sasori sat down on the cold cement floor. The child eyed him skeptically, paralyzed with hesitancy like a groveling deer.

“Are you Mr. Shig?”

“Hell no.” Sasori’s fingers pressed a few points on his bicep, and the girl watched in disbelief as a panel of Sasori’s wooden skin rose and moved to the side, allowing him to pluck out a small, slender box. Her mouth shut quickly as Sasori’s attention returned to her. He continued to frown, gesturing her toward him as he plucked up a few long tools in his slender fingers. “Do you want your legs fixed or not?”

She approached him warily until she sat with her feet adjacent to Sasori’s waist and her hips next to his knees. Her gaze was glued to Sasori’s own wooden limbs. She paid little mind as Sasori reoriented her legs to face forward, but the broken socket continued to spin.

He studied the engineering up close. It was unique, nothing like he had ever seen, and most definitely nothing like the standard shinobi-grade prosthetics he had seen in the past, but he could still follow the design. Sasori sat in silence, studying the craftsmanship, and he did not doubt that these makeshift limbs, while they could likely get the job done, were made with thrown-together materials at best.

“You don’t know how to fix them, do you?” A tiny voice broke Sasori from his deep thinking, much to his disdain. The girl sat up straight at the sight of Sasori’s seething expression.

“Of course I can fix them,” he snarled, and the child almost jumped. Sasori tugged one of his legs in, tugging one of the girl’s broken ones outward to form a right angle. “You see this? That’s called a nut.” He jiggled one of the loosest parts with his finger. The girl nodded, which, according to Sasori, apparently wasn’t an adequate response. “I want you to say it out loud. This is called a nut.”

“This is called a nut,” she repeated. Sasori hummed in approval, spinning the nut off the bolt before removing the bolt altogether. The girl instinctively lurched forward as a section of her leg weakened.

“This is a bolt.” Sasori tapped the bolt, and with another pointed glare, the girl quickly repeated the word. He didn’t acknowledge her acute panic. Unsure of herself, she repeated his words for the second time.

“That is a bolt.”

Sasori paid little mind, plucking a few items from his little box. He compared them to the size of the existing bolt, placing a few metal pieces back before holding three round items between his thumb and pointer finger.

“What’s this one?” He gestured to the thicker of the pieces.

“That’s, uh, that one is a nut.”

“Good. This one—” Sasori offered the girl the thinner rings. She held it in her hands, brushing over the smooth surfaces with the pads of her fingers. —“Those are washers.”

“This one’s a washer,” she repeated with a determined nod. Sasori held his hand out again, and she dropped the washer into his wooden palm.

“Now, Shig used a bolt that was too big for this joint. Show me the bolt—” The girl pointed at the bolt and received a slight nod. —“And a nut that’s too small. And because this section is made of wood, we’re going to use a washer.” The girl pointed at the washer. Sasori blinked slowly, almost having to collect himself for a second. “Yes, good.”

He placed the washer on the bolt, slotting it back into place. His other hand secured the loose parts of her leg. He held up a second washer and a nut, waving it in front of the girl's face before placing both on the end of the bolt. Sasori gave them a few twirls as they worked down the thread length. The washer dropped to the very end. He gestured toward the half-secured nut, maneuvering his arms out of the way to allow the girl access to the section of leg he was still keeping secured in place.

“You try.” The girl reached down, winding it down until the small nut was secured against the flat wood. “The washer is going to prevent the head of the bolt from digging into the wood. Twist it tight, as tight as you can go.” Sasori reached back into his box to retrieve a small wrench.

“Now repeat after me—” Sasori tightened the bolt. —“‘Only an idiot can’t use a fuckin’ nut and bolt.’”

“My mom doesn’t let me curse.”

Sasori looked up from his work with a roll of his eyes. He sighed with a heave of his shoulders. She stared into his honey-colored irises.

“I’m letting you.” He blew a few strands of hair away from his face, nodding with certainty before tinkering again at the inside of the joint. The girl puffed up, gathering courage in her breath as Sasori continued the more intricate repairs. She swiveled her head.

“Only an idiot can’t use uh— can’t use a f— can’t use a fucking nut and bolt!” she stammered with red cheeks. Sasori didn’t even look up as he offered his hand, and she slammed her hand down across his fingers in victory.

When you and the girl’s mother exited your office, she was already standing. The two of you stopped in your doorway, exchanging glances as she raved. You tuned it all out, standing at just the angle to make eye contact with Sasori as he sat on his cot. He averted his eyes with a grimace.

“And Mom! They don’t even squeak anymore! They’re all fixed because only an idiot can’t use a fucking nut and bolt!”

