#General Eyewear

[lamaisongaga]

BACK IN TIME: LADY GAGA STUNS IN TIA CIBANI

On Valentine's Day 2015, Lady Gaga was photographed leaving her New York City apartment en route to run some errands while feeling her new bob haircut.

The freshly-engaged beauty wore a midnight-blue velvet maxi dress with long sleeves, knotted front and side cut-outs (which we sadly can't see) from TiA CiBANi’s Pre-Fall 2015 collection [look no. 10].

She covered most of it up with her Helen Yarmak brown sable coat. Gaga's version features a chain print silk lining.

Her oversized round sunglasses are vintage found at General Eyewear (similar pictured).

The metallic silver shoes are the Ferragamo Susi pumps in “Butter Platinum”.

[shampoo1234ghgdc]

Tech-related  UV Protection, Mirrored Wayfarer Sunglasses (52)  (For Men & Women, Blue, Black, Green)Special price₹169₹99983% off

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I'm planning to draw/write a character who, due to an accident, got quite a bit of scarring on her face and lost an eye. Would they need a prosthetic eye? While searching, everything I found included a step of "And then you'll get fitted for your prosthetic eye", making it sound as if everyone who loses an eye needs to have one, but what would happen if someone didn't? Additionally, would there be a difference between never wearing one and wearing one at first, then stopping?

Hi, thank you for your ask!

Generally it's considered beneficial to have something replace the eye because without it the eyelids will droop and the socket will shrink. It also (more importantly) protects the tissue that's left from things that could potentially get inside, which could cause infection. As far as I was able to research, the former is mostly aesthetic (in adults/people who finished growing, which I'm assuming your character is) but the latter is very important.

However; it doesn't necessarily need to be a prosthetic ("glass") eye - they're the most common option, but eye patches and conformers all protect the socket from debris and stuff just fine (in fact any kind of sealed eyewear probably would). Prosthetics and conformers are medically roughly the same while eye patches do nothing to help the socket or eyelids keep their original shape. (I made a very long post about eye patches but TLDR, I think they're too often associated with frustrating stereotypes and tropes.)

Prosthetic eyes are unfortunately extremely expensive and need professional regular care that a lot of people can't afford, so not everyone can use them. Conformers (basically big, transparent contacts) are an alternative that some people might choose. You can't really see them when they're inside the socket. Here is a very interesting video about conformers and prosthetics by Clay Butler. I wrote a video description and transcript here because the original doesn't have them. It explains a lot of things in a very comprehensible way from a first-person perspective. If you want something that makes sense other than a prosthetic this could be a great thing to consider :) (smile)

If someone doesn't have anything to protect their socket, they risk infection and all the problems associated with it. So you technically could go fully bare, but it's less than ideal. I've also heard that the sensation of eyelid going over the eye socket is uncomfortable (because it's so bumpy) but I assume it depends on the person.

I believe that the difference between never wearing any protection and wearing-then-stopping would just be how fast the things I mentioned in the second paragraph would set in. So if your character recently stopped wearing a prosthetic or conformer, their general eye area would probably look more "normal" than if they never wore it at all.

Here's also the facial difference post that I always link for people making characters with facial scars, which might be helpful to you.

I hope this helps 🙂 (smile emoji)

mod Sasza

[beautifullache]

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[boredgrace23-gracepotts]

Pleas tell me more about blu scout from kith and kin,,like trivia or just anything in general PLEASE i love him so much 🤩

He found Engineer's goggles while looking for something. After, he kept stealing them so often to wear, that Engineer went out to buy a pair of goggles for him (the Antarctic Eyewear)! He's since lost the pair of goggles, but he'll wear just about anything now.

[buttercup-barf]

Lord help me, I can't stop!!

This is way too much fun. I even came up with lore, all because I liked the way these guys looked, and how much unique personality was packed into evert variant of the Antarctic Eyewear cosmetic. ("Progress"?" under the cut.)

Here's some of the "layers" peeled back. I am slooowly figuring out the general area of the eyes.

And the full lineup. The Lifeline Fostering Division, as I ended up dubbing them. They investigate Weird Shit, and rescue people. But, obviously, things don't go as planned. They will all die one by one.

And this unsettling figure is involved. I had fun with this!

[clone-protection-agency]

"It's not what you think"

Week 1 Alt. Prompt: "It's not what you think." Rating: Teen (it's a kissing fic!) Word Count: 1180 written for @summer-of-bad-batch AO3 link

“Well that’s quite a story you’ve got there.”

Tech nodded, welcoming the praise. Tearing his eyes away from the setting sun on Pabu, he stole a glance at Phee. She looked quite comfortable in the co-pilot’s seat in the Marauder’s cockpit as he had regaled her with tales of his missions in the GAR.

Her eyes were also very much locked on him, and he was surprised to find that instead of feeling self-conscious in this moment, he felt a touch of intrigue.

This was not the first time they’d spent hours conversing about their past adventures and generally enjoying each other’s company, but it was the first time they did so while the sunset bathed the cockpit in warm tones of orange and pink, casting a golden glow over everything it touched, including Phee. Her skin. Her eyes. Her hair. Her smile. He was lost in the beauty of it all, and felt himself drawn a bit closer in her direction.

“It is indeed,” he murmured, holding her gaze as he tried to read the intent in her eyes, and was struck a little speechless for once.

He blinked and felt a sharp sting in his eye. Pulling back to sit upright (was he really just leaning that closely to her?), he lifted his goggles slightly to reach a bare finger underneath to rub at his eye. Blinking and still not finding a change, he sighed in frustration and tried again.

“You okay there, Brown Eyes?” Phee inquired, a puzzled expression on her face.

“An eyelash seems to have landed on my cornea. Fortunately, this is the only limitation of my eyewear.” Tech shut both of his eyes to get a temporary moment of relief.

“Let me help.” Phee did not give him a chance to respond before he felt the warmth of her left hand cup his cheek as his seat dipped slightly from additional weight. “Now, open your eye and look up,” she instructed, as she shifted the goggles to his hairline.

As soon as he obeyed, he felt her sharply blow into his eye and he blinked rapidly in response.

“How is it now?” Phee asked.

Tech tested his blinking at normal speed, surprised that the eyelash was gone. “That was not the method I would have chosen to remove a foreign body from my cornea, yet I am intrigued that it worked. I shall make a note of it for future use in a similar situation where there is no immediate eyewash station available.” He blinked again. With both his eyes now in working order, he was acutely aware of their current proximity. She was leaning into the seat, into his space, with one knee pressed into the seat between his thighs, her right hand bracing on the backrest of the pilot’s seat, while the other hand still cupped his cheek.

Phee chuckled lightly, “Happy to help expand that database of yours, Brown Eyes.” She quieted as their gazes met. “Your eyes really are gorgeous,” she whispered.

Tech felt the warmth rush to his face at the same time he saw a light dusting of colour on her cheeks, visible even without his goggles. She was so much more lovely up close. He instinctively leaned in.

With a swishing sound, the Marauder’s cockpit door slid open at the same time Wrecker’s voice started to boom in the smaller space.

“Food’s read-“ he froze, taking in the scene before him.

“It’s not what you think.”

“It’s exactly what you think,” Phee corrected, her gaze never leaving Tech, though his had darted towards Wrecker at the time of intrusion. His eyes returned to hers at her honest confession.

“Uh-“ Wrecker awkwardly started backing out through the door. “Food’s ready, when you’re uh... done.”

