#Cycle Saddle Bag

[adventure12f]

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[generouszombiepeach]

The essential must-have of a cyclist is are Cycle Saddle Bags. The right Cycle Saddle Bags can make your cycling easy and pleasant. And, it’s necessary to think and invest wisely in a Cycle Saddle Bags as it lasts for a long duration.

[cycletouringlife]

Exploring the Open Road: A Comprehensive Guide to Touring Saddle Bags

For motorcycle enthusiasts, the allure of the open road is irresistible. Whether you're embarking on a weekend getaway or a cross-country adventure, having the right gear is crucial. Among the essential items for any touring rider are saddle bags. These versatile storage solutions not only enhance your bike's carrying capacity but also add a touch of style to your ride. In this guide, we'll explore the benefits of touring saddle bags, the different types available, and tips for choosing the perfect set for your journey.

The Importance of Touring Saddle Bags

Storage Capacity: Touring saddle bags provide ample storage space for your essentials, allowing you to carry everything from clothing and toiletries to tools and spare parts. This ensures you're prepared for any situation, whether you're camping in the wilderness or staying at a hotel.

Organization: With multiple compartments and pockets, saddle bags help keep your gear organized and easily accessible. This can save time and reduce stress when you need to find specific items quickly.

Weight Distribution: Properly loaded saddle bags distribute weight evenly across your bike, enhancing stability and handling. This is especially important on long rides where maintaining balance and control is crucial.

Weather Protection: High-quality saddle bags are designed to protect your belongings from the elements. Many models are waterproof or come with rain covers, ensuring your gear stays dry even in adverse weather conditions.

Security: Some saddle bags come equipped with locking mechanisms or can be secured to your bike with locks, providing an added layer of protection against theft.

Types of Touring Saddle Bags

Hard Saddle Bags: Made from durable materials like plastic or fiberglass, hard saddle bags offer superior protection for your belongings. They are often lockable and weather-resistant, making them ideal for long-distance touring. Hard saddle bags also maintain their shape, providing a sleek and stylish look.

Soft Saddle Bags: Constructed from materials like leather or textile, soft saddle bags are flexible and lightweight. They are easier to install and remove, making them a convenient option for riders who don't need permanent storage. Soft saddle bags often feature adjustable straps and multiple pockets for organization.

Throw-Over Saddle Bags: These bags are designed to be draped over the rear seat or fender of your bike, making installation and removal quick and easy. Throw-over saddle bags are typically soft and adjustable, accommodating various bike models and sizes.

Custom-Fit Saddle Bags: Tailored to fit specific motorcycle models, custom-fit saddle bags offer a seamless integration with your bike. They provide a clean and polished appearance while maximizing storage capacity.

Choosing the Right Saddle Bags for Your Needs

When selecting touring saddle bags, consider the following factors to ensure you find the perfect match for your riding style and needs:

Capacity: Assess how much storage space you require based on the length of your trips and the amount of gear you typically carry. Larger bags are better for extended tours, while smaller bags may suffice for shorter rides.

Material: Choose a material that suits your durability and style preferences. Hard saddle bags offer robust protection, while soft bags provide flexibility and a classic look.

Installation: Ensure the saddle bags are compatible with your motorcycle and easy to install. Some bags require mounting hardware, while others simply strap on.

Weather Resistance: Opt for saddle bags that offer weatherproof features to protect your gear from rain, dust, and other elements.

Security Features: Look for bags with locking mechanisms or the ability to be secured with additional locks to safeguard your belongings.

Tips for Packing Your Saddle Bags

Distribute Weight Evenly: Pack heavier items at the bottom and towards the center of the bike to maintain balance and stability.

Use Packing Cubes: Organize your gear with packing cubes or smaller bags to maximize space and keep items easily accessible.

Protect Fragile Items: Use padding or soft clothing to cushion delicate items and prevent damage during the ride.

Keep Essentials Accessible: Place frequently used items, like maps, snacks, and rain gear, in easily accessible compartments.

Conclusion

Touring saddle bags are an indispensable accessory for motorcycle riders who love to explore the open road. They offer the perfect blend of functionality, style, and convenience, making long-distance travel more enjoyable and stress-free. By choosing the right saddle bags and packing them efficiently, you can ensure a smooth and memorable journey, no matter where your adventures take you. So, gear up, hit the road, and experience the freedom and thrill of motorcycle touring with confidence and style.

[roadie1963]

Midweek Post for September 27, 2023 - Ride Essentials: Saddle Bags

Image of the Contents of My Saddle Bag Earlier this summer, I wrote about the individual items you should carry with you on a ride. I also wrote about the use of a ride wallet. However, I never talked about the container that holds those items: the saddle bag. The lowly saddle bag is the recipient of a lot of grief from serious cyclists and weight weenies who wouldn’t be caught dead with a…

[shirefantasies]

Heyyy i just wanna say that I LOVE your writing. Its so so comforting 🫶🫶🫶

Can I request a story/headcanon about how Thorins company/ specifically Kíli would react if (fem) reader got her hair braided by her (non dwarf) friend, and it was just a friendly thing, but the dwarves thought it was a courting braid?

Pairing Fem!Reader x Kíli

Thank youu🫶💗

Omg thanks! Comfort writing is a big honor 🥹

Mission of Misunderstanding- Kili x F!Human!Reader

Shout-out to my girlies in the unbraidable hair community lmao 🤝 Warnings: one minor swear lol, a couple suggestive remarks

One more step and your feet were going to fall off. Surrendering to the burn, you all but fell down onto the log, tilting your feet so only your heels rested upon the earth. A sigh escaped your lips and you didn’t even move when the rustling sounded at your back.

A familiar voice spoke your name. Bilbo. “Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, my friend,” you breathed, “so long as you don’t count anything below the knee. Or my hair. Can’t imagine how much dirt and leaves have gotten in it after all that.”

"Well, yes," Bilbo chided, ever the little mother-hen, "you've got to keep it back. Why don't I braid it for you?"

Your heart burst, and not from exertion this time. "You would do that for me?"

"Of course," the hobbit shrugged, "haven't had much practice of it of late, but certainly I can give it a go for you. I understand. I wouldn't want the mess either. Come here."

Thanking him again, you scooted closer to where Bilbo stood, gritting your teeth for the pain of him detangling your hair, only to relax at the gentle touch of his nimble fingers. Eyelids fluttering shut in contentment, you sat as Bilbo worked his magic neatening your hair up and making fresh braids of it for you. Feet still elevated and aching, but less so the longer you sat off of them. When the hobbit pulled back with a quiet, still-focused finished, your first instinct was to reach up around your head, touching the new set of braids with a widening smile.

"And now it shall be free of my face! Truly, thank you, Bilbo!" Pulling him into a quick hug, you vowed to repay him somehow with a teasing final statement. "Since I doubt you want me to braid yours."

"That is quite alright, thank you," he chuckled, "let's head back to camp before Bombur chases us down, eh?”

Camp was nearby, and still sparsely populated as you approached it. Bofur and Bombur were there building a fire, and Thorin stood a ways aside having a conversation with Balin. Dwalin and Gloin sat playing a game with a rock as their table, and Ori sat knitting. The others, you presumed, were hunting, saddling ponies, or else getting attention from Oin. Thinking nothing of it you sat down again, this time near Dwalin and Gloin, asking who was winning and if they were taking bets just to laugh at their responses. Bilbo helped Bofur and Bombur get set up for dinner a few feet off, propping up sticks strong enough to hold the cooking pot.

Sure enough, the rest of the company began trickling in, Oin, Bifur, and Nori first, the latter two with poultices and bandages. You winced. Perhaps you should complain less about your feet. Next up came Dori and Fili, who each carried one half of a felled deer, shot clearly with one of Kili's arrows. The younger prince had a bag in hand, likely having won whatever silly game determined who got the lightest load. Smiling and meeting his eyes, you gave a quick wave, indicating your amusement at the game behind you with your eyes.