“Reiko!”

***

He thought you’d approach him after the pair left, and Sasori always had a strong intuition.

“Assassins are teaching little kids curse words nowadays?” you mused, a hint of a laugh lacing your voice. Sasori’s closed eyes fluttered open to look at you before closing again. He shifted on his bed, hands nestled behind his head. You were staring up at the door, thumbs looped in the pockets of your jacket. “Is that why you got stuck with the blond kid?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sasori refused to look at you, instead tinkering away at something under his artificial skin. Several panels rose from his arm, alternating up and down like waves before settling back into his shoulder. He thought that if he ignored you, you would leave, but you stood at the edge of his parallel curtains, simply watching him as he worked.

Sasori spared a few glances toward you, careful not to meet your gaze. He observed you from his peripheral like an animal, withdrawn and cautious. You didn’t seem to share his tension as you loitered, not even hiding your interest as you watched Sasori tinker. The silence passed for a moment. A low rumble of footsteps and mutterings bounced off the high ceiling.

“Can I help you?”

“You did a nice thing.”

Sasori made the mistake of looking up.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he repeated. His eyes flickered back up to your face, his expression drooping at your indifferent demeanor. Sasori huffed, shifting to let one leg hang over the side of his bed. “Are you here to heal me or stare at me all day like some circus freak?”

“Have you ever considered making prosthetics?”

“Tch, you’re annoying.” Before you could retort, Sasori stood up on his cot, the crosssections under the thin sheets popping as chakra threads manifested at his fingertips. They wrapped around the upper railing, and you gaped, stepping forward as he shot up to land expertly on the balcony.

“You better not reopen anything!” You instinctively stepped forward. The catwalk creaked, clamoring metallically as Sasori strode toward the back exit. You backed up a few steps.

“It’s a good thing there’s a doctor in the room.”

He had just settled into a corner against the wall when you appeared at the top of the stairs. Sasori heaved a deep sigh, taking his time standing as you rushed up to him.

“Are you always this awkward when you do good things?”

“Jeez, you ask a lot of questions.” Sasori walked briskly down the length of the balcony, and you followed.

“I’m a doctor. I’d say having an inquisitive nature is a positive.”

“Is that what you call it?” Sasori stopped short, realizing suddenly that the metal walkway didn’t wrap around the room. Instead, one stairwell connected a balcony to the front entrance, and another connected a separate balcony to the back entrance. He pretended not to notice, leaning on the railing and observing the room from above.

Sasori could see all the patients in their makeshift rooms, all in much worse condition than he was. Some milled around the lower floor, hobbling on makeshift crutches and wrapped in bandages. An overwhelming amount of patients had one thing in common.

“What happened to them?” he asked. His eyes darted from person to person, counting how many lost arms, legs, and eyes before turning to you suddenly.

“We’ve had a serial bomber in the city for quite some time.” Your voice was soft and somber as you stood next to him. You almost melted, shoulders slumping as your chest rose steadily. You leaned forward, gazing out over the room, and Sasori watched, mesmerized by your body language as you tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear. “A lot of these people are poor and underprivileged. When they get caught up in the blasts, there’s no one to take care of them, so they come here.”

You shrugged, nodding at him a few times. Sasori frowned.

“Why?”

You looked at him in confusion as he studied your face. You watched his eyes dart over your features, taking in every fold, tick, and pore.

“Why do they come here?” you questioned, glancing to your left and right before meeting Sasori’s eye. Were you missing something? Sasori’s expression didn’t change one bit. He simply stared, searching. You took a breath, choosing your words with a hum. “They don’t get adequate care in this sector—”

“Why do they come here?” Sasori leaned forward, his eyes unyielding. Judging. You drummed your fingers on the railing, looking back down at your room full of patients. You let out another sigh.

“You’re passing through. I highly doubt you’re all that interested in the politics of a country that barely makes it on the map.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Sasori interjected harshly, evident impatience adding force to his tone. You shook your head slowly in defeat. You had given him the disclaimer.

“Well, it’s very simple; people hate the poor…!” You almost laughed, the truth sounding silly in the way it fell from your lips. Your smile faded into a bitter look, and you shook your head again. “For a very long time, you had to make a certain amount of income to vote. It took a lot of fighting for the Senate to balance out like it has, but some members of the old party have resorted to underhanded preventative measures to keep this sector from the polls. I guess that’s the skinny of it.”

“The girl and her mother?” You turned to gauge Sasori’s reaction again, but he had none. He stared blankly at the patients who rested and milled around on the lower floor.