Tech heard the door slide shut just as suddenly as it had opened. “Is it?” he asked inquisitively, completely forgetting Wrecker’s words and focusing on Phee’s.

“Well, how about you try to find out for yourself,” Phee smirked teasingly, bringing his focus to her lips.

Before he could think too much on whether she was just playing or not, before he could think, Tech closed the small distance between them and pressed his lips into hers.

The feeling was like no other he had ever experienced in his accelerated life thus far, and he melted into it. Phee’s lips were soft as she sighed into his, the hand that was gently cupping his cheek slipping down a little, the softness in direct opposition to his racing heartbeat.

Their lips lingered as time lost all meaning.

Tech eventually pulled away, slowly, to look at her, and found that she looked similarly dazed. He was pleasantly surprised.

“I believe the results of this hypothesis speak for itself,” he murmured, smiling warmly at the comfortable presence in his personal space.

“Do you now? Care to keep testing it?” Phee’s eyes lit up playfully.

“Once you are amenable,” Tech quipped, and found his hands closing around her waist.

This time, Phee’s mouth crashed onto his in a not-so-chaste kiss and he matched her fervor. His fingers dug into the fabric around her waist as he found his body being pressed back into the seat when she shifted position to straddle him, lips parting over and over again but never really leaving his. The pressure of Phee’s thighs on his was both electric and muted in comparison to the way her mouth moved on his, expressing all unspoken feelings at once. Tech seemed to have forgotten how to breathe but he honestly did not care at this point, instinctively splaying his fingers behind her head to deepen the kiss, while his other hand slipped down from her waist to her hip for a better hold. His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest when her tongue slipped past his lips, and he was pleasantly amazed at how much he enjoyed this new experience, and did not want it to stop.

He really did forget to breathe though.

Gasping for air, he broke off the kiss. They both breathed heavily in each other’s arms. Distracted by everything else, Tech had only just noticed that both of hers were wrapped around his neck in a loving embrace. He liked the feeling of her skin on his, and would prefer if it would remain there. He also quite liked the weight of her body in his lap and pressed to his chest, and hoped that she had no intention of leaving anytime soon. Tech glanced apprehensively at the cockpit door.

“Oh don’t worry, Brown Eyes” Phee got out between breaths. “Your brother will definitely spread the word to stay out of the cockpit tonight,” she finished coyly, a wicked glint in her eye. “Now, where were we?”

Tech waited a beat, taking the moment to kickstart his brain. “I thought it was obvious,” he smirked, taking a calculated risk as both hands lowered past her hips to grip somewhere much more dangerous.

It turned out that Phee was indeed correct. The cockpit door stayed shut long throughout the night.

Upon seeing the absolute cutest TechPhee art that I have ever laid eyes upon while scrolling through @summer-of-bad-batch reblogs, my brain absolutely craved that exact scenario in a first kiss fic, and rather than hoping someone else would write it, decided to try my hand at fic writing, FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER IN MY LIFE.

(pls don't hate it)

Is this what fic writing is like? Giving yourself serotonin with every written word? Gah! I can get used to this.

Cutest art ever by @foxwithadarkside

Side note: OMG I did not see the original post update until I was looking for the direct link to put here because the update didn't show in the reblogged post and LOL why are all brains the sameeee. Well, 2 cakes is better than 1 cake <3

[love-and-deepspace-wiki]

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[rudaartista]

Skelly shows examples of a phighter bean and plum. Notice how beans are very rotund, featureless, and have stubby limbs. Many have accessories like hats, headgear, and eyewear. Plums have more pronounced heads, longer limbs, noticeable mouths, and unique markings. They are also just larger in general.

When beans evolve, they all stop at the plum phase. Beankits are special in that, given the opportunity, they can go beyond the plum phase and turn into... those.

[solradguy]

might be wrong but iirc you have (sun?)glasses for your sensitive eyes right? if so, do you have any recommendations on where to get any kinda non prescription glasses? i also have sensitive eyes... orz

I do but they're just shitty $10 ebay sunglasses that don't do much at all :')

A while ago I did some research to find out what to look for in sunglasses for particularly light sensitive eyes, and the best ones are polarized, mirrored, and category 3 or 4. Light protection lenses come in "categories" with 0 being basically no UV protection at all (think general seeing eye glasses), cat.1 having light tinting but not much protection, cat.2 being basic/standard sunglasses, 3 being really good, and 4 being "don't drive while wearing these" lol

Unfortunately, glasses that have all of these are expensive as all hell... Ones I had written down are Ray-Bans' Flash Polarised glasses or their Chromance range... Someone else I found recommended green-tinted glasses helping a lot and those are generally more affordable than friggin Ray-Bans. Black and dark grey lenses work best for me too, even if the UV protection on my sunglasses isn't the best. Aviators look cool as hell but they tend to slide down my nose after a while and don't have protection on the sides so light still gets in from certain angles

My best pair of glasses right now are these things:

"Retro Steampunk Sunglasses Side Shield Vintage Metal Round Eyewear Glasses," $10 on ebay (there are a lot of sellers of these and they're all the exactly the same—don't pay more than $10 for them). They've held up surprisingly well and seem to have nearly indestructible lenses; I throw them into my pocket regularly when I'm out haha Those side shields are awesome too. Biggest downside (?) is that they get compared to a lot of things...

(Crowley Good Omens, Alucard Hellsing, Ozzy Osbourne)

So uh... That can be good or bad depending on your aesthetic choices lol

These Heron Mountain shades by Vallon seem pretty good and decently priced, but the side shields limit vision and I wanna see if I can find sunglasses like these without vision-limiting sides for maybe a lower price first. If I do, I'll be sure to post about it on here

[pisspope]

urgent question with several followups: do you think zeke inherited grisha's eyesight (does he really need glasses); do you think ksaver or grisha's glasses were prescription or just reading; do you think any of them have astigmatism to the point they shouldn't drive at night or would struggle in the club. i mainly mean zeke, thank you your holiness

AAAH sorry i didnt see it was urgent !!!!!!!!! answering right away !!!

Yes, and also no. Lemme explain. Yes, Zeke inherits a LOT from Grisha, much more than he'd ever feel comfortable with. Eye color, hair texture, eyesight, general pretentiousness... BUT! The Beast Titan's healing cures all ills. In my Twisted Mind®, the inheritance of the Beast cures Zeke's eyesight before it degrades to the level of needing glasses. also his foreskin grows back

Grisha's glasses are prescription, he's near sighted as all hell. Ksaver's are reading glasses, or, more specifically, magnifying lenses that he uses to look at small things during experiments. In my mind, the little raised metal pieces (see image) are so he can lift the glasses up without touching the frames and getting hazardous chemicals close to eyes. Like, they function as both glasses and protective eyewear. So his eyesight isn't bad, per se, he's a Shifter, too, after all. But he's also a nutty professor who forgets to take his scientist glasses off when he goes home lol

As for the astigmatism, I'm assuming we're verging into modern AU territory here which... from a cat to a kat,,, it really varies by AU to me. Honestly, since I feel like canon Zeke has 20/20 vision because of the Beast and is only wearing the glasses to feel close to Ksaver, I always translate that to his vision being just fine in modern AUs as well. It all goes back to that classic Zeke Yeager Pretention to me: he wears glasses because they make him looks "Smart" and "Bespoke". Don't get it twisted, I LOVE Zeke with bad eyesight, I love Eren or Pieck having to pick him up from work because he has night blindness. BUT! The idea of him not needing glasses and just putting on airs wins out to me.