Kili smiled back and waved, then swiveled his head away and back again in a double-take. You found yourself frowning as he averted his gaze to help his brother, blinking as you wondered what that was about. All you'd done was say hello. Not even say, really. Did he think you were making fun of the others?

Perhaps it was nothing, but considering your feelings for the prince, it was everything in your mind. Cycling ideas began overtaking your brain like mist. Had he suspected malice of your joke? Had he simply heard something? Why had his expression shifted so? Maybe he was just worried by what he heard.

~

"What did I miss while we were gone?"

At Kili's words, Dwalin simply frowned, peering at him like he'd thoroughly lost his marbles. "What do ya mean, lad?"

"Did...did anything happen?"

"Took Gloin for a right fool on the card table," the older dwarf replied with a smug look, chest puffing and shoulders widening.

"No," the prince shook his head, "not with you, with..."

Despite the way he trailed off, Dwalin gave him a knowing smirk, crossing his tattooed arms. "Ah, I see," he nodded, "not with me, not with me at all. With the lass, eh? Why, she didn’t greet you with a kiss?”

Having an older brother really steeled one to teasing. Much as Kili wanted to fight, to protest and say oi, quit that or I’ll make you, he knew it was exactly the rise Dwalin would’ve wanted to get from him. Beside the other fact that his elder could kick his ass easily.

“‘Course not,” he replied nonchalantly as he could, “I just noticed someone had braided her hair was all.”

Even Dwalin had cause for surprise at that, dark eyebrows shooting up to his metaphorical hairline. “Just since this morning?”

“Yeah,” Kili replied, trying not to sound as deflated as the words made him feel, knocking the air clean out of him now that he’d said them out loud, “thought maybe you’d seen who did it.”

“Hadn’t even crossed my mind, but I think it was like that when she and Bilbo headed back to camp.”

“Bilbo?” He’d lose to a three and a half foot…grocer? “Well now, I’d not have expected that, eh?”

“I can tell ye don’t actually want to laugh, son.”

Sighing, he finally let himself deflate. Bilbo? You and Bilbo?

~

“I hardly see them talk that much. Do you?”

“Not nearly enough to warrant a marriage. Those take time.”

“I know, Fee.”

“Spark.”

“I know.”

“And I thought you two had it. Not even just saying that because you’re my brother. You know I’m honest with you. The only reason those two would have is both feeling like outsiders, and that hardly seems cause to f-”

“Thank you, Fili, yes. Perhaps I was just wrong. Perhaps she could never have loved me after all. She wasn’t my One.”

“Now, brother,” grabbing him by the cheeks with one hand, Fili pulled his younger brother’s gaze to meet his, “not so hasty. Have you talked to either of them yet?”

“Wasn’t ready,” he mumbled, shaking out of the squishing grasp.

“Well, perhaps you should. Knowing is pain, yes, but it is also the thing that keeps us going in the end.”

Kili dropped his gaze thoughtfully before meeting his brother’s eye again, smiling faintly. “Remember our old espionage days? Maybe it’s time we had another mission.”

“Alright,” Fili nodded and smiled, “for old times’ sake.”

~

“Well hello there, Master Burglar.”

“Whatever it is, I won’t fall for it.”

“Now, now, so dry and for what?” Fili wrapped an arm around the hobbit. “I was just wondering how you you were coming along with…a certain member of the company.”

At that, the hobbit’s face crumpled in disgust. By Fili’s reckoning, Master Bilbo seemed barely interested in romance and certainly not with any of the types he currently ran with. He needed someone more doilies and dishcloths and the lot. You may have been the closest to his type, but still far too much of an edge, far too much indeed.

“I beg your pardon?” Bilbo simply replied.

With a conspiratorial wink, Fili leaned in and whispered your name, glancing back to the hobbit’s eyes, which narrowed slightly. Suspicious.

“Uh, w-well I would say,” Bilbo stuttered, shrugging lightly, “well as we could be, all things considered.”

“All things considered?” Fili’s grip tightened a bit. “There are things to be considered?”

“There are plenty of things to be considered!” The burglar shot back. “Why, is she upset with me? Last I heard, she liked the braids and I made her feel much more comfortable. Have I done something today?”

Blue eyes closing to near-slits, Fili released his grip entirely, arm falling back to his side. “Did she ask you to arrange her hair?”

“She complained about it,” Bilbo replied, shimmying in his newfound freedom and using his released arm to slide his pack closer, “so I offered to do something about it. Can’t imagine that is much of an outrage…oh. Oh, good heavens! No! Oh, no. No. She could be my daughter, who on earth sent you over here to…?”

Blonde brows raising, Fili’s head shot back in surprising hard enough to send his mustache braids swinging. “Wait, so you do know about courting braids?”

“Gloin was just telling me all about his,” the hobbit replied, freezing in place even in spite of his awkward, hunched-into-his-pack-hands-deep posture, “neither of us thought a thing about it. Privately I was hoping she and Kili would do whatever it was to get the tension out there, you know?”

Fili did know. He knew, all right.

~

“Psst! Psst! Hoo! Hoo! Caw!”

Kili’s head snapped up at the sound, dark eyes meeting his brother’s fair head popping from the scraggly bushes surrounding camp. One gloved hand waved wild beckoning at the younger prince. Rising from the rock he’d sat down on, one with a strategic view of some conversation between you, Uncle Thorin, and Balin, Kili strode to the edges of camp.

“Reconnaissance successful,” his older brother hissed.

“What?” Jaw dropping, Kili felt his hands leave his chest and clench in surprise. “That was fast. Nothing for me to do?”

“Not true, brother. Not true at all,” Fili smiled, “your part is far more important. You have to go talk to her.”

With a sigh, Kili nodded despite the heavy clunk of his heart in his chest. All the childhood playtimes were nice and all, but at the end of the day he had to be a dwarf about things. Face his fears, just like Uncle Thorin and his father and even Fili.

“You’re right. Though I dread it in my heart, I must speak to her. Even if my love is never known.”

“I wish you the greatest of luck,” Fili patted his shoulder, smiling eagerly, “and trust me. She won’t do a single thing to hurt you. I know it. Alright?”

Another nod. “Alright.”

Inhale, exhale. One step, then another. It was hard sometimes. Putting on the bravado. Fili was always so capable and Uncle had high standards. Not that he shouldn’t, but…it just got easier to act unafraid of everything. In truth, there was much Kili didn’t understand. Much he feared. Perhaps even his own heart, and that was why he had allowed himself to play games with it for so long. No longer, though.

Crunching across the dry campsite ground, he marched up to you as your conversation ended and asked to speak with you, frowning slightly at the nod Balin and Thorin exchanged. Focusing instead on your gaze, the way your eyes were intent in his and the-admittedly quite adorable-way shock bloomed across your face before giving way to a smile and a nod.

“Of course,” you said, and that was that.

How was it that one little smile from you could simultaneously calm Kili's heart and set it leaping like nothing else? There truly was no denying that you were special. Perhaps Bilbo had seen what was so dazzlingly obvious, too. Guess that wasn't too much of a shock.

You both ventured toward the tree line, stopping next to a particularly sturdy trunk. Eagerness was written across your face as you leaned against the smooth bark, encouraging Kili with a smile he couldn't help faintly mirroring even as tears swam in his eyes.

"Are congratulations in order?"

"For me?" You asked, head tilting and hand reaching to your chest. "Forgive me, but what are you asking? I thought maybe I'd upset you last night, but now I really fear it. Or are you teasing me again?"

All thought was scrubbed from Kili's brain at your words, a thick blanket of confusion draping over the prince's mind and furrowing his brows. Is this what Fili meant? Were you not to hurt him because you thought him cross with you? That hurt a bit in and of itself. Perhaps you'd known he would be jealous. But then again, you had greeted him so casually, giving him a cute little wave when he came back...