“They weren’t even trying to vote. Just… wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I see…” Sasori mumbled but said nothing more. He looked bored, and it made you wonder why he bothered to ask, given his clear indifference.

“Look—” You began again, turning to him with your hand splayed across your chest. —“I know it might not matter much to you, but I believe that everyone has a right to make decisions about the country they’re living in and have access to healthcare. Especially when their government is bombing them left and right; that’s why they come here. That’s why I’m a doctor.”

Sasori remained silent, thinking to himself for a moment. He turned toward you, shoulders somewhat squared with a huff. Sasori took a half step toward you with one hand on the railing as he cocked his head toward you.

“Heal me the rest of the way. I want to get out of here tonight.”

He brushed past you, heading toward the stairs.

“I have other places to be, you know. You can’t just make demands—” You stopped short at the sight of Sasori’s severe scowl and menacing expression. You clenched your teeth, the tip of your nose wrinkling. —“Fine. Whatever. I have other patients, and I’ll charge your organization double for your treatment.”

You stormed forward and down to the lower level as Sasori watched you carefully.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: I will say, writing the Sasori and Deidara partnership during a timeline where Deidara is 14 and Sasori hasn't completed his puppet body is a guilty pleasure of mine. Maybe someday I'll finish that Sasori x Witch!Reader series.

#Sasori x reader #Sasori akasuna x reader #naruto x reader #sasori #Sasori akasuna #akatsuki x reader #deidara x reader #naruto #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #reader insert #x you #x reader #naruto fanfic #naruto fanfiction #naruto oneshot

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ralith · 1 month

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I read one crossover between the Ratchets and now I crave more. Maybe where they're running the medbay together in the Lost Light (or Aligned, or WFC because Primus knows they need a break) then go to wind down at Swerve's when First Aid (gently) kicks them out.

Bay is the most acrobatic, out here doing aerial manoeuvres like it's nobody's business (the others probably tease him by calling him a youngster), Aligned's talking about that one time he got high off that green energon and punched Megatron in the face. Cyberverse probably has the wildest stories, talking about that time Hot Rod, Bumblebee and Cheetor went missing for an hour and came back after joining a gang of sharkticons. Actually MTMTE and G1 have some wild stories too now that I think about it.

I haven't actually read MTMTE, so why do you think he would be the last for Bay to get along with? For Animated, depending on the timeline, I'd imagine it going something like this.

Bay: so you've met Lockdown twice?

Animated: unfortunately.

Bay: and you survived?

Animated, now becoming concerned: ...yes?

Bay: ah, it's just that I wasn't so... fortunate.

(maybe in some au where Bay Ratchet explores the multiverse or something, and only his counterparts can see him.)

Hehehe bay!Ratchet being the youngster! I always forget the bayverse bots are younger than other continuities.

Oh fuck can you imagine bay!Ratch on synth-en coupled with aerial attacks? He'd be jumping off roofs to tackle seekers out of the sky.

Idk, Mtmte and Bay Ratchet have very different personalities that may clash at times. I'm blanking on specifics right now. Not that they would be hostile towards each other. Just I think bay!Ratchet shares more similarities with other Ratchets.

Oooh ghost Ratchet. Nothing more than a temporal anomaly floating through the multiverse. Maybe bay!Ratch sees the scars Lockdown gave Animated Ratchet, and he clutches his chest, phantom pain gripping his spark.

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dwollsadventures · 1 month

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Our second largest (chromatic) dragon. Our blue boy's most distinguishing trait is his large nasal horn. It acts as a lightning rod to absorb ambient electricity while flying around in thunder clouds. Blue dragons are the most aerially-oriented dragons, having to fly many miles looking for prey in the deserts. I decided to make it heavily armored, with the design based on various types of dinosaurs. The head most matches a Ceratosaurus while the body armor comes from Thyreophorans.

Honestly though, posting this right after seeing the full design for Thor Magala Rey Dau in Monster Hunter Wilds feels underwhelming. The rail-gun lightning horns are so cool

#d&d #dnd #dungeons and dragons #dragon #blue dragon

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ask-a-bot · 1 month

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i didnt know you liked drawing, Starscream??

so Rod, uhhh i dont draw weapons but i like drawing characters i made up a lot so

this is my OC Parker, Parker's just his short name

Miguel O'Hara aka Spider-Man 2099 has no idea he exists, so Parker isn't in the Spider Society

I love drawing! I mostly draw skylines and aerial views. Sometimes from memory, sometimes from imagination.

I like your characters! Spider Cybertronian! Nice! Does he walk on the ceiling?

I... uh... I was punning. You know... I can draw a weapon, but not a picture. Haha!

Rod...

What?