But also the idea of Zeke, old man at age 29, unable to handle the club because of the strobing lights is eating me ALIVE thats so cute i -

thank u for the questions it feels so good to get That Man thoughts off my chest

[frodo-with-glasses]

Frodo with Glasses timeline

(A revised version of this post, now made to be more book-accurate)

For as long as anyone can remember, there’s always been a tendency for poor eyesight in the Baggins line.

By the time he adopts Frodo, Bilbo has been wearing eyeglasses for years, and it doesn't look like he'll stop needing them anytime soon. The family curse—or rather hereditary inconvenience—actually skips a generation with Drogo, and Frodo is lucky enough to inherit his father's improved eyesight.

Unfortunately, he doesn't protect the gift very well. Though he doesn't need glasses at his coming-of-age birthday at 33, a decade or so of studying and reading by candlelight turns him soundly nearsighted. He denies it until he can't deny it anymore, and then ignores it until he can't ignore it anymore, and after much teasing and cajoling from his friends (especially Merry Brandybuck) he finally capitulates and purchases his first pair of eyeglasses at age 45.

It's at age 50 that his world is turned upside down.

The cross-country trek to Crickhollow is haunted by Black Riders—and, one hot and humid morning, by rain. Rainwater turns Frodo’s glasses all wet and fogged and streaky, and he valiantly tries to keep them clean with his handkerchief, but with a stumble over a hidden root and a slip of the hand he drops his handkerchief in the wet leaves and ruins it. It's not even midday. Frodo, being a BabyTM, thinks to himself, “This is terrible. I can’t see. I’m walking blind in the rain and the forest, I’m hot, I'm wet, I’m tired, it can’t possibly get any worse than this.”

It does.

Frodo falls face-down, with his sword underneath him, at Weathertop, and his glasses receive a hairline fracture. Sam becomes their keeper, tucking them safely into his pocket, as Glorfindel hoists Frodo onto a horse and rushes him to Rivendell. When Frodo makes his stand at the Ford, his vision is blurred; not only by the nearsightedness, but by the Wraith-Sight turning the living world to shades of shadow. He collapses on the bank.

An hour or so later finds him in bed, pale and deathly still, tended under the careful watch of Elrond. Sam slips his glasses onto the bedside table.

By the day of the Council, the elves have replaced the broken lens. They have no need of corrective eyewear themselves, but they are master craftsmen at any trade when they put their minds to it; and the construction and maintenance of eyeglasses is actually a necessity now that Bilbo lives in Rivendell.

But on October 24th, when Frodo first wakes up, his glasses haven't yet been repaired. His health came first, of course; and there was little sense in fixing the little trinket when their owner might not survive to use them.

But he is awake, and he is alive. Frodo steps out of bed and looks at himself in the mirror, surprised to see how much weight he's lost and how much thinner and wiser he looks in the elves' green clothes. And then he turns, catching sight of his spectacles on the nightstand…and seeing that small crack, split right through the lens, makes his shoulder feel ice-cold and crackle with pain, and he shudders.

His glasses are broken far more severely in the fight in Moria. Knocked off his face and trampled underfoot, probably, or got under him somehow when the "hammer and anvil" skewered him. Either way, after Gandalf falls, Frodo and the rest of the Fellowship barely escape with their lives.

Just out of bowshot of the Gate, standing in the midst of the Dimril Dale, they stop to recover and to mourn. Frodo stands upon a ledge with the wind in his face, clutching to his chest his broken spectacles: one lens is crushed, and the nose-bridge is snapped in half.

Gimli repairs them for him during their stay in Lothlorien. Dwarves are known for their skill in masonry, of course, but someone as learned as Gimli is also skilled in glass-blowing, and after a little trial and error, he replicates the prescription right down to the smallest margin of error. It’s not quite the same—maybe it never will be—but it works well enough to keep going.

Still, Frodo wonders if he hadn’t lost half of himself, too, like the shards of glass lying somewhere in the dark of Moria.

In the shadow of Amon Hen, the Fellowship breaks. Sam is his only companion now. Somewhere in the maze of the Emyn Muil, one of the hinge screws begins to get loose. They’re stopped for their midday meal—and Sam is busy cobbling together their little lunch of lembas and a few wrinkled berries that he foraged from the banks of the River—when Frodo attempts to twist the screw back in with his fingernails and teeth. He fumbles it, and the screw drops right out and disappears into the gravel and the thin grass. He sighs, lamenting that he forgot to bring his repair kit from home in Bag End.

“Repair kit?” says Sam. “Well, bless me, Mr. Frodo, I’d almost forgotten!” He throws open his pack and buries his entire arm into it, all the way up to his shoulder and almost to his neck, rummaging around until he cries “ah-ha!” and drags himself to the surface.

In his hand, held high over his head, is a little brown case. It was one of the various small belongings of his master's that he'd packed in Rivendell, to bring them out in triumph when they were called for, in a moment just like this.

Frodo—overwhelmed with equal parts delight, relief, and annoyance—cries, “My dear Sam! You might have mentioned that earlier!”

“Slipped my mind, sir, begging your pardon,” Sam answers as Frodo takes it from him. “But we also had the help of elves and dwarves and other such folk who’d repair ‘em better than the both of us.” He has the good grace to look a little embarrassed, but still peacocking with pride on his foresight saving the day.

Frodo has opened the case on his knee and pulled out one of the little screwdrivers, but he looks up, and seeing the look on Sam’s face—desperately hoping for praise, but too polite to ask for it—he smiles.

“What would I ever do without you, Sam?”

Sam puffs up like a pleased rooster, and his smile widens until it nearly overtakes his face. Frodo can hardly hold himself back from laughing.

“Help me find that missing screw, won’t you? It fell into the grass somewhere around here.”

That instance ends happily, but their good luck doesn’t last forever. Frodo loses his handkerchief in the putrid bog of the Dead Marshes, and cannot wash the fingerprints of mud and filth off his lenses. Mordor grows—a distant, shapeless, black-grey blob on the edge of his vision, lit by fire.

It’s in Cirith Ungol that he loses his glasses for good. Somehow, they manage to stay on him in Shelob’s lair, though the hobbits scramble through the bones and filth and web-laced crevasses in the rock; but Sam is held up by Gollum, and Shelob poisons Frodo, and when the orcs find and strip him they take the glasses as a prize.

Far away, at the Black Gate, though he doesn’t know it until later, the Mouth of Sauron will present his trophies: a cloak, a staff, a mithril shirt, and a broken pair of glasses.

When Sam arrives to rescue Frodo from the Tower of Cirith Ungol, he doesn’t have his spectacles.

Only the Ring.

Frodo shambles through Mordor, basically blind, tripping over loose rocks and shale. The visions that swim before his eyes, taunting and just out of reach, are perhaps the effect of this cursed land, perhaps the illusion of his own failing vision…perhaps the trick of the Enemy in his mind.

All is a blur of exhaustion and starvation and acrid, furnace-dry, throat-burn air, until the bitter end.

The Ring is destroyed.

Frodo wakes up in Ithilien, his hand heavily bandaged. Within time, from the artisans of Gondor, he receives a new pair of glasses.

Those are the same he carries with him until the end of his life, when he boards the ship in the Grey Havens.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Friends In Low Places (part 1 )

Tech and Hondo Ohnaka

Rated: Teen and up (a rare general audiences fic on my part.)

Warning: Violence, death, injury, all comparable to what we see in The Bad Batch, stealing, foul language, sass, pain mention, broken bones mention, secrets, fight or flight.

Summary: Tech is plummeting toward death, yet he is spared, all thanks to a Weequay pirate who was simply in the wrong place at the right time, depending.

Word count: 5k+

Notes: This is a kind of crack / AU scenario. I like the idea of Hondo being the one to encounter Tech after his fall. The idea was definitely inspired my Phee's line at the end of season 2: "Well, don't go running off with any pirates or smugglers while you're gone," and by an ask I got from @spicedrobot :) Don't take this too seriously, though at the same time I tried to make it plausible. The main point of this was to have fun with Tech and Hondo ribbing each other in their own way. I love both of these characters, and I am excited to see what you guys think.

P.S.: This will have a few more chapters, but I am sure I will not be able to finish this before Wednesday (the season 3 premiere), though I do intend to keep writing this story no matter what happens in canon.

Read on Ao3

Tech had only milliseconds to formulate a plan of action, yet there was nothing that could be done.

A dense fog stretched on for what felt like kilometers, the world below advancing swiftly as he descended. His head whipped to the left and right, the remnants of the railcar bearing down on him with regrettable rapidity.

There was not anything to grapple onto, nothing to prevent his fall.

The clone craned his neck; there was a rumbling sound the likes of which sublight engines made, the distinctive shape of a ship materializing like a phantom from the breadths of the mist. From this unnatural angle, it appeared to be 55.52 meters in length, painted brown and gray with yellow detailing, some additional markings on its nose and sides.

There was no time, much like he had told Wrecker moments earlier.

Tech disengaged from the length of cord that was still attached to the hunk of metal threatening to overtake him, his unmoored form slamming hard into duralloy, a resounding thud most likely heard by all within. At the same time, the tail end of the railcar met the tail end of the unknown vessel he had landed upon, hazardous debris shooting off in one direction while an electrical discharge and the beginnings of a fire sparked to life shortly thereafter.

Alarms sounded; he heard voices rising in fear and anger. He tried to breathe, clinging desperately to shreds of the ship’s hull as it began to make a nosedive toward a vast expanse of trees. He could not decide what might be worse: being crushed by the massive weight of the railcar, or shredded to pieces in what was sure to be a nasty crash.

Tech sat up; he stood, albeit shakily, activating the appropriate leg muscles to tighten his grip and stay his balance, even as the starship tipped. Once the canopy of the trees beneath him was within range, he sprinted with all his remaining energy, running to the closest edge.

Leaping as far as his momentum would carry him, Tech braced for impact, the first of what must be a thousand branches pummeling his body as he dropped, once again, toward the ground.

---

Two brown eyes fluttered open at the sound of a tenacious grunt; something or someone was attempting to acquire his right boot. In his delirium, the clone could not understand what one would do with it, noting that the two came as a pair. He moved to speak, though he found it difficult for his vocal cords to produce sound, the onset of a splitting headache having silenced him from protesting against this attempt at robbery.

“Hmm?” a deeply resonate hum filled his ears, the voice belonging to a face he could not see; it appeared that his eyewear had been lost in the fall, Tech left in a world full of undefined shapes and vague outlines in comparison to what he was used to; it was a thing that worried him despite there being so much else to worry about.

Currently, it was the theft of his shoe.

“Oh, uh—” there was a clearing of this person’s throat, “—you are not dead.”

“No,” Tech managed, beginning to flex his fingers as he stretched them in turn, determining if one or many of them were broken - so far so good.

“Den... I shall come back later,” this oddly vivacious voice declared, the rustling of nearby foliage signaling to Tech that he was lying in a bed of something fibrous and soft.

Eriadu. He was still on Eriadu. A series of factoids flooded his overtaxed mind.

A terrestrial planet in the Eriadu system of the Seswenna sector, Eriadu is located in the Outer Rim. Known for its varied geophysical elements, it is defined by landforms such as mountains and jungles—

The canopy - the native flora - he assumed, had slowed his descent. It was the last thing he remembered before his vision inevitably went dark.

“I—I will be needing that boot.” His voice sounded unlike himself, weak and pained. His chest burned, though he was sure had it not been for his armor, he would be dead. Reaching out with limbs that were sore and stiff, Tech found the grass beneath and around him to be dense, yet spongy.

A part of a larger family, either Poaceae, Cyperaceae, or Juncaceae, this monocotyledonous plant had narrow leaves, hollow stems, and clusters of very small, usually wind-pollinated flowers— though Tech could not tell given his present condition. Grown for either food, fodder, or ground cover, this particular variety had helped to save his life and occurred naturally, much to his silent thanks.

“Deeey are not my size, anyway,” the previously ebullient voice replied, now having taken on a dry and dour tone. He felt movement and heard a “thwack” at what he theorized was his boot returned to him, the crunch of vegetation being trampled underfoot accompanying the retreat of the mysterious figure.

“Wait,” this clone called out, the form before him turning to glance over his shoulder.

“You look like him. Are you��� one of dem?” the man questioned, Tech not having an answer as his inquiry was incomplete; it lacked specifics, yet he surmised he meant one thing.

“Are you speaking of Jango Fett?” Tech asked, hands pressing against earth for fingers to splay apart as he used his forearms to halfway right himself, though it was tough going.

“Ah, so you are,” the man replied, traipsing forward through the grass in Tech’s direction once again; his black boots were the only thing clearly visible at this height and at this range - he had his own, so why did he need his?

“I thought so. A clone, den, but you look… so different. Skinnier. Sort of, how you say, sickly. Not at all like my dear old friend...”

Tech brushed off his insults, not taking offense, as that sort of thing did not interest him. He cared not what others thought about his outward appearance, as he knew that it was what is on the inside that counts.

“I am a member of an experimental unit that was engineered with an enhanced mental capacity and superior intelligen—”

“Dat es all fine, well, and good, but. BUT. You look ab-so-lute-ly terrible. I am… surprised dat with de level of damage tu your factory-made armor, you are still among de living.” 

Then, Hondo paused, as if thinking about something. “Yes, yes… perhaps you are of his ilk, after all.”

“I need to get back to my brothers; to Omega—”

“—Indeed. I am en a bit of a predicament, tuu, you see—”

“—They are in danger, the Empire—”

“—De Empire shot. me. down!” this man practically yelled, overcome with a sudden, zealous anger. Though not privy to the exact way his beloved, modified luxury yacht had been taken out, assumptions could. be. made!

Tech thought perhaps it was in his best interest not to admit he may have had something to do with it, although it had been out of his control.

“You would tink dey have never seen a Weequay pilot a SoroSuub 3000 over restricted airspace before,” the man continued, Tech taking this time to slip his boot back on. “Why, I even masked its signature! But de area was swarming with activity from de moment I arrived,” he was quick to claim, Tech staring up at the blurry sentient who was much too loud for his pounding head.

“Lower your voice. Someone is bound to hear you, and I do not think that—”

“—Are you giving Hondo a command?”

“—we should remain here for much longer.”

“I am not one of your subordinates; I am Hondo Ohnaka! De king of pirates, and captain of de notorious Ohnaka Gang,” the being professed, Tech noting his hand to be wafting in the air. “Ef et were not for being dragged entu your war, I might still be sitting pretty, hm?”

Hondo did not want to think on his ravaged base. At least his ships had been safely stowed away beneath the desert, residing in a spacious, private vault of his own design. He also did not want to think about how his favorite amongst them was now nothing more than bits of twisted and charred shrapnel; it would never again grace the skies or soar amidst the stars.

Then, he seemed to rethink things, the Weequay emitting a low growl in disapproval. “Mn… But I suppose dis es not your war, either. You were… created en a lab,” he finished, Tech’s attention having waned to the point he was now searching the surrounding area with both hands, looking for his goggles.

Studying the clone commando down the tip of his nose, Hondo found a new topic to speak on rather quickly. “You are very, very lucky,” he informed him, “what wit you not yet being dead, and for Hondo tu be here at de very same time. Tell me, what was dat other explosion I heard?” he asked curiously, the self-named pirate king bending forward at the waist to hunch over the wounded man.

“Our mission should have been straight-forward, but it was a failure,” Tech stated matter of fact. “It was complicated by the presence of Saw Gerrera; he sought to bring down the entire Imperial facility when our goal was to install a homing-beacon on one particular ship that—”   

“—Ah, you speak of ships! Yes, yes… Dat es what I need,” Hondo glossed over the rest of the conversation, ignoring Saw's mention entirely and the series of unfortunate events that had led Tech to this place. “But tanks tu you and your little playmates, de planet es now crawling with Imperial forces, more so dan usual, I suspect!

Another pause. “Are you not… Imperial?”

Tech was tempted to ignore the question. “No, I am not. However, it seems we are both in need of the same thing,” Tech snapped back, his temper rising. “Though it would benefit me to find my goggles,” he added wryly. “I do not suppose you might help with that.”

“You supposed correctly!” this Hondo fellow confirmed with a smile in his obnoxiously jovial voice. “Unless…” he  trailed off. “Dere es something en et for me, perhaps?" Never mind he knew what it was like to desire one’s own eyewear should it be lost or taken from you; at the moment it did not matter, nor did he care.

Tech sighed, already exasperated. “You said you are a pirate. I happen to know one such similar person, a treasure hunter by the name of Phee Genoa. Perhaps there is something of value that can be traded if we manage to leave Eriadu alive. My destination would be the planet Pabu. It is where I exp—”

“Phee Genoa?!” Hondo asked, exhilarated. “Why, I have not seen her en years!” He turned his back, something red and splotchy nearly hitting Tech in the face. It was this scoundrel’s coat, though unable to make it out for what it was.

“Pabu…” his voice darkened, Tech not noticing the way this devil’s eyes lit up, glinting behind worn transparisteel as his lip curled upward in a toothy grin.

Wheeling back around, Tech was nearly smacked a second time by the brigand’s foppish attire, raising one arm to protect himself as this Ohnaka brandished a finger toward the dark pall that hung over the sharp and dangerous cliffside, settling just above the jungle’s canopy. “So, DAT es where she has been hiding… What a wily, enterprising woman she es…”

Tech felt a pang like he had not felt before, not in the least bit enjoying the shade this man had taken when he had mentioned Phee by name. He also wondered if he should have brought up Pabu in conversation at all, mentally scolding himself, even though this stranger was no friend to the Empire.  

“Is it a refugee planet,” he reminded himself, knowing that Pabu’s location was not exactly a secret, only that their presence there ultimately put many lives at risk, and that Phee had been kind enough to take them in.

“Do you know her?” Tech asked, attempting to mask the unsettling feeling that lingered in his gut. Then, he thought to pose another question. “And just what are you doing here?” he queried harshly, unable to prevent the acerbic inflection that was produced alongside his curiosity.

Ohnaka chuckled, easily deducing he had struck a nerve. Tucking that bit of information away for later, he placed two fingers along the outside of his swoop-goggles and gave them a gentle tug. “You see deese?” he inquired.

“No,” Tech answered brusquely.

The Weequay frowned, at once understanding his meaning and correcting himself accordingly by giving a more thorough explanation; he was walking, or rather crawling, blind. “Lommite,” Hondo whispered with a sinister air. “You see, et es—”

“—a type of ore considered to be one of the primary constituent materials of transparisteel, durasteel, starfighter canopies, and dura-armor. It is mined on both the planet Didyma five and here on Eriadu. Chalky in both texture and coloring, lommite is often utilized by artists and can be molded like clay for—”

“—My dear child,” Hondo interrupted as he had so rudely been, “you forgot one ting en your quite elaborate and unnecessary explanation.”

Tech brushed off what was meant to be another insult, struggling to stand on his feet. The rogue commando would groan in pain and straighten out; he would tower over the other man if he could only manage to keep proper posture, as he was in too much quiet agony to do so. He ascertained two of his ribs were broken, and that his already injured femur had incurred another setback, though he only stared blankly ahead, thinking hard on what it was he may have missed in his otherwise accurate description of the mineral in question.

“Et es easy money,” Hondo finally offered, clasping his hands together in front of his ornate belt buckle as he observed the clone rise with great difficulty. Not commenting on his physical condition – yet – Hondo began to circle around the boy, for that is exactly what he was. A young man in the prime of life, forced to spend it perhaps not how he saw fit, but with a blaster in his hand and a bucket on his head.

“En fact, dere es a mining operation not tuu far from here – one with ships!” Hondo finalized, Tech squinting to barely make out the excited expression the Weequay sported on his striated face; he had waltzed back around.

“And you plan to steal it,” Tech stated flatly, his body turning slowly toward the left as he began scouting for any differences among the grass; he was looking for something gray and yellow, with a recording device affixed to its side. He would even settle for something large and bulky: his helmet. Unbeknownst to Tech, it had bounced off his head once his body had landed roughly in the grass; at least it had stayed on for the majority of his troubling descent.

“What else would one du with et? Bury et like treasure tu come back for later?” Hondo asked in a petulant, derisive tone.

“Is that not what pirates do?” Tech retorted, his own tone less than amused. He managed to locate his bucket in some nearby brush, inspecting it for damage. His visor was cracked as well as the circumaural radio muffs that allowed him to communicate at close range with his squad. He tapped his vambrace with two fingers as he held on loosely to his headgear; the components within sizzled and sparked. He was in fact stranded here, and without a way to comm for help.

Then, he had an idea. One that was better than nothing.

The pirate scoffed, Tech ignoring his theatrics to readorn his battered helmet. He flipped the visor down. Though the head-up display had a hairline fracture that split apart into various directions, it was still somewhat functional. He felt suddenly elated, though this was only a small victory.

“Perhaps you are… unable tu understand when I am joking, for however smart you say you are,” Ohnaka quipped.

“It hardly seems worth the effort,” Tech commented in regard to his poorly thought out plan.

“Ap-Ap-Ap!” the Weequay interrupted viciously, “—dat es where you are wrong, my friend.”

“I am not your friend,” Tech said in his defense, “and I am seldom wrong.”

“I am betting dat you are,” Hondo rejoined callously, all teeth.

Tech did not speak for a moment, gathering his thoughts. One bit of local history came to mind, a fascinating story that pertained to the current topic of conversation. “Have you ever heard of the pirate queen Q'anah?”

Hondo narrowed oblique, gray eyes, “And what of her?”

“Well,” Tech began, “Eriadu used to be a frequent target for pirates, marauders, and privateers. Lommite shipments leaving the planet on their way to the Core were of particular interest to these pirate gangs. This planet formed their own paramilitary group, which was named the Outland Regions Security Force; they attempted to handle the situation by themselves. This force found itself to be stretched too thin to deal with the problem on a more permanent basis, the pirate threat becoming far worse when multiple gangs formed an alliance under the leadership of queen Q'anah.”

“Take a breath, why don’t you?” Hondo chided, though truth be told he loved a good story, even if it was one he had already heard, and, more often than not, he preferred to be the one telling them, however humoring the clone only so much as he desired.

Tech disregarded him, continuing unperturbed. “Eriadu Mining and Shipping was ingeniously outsmarted by Q'anah's Marauders, who brought the mining company to the brink of bankruptcy. The raids ended when Wilhuff Tarkin, a then lieutenant in the Outland's anti-piracy task force, managed to crack the sequence Q'anah used to decide which specific lommite containers she would target.”

“What a decidedly smart woman she must have—”

“—the same Wilhuff Tarkin who is working under the authority of the Galactic Empire, the man whose home base sits at the top of Raven’s Peak,” Tech pointed out, having just come from there only a few minutes ago. Or perhaps it was hours now; he did not know for sure.

“Uhh— Uh-huh,” Hondo offered in response, not able to come up with anything more articulate than that.

“He managed to infect the chosen lommite containers' hyperdrive motivators with a virus that would spread to the pirate’s vessels, forcing their navigational computers to override the coordinates entered to instead deliver the ships to the waiting Outland Security Forces.”

“Mhm, mhm, yes, alllll very fascinating, but I du not see what dis has tu du with—”

“—Q'anah's reign ended abruptly when Tarkin ordered that Q’anah and her crew be placed into empty shipping containers that would be subsequently programmed to slowly pilot themselves into the sector's sun. The feed from within the container was broadcasted live as the pirates were slowly roasted to death in order to strike terror into the hearts of anyone who dared to follow in Q'anah's footsteps.”

Hondo cleared his throat, turning his back on the chatty clone. “Dat other planet you mentioned, er, Daddy fiv—”

“—Didyma five—”

“—Perhaps et would make for an easier target, but—”

Tech scrutinized the man, or that part of him which he could barely pick out against a backdrop of tall trees, opening his mouth to counter his assumption.

Hondo added something more; he had not been finished. “Dere es one thing you failed tu mention, however.”

Tech sighed, fiddling with the settings on his visor, aiming to adjust its current configuration to display the heat signatures of sentient beings. All living things gave off infrared energy to a degree. It was with this knowledge that Tech was able to bypass - and even solve - his current dilemma, the one in which he was unable to see, despite it being only possible between a dizzying variety of crisscrossing fractures and uneven lines.

“And what might that be?” he asked, words clipped.

“De fact dat I am Hondo Ohnaka,” the Weequay sneered, gazing at him from over his armored shoulder plate, “and Hondo Ohnaka survives. every. time.”

In fact, he just had survived yet again! Not a scratch on him; it was more than he could say for his poor men.

Tech was not impressed, assessing his DC-17 blaster pistols to make sure that they were still operational. “Who or what you are is irrelevant,” he began, “what matters is finding a mode of transportation that will get us out of here, preferably undetected.”

“Irrelevant to whom?” Hondo Ohnaka asked, already beady eyes constricting further into slits as his prominent brow ridge bowed inward, Tech not reacting to his sudden change in mood. The commando had, without much effort, gotten under the scoundrel’s skin. To deny Hondo’s importance or notoriety within the galaxy at large was perhaps the biggest insult one could have placed upon the Weequay; his reputation preceded him! How dare he suggest otherwise!

“What is relevant is—” Tech was not sure why he hadn’t thought to ask yet, his train of thought derailed before he could finish one sentence to complete another, “—do you have a comlink?”

Hondo huffed, turning back around. “Ef I had a comlink, du you not tink dat I would be hailing my crew  —what es left of dem—” Hondo mumbled, “— for a much-needed rescue? Granted, should my frigate meet ets end at de greedy, grubby hands of de Empire, den, I will be very, very angry. I am not… well liked when I am angry,” he stated in a low, gruff tone.

“Did you arrive here alone? There is security in numbers,” Tech could not help but to inquire, though he thought he already knew the answer; he had heard multiple voices cry out during the ship’s descent.

“I ded not come alone!” Hondo assured him indignantly, “my co-pilot was killed en de crash.”

Tech had nothing to say for once, simply keeping his eyes trained on the man. Part of him felt like it was his own fault. He weighed his options on coming clean.

Already this Weequay was unpredictable; he easily decided to continue holding his tongue.

“…As were two others of my men—” Hondo grumbled, “—dey ded not seem tu understand de meaning of safety. I told dem, boys, strap en! But—splat! A very ugly ting tu witness.”

A few seconds elapsed; Hondo glared. “Since my name es of noooo importance tu you, I hesitate tu ask what yours es,” he stated, obviously rankled.

“I am Tech,” the clone said without fanfare, much unlike his current company.

“Tech,” Hondo repeated slowly. “Tech, who es nothing like Jango; du you have any other bright ideas?”

“Yes,” he replied.

Hondo groaned a displeased sound, yet he could not help but wonder what this brainiac had come up with. Currently, he was thinking about how he could use this child-soldier to his benefit, not above cutting and running should the need arise.

“Enlighten me, oh smart one,” he derided.

“Though I do not have my goggles, my visor will read the heat signature of any living thing. I may have trouble with inanimate objects, not to mention my heads-up display is damaged, but if we work together, perhaps we can make it to the mining facility to procure—”

“—Ah, so you are not above stealing,” Hondo cut him off.

“When the situation calls for it,” he answered succinctly.

“So verrrry wise, you are,” Hondo offered, sarcasm lacing his butter-smooth baritone.

Just then, voices could be heard in the near distance; they sounded human, eager. Hondo bristled and pulled a vibrocutlass from its sheath as Tech reached for his pistols.

The clone did a doubletake, catching the sword's outline thanks to its vibration. When molecules vibrate, they are known to bump into one another, thus transferring kinetic energy to other molecules. Sometimes, this energy radiates outwardly as heat; Tech was more than a bit surprised. “That is an odd choice.”

Hondo glanced to the clone, then into the thick of the forest. When Tech did not cease his unrelenting stare, Hondo turned back to face him. “Es dere a problem?”

Before Tech could answer, a bolt of blaster fire whizzed past his head. He had only marginally shifted to the right in the nick of time, the readout on his display having flashed a warning as the plasma ray came rushing toward him.

“I suggest we run,” Tech said cursorily. 

“What a highly intelligent ting tu say,” Hondo mocked.

Though in an exorbitant amount of pain from head to foot, somehow Tech found the wherewithal to push forward, dashing past the pirate to head into the cover of Eriadu’s jungle, albeit with a limp and heavy breathing.

“Just where are you going without me?” Hondo called out, turning tail to follow in pursuit. “And very slowly, might I add,” he commented, reflecting on the hobbled gait of Tech just a few feet away.

The Weequay groused churlishly as a small group of white-clad soldiers appeared before them. A bolt ricochet off the tip of his cutlass, Hondo having blocked the incoming shot to send it flying back at their enemies. “You don’t even know where de facility es!”

“You should lead the way,” Tech admitted, releasing multiple rounds of fire into oncoming TK Troopers, striking two down with ease. He watched, impressed despite himself, as Hondo Ohnaka sliced the neck of one man and shot another through his plastoid armor with what appeared to be a DL series heavy blaster of some kind; he had withdrawn it from a holster against his hip.

“What an astute observation!” he remarked sardonically, “yooou watch my back, and I will watch our front, yes?”

Hondo was not expecting a reply, nor did he wait for one, putting holes through two more troopers as they vied to overtake them.

Searching within the appropriate pouch strapped to his thigh, Tech withdrew a sonic-based grenade, setting the trigger for a five-second delay. Tossing it with skilled precision, the device detonated, clearing the way for them to move forward through the woods.

“A few tricks up your sleeves, ah?” the pirate called back, having stopped momentarily to catch his breath; he was not as young as he once was, a notion he only seemed to remember when in the heat of battle.

“That was a sonic detonator,” Tech explained for no reason whatsoever, “it emits an oscillated pulse that—”

“Da-da-da-da,” Hondo interjected, snapping as if this man were his own underling,“Iiiiii know what dat was. Now, keep moving, or du you not tink dat you can manage dat?”

The scalawag had squinched deeply, exaggerating his expression to denote that he had not failed to observe Tech’s current condition, which happened to be poor. Even though having this pirate for company was less than ideal, without him, he was unsure if he would be able to escape; Tarkin, or Hemlock himself, had already deployed men to smoke them out. His chances were slim at best.

“Perhaps we can come to some kind of understanding,” Tech offered, already comprehending quite clearly that this man was money driven. While credits were not something he had a lot of, with the help of the others, and hopefully Phee, he would be able to afford to pay him off.

“An agreement?” Hondo nonchalantly tapped the dull, flat side of his blade against the curvature of his shoulder. “You mean you would like tu… make a deal?” he asked, his question not without skepticism, yet Hondo was always game when it came to profits; it was more than obvious his interest was piqued.

“I do not wish for you to run away and leave me behind,” Tech stated concisely, thinking that in this situation honesty was the best policy, although deserving to be withheld in others; he could not remember a time that it was not before now. “The extent of my injuries must have you alarmed.”

Hondo seesawed his head to the left and right, waving his hand and the blaster held by it carelessly in the air. “Eh.”

Tech managed to ignore this, too. “It is plain to see that you are driven by material wealth. We spoke briefly about compensation. I want to be clear: I can promise you the sum of five-thousand credits if you are willing to escort me both to the mining facility, and to find my family.”

“Family?”

“Yes, I mentioned them earlier before you interr—”

“—Five-thousand credits es… paltry at best…”

Hondo tensed; he stopped moving, the tap-tap-tapping of his vibrocutlass coming to a pause. His face hardened as he appeared to observe the man for the first time, his dark gaze traveling the clone from head to foot.

“And what family could a clone possibly have?” Hondo grit his teeth, knowing better than to ask that question.

Tech’s muscles tightened, his mouth forming a thin line. “My brothers are my family; Omega is my family."

“You have so many brothers... Just how many of dem are d’ere?” He did not bother to ask who Omega was.

“They are a part of my Squad. We are a team,” Tech squared his shoulders, not understanding why he had to justify the terminology he had used.

“I see…” His answer was sufficient, tugging the scoundrel’s heartstrings juuuuust enough.

Ah, if only his men were so loyal…

Hondo was no doctor, but he could both sense and see that this boy was on his last reserves. His republic armor had been modified, but it was still beat to shit, cracked in places from whatever chaos had previously ensued. Not to mention, he was compensating for his unfortunately flawed eyesight through that helmet of his; curious, as Jango had a perfect 20/20 and never wore spectacles a day in his life.

The red-clad devil sighed, filling his lungs completely so as to exhale unhurriedly through broad, flaring nostrils. And just like that, he turned on his Pirate’s Honor, sheathing his sword though he kept his blaster on hand.

“I suppose you may come en handy,” Hondo said flippantly, not wanting to admit he had a weakness for sob stories, and especially those that had to do with… family.

He allowed himself to reminiscence on his poor, sweet mother for a time, thinking of a piece of advice she had once proffered him:

“Hondo, someone else’s urgency is your opportunity.”  Truer words had never been spoken.

Finally, he straightened his hunched back and tutted. “Yes, yes, yes, come with me, and we shall survive dis, ah? Or. My name es not Hondo Ohnaka! And I can assure you dat et es,” he confirmed, as if there had been any doubt.

Besides, thought Hondo, there was no reason not to keep this fellow around a while longer; his family was missing him, after all. Perhaps they would be willing to bargain more than credits. If they were stationed on Pabu as this Tech had said, the treasures housed within its renown Archium would more than cover his expenses; a greedy glint twinkled in his eye.

“I owe you my gratitude,” Tech replied, shifting his weight on the leg that in fact hurt less, yet was still not free from pain.

“Ahhh, but you owe me more dan dat. Do. not. forget, my friend,” Hondo stated, repeating the descriptor Tech had already once denied; his face had split apart into two halves as his grin spread from ear to ear. Then, he turned, beginning to walk - though a little bit more slowly – into the depths of Eriadu’s wilderness.

Tech felt unnerved despite their accord, thinking the Weequay’s smile was suspect if not downright suspicious of something greater, something being hidden beneath the contrived contracting of all fifty-three of his facial muscles. But for the moment, he chose to trust him. There was not much else he could do, a reoccurring theme over the course of the last few hours.

Remaining guarded and forever watchful, as best he could be in his current state, Tech trundled forward, surrendering himself to whatever else was likely to occur.

---

Comments and reblogs much appreciated! Thanks for reading!

Part 2 coming soon.

[thesiblingsoftheblackandwhite]

Do you want your eyes to hurt?

I can’t see anything!

The hopefully temporary flimsy sunglasses Blinky had been given to contrast his eyes’ light sensitivity were uncomfortably digging into his ears. They also, true to word, made everything extremely dark. He had to hold onto Pokey again.

Tinky looked through the handheld drawstring bag they had been given, analyzing its contents more closely; five brand new toothbrushes, multiple small toothpaste tubes, the medication bottles from earlier, a folded piece of paper, stickers, and a 20 dollar bill.

Sunglasses aren’t that expensive. We could find a store around here.

Like that one?

They look up at where Pokey pointed out. A dirty-looking tan building tackily called General Store is squeezed between two other, better kept stores.

Mmm, that’ll do.

As Tinky and Blinky dispute about Blinky’s choice of eyewear, Nibbly wanders to the snack section of the store.

Yellow’s your color.

I don’t hoard colors, they can be whatever color you want.

And yet you refused to buy those cotton candy ones. It fits with my whole theme park thing-

Those were impractical! And pink doesn’t suit you.

The few other people in the store give them the occasional glance.

Tinky!

The two stop their discussion to turn to the voice. Tinky squints, bemused.

…A crown? Seriously?

Wiggly has carefully placed a plastic crown on his head. His crutches make him stumble some while walking, but he gets close enough to them.

I deserve something for going through all of that.

Mm, yeah. You’re such a big boy, Y’wrath. But you already have your stickers. Tough luck, sorry, bud.

Wiggly excited grin slips into a glare.

You’re only two centuries older. That doesn’t mean anything!

Three. I’m actua-

I’m making Uncle Wiley sell Wiggly dolls right outside your park next timeline.

Tinky sighs, scanning around while they have their back and forth.

…Hey, Blink - Blair, what about purple glasses?

Blinky whips around excitedly, eyes sparkling. Snorting, Tinky plucks out a bedazzled pair of color-tinted purple sunglasses from the rack.

Putting them on, they allow a lot more visibility through the shades than the hospital’s sunglasses. Blinky hops excitedly.

These work!

Get in line, I’ll be there in a minute or so.

As Bliklotep leaves, Wiggly makes a face.

So he gets glasses and I can’t get a…one dollar crown?

Tinky hums, crossing his arms.

Well, he does need those…what’s your deal with this crown?

Y’wrath glances down, biting his inner cheek. He slowly looks back up, eyes teary.

…Pwease, Tinksy?

Your baby talk shit works with your dolls, not your older brother.

Shit.

The crown is taken off his head and spun around in Tinky’s hands.

Go get the others - tell Nibbly I can’t buy him snacks.

When they leave the store, Blinky looks elated.

Here.

Wiggly breaks into a grin when his crown is balanced on his head once again. He laughs - a hiccuping sound.

…You’re not wearing it to school.

I know that.

[cutiecorner]

I haven't done one of these in a while but this was in my drafts: its cg alfred time babey. Three cheers for our fictional grandpa.

Wow Alfred how come DC let's you adopt (checks notes) ALL the babies

If someone regresses he knows about it. Don't ask how he just knows

And he WILL start subtly babying them. Most heroes are stubborn af and struggle to accept even butler help, but Alfred has a talent for easing them into it. Come up to Wayne Manor feeling stressed and 2 hours later you're surrounded by blankets on your second plate of cookies. How'd you get there? Nobody knows

Subsequently there's like a lot of heroes who only accept help from Alfred, especially regression related help. The original Justice League come to mind, he eventually made a point of checking in on them all once he realized how Pointedly Fatherless they all were. They may be too proud to tell their team they're struggling, but no ones too stubborn for Alfred. The doors always open for them and they do use it, liberally.

Like I mentioned before, Diana, Clark, J'onn, John, Shayera, and Wally are all very much adopted by him, and are the ones he cares for the most.

Alf loves having the league around when they're small. Parenting is his passion and the more the merrier, especially when the objective is to keep the stakes low and relaxed. Raising his kids often involves more world ending threats than he'd like, so he always welcomes a respite where he can just coddle them.

And coddle them he does, kiddies under Alfred's watch are the definition of spoiled materially speaking. He is always there for whatever they need, and he takes great pride in his attention to detail. He knows just what shows everyone likes, their favorite pajamas, their stuffies names, their go to treats - everything they want, he will provide

Behavior wise though, Alfred keeps thing just as in line as usual. He's certainly not hard on anyone, but he is an authority for sure. He loves to keep a schedule, and he finds it often necessary for little ones who are used to being in a survival frame of mind. Rules and guidelines always brought him a lot of comfort, and he hopes to bring the same grounding affect those he watches over. Though of course, he's nowhere near immune to puppy dog eyes.

He tries to be in tune with everyone's emotions and help them work through big feelings. He himself struggles with Alexithymia and mild emotion in general, but he's learned strategies to pick apart feelings and deal with them. He knows a lot of therapy techniques from dealing with Bruce, and teaches them whenever he can

He uses a lot of strategies from raising Bruce with regressors, especially those who are autistic. He knows how to best communicate without words, how to figure out what parts of the environment are stressful, and how to keep a space not over or under stimulating. They have lots of tools like headphones, eyewear, communication cards, etc.

Despite being usually formal, something about having regressors around flips a switch on the affection meter. Suddenly everyone is only referred to by sweet nicknames. And he's just general less butler more dad. He's open to snuggles if they're requested.

He's very patient. Takes all the time his little ones need to collect themselves. Most if not all regressors in his care find him profoundly calming, even while not in the headspace. But holding their hands and encouraging them softly definitely does help.

He loves making little outfits for his regressors, especially when they're based on clothes they miss from their childhoods. The look on their face when he recreates their favorite shirts or jammies is pure dopamine, and they look so sweet in their cute little outfits.

Alfred loves to create games and structured activities, one of his favorite things to do is create mysteries for the little league to solve!!

He's welcoming to any nicknames - Alfie, Bubba, Dada, Mr. Pennyworth - but he's especially partial to "uncle alfie". It makes him melt.

[mariacallous]

In 2024, increased adoption of biometric surveillance systems, such as the use of AI-powered facial recognition in public places and access to government services, will spur biometric identity theft and anti-surveillance innovations. Individuals aiming to steal biometric identities to commit fraud or gain access to unauthorized data will be bolstered by generative AI tools and the abundance of face and voice data posted online.

Already, voice clones are being used for scams. Take for example, Jennifer DeStefano, a mom in Arizona who heard the panicked voice of her daughter crying “Mom, these bad men have me!” after receiving a call from an unknown number. The scammer demanded money. DeStefano was eventually able to confirm that her daughter was safe. This hoax is a precursor for more sophisticated biometric scams that will target our deepest fears by using the images and sounds of our loved ones to coerce us to do the bidding of whoever deploys these tools.

In 2024, some governments will likely adopt biometric mimicry to support psychological torture. In the past, a person of interest might be told false information with little evidence to support the claims other than the words of the interrogator. Today, a person being questioned may have been arrested due to a false facial recognition match. Dark-skinned men in the United States, including Robert Williams, Michael Oliver, Nijeer Parks, and Randal Reid, have been wrongfully arrested due to facial misidentification, detained and imprisoned for crimes they did not commit. They are among a group of individuals, including the elderly, people of color, and gender nonconforming individuals, who are at higher risk of facial misidentification.

Generative AI tools also give intelligence agencies the ability to create false evidence, like a video of an alleged coconspirator confessing to a crime. Perhaps just as harrowing is that the power to create digital doppelgängers will not be limited to entities with large budgets. The availability of open-sourced generative AI systems that can produce humanlike voices and false videos will increase the circulation of revenge porn, child sexual abuse materials, and more on the dark web.

By 2024 we will have growing numbers of “excoded” communities and people—those whose life opportunities have been negatively altered by AI systems. At the Algorithmic Justice League, we have received hundreds of reports about biometric rights being compromised. In response, we will witness the rise of the faceless, those who are committed to keeping their biometric identities hidden in plain sight.

Because biometric rights will vary across the world, fashion choices will reflect regional biometric regimes. Face coverings, like those used for religious purposes or medical masks to stave off viruses, will be adopted as both fashion statement and anti-surveillance garments where permitted. In 2019, when protesters began destroying surveillance equipment while obscuring their appearance, a Hong Kong government leader banned face masks.

In 2024, we will start to see a bifurcation of mass surveillance and free-face territories, areas where you have laws like the provision in the proposed EU AI Act, which bans the use of live biometrics in public places. In such places, anti-surveillance fashion will flourish. After all, facial recognition can be used retroactively on video feeds. Parents will fight to protect the right for children to be “biometric naive”, which is to have none of their biometrics such as faceprint, voiceprint, or iris pattern scanned and stored by government agencies, schools, or religious institutions. New eyewear companies will offer lenses that distort the ability for cameras to easily capture your ocular biometric information, and pairs of glasses will come with prosthetic extensions to alter your nose and cheek shapes. 3D printing tools will be used to make at-home face prosthetics, though depending on where you are in the world, it may be outlawed. In a world where the face is the final frontier of privacy, glancing upon the unaltered visage of another will be a rare intimacy.