"Please," he all but begged your name, "the suspense is just killing me. Is that not a courting braid you've been given? I know it is new as of yesterday."

"Is that why you looked so perturbed? Courting...courting braid? Kili," you laughed, "my hair was full of sticks and leaves and all manner of muck, so Bilbo detangled it and got it out of my face for me! Bilbo could be my father!"

Still a bit shaky, but Kili's face surrendered a smile at the teasing smack you gave his upper arm. "Oh, forgive me for being a dwarf," he shot back, "I was hardly the only one who noticed."

"But you were the only one who was jealous," you teased him back, "is that not right?"

Kili could tell by the faltering smirk you gave, by the dart of your beautiful eyes, that you did not truly believe it, but by Mahal, you would when he was done with you.

"Madly," he agreed, eyes boring into yours, "never let anyone but me braid your hair again."

Eyebrows shooting up to your hairline, you peeled yourself from the tree as if to get a closer look. "Kili..."

"I mean it," he implored your name once more, gently taking your shoulders in his hands, "please. This isn't a joke, but if you'd like me to convince you..."

Surging forward, Kili closed the gap between you two, his lips soft against yours and stubble pleasantly tickling against your skin, which shifted as you moved in response to his kiss. Your hands found purchase in his hair, tangling in it and eliciting a sound Kili was too focused on you to be embarrassed about. When you finally pulled away for air, he pulled you back, resting his forehead against yours with a growing smile.

"So, you convinced?"

Your eyes glittered with mirth, joy, mischief...perhaps even love, and Kili knew he should have never doubted you were his One. "So convinced I practically want you to rip out all of Bilbo's work and do it over again yourself."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @kilibaggins @joonies-word @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin | Reply/Ask/Message to join 🥰

[gauntletqueen]

Just had my first time cycling since the bottom surgery, and it went well!! I think mainly my pelvis just isn't used to the saddle anymore gsafhgaf

More important than that though, is outside the grocery store, when putting away my shopping cart like a normal decent human being, I offered to help an older person who had back problems with their grocery bags. Turns out they were another trans person! That was cool yay :>

[whumpninja]

Still late. Have decided not to care. Having too much fun to bother about deadlines.

Featuring: elf whumpee, royal whump, homesickness, emotional whump

Taglist: @whumperofworlds @melpomenelamusa

Prompt used: “This is hopeless.��

Part One

——————————————————————————

Twelve Days of Whumpmas Day Two: Hollyoak, Part Two

When King Cyprian let go, it was reluctant. He pressed his lips to the top of Kelyn's dark hair before he finally let his son pull away.

"It's only six months, Father," Kelyn said quietly. He had to swallow hard before he spoke.

The Holly King only shook his head, reaching out to tuck Kelyn's cloak further around him and adjust the silver circlet he wore on his brow. "Be well, my son," he said, and then more softly, "I love you."

Kelyn had done this cycle five times before, it was hardly new, for him or for his father. They should have been used to it by now.

But he always rode away to the Summer Realm with tears blinding his eyes.

Now it was Kelyn's turn to feel awkward, seated behind one of the Summer Elf guards on the back of a brown bear. The rolling gait of the bear felt nothing like the smooth trot of a reindeer, and the saddle had no place for him to put his staff. He had to hold it, which meant he only had one hand with which to hold on to the bear. And the bear did not seem to like him holding onto it.

Adaire- riding a stag, which seemed to come a lot more natural to him than a reindeer- came up beside the bear. "You look like you're about to fall off, Holly. Vidar, take his staff, will you?"

The guard offered Kelyn an apologetic half-smile, turning around to take the staff. Kelyn immediately felt better when he could hold onto the coarse fur with both hands. The guard seemed easily able to direct the bear with just one.

That was the thing about Adaire. He was immensely helpful, but in some strange way it always seemed condescending. Even when he meant it earnestly. The Summer Elves all knew about Kelyn's leg by now, but somehow Kelyn felt as if Adaire had pointed to it and shouted out to them all. Was it his imagination, or was there a trace of smugness settling on Adaire's lips as he rode back up to the front of the line?

Six months with the Oak Prince was going to feel like a very long time indeed.

The sun had begun to sink when the procession reached the center of the Summer Realm where the palace was located. The Winter palace was a lodge built from logs, and in some ways the Summer palace was much the same...except the logs hadn't been cut down.

Summer Elves, Kelyn had learned to his shock the first time he had spent half the year in their court, lived in trees.

Adaire sprang from his deer the moment he saw the oak grove, with its bridges and ramps leading from one tree-room to the next. Some of the trees had been hollowed out to hold multiple levels of rooms, others had their rooms built right into the canopy. Adaire flung himself at the ladder to the central, largest tree, scrambling up with speed, if not very much grace.

Kelyn's guard broke off from the rest, steering the bear to a tree at the back of the palace. Kelyn slipped off the bear's back- as quickly as he could- and accepted his bag and staff back.

This tree had been outfitted for him the first half-year he had spent in the Summer Realm. Most of the entrances to the Summer palace could only be accessed by ladder. Kelyn's had a lift that carried him up to the door- once in the trees, he could manage the bridges and ramps with the assistance of his staff, but a ladder was nearly impossible. He sat down on the lift, tucking his staff under his arm, and waited for the magic to activate, slowly carrying him up to the entrance into the tree.

He knew from past experience that it would take awhile for him to become accustomed to the heat of Summer. Even the nights were warm here. It wouldn't hurt him; he'd been left enough magic to keep his core cold. But it would feel strange until his body grew used to it.

Both princes had quarters in the other palaces, and Kelyn's lay just beyond the entrance tree. He made his way across the bridge, glancing down once at the ground far below.

His rooms were one of the hollowed trees, and the top room held a bed. Kelyn collapsed on top of it, letting his staff clunk to the floor. He took off his cloak and tossed it across the end of the bed. That feels a little better. The heat of the Summer Realm was always the hardest thing to get used to.

Someone rapped on the door, and Kelyn sat up. "Come in."

Adaire's familiar green face poked around the doorway. Kelyn immediately wished he would leave. That he could tell him to leave, but he was supposed to be an ambassador from the Winter Realm- he could not be so rude to their prince. The fragile peace between their kingdoms rested on his shoulders for the next six months.

"What do you want?" he asked instead.

Adaire shrugged. "See how you're settling in?"

Kelyn raised an eyebrow.

Adaire invited himself in, dropping into a woven chair in the corner of the room. "I actually came to apologize about the guard you were riding with. I should have told them to be careful about your staff." The corner of his lip quirked up. "You were clutching Ula's fur so tight I thought you would rip out a handful, and then there would have been some fun."

"Well, the deer seem to hate me, so the bears are my only option." Kelyn lay back on the bed with a sigh.

"It's the antlers."

"It's what?"

Adaire appeared in Kelyn's field of vision, leaning over the bed. He tapped his small round horns. "They don't mind ours, but they see a Winter Elf's antlers and think you're a stag. The other stags think you're a challenge and the does and fawns think you're a threat."

"Your deer...think that I am also a deer."

Adaire nodded, grinning. He had an infuriating sort of grin. Cocky. Smug, almost, although it didn't seem to be an on-purpose sort of smug. Adaire just seemed to be...like that.

Kelyn wondered what the Oak Prince thought of him. Does he think me too cold? Reserved? Stiff? Does his court think I am strange? He glanced to where his staff waited. Do they think I am weak?

Adaire had gone when Kelyn finally broke himself out of his thoughts. Kelyn hadn't even heard him leave, and the Oak Prince wasn't exactly quiet.