#asks answered #transformers #starscream #hot rod #out punning optimus #drawing and sketching #hobbies and interests #randomationality

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yuritsukikage · 4 months

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The HG Gundam Calibarn is finally complete!

I love the build is really an understatement as I was building in while in the process of finishing the Qan[t] Full Saber. It’s very similar to the Aerials before her in terms of the build so it was a lot easier to get through with the familiar feeling. Because this kit is primarily white, I did get through it a little quicker which makes it fantastic for beginner builders.

Though you might want to put a little bit of effort on the V fin as it can be difficult to shape it after removing the safety nubs as it is an in-molded piece

The only con on this kit is definitely the stickers for the boosters on the Variable Rod Rifle in where a certain part you have to stick in a certain angle otherwise you will mess up. Despite that I managed to breeze though the kit

It’s a shame that it uses slant pegs for pretty much most of its connections for the Bit-On Form as it will be difficult to have them flying around since you need a two certain connector point from the WFM Display base. FYI you need FIVE plus FOUR of them for the Calibarn, and in those pack you get ONE of each, which is a pain in the ass to get. Which fairly sure the Aerial Rebuild has this exact same connector points for the Bits as the Calibarn (she DID loan off them anyway lol)

That asides I absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE the Calibarn. Definitely one of my favorite MC final suits and really fits the motif of the Witch from Mercury. Her pose she has right now is based on Suletta’s Figurise Standard box art pose. Will be placing her on the shelf with the original Aerial that is in Miorine’s FRS pose!

Now GIVE THIS GIRL A MASTER GRADE PLEAAAASE BANDAI (I would k*** for an Aerial one too by the way)

#Mai does Gunpla #gunpla #mobile suit gundam: the witch from mercury #gundam the witch from mercury #gundam calibarn #I forgot to add that the Variable Rod Rifle you have to be careful in how you move the c-clip on the boosters #there is a certain way the instructions tell you to how to move it avoid breakage #it can be confusing but definitely going to just stick to the open boosters forever

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cyberverse--reblogger · 11 months

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Size chart for (some) Cyberverse characters!

(Note: The size and conversions into feet will be done below, typed out for convenience.)

So I was scrolling around on Seibertron's discussion threads about cyberverse (somebody was trying to bring some political figures in the conversation and I was so confused) to try and ignore my real-life responsibilities and I stumbled upon this post!

It's a (probably) official size chart for certain characters from cyberverse! I posted another version of the screenshot below. Also, here is the original video from where the size chart came from, and it is also in a playlist, including other videos about this cyberverse magazine.

Note: I suggest you click on the picture or open it in a new tab, as tumblr murdered the quality pretty badly. I also suggest you all to watch the video, because my computer is kinda crappy, and idk if taking a screenshot murdered the quality.

HEIGHT AND CONVERSION INTO IMPERIAL SYSTEM:

This is by the order from left to right, top to bottom. Please note that this isn't exact, as I'm just trying my best with eyeballing the heights, and I'm using google conversion to change this in the imperial system, and I'm also rounding the numbers to only two decimal places. Also, the poses they're doing are really weird (seriously, what are you doing, Acid Storm?), but I'm assuming that wherever their heads end is how tall whoever put this chart together wanted them to be, and they didn't have access to any official art that had everyone standing straight.

By the way, please don't chew me a new butt if I'm off by around 0.10 meters or something. I'm trying my best here, and I don't really want to break out the rulers and grid and do math to find their exact height. I'm just doing this for fun :]

AUTOBOTS/TOP ROW: Bumblebee: 4.75 meters, equivalent to 15.58 feet. Optimus Prime: 5.75 meters, equivalent to 18.86 feet. Windblade: 4.75 meters, equivalent to 15.58 feet. Grimlock: 6 meters, equivalent to 19.69 feet (nice). Hot Rod: 5.25 meters, equivalent to 17.22 feet. Wheeljack: 5.50 meters, equivalent to 18.04 feet. Blurr: 5.50 meters, equivalent to 18.04 feet. Ratchet: 5.65 meters, equivalent to 18.54 feet.

DECEPTICONS/BOTTOM ROW: Megatron: 6.25 meters, equivalent to 20.50 feet. Starscream: 5.10 meters, equivalent to 16.73 feet. Shockwave: 5.75 meters, equivalent to 18.86 feet. Thundercracker: 4.65 meters, equivalent to 15.26 feet. Shadow Striker: 5.65 meters, equivalent to 18.54 feet. Acid Storm: 4.65 meters, equivalent to 15.26 feet. Soundwave: 5.65 meters, equivalent to 18.54 feet. Slipstream: 4.65 meters, equivalent to 15.26 feet.

Below the cut is some stuff that I found interesting, like the average of heights, orders from shortest to tallest, surprises I had, and other thoughts. Take a look!

AVERAGE HEIGHTS OF AUTOBOTS: 5.39 meters, equivalent to 17.69 feet (nice).

AVERAGE HEIGHTS OF DECEPTICONS: 5.29 meters, equivalent to 17.37 feet.

AVERAGE HEIGHTS OF BOTS WITH LAND-BASED ALT-MODES (there were 11 of them in total; 7 Autobots, 4 Decepticons): 5.61 meters, equivalent to 18.40 feet.

AVERAGE HEIGHTS OF BOTS WITH AERIAL-BASED ALT-MODES (there were 5 of them in total; 1 Autobot, 4 Decepticons): 4.76 meters, equivalent to 15.62 feet.

-----

Height re-order; Tallest to shortest, all bots: 1. Megatron (6.25 m // 20.50 ft) 2. Grimlock (6 m // 19.69 ft) 3. Optimus Prime and Shockwave (Both 5.75 m // 18.86 ft) 4. Ratchet, Shadow Striker, and Soundwave (All 5.65 m // 18.54 ft) 5. Blurr and Wheeljack (Both 5.50 m // 18.04 ft) 6. Hot Rod (5.25 m // 17.22 ft) 7. Starscream (5.10 m // 16.73 ft) 8. Bumblebee and Windblade (Both 4.75 m // 15.58 ft) 9. Acid Storm, Slipstream, and Thundercracker (All 4.65 m // 15.26 ft)

Height re-order; Tallest to shortest, Autobots only: 1. Grimlock (6 m // 19.69 ft) 2. Optimus Prime (5.75 m // 18.54 ft) 3. Ratchet (5.65 m // 18.54 ft) 4. Blurr and Wheeljack (Both 5.50 m // 18.04 ft) 5. Hot Rod (5.25 m // 17.22 ft) 6. Bumblebee and Windblade (Both 4.75 m // 15.58 ft)

Height re-order; Tallest to shortest, Decepticons only: 1. Megatron (6.25 m // 20.50 ft) 2. Shockwave (5.75 m // 18.86 ft) 3. Shadow Striker, and Soundwave (Both 5.65 m // 18.54 ft) 4. Starscream (5.10 m // 16.73 ft) 5. Acid Storm, Slipstream, and Thundercracker (All 4.65 m // 15.26 ft)

-----

This whole list was pretty interesting, although I do feel like the animators weren't all that faithful to this (heck, I don't think they had this, and were just told general guidelines to follow to make each character a certain height.) Also, I'd have thought the seekers (and Windblade) would have been taller than most of the other bots that have land-based alt-modes, like Bumblebee or Hot Rod. I guess not in this continuity.

Considering that the other bots that are the same height as Shadow Striker or taller are either SUVs, tanks, large trucks, dinosaurs, etc, while Shadow Striker is just a sports car is pretty interesting.

I also like to imagine that the only reason why Starscream is taller than the other seekers listed is because he made some sort of mod (maybe something that has to do to his rockets at his heel/foot?)

It's too bad that there doesn't seem to be anything with the rest of the s1 characters (Because I swear there were more Autobots first shown in background scenes during season one, but I could be wrong), and it really is too bad that we don't have anything for the season 2, 3, and the movie specials.

Still, I hope you all found this post as interesting as I did!

#tf cyberverse #transformers cyberverse #cyberverse #tfc #It's a bird! It's a plane! It's... an original post!#<- this is going to be my new tag for any original posts I make. This is named cyberverse reblogger after all not cyberverse original posts #also if anyone could identify the language please let me know! I'm curious as to what country published these.#I don't think there's anything on these magazines in tfwiki as well #which is pretty interesting.#I forgot where but someone did an interview with mae catt and-#-I think it was said somewhere that shadow striker was as tall/taller than optimus and I think that's pretty neat because that's-#-pretty close to the actual truth. She's about 10m shorter which isn't by a lot.#ngl i'm not the biggest fan of that website i got the comparison chart off. A lot of the users sounded grumpy and i feel like i'm-#-eavesdropping on a bunch of grandpas and 50-something year-olds huddled around a table of a local coffee shop that is sort of run down.#The type of place that smells like pee near the entrance door but the inside isn't that bad if you can ignore the heavy scent of smoke.#oh boy... here we go with the tags. Clears throat:#bumblebee #optimus prime #windblade #grimlock #hot rod #wheeljack #blurr #ratchet #megatron #starscream #shockwave #thundercracker #shadow striker #acid storm

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