#Siege Beast

[driver270]

My Cat Was The Inspiration For This

[pocoslip]

I'm Not Happy with how Nearly Every Shops and Stores have More Youtube Toys like Lankybox and Mr. Beast than Transformers and Jurassic Park nowadays

(And it makes me Sad if the Children buys the Mr. Beast Toys more than Transformers too...)

[thelastgherkin]

A hidden gem in the dealer hall this year was Junk Shop U.S.A., a stall of two fellows who'd come all the way from Japan with a bunch of regional regional exclusives. I couldn't stop myself from buying Burning Plasma Blaster, a weird figure want for which they were asking about 40% of his regular going price on ebay. Love this guy and the way they blast burning plasma. They get to fight Vector Oracle.

[prissnukem]

“How dare you contaminate the purity of MY world!"

[blueikeproductions]

What was originally an individual bit about how Siege Bumblebee can race on Velocitron without the ability to Transform became a comic where Maddie, one of my Cyberverse OCs, and her partner Repugnus meet the WFC cartoon version of Scrounge at the race tracks.

WFC Scrounge is based on Siege Rung's body type, though instead of a weapon thingy, he becomes a "Cybertronic Big Wheel" car. The intended joke is that WFC universe Transformers speak verrrrryyyyy slowly to other people, but the joke is admittedly muddled with Siege Bumblebee speaking normally because I drew the two separately.

G1 Iguanus riding Legacy Iguanus I just thought would be funny. This also informs how G1 S4 Iguanus works, where his Shell rides on him in Vehicle Mode and attacks. The shield he uses is also based on this S4 idea, with it being Slitherfang/Fangtron. The gun is borrowed from Krok.

Armada Billy and Alexis being partnered with Beast Wars characters comes from a loose idea I had about an Armada spin off where Alexis, Billy, Sureshock, Jolt, Crumplezone, Hot Shot, and Cyclonus and several Mini-Con Panels wind up on Planet Energoa via a warp gate accident during a battle on Earth. They wind up caught in the middle of the Beast Wars being fought there by a squad of beastial Autobots and Decepticons that have scanned local lifeforms and befriended the anthropomorphic citizens of the world. Billy in particular becomes fast friends with Cheetor, while Alexis manages to tame Rattrap. The "Transmetal" characters activate their pseudo vehicle modes by Powerlinx, hence why Alexis and Sureshock are perched on Rattrap as they are in the final panel.

[weathermanpolls]

Horus Heresy: On one hand they had a full nine legions of the God-Emperor's Angels of Death. On the other hand, they only even came close to succeeding because of the Istvaan Dropsite Massacre and the Ruin Storm, neither of which would work on the others.

War of the Beast: The Krorks are basically unfallen Orks, the Orks that lived during the War in Heaven. They were from before the Immaterium became the Warp. They were also a complete failure to write a coordinated story, so who knows what they could actually accomplish. Other than the fact they combined a Super-Duper Warboss with a Super-Duper Wyrdboy. They could probably ignore warp storms.

Siege of Vraks: This was kept going by bureaucratic incompetence, which the Imperium has an abundance of.

War for Armageddon: Everyone was fighting everyone. It would only take an extremely small change to completely change how things unfolded.

Badab: Badab was defeated by the shear inevitability of plot. The only way the Imperium could defeat Badab was by... completely retconning everything about Badab. This could only be done by a villainous pact with the ruinous powers. The Tyrant's ultimate discipline was turned into buffoonish villainy.

Black Cruades: 14th time the charm.

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

STRAIGHT OUTTA SOUTHERN HARAD -- LIVING, BREATHING, RAMPAGING SIEGE ENGINES.

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on the War Mûmamkil and their Haradrim riders, scenes from the War of the Ring and the Battle of the Pelennor Fields as depicted in "The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" (2003), directed by Peter Jackson.

"New forces of the enemy were hastening up the road from the River; and from under the walls came the legions of Morgul; and from the southward fields came footmen of Harad with horsemen before them, and behind them rose the huge backs of the mûmakil with war-towers upon them. But northward the white crest of eomer led the great front of the Rohirrim which he had again gathered and marshalled; and out of the City came all the strength of men that was in it, and the silver swan of Dol Amroth was borne in the van, driving the enemy from the Gate."

-- "THE LORD OF THE RINGS," "The Return of the King," Book V, Chapter VI, written by J.R.R. Tolkien

Source: www.novelforfree.com/the-return-of-the-king_chapter_book-v-chapter-6_1735_199.html.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

You are a Blacksmith

Set in the universe where your destiny is written on your arm

(The Hero and Hope) (Being Villagers) (You are the Demon King)

You are a Blacksmith.

That’s why the dragon’s fire doesn’t burn you.

“Pretty sure dragon fire is hotter than a forge,” your party’s leader pants. Kent is a veteran adventurer of twenty years to your two years and he’s seen his fair share of dragon fire before today. There are curling scars dragging the corner of his mouth down into a permanent scowl that pairs oddly with how high he has his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. He exhales noisily. “I think you’re just a freak, actually.”

“Not nice,” Sella says. The archer is your age with twice your experience. Her leather armor is well-beaten by four years running around with Kent and getting far closer to battle than an archer should. Her red hair is tied with golden thread that matches the golden charms dangling from her necklace. She adds a new one with every successful monster kill. It’s lucky she’s so stealthy or else she’d be jingling with every step. “Mande is an exception, not a freak.”

You’re a party of exceptions. Most adventurers are Villagers or Guards, common destinies that don’t always find a place within a town or village that have so many of each already. There are days you report for a mission, and you’re offered a blacksmith’s job on the spot just because of the mark on your arm.

Kent is a landless Lord. There’s a story there, you know, but it’s not one he’s ever volunteered. You can see his destiny pull at him in the remote reaches of the Kingdom, where no Lord has laid roots and the monsters run roughshod across the barren soil. Nights where you’re too far from civilization find him gazing up into the stars, his fingers curled like claws into the earth. The look on his face then is so hungry that the first time you saw it, you offered him provisions from your own pack. He’d shaken his head wryly, his scarred frown twisting, and walked off into the night by himself, only returning in the morning light.

Sella is a Guardian without anyone to look after. You knew her story before she told it to you, whispering it like a bedtime story before the end of the world. She was part of a traveling theater group. She looked after them, feeding them and retrieving those with wanderlust from their journeys before curtain call. When a monster siege led by a Demon King fell upon the city they were performing in, the Lord called his people into his castle and locked the doors.

The troupe were not his people. But they were Sella’s.

Until they weren’t.

You drag your battle hammer up and over your shoulder. Conveniently, the dragon fire has burned away the wet viscera that had been clinging to it. The metal is dark with soot, but undamaged.

The things you smith can’t be melted by any fire except your own.

The skeletal trees make the scene of this final battle oddly silent. Ash drifts from the sky, carried by a wind too high to feel. You can hear your party sniping at each other behind you and the gentle gurgle of the beast’s body settling comfortably into death.

The red dragon is beautiful. Its scales gleam and sparkle like rubies in the late afternoon sun and its talons shine like obsidian. Each part of the creature could make an average family rich for a month. You consider it from an arm’s reach away. You chew your bottom lip as you think. Your adventures have taken you across the continent from the southern coast you call your home, to the western land of rivers, to the northern desert and then here, to the eastern dry lands. After all your travels, you find yourself still thinking of home often. Crab is a delicacy where you’re from despite being so close to the water. The preparation can be tedious which makes it a dish reserved from significant occasions. Cracking the shell was always your job…

“Oh,” Sella says faintly. She makes an attempt to rise and nearly tips over in the process. If it weren’t for her bow, she’d be on the ground. Her knees shake as she uses a combination of a tree and her bow to pull herself up. “Mande, rest first! In an hour I can help you—”

You bring your hammer down on the jaw of the dragon. The bone shatters after just two blows. It’s best not to think about how beautiful it looked flying overhead or the intelligence in its eyes. You’ve always had a single-minded focus and you rely on that now.

“Leave her to her dismantling,” Kent grumbles. He’s now curled up on the ground is if in his sleeping roll, hands tucked neatly under his chin. It can’t be a comfortable position given his full suit of armor no matter how peaceful his expression. “If she’s got the energy for it, who are we to argue? Just keep the ribs intact. That’s what the client wants.”

Smash!

“It’s our turn to do the dismantling,” Sella says. She glares down at Kent. “Mande already did last week’s gryphon and the hydra. Get up!”

Smash!

“I’m an old man who needs his nap time.”

“You’re an irresponsible leader who needs to do his part.”

Smash!

“Once Mande stops swinging that thing around, I will.”

“She won’t hit you—”

“She hit me last week!”

“And I apologized for that,” you say through gritted teeth. You let your hammer fall by your feet. Your last blow sent tremors through your arms. The dragon’s jaw is like glass compared to its skull. “Sincerely.”

Sella makes a gagging sound when you fall to your knees next to the cracked skull. “Mande, don’t put your hand in there, that’s – oh, that’s so gross.”

“The book I read said it’d be…aha!” Your fingers graze something cool and metallic. You abruptly feel like crying. It’s been seven months. Seven long months of endless missions and danger and being away from home. This entire dragon is priceless, but you’ve forfeited your share for this. You blink rapidly to keep your tears at bay. You aren’t going to cry. Not until you’re sure that you’ve really found it. “Quick, hand me my waterskin.”

Your urgency gets even Kent up and bustling towards the dragon’s corpse. With trembling fingers you accept the water from Stella, pulling out your prize. It’s smaller than you thought, only about the length of your arm or a third the length of the dragon’s skull.

With bated breath, you gently trickle water over the length of it. Your party kneels beside you, watching just as raptly.

“What is it?” Sella breathes.

Kent is wide-eyed as, inch by inch, your treasure reveals itself.

“A dragon’s silver wit,” you say. The silver is mottled by the dragon’s black blood and grey brain matter. “The last ingredient I need for a Hero’s Sword.”

-----.

“You can’t just make a Hero’s Sword,” Kent is still saying a week later. He throws his hands up to the sky. “Heroes make them from air and magic and righteousness. Blacksmiths just repair them!”

You didn’t ask for Sella or Kent to follow you home. In fact, you assumed they wouldn’t. The slaying of the red dragon marked the end of your time in the Adventurer’s Guild. Now you’re ready to return to your position as the southern port’s best blacksmith and you thought they’d be ready to return to the best two adventurers the Capital Guild had.

“I’ve heard legends about it,” Sella says. She’s walking backward. You’ve already warned her that the roads this far away from Capital aren’t as smooth, but she’d scoffed at your concern. Now it’s pure stubbornness to prove you wrong that has her continuing to walk backwards despite nearly tripping twice already. “Excalibur was manmade.”

“The legend of Hero Arthur is manmade,” Kent retorts.

“If you believe that,” you say, “you really don’t need to come home with me.”

Kent blinks. “Well,” he says slowly, “on the off chance it’s not a fairytale, I desperately want to see it.”

“Then shut up and follow Mande,” Sella says. She elbows him and mutters under her breath. “Or else she might not let us stay at her house.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure the dragon fetched enough coin for the both of you to get your own rooms at the inn.”

“Sure,” Kent agrees. He grins wickedly and the expression makes him look ten years younger. “But we’re not going to do that, are we Sella?”

“Nope,” Sella chirps. She loops an arm through yours before you can protest and squints at the horizon. “Is that your hometown over there?”

A hazy line of blue and white roofs is barely distinguishable in the fading light of day. Sella has better vision than you. You’re sure she can see the masts of ships in port, the green and yellow flag waving over the chief’s house, maybe even the orchard that creeps right up to the edge of the bluffs.

You can’t wait to see it yourself.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been smiling, but your face hurts by the time you find your voice. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

----------.

Mom hurls a loaf of bread at your head when you walk through the front door, Kent and Sella in tow.

Kent catches it an inch from your face. “Whoa, whoa!” He waves the bread as if unsure whether he should drop it or throw it back. “It’s your daughter! Mande! Put down the bread basket!”

“Mande and friends,” Sella says cheerfully. She waves at your Mom, Dad, and little brother. “Hello! I’m Sella.”

“I threw it because I know who it is,” your mom says. The grey streaks on either side of her temple are wider. Her round, kind face is pale with anger. “We thought you were dead.”

“We got your letters,” your dad says before you can ask. His hair hasn’t changed; he’s bald. He’s wearing his leather apron from the forge at the table. He takes a bite of soup. “All three of them.”

“Not nearly enough,” Mom snaps. Then, “And they could have been forgeries.”

“Who would forge a blacksmith’s letters home?” you ask in exasperation. Is that why she never replied? “Mom, please.”

“Don’t giveme that when you’ve been dead for seven months,” she says. She stands abruptly. “Three of you? Sit down. I don’t have enough soup, but bread will fill anyone’s stomach.”

“I’m Kent,” Kent blurts out before Sella can push him into a chair. He sits with a thud. “Sella, it’s rude to sit before introducing yourself!”

“Ruder than not knocking or coming for dinner without an invitation?” Sella hisses at him. She turns a charming smile on your little brother. “Sorry to intrude. You must be Axton. A pleasure to meet you.”

Axton doesn’t return her greetings. His eyes are fixed to the package strapped to your back. “Is that…?”

You swallow hard as your family’s eyes turn to you. You carefully pull the cloth-wrapped rod from your back. Your little brother isn’t so little anymore. You can see he’s taller than you as he stands in unison with Dad to clear a spot on the table. His long, thin hands make quick work of the ties.

There’s complete silence as the burlap falls away to reveal gleaming silver.

Axton’s throat bobs. He’s barely eighteen with the soft look of a fawn hovering around the edges of his jaw and cheekbones. Mom and Dad have done a good job feeding him while you’ve been gone. Seven months ago your brother looked like a wraith, all the light taken from him as if it all came from his hero’s sword.

“You’re going to make me a sword,” Axton says at last.

You’ve thought about this moment for seven months. You imagined you would say something like it’s okay now or maybe big sister fixed it. When his hero’s sword was taken from him, you thought about all sorts of things. It took a month for you to set out on this quest rather than one of revenge. It wouldn’t have helped Axton if you’d forged a hundred weapons of war to punish those who’d hurt him. It wouldn’t help Axton to pretend you fixed anything.

So instead you tell the truth.

“It won’t be the same,” you say. “It won’t work the way you want it to. Not right away. You’ll need to train with it and learn it as you would any other weapon. Your instincts won’t help you. But…it won’t break when I’m done. It won’t bend or chip. It won’t melt. It will serve you, Axton, until the exact moment you don’t need it anymore.”

Axton flies around the table to throw his arms around you. It’s amazing you came from the same parents. Where you are short and stocky, he’s really like a deer. His long arms could encircle you twice as he lifts you with a hero’s strength. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

And then you’re being hugged all around. Your dad’s strong, Blacksmith arms are crushing you to your brother, your mother’s soft cheek is against your shoulder, and there’s plate mail digging into your spleen while a sharp elbow digs into your spine.

You manage to turn your head just enough to see Kent hugging your from behind and Sella hugging him from behind. It’s her elbow that’s jabbing you.

“This is sweet,” she says. Her voice is a little muffled from how her face is pressed against Kent’s back. “We should hug more.”

“Does this make your brother a Hero?” Kent asks.

“This is a family hug,” you say.

“Duh,” Sella says. “That’s why we joined.”

You really can’t argue with that.

-

(Patreon)

Next week's story: Everyone in LA has two job. You've got a big smile and a talent for seeing ghosts. It's no surprise what your jobs are.

[peachysunrize]

MDNI! Word count: 921

The second Prince Regent!Aemond walks into the room you can feel the tension in his body, frustrated and angry at the council and handling the siege Rhaenyra has put the King’s Landing in.

He is a mess; his hair unruly and his head being crushed under the weight of the Conqueror's crown, and yet, all he could think about throughout the day was how his heavily pregnant wife was walking in their shared chambers with nothing on but her see-through shift that left little to the imagination.

He couldn’t give a single fuck about how Cole was trying to convince the council for another attack, or how his mother tried to get him to talk — not when he had gotten a peek of your sweet pussy at dawn when he woke up and found you writhing in your sleep, the thin fabric overridden up to your hips.

He has become pathetically insatiable for you ever since your body has started adapting to the changes of growing a human within you, and he has been nothing but an absolute beast to have you on his bed throughout the day so he can grab on your hips and drink up the sweet nectar between your thighs.

“Husband,” you say, hands clutching under your large belly as you stand up on shaky legs, giving your prince regent the courtesy he deserves.

He doesn’t say anything, not a single word is uttered as he takes slow steps toward you, his hands behind his back while he lets his good eye wander all over your body; soft, ripe, round edges and so beautiful.

“What ails you, my prince?” You ask, unsure of what is truly troubling your husband.

“Nothing you should concern your pretty head with, Ābrazȳrys -wife-.” He stands before you, inhaling the sweet scent of the vanilla oil your handmaiden applied to your skin.

He can’t focus, the smell of your fragment and your god-like beauty is enough to send his head into a foggy state. He reaches out, exhaling sharply as his long fingers caress your chin, already shaking with the need for his wife.

“Have you eaten today, husband?” Your voice is dripping with honey as you nuzzle your head into his palm, and he bends down to press a kiss to your exposed shoulder, nearly groaning at the feeling of the soft flesh under his lips.

“I am about to,” he says, keeping his face hidden in the crook of your neck, “would you let me have a delicious meal, wife?”

“Of course, my prince, let me tell the maids—“

“No, no…” he growls into your ear, his other hand coming to rest on the fat of your hips, squeezing it with delight, “I don’t want any food, I want the sweet dessert that is hidden between your thighs.”

“Oh…” you sigh in pleasure as he keeps kissing and nibbling on your skin, “then allow me to lay on the bed—“

“No,” his voice is sharp and curt, sending a shiver down your spine as you feel your arousal coat your inner thighs, “I will be the one lying down.”

He doesn’t let you ponder over what he said, instead, he shrugs his coat and doubles off, kicking his boots away before he crawls on the bed, his long limbs covering the length of the mattress as he reaches to pull you on it as well.

You sit hesitantly beside him on the bed, waiting for him to tell you how he wants you.

He sits up a little, taking the crown in his hands before he puts it on top of your head, smirking at your flustered face as you try to find a reason as to what the fuck he actually is doing.

“Conquer your realm, my queen. Come, your throne awaits you