The Summer Realm always felt so different. He heard birds chirping and the soft rustling of leaves instead of whirling wind and the rattle of pine needles. The air smelled like green things and sunshine rather than the crisp smell of fresh snow. A little brook tumbled along just past the edge of the grove- Kelyn could see it from the far window hewn into the trunk of his tree. In his own realm, it would be frozen over, the water hidden underneath a layer of ice thick enough to stand on.

"This is hopeless," Kelyn whispered. "I will never get used to this realm." The homesickness always struck him hardest for the first few weeks, but this time it felt as though it was piercing him more sharply than before. Six months had never seemed so long.

Someone knocked on the door again. Kelyn sighed and slipped off the bed, picking up his staff as he went to the door. "Adaire, I really just want to be-"

The words faded like a flicker of smoke in the wind.

The visitor at his door was not Adaire. It was his father, Aritz- the Oak King himself.

[maccreadysbaby]

part i ; chapter ii

❝ the road ahead ❞

all chapters linked here

⚔︎

"MUST YOU LEAVE SO SOON? You haven't even slept,"

Adavera smiled lightly as she rolled her bedroll into a neat cylinder, strapping it to the saddlebag of her noble steed, Adhara. A beauty she was, with a ruddy red coat, and a dazzling platinum tail and mane. Her saddle and bags were of elvish make, a fine leather with intricate detailing, flawlessly made — a gift from Cepheus many moons ago.

Adavera turned, her eyes locking onto a pair that were the exact same shade of blue as hers, although these were brighter, more lively — over the years, something sort of grim had settled in the back of her's. "I will be fine, father. I must leave ere sunrise, boss's orders. I have gone much longer without sleep before." 

Her father smiled a small, warm but worried smile. His hair was graying, but peppered in was a shiny gold that glimmered in the candlelight of Dale's stablehouse, and he had the same petite, soft features she did. He was creeping into his middle age, but his demeanor showed no signs of it — he had the sweetest soul, carried the biggest heart, the kindest smile, and shined brighter than all the gold in Erebor. He worked in textiles, creating beautiful fabrics reminiscent of the blossoming light and joy that bloomed inside of him. So beautiful, in fact, that even the King of Dale had at some time acquired his fabrics for use in clothing. There was something so pure, so striking, so bright about him. Something Adavera would have loved to inherit, for she'd been told she had a rather heavy presence in a room full of people.

Her father watched curiously as she packed up her items. "This blacksmith of yours sure sends you to the most curious of places, and in the middle of the night! Surely this research into weaponry you conduct is not so urgent."

"I enjoy it, father, and Cepheus is coming along to keep me safe," Adavera said with a smile, tightening down the front left of Adhara's saddle pouches, which held her money and the newly acquired payment from Godwyn. "Learning of other species' forging and fighting techniques is a unique job to acquire — I am very much honored to have gained it, even if it means I must travel at unlikely times to unlikely places."

Her father's gaze, when their eyes met, warmed her insides, even if his easy smile gave her a little unrest. He deserved to know the truth, the full truth — that his daughter did enjoy learning of weaponry, and forging, but her pay was not earned from anything of the sort... the money that kept their family from falling into financial disaster was earned through the deaths of unfortunate souls. It hurt Adavera's heart a little more each time she watched him fall to the ruse — each time she lied to his face and reassured him that Godwyn was just a blacksmith, that Cepheus was just an escort, that she was just a journalist, paid to retrieve information to improve Dale's weaponry.

He was too pure, too joyful, too precious -- not a person in Dale would believe her if she told them the truth of her work. Not the clothiers daughter, they would say, his family's been true all their lives.

Living in the constant, repetitive cycle of lie, kill, get paid, all while wearing a mask of blacksmith and company was vile. A putrid, toxic lifestyle Adavera had been enduring for nine years and counting. But, as always, she had not the heart to tell her father. 

She feared the news would kill him. 

"I have made a gift for you. I will have given it to you on your birthday, but traveling all the way to Rivendell, I hardly think you'll be home in time. Cepheus was supposed to stop by the shop and grab it, but he has not arrived yet..." Her father started, glancing around the stables quickly. "Come, to the shop — I will give it to you so it may do you some good on this journey."

Adavera took a pause from tightening her belongings down, blinking herself back into reality, slowly comprehending her father's words. "Father, you need not give me gifts. I will return soon enough."

Her father waved her off with a flick of his hand, already turning around with a little smile plastered on his face. "Come along, it will only take a moment."

With a small sigh of defeat, she patted Adhara on the back and turned. "I will return for you -- you know my father."

Adhara chuffed.

The storm from the earlier night had let up, giving way to twinkling stars above Dale, renewing the quiet buzz and liveliness the city always seemed to have. Her father's shop, situated right beneath their home, was only a stone's throw or two from the edge of the stables, so walking there only took a short minute. She followed behind her father swiftly as he moved to their building in the dark. 

The residence they claimed as their own was small — a two story building made of the same bright stone and light plaster the rest of the city was made of. Though it was a bit older than the buildings around it, for that building had been one of the few dozen that had miraculously evaded the fires of Smaug all those years ago.

When they approached the green-painted wooden door, it was sitting ajar, and the lantern inside was on.

Adavera blinked, moving along behind her father, whose demeanor had gone from chipper to curious in a flash. Surely Cepheus wouldn’t leave the door open and the light on. Adavera's father pushed the door all the way open with the toe of his shoe, the yellow lantern light spilling out onto the cobblestone streets as he peered inside, brows furrowed.

"Surely it's just Cepheus," Adavera started with a glance into the shop, taking a step through the threshold, right behind her father. "You said he was coming to retrieve your gift."

They moved inside quickly and quietly, scanning the lower floor for any signs of disruption — all of her father's textiles and additional pieces were set up just as he had left it, organized so people could roam his shop how they liked. Everything was in its place -- the spools of vibrant yarn and thread were each where they belonged, organized by color on a spool hanger on one wall, and dozens of rolls of patterned fabric sat neatly on wooden shelves that seemed to outline the whole place. Racks that housed pre-made garments of bright colors sat spread in the middle of the room, as well as a few tables that held adornments, like buttons, clasps, and the like. The large table he used to sew, his loom, and other tools were just where he'd left them.

Everything was in its place, untouched, unmoved.

The only thing that seemed the slightest bit out of the ordinary, was the door that separated the shop from the staircase that ascended into their home. It was standing open.

Adavera's little brother was up there.

She and her father seemed to realize this at the same time. Just as they were moving for the door, a sense of urgency surging through them, a shrill thud echoed from upstairs, and two figures, tangled, came thumping down the staircase in an impressive roll. They stopped at the bottom only thanks to the wall at the end of the stairs.

"Beau! It's — ow — Cepheus!"

Ahead of the two figures, Adavera and her father fell into silence as they realized who each were — the mop of coily brown curls belonged to Beau, her younger brother, and the long, luscious locks of raven belonged to Cepheus. And currently, the thirteen year old was bludgering the elf with a candelabra, unable to make out his identity in the dim light, completely oblivious to his previous words.

"Beau!" Adavera exclaimed, a smile sliding onto her features as she moved toward the pair, grabbing her brother by the shoulders and tugging on him. "It's Ceph! It's Ceph!"

Beau's focus seemed to snap back into place, and he looked between Adavera and Cepheus, whom he was still looming threateningly over with a candelabra. Adavera's father lit one of the lanterns nearer to them, illuminating the elf and making his identity known.

Beau paused. "Oh. Hi, Ceph. What are you doing in our house past midnight?"

Adavera chuckled at his sudden calm, stepping back as he moved away from Cepheus and put down the candelabra on the stairs. 

"Sorry about that." He continued, offering Cepheus his hand, which he took just to be polite. Of course, elves weighed next to nothing -- so when Beau went to help him up, Cepheus actually came flying out of the floor and rammed straight into the kid.

Adavera found herself snorting, and Cepheus chuckled through his nose, gathering his bearings and rubbing a spot on his head where he'd been struck by the metal. "I suppose you needn't worry about burglars coming into your shop, Harlan," He started, addressing Adavera's father, who was standing off to the side with a cheeky grin. "Beau can do much damage with a candlestick."

"To be fair, I had no idea you were coming," The teenager replied, his brown eyes glimmering now that he was in the presence of his three favorite people. 

"I was looking for a parcel your father sent me for. Although, since you managed to hurdle me down the stairs, I suppose I should be looking for a new spleen instead," Cepheus joked. Adavera snickered, watching with a fondness in her eyes as the elf reached over and ruffled Beau's hair.

"Oh!" Her father shouted after a second, startling them all. "You couldn't find it because I never brought it out from my study! I shall return."

With that, her father hurried up the stairs and out of sight, a smile on his face. There was always a smile on his face.

"You two are leaving again," Beau said as soon as their father was out of earshot, with a certain accusatory air about him. He narrowed his eyes into nothing more than little slits as his gaze flicked between Adavera and Cepheus. "You just returned from Erebor! This is the first I've seen you in… years!"

"It was a week and a half," Adavera replied softly, a deadpan look on her face that slowly inched into an amused grin. "We're going to Rivendell; the city of Cepheus's kin."

Beau scrunched his face up. "Cepheus was born here. This is also the city of his kin."

Adavera snickered, eyes flicking to Cepheus and lingering there for a moment. "He may be half-man, but he isn’t our kin. He still doesn't like our ale."

The elf held one hand up in protest. "Because it’s absolutely foul."

Adavera gaped, trying to work up a quick-witted response when her father thumped back down the stairs quickly, a brown-wrapped parcel in his hand, tied up with a bow of string. "Here we are, here we are."

The gift was thrust into her arms before she could speak.

"I know you must leave soon, so there you are," He spoke with a bright grin on his sweet, aging face, gesturing to the package. "Go ahead!"

Adavera smiled under all the eyes on her, slowly moving to his sewing table to set the parcel on. Beau followed her curiously, and Cepheus stayed off to the side, in the shadows, watching with his arms crossed. Her father took up a spot next to her at the table as she unwrapped the small gift.

The first thing she saw when she opened it was something an awe-inspiring blueish-green, with aged silver clasps on the front that looked oddly familiar. She pulled it out, revealing a beautiful sleeveless bodice of a leather-like material, intricate detailing, perfect stitching, and a tall neckline. The color was something that left her speechless -- it was not easy to tan leather (or anything like leather) such a stunning color!

"Father, this is beautiful!" She breathed, spinning it around to examine the back. There was more material that made it much longer than the front, with a slit in the center, so her bottom would be covered. 

"It is lined on the inside to help fend off the winter cold that is coming," He explained, gently running a finger along the material. "The silver clasps on the front came from one of your mother's old tailcoats — she, much like you, preferred trousers to dresses."

Adavera spun the overcoat again to examine the weathered silver on the front. Her mother passed when Adavera was fourteen, after the really tough labor and birth of Beau. She realized now that she had recognized the clasps as the ones on the coat she used to wear. 

Beau moved forward, pushing himself between Adavera and her father to look really hard at the silver clasps. His eyes, big and brown, like their mother's, narrowed as he scoured the inside of his mind. 

"I don't remember her," He said after a moment, solemnly.

Adavera reached over and ruffled his hair. "Well, you were three days old last time you saw her," She stated, turning to look at her father. "They're beautiful. I do believe she would be jealous, truly."

Her father chuckled a (possibly wet?) chuckle, moving on to the next in the neatly folded pile — a shirt made of a fabric so soft and silky it felt nearly elvish. It was a loose, ivory colored top. The sleeves, tight at the end, even had little holes for her thumbs to keep them from riding up. The neckline was high, but lower than the vest she'd just gotten, with a small bow of a silky ribbon at the top to synch it all together. There were beautiful lines across the shoulders and back where the fabric had been gathered and sewn, both for design, and to make it shapely so it fit nicely beneath the coat.

"This is made of a very old fabric from Rivendell, which Cepheus brought back from one of his visits long ago. It is very light and easy to move in, so it shouldn't bother you to wear beneath your vest," Her father explained, again, reaching out to stroke the fabric. "I also provided thumb holes, to make it easier to put on your gauntlets."

"This must've taken ages," She spoke softly, spinning the shirt around just like the had the vest, to examine it. "Thank you, father."

"Don't thank me yet — there's still one thing left," He smiled, gesturing to the final folded piece of the gift.

Adavera glanced down at it. The last thing in the parcel were new trousers that she picked up and unfolded -- brown trousers, and tight, for Adavera despised loose trouser legs while riding Adhara. They were made from a hardy material that felt like it would keep the cold away, as well — and could probably withstand the nagging of brush and branches as Adavera rode.

"These trousers are also made of a temperature-regulating material," Her father explained as she spun them round. "They are tailored to fit inside your boots, and tight at the waistline so you can still fit your scabbard and other accessories over top."

"Wow," Adavera smiled brightly, laying the trousers on the table and turning to embrace her father tightly. He startled at the sudden hug, but reveled in it nonetheless. "Thank you so much. I will put it all on before we take our leave."

"Which needs to be soon," Cepheus spoke up, glancing out the window at the stars beyond. A tinge of regret flashed across his soft features, as though he felt bad for mentioning their nearing departure, or interrupting the meaningful moment with something so grim. "The moon says we have few remaining hours ere sunrise."

"Alright," Adavera started, not letting her smile fall, gathering up her new clothes. "I suppose a fitting is in order, then." 

With one last smile to her father, she all but vanished from the room, heading up the stairs to slide into the new clothes. Her old ones were getting ratty anyways -- plus, it was high-time to try a color that wasn't brown or black. The blue was striking, beautiful, and still concealable by a cloak. 

She slid out of her old, mud and grime and blood ridden clothing, discarding them in the floor as she put on the new ones, comfortable and clean. Her father was right -- the shirt was light and airy, nearly impossible to feel, and the vest was snug and warm. The trousers were thick but still managed to look presentable, and she transferred her brown riding boots (once her mother's; Adavera had had them for ten years, at least.) from one outfit to the other.

Blindly, she twisted her dark, wavy birds-nest into some semblance of a braid. It was much less regal than anything Cepheus could do, but it would work to hold it out of her face. She secured it with a ribbon and hurried back down the stairs as soon as she was finished, a small smile on her face all the way. 

When Adavera came back into everyone's view, she did a spin, throwing her arms out to the side for dramatic effect. "What do you think?"

Beau, her father, and Cepheus all turned from what seemed to be a meaningful conversation, their eyes all traveling across her figure at different speeds.

Cepheus was the first to speak. "Your hair looks horrendous."

"Adavera," His insult was drowned out by the soft way her father spoke her name, stepping forward with a glimmer of wetness in his ocean blue eyes. He reached out as though he wanted to embrace her, but decided against it, instead blinking rapidly. "You look just like her."

She smiled widely, forcing back the small urge to let her eyes burn and, instead, chuckled. "She was much more beautiful than I."

The wind was suddenly knocked out of her when Beau slammed into her front, synching his arms around her tightly. "I wish you weren't leaving again."

She kept the small smile on her face, but her eyes met Cepheus's, large and full of starlight, though that starlight was now dim. The realization tried to tug the corners of her mouth into frown, but she didn't let it. Living a lie hurt -- Not just her. Not just the two of them. All of them.

With a soft exhale, she reached out and squeezed her father's shoulder, her other hand finding the top of Beau's head. "We shall return ere long."

"Go," Her father ordered, blinking the mistiness in his eyes away. "You must leave with time to spare. We wish you both the best of luck on your travels."

Adavera smiled, batting back the tears that threatened to come. "And the best of luck we shall have."

--

Leaving the house and heading to the stables was grueling, as though Adavera's very soul was split between her body and her family, being pulled thin through the streets of Dale. The best she could do to console herself was to... not think about it, really. She was doing her job, making money, keeping them afloat. 

That was her purpose — what she was supposed to do.

"Stop, stop, stop," Cepheus ordered about halfway to the stable-house, beneath the twinkling stars, grabbing Adavera by the braid to slow her down. "This is a terrible mess, honestly."

"We need to leave, Cepheus,"

"It will only take a moment," He replied, and she felt him untie the ribbon from her hair and let it loose. She huffed lightly, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one side. How strange it must’ve been, for the bystanders to look out their window in the wee hours of the morning just to see an elf doing the clothier’s daughter’s hair.

"This is unnecessary," She murmured. "It was tied back well."

"And going to Rivendell, you'll be the laughing stock," He replied with a snicker. "Also, I do not believe it's strange to desire a goodbye, for we are not to speak the entire journey. That is many silent months."

Adavera said nothing to that, but let out a soft sigh. "I know you are with me. Your burden is light -- revel in that."

"My burden is anything but light," He replied, and she could feel him gently twisting her hair together behind her head, his fingers smoothing and brushing through the locks as he went. "Though my contract says I am not to intervene under any circumstances, I find myself wishing I could come to your aid quite often. Wishing I could speak with you even more often. Being a part of your journey, yet only being able to watch, is burden enough."

Adavera chewed her bottom lip. "Well, watching is a Watcher's only job... to report back if I am killed, just as you did for the ghost before me. To carry a message. Not to risk your own neck on my behalf."

"I fear I would not make it back to Dale, should you perish," Cepheus breathed.

Adavera snickered, throwing a hand out to the side. "Because you'd no longer have Dale's best swordsman to fight all of the enemies for you, watcher?"

"Because elves can perish from grief," He finalized, and she felt him secure the end of her braid with the ribbon, tightly. 

“It’s good, then. That you’re part man,” She replied.

Adavera turned around to face him, her icy eyes locking onto his own brownish-grayish ones. For a moment, they simply looked at one another. The moonlight seemed to be shining right on Cepheus, illuminating his face and giving him a glow of pure starlight. It made his eyes twinkle with this ephemeral shine — like the moon was rising behind his irises. His skin was unweathered, though having seen much battle, his hair smoother than silk, despite living centuries -- he truly was a perfect creature, in a world far too evil for him.

Adavera blinked, then cleared her throat lightly, turning on her heel, toward the stables. "We should go."

She walked away and did not look back to see Cepheus pause, or to watch his eyes follow her as she moved, or to see his lips part only to forego his statement and bury it deep within himself somewhere. She didn't look back to see the contemplative look that crossed his face before he exhaled, righted himself, and followed.

But she did hear him breathe deeply. "I will follow where you lead, my lady."

She snickered. "Good -- Mordor, here we come."

"Sounds invigorating," He replied, shortly. "Do you have your daggers?" 

Adavera glanced back at him, an offended look on her face as she entered the stable that held Adhara. "Of course I have my daggers."

"And your medicine pack? Your waterskin? Because I'm not dropping mine from a tree again only for you to shout about how you must've made friends with the birds,"

Adavera snorted, heading to Adhara and grabbing her cloak from one of her saddlebags. The horse nickered and stomped her front hoof -- most likely protesting another journey right after the return from Erebor. "I had to make it seem like you weren't there."

"And you're lucky the forest was empty, or I'd have surely been found," He replied, lifting up a pile of hay and grabbing a small traveling pack from beneath it. “Here.”

Adavera barely managed to catch something he tossed her way, bouncing it from one hand to the other before she finally got a grip. It was a small bottle filled with an orange paste.

“What is this?”

“Paste from the flowers of the Serpensa Vine. It voids the body of toxins,” Cepheus replied, and Adavera merely raised an eyebrow. “What? Just something else to add to your collection of elvish medicine.”

Adavera shook her head, digging into one of her saddlebags and retracting her hand with a roll of leather. She unrolled it quickly, revealing a myriad of vials and small bottles of various medicinal herbs. She slid the orange one into a pocket on the end. “I must have enough to provide for an elvish healer.”

“With the amount of times you injure yourself, I’m not even sure that’s enough,” Cepheus replied with a cheeky grin as Adavera put the leather away.

"Are you ready to leave, or would you like to continue harassing me?" She questioned, grabbing Adhara's reigns and leading her in a circle, toward the gate of the stable house. Cepheus stepped out of the way so the horse could exit, giving Adavera an amused glance as she passed. 

"As you wish, my leige," He said, feigning a bow.

Adavera snickered, leading the horse onto the cobblestone streets. "Do your job and disappear."

When she turned to catch his offended expression, Cepheus was gone. 

She turned back to Adhara with an amused smile, stroking the top of the horse's head. "If we have any luck, he'll go missing on the road." 

A pebble hit Adavera in the head from an unknown direction, and she laughed.

Perhaps the road ahead wouldn't be so long with her closest friend, even if he was bound to the silence and shadows.

After all, she could insult him all she wanted, and the Watcher... he couldn't say a thing.

⚔︎

not me posting a chapter not even a full day after the other 😬😬

⚔︎

tag list!

@inkedmoth

[mahayanapilgrim]

JUST DO IT ...

'Spiritual practice is a bit like riding a bicycle. Once you have learnt how to cycle there is no need to go over the theory behind how the gears work or the best height for your saddle every time you go for a ride. All you have to do is get on your bike and start pedaling.

And the key to this practice is to do the best you can and don't worry too much about whether what you are doing is right or wrong; eventually you will get the hang of it. The pith instructions are extremely pragmatic: just do it! Which makes realizing nonduality a little like learning to drive. However preposterous it may sound when you start out, having spent weeks learning about where all the different buttons and levers are in your car, there will come a time when you have no choice but to put the manual aside, turn on the engine, and drive.

The same goes for visualization practice. At first the dissolution may be more like dropping an apple into a bag than merging one with the guru, but unless you take a risk and have a go, nothing will change. With practice, though, your guru will become less like an apple and more like a glass of water that you then pour into a bucket of water-which is an indication you are beginning to understand the process of nonduality a little better.'

~ Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Two

On the first freezing day of Autumn, I zip my coat all the way up to the top and shiver as I exit the apartment building, a huge, converted Georgian house that opens onto Fitzwilliam Square. My hands are stiff as I try to wrangle my bicycle loose from the iron railings out front, my condensed breath floating over my face to warm up my nose and cheeks. I swear under my breath as the key gets stuck, again, and then stand there jangling it madly for a minute before it releases and the heavy chain pools onto the concrete at my feet. 

I’ve learned quickly that the trick to owning a bicycle in Dublin city is to get the cheapest bike you can find and then make it look even cheaper. Shane and I spent an evening destroying it in the bin yard a couple of weeks ago, stamping the pedals until pieces broke off, using spray paint in lurid colours to obscure the brand name and shiny red coat on the metal work. We wound duct tape around the saddle and the handlebars, which doubled as an anti-theft method, happily enough. It was a cathartic experience. Claire had come along with a sticker book and helpfully dotted the body with flowers and hearts and rainbows too, insisting that all thieves are men, and none of them will want a girl’s bike. I then went to the nearest bike shop and bought two locks, the most hard wearing and expensive ones they had, because nobody is going to pick two massive locks for the pathetic reward of a dinged up bicycle covered in stickers. 

“It’s a rite of passage to have a bike stolen in the first month.” Shane had said with some sympathy after I cried at the college gates having discovered my brand new bike gone, only an easily sawed through lock pathetically coiled around the stand left as any evidence that it existed. “Sure, bits off my bike get robbed all the time. I had to cycle home from town without a saddle the other week. We’ll get you another one, I know a guy who deals them out of his ma’s garage.”

“Isn’t that kind of like contributing to the negative cycle?” I whimpered. “I bet all those bikes are stolen too.”

“Yeah probably, but, ah, sure. They’re only sixty quid.” 

That’s how I ended up with this ‘new’ bike, and luckily, nobody has stolen its saddle yet. We made sure that it’d be so inconvenient that even the most hard-up, desperate thief wouldn’t come near any part of it, but as a payoff it’s so uncomfortable. It squeaks, the back brake doesn’t work and sometimes when I go too fast I feel as though I’m going to slide off it and bash my most private areas onto the crossbar, but it gets me where I need to go. In the cold, early morning in the mist and smell of turf I throw my leg over it and manoeuvre it out onto the road, my bag and drawing tube strapped across me, and zip up towards Baggot Street, then skirt around Stephen’s Green, the new, cold wind throwing icy daggers at my face as I weave in and out of traffic, eluding busses and taxis and pedestrians who keep crossing the road before it’s their turn. Rust coloured leaves drop onto the pavement before my wheels as I pass the flats along Kevin Street, children in tiny uniforms walking to school hand in hand with their parents. 

“Use your arms!” A taxi driver screams at me as I swerve to the right ahead of him, and I ignore him, already used to men screaming at me on these streets, whether it’s because they think I’m cycling them wrong or because they have an opinion about my body that they’d like to share. 

Dublin isn’t awful, but it’s harsh in ways I’m still unused to. When I visited it I saw it as more beautiful than it really is, but back then I only saw the shops, the parks, the huge Georgian houses, and now I see the back alleys too and the places that don’t feel all that wonderful. I’ve seen the yellow pallor of the people at the back of the bus, the men in alleyways who dare you to look in and see them so they can shout at you for doing it, women climbing into sleeping bags in the sheltered doorways of department stores for the night, battered paper cups set out hopefully in front of them as they curl up to sleep on the cold pavement. 

I get shouted at a lot here too. By bus drivers, for not knowing how to use my Leap card properly, and by the people on said busses for standing or sitting in the wrong places, by taxi men for crossing the road at the wrong time, by screechy women in windows for throwing my chewing gum in the wrong bins. I apologise a lot more than I ever have now, which is really saying something. 

I swerve down a bumpy, cobblestone side street and through the gates of NCAD, taking the time to chain my bike onto the same rack where its predecessor was nicked from, giving the locks a hard, intentional look as if I could intimidate them into staying put. Then I hurry inside and up the stairs, the central heating blasting over me so intensely that by the time I stumble into the studio I feel like a piece of ham wrapped in cling film. I drop my bag and drawing tube onto the floorboards by one of the drawing tables and start ripping my outerwear off in a frenzy. 

Prev // Next

[jimclassicstoycollection]

Transformers

The Movie

Studio Series 86

09

Voyager class

Wreck-Gar

By Hasbro (2021)

Picked this up at Walmart, in the wild on 09-17-21. I originally had this figure pre-ordered on amazon, but considering I did find it in the wild shortly after payday, I canceled my order and bought it on the spot.

And that is my brave and harrowing tale. 

Originally seen in the 1986 ‘The Transformers The Movie’ as the leader of the Junkions.

Vehicle Mode:

Vehicle Mode is a motorcycle, a LARGE motor cycle. Big enough for other Transformers to ride him…in bike mode...

It’s a blocky Mad Max style chopper with spikes, saddle bags, spiked wheels, and all around chunky.

It’s mostly reds, browns and yellows.

The bike overall feels pretty solid, and has a playable feature of having other Transformers ride the bike, and much to my surprise the spiky wheels rolled fairly well too.

The bike has two kick stands so it doesn’t topple over.

My main issue with the bike mode are the four axle spikes. They’re all long and thin, and a possible breakage issue down the road.

Comparing all my Wreck-Gars.

Transformation:

Converting Wreck-Gar into robot mode pretty easy. There’s a little bit of parts forming with the wheels detaching and pegging into other parts of the body.

Robot Mode:

Once you get Wreck-Gar into robot you find out just how big he is, for a Voyager class toy. This guy is tall, and bulky, very animation accurate.

The figure stands really well, and poses really well too, aside from the ab crunch. The ab crunch is a pivotal part of the transformation, and in robot mode it tends to get a little floppy and loose.

His head sculpt is just wicked with the robo-stash and goatee, and the grin on his face.

Wreck-Gar’s classic nipple guns are blast compatible.

Comparing all my Wreck-Gars in robot mode.

Accessories:

Wreck-Gar’s accessories are his axe,and his two wheels. they can be attached to his limbs in robot mode, but this does kind of double as parts-forming so you’d best not to lose those wheels.

Backdrop:

The back drop is the Junk home world.

Final Thoughts:

Studio Series Wreck-Gar is a really cool toy! It looks great, it stands and poses great, the head sculpt is phenomenal.

My only gripe about the figure is that he’s a bit floppy around the mid section.

Highly recommended, especially if you have the older Junkions so you can form a squad.

[adventure12f]

Athletic Bag / Sports Bag / Backpack

₹2,399.00

This incredible athletic bag / sports bag is a much loved everyday companion for the athletes. This bag is designed with all features and detailed compartments which are needed by an athlete to carry all her / his training gear to the ground everyday. It has provision to store change of clothes, towels, spikes/running shoes, training mat, foam rollers, water bottles, mobile and accessories, even a separate compartment to store wet clothes. And when it rains it has a rain cover to protect the bag. If you are an athlete you need not carry a college backpack to ground anymore. This bag will be your best cheer leader while you practice.

VISIT: Trekking Bags In India

[ilpellaioetrusco]

Leather and bicycle, what a passion!! "Botticella" has arrived, the 3-in-one bag for the urban cyclist. With its clever design this exclusive bike bag can be easily attached to the handlebar and saddle to always carry your things with you, and arrived at its destination even after having locked your bike, the Botticella will follow you everywhere! Thanks to the practical shoulder strap and removable handle it can be easily worn as a shoulder bag or as a barrel! Let me know what you think in the comments! #ilpellaioetrusco Thanks @dieselpunk.ro your Almost round bag pattern turned out to be the perfect base for this project! 🙌🏼 #leatherbags #leathercraft #leatherart #barrel #saddlebag #handlebag #shoulderbag #contrast #bottecchia #bike #bicycle #eroica #urbancyclist #cycling #retro #retrostyle #handmadeleathergoods #handmade https://www.instagram.com/p/CNlNOuiAj4L/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[cycletouringlife]

Bicycle saddle bags

Are you in the need of bicycle saddle bags? You have come to the right place. We brought together an in-depth collection of the best bags around that are durable, will keep your gear dry, and are excellent value for money. For more information, you can call us at +1-902-900-0136.

[macabrec0uture]

General Information:

Name: Dranian Carvonia

Age: 27

Species: Imperial

Birthstone: The Shadow

Class: Assassin

Faction: Dark Brotherhood

Faction Rank: The Listener  

Appearance:

Height: 5’10”

Weight: 200 lbs

Hair Colour: Brown

Eye Colour: Blue 

Skin/ Scale/ Fur Colour: White 

Smell: Death, rust 

Voice Description: Confident, with an amused and whimsical edge 

Tattoos: A tattoo on his lower back, a heart with a dagger protruding. Dripping blood from where the dagger meets the heart 

Horns: N/A

Tail: N/A

Relationships:

Father: Unknown 

Mother: Unknown

Siblings: Unknown

Cousins: Unknown

Children: None

Pet: A frostbite spider called Glacibane 

Any found family: The Dark Brotherhood 

Friends: TBA

Rivals: TBA

Enemies: The Morag Tong, Astrid 

Equipment:

Weapons: An ebony dagger, one silver dagger, an orcish bow, assortment of arrows including iron, forsworn and orcish 

Clothing: Shrouded armour, shrouded boots, shrouded gloves, shrouded cowl 

Travelling Gear: A dark leather thief's backpack, a set of commoner clothes 

Potions: Potion of minor healing, potion of healing, potion of health regeneration, potion of stamina regeneration, potion of stamina 

Poisons: Virulent poison, deadly fear poison 

Food and Drink: Nord mead, argonian ale, bread, cheese, butter, two apples 

Coin: 1,000 septims

Mount: A dark brown horse with white patches called Lorenzo. He has a plain brown saddle with slightly worn reins with a small folded bedroll attached to the back 

Skills, Abilities & Magic:

Skills: Sneak (75), One-Handed (60), Archery (60), Lockpicking (55), Pickpocket (55), Light-Armor (50) All others are below 45

Spells: Muffle, healing, flames, frostbite, sparks 

Shouts: N/A

Abilities: Voice of the Emperor, Shadow birthsign abilities 

Scrolls: None

Soul Gems: None

Legendary Skills: None

Any natural aptitudes: Sneak

Any natural vulnerabilities: No natural resistance

Divines: N/A

Daedra: Sithis

Biography:

Dranian was abandoned on the streets of Bravil, no not or anything. With what could be seen as a cruel twist of fate, he was taken in by a family business of skooma dealers. He was raised to do what he was told as well as how life was cruel. Dranian’s attempts at asking about his parents would lead to a feeling of deep anger, they had told him the Divines had clearly left him to die and his parents hadn’t cared for him, so why should they be any nicer to him? With not much to work with, he did as he was told, becoming a skooma runner, at times being sent to the Waterfront in the Imperial City. Some of the beggars there were kind to him, they had lost their wealth and decided to teach him to read in the hope he would at some point break free of this cycle, yet what they noticed was boiling anger and a vengeful sense of justice brewing. He had been returning to the long and escorted journey back with the gang's guard dog and orc lackey (they didn’t want to be connected to a child's death) when the authorities swooped down on them, taking them all into custody. Interrogated for what he knew he minimised his doings and told them only what they asked, he wasn’t a snitch, he was someone not to be used and he kept a majority of their operations to himself. 

Wanting to give the child a second chance he was sent to an Orphanage outside of Chorrol. It seemed nice to him as if it were a play instead of how life truly was. He at times refused to eat and drink, fearing it would be poisoned. He stayed for a few months, trusting them slightly more but he couldn’t live there, he felt trapped in a cage like a wild animal aching to be freed. With increasing tensions with the other children through his anger he left one night after packing what he needed into a small bag. He knew he couldn’t go into Chorrol itself so selling a few trinkets he had stolen from those who had cared for him, he bought passage to Bruma and then Cheydinhal through a group of smugglers, having formerly worked for a criminal organisation so young he already knew some of how the dark underworld worked. Dranian then continued his life as a beggar, ears listening to passers-by for the opportune moment to take food from their pockets or keys to take wares to sell for his survival, he was good but not perfect. On one such unlucky occasion, he was spotted by a guard who had been curious about the increase in thefts while he had been boarding up people's homes to set up his operations. Catching him one night he beat him half to death, inviting two others to kick him.

Fortune smiled upon him for once, Rhenilorh, a future friend saved him, nursing him back to health. He begrudgingly gave his thanks, giving some of what he had left that hadn’t been taken to the poor, hoping that one day there would be no more corruption in those meant to serve. Not wanting to become attached and having to change his lifestyle, he enjoyed the rush of danger, he left and headed to Morrowind, this time threatening to kill the driver if he did not gain passage. He would continue to steal to survive. Dranian also began working in the mines as a late teen. He began to indulge in darker impulses when an argument broke out with another miner when no one else was around. In the heat of the moment, he killed the other, enjoying it greatly and the power it made him feel when for so long he felt he had none. With this discovery, the Imperial started killing those who wronged him and any guards who seemed even slightly corrupt, he hated nothing more than pretences unless it suited him. Only two guards ever caught onto him, some of the townspeople saw him as a protector and would give him alibi’s. The first was killed once he lured him into the mine and caused a tunnel to collapse on top of him, the second made him flee the outskirts of Balmora. 

Unluckily for him, he was caught on his way to the remains of Gnisis as he fled for Skyrim, imprisoned a few miles further. After five days of imprisonment, he wasn’t sure who to thank, the prison was swarmed as the guards were slaughtered and the prisoners freed. Having picked up a few tricks from the other prisoners he left and gathered all he could and a set of iron armour left, eventually crossing the border. Hoping to make a new life he went to Riften, taking on some mercenary work but mainly stealing from those he killed and giving some to the poor. However it would be cut short, he felt he was too close to the border with Morrowind and he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Having heard much of the trouble in Markarth and the poor community in which he could blend in, he stole a horse and began the agonising journey, living with rations he had stolen. Once he arrived in Markarth he hid his armour just outside the city under a stone that could be lifted, he gave a few trinkets to the other beggars for their silence as he lived in the Warrens. Dranian enjoyed the stories of the Forsworn and would watch the guards struggle with them. He had feared that Morrowind would send someone to return him for punishment and he was correct, five months later an enforcer would track him down, paying a beggar to set up a fake meeting outside of the city. Dranian met with the enforcer and a bloody fight ensued. Due to his will to live as well as the other's reluctance to kill him, he managed to kill the other, carving ‘for the Forsworn’ into the body to attract attention away from him. On return to the city he hunted for the other who had sold him out and in his view, mercifully slit his throat. Unknown to him his actions had been witnessed by another beggar that was a spy for the Forsworn. The spy reported to their leader in the city, and after some debate, it was decided to attempt to recruit this ‘madman’ and if he refused, then they would kill him, after all, no one cared what happened in the mine.

If he had been fully sent into the prison he would have been able to work off his sentence, it had been arranged that way, the Forsworn wanted him out into The Reach, causing havoc. His actions had been observed by a shadowy figure, the current leader at the time of the Dark Brotherhood. Having gathered much on him she had decided she wanted to welcome him into the family. Once Dranian was arrested and sleeping for the night he was poisoned with a powerful sedative as well as those around him. The guards were bribed to look the other way as the brotherhood took their prize. Eventually, he would wake up, furious as to what had happened to him and the state he was in. After he had been given a few moments he listened to what he was told to do, taking the blade offered to him and killing all three captives without flinching. At that point, he had turned around with a grin and cruel eyes and asked his captor “Is this good enough Your Majesty?” After a talk about his attitude the pieces started to fit together, he realised that perhaps he had been searching all along for a family, it was the reason he had blended in with those similar to him, it had never been just about hiding. Dranian accepted her invitation and was welcomed into the twisted family.  Since then he has been part of the Brotherhood for five years, being caught by the authorities twice, either covering up his tracks or escaping before he was sent to jail. 

The assassin loved his new family, to him they became everything. With time he learnt of the old ways and questioned why they weren’t following them, was it why they had lost their former glory? However, instead of understanding and openness, Astrid met his questions with attitude and hostility. She asked him “Are you a traitor?” after a long argument he left her for the day. Others who had greatly questioned her seemed to ‘disappear’, Dranian wasn’t sure if an assassin could fall to such coincidental deaths as she made out they met. Dranian was delighted when the Night Mother was brought to the Sanctuary. What followed next was greater than he had ever imagined. Already asking more about the old ways of Cicero, he heard her voice for the first time, the Night Mother's voice. Speaking the secret words “Darkness rises when silence dies” Cicero knew he was speaking the truth of what he heard, of the naming and the contract. Reporting back to Astrid he would later be sent to see Armand. On his return Astrid sent someone else to verify the amulet, not trusting her brother, whilst he would do as she asked he wanted some of the glory to go to the others of the brotherhood. Wary of this he would watch his back, this served him well when Astrid tried to have him killed. Slaying her he would lead the Brotherhood back to the old ways as well as to the death of the Emperor. 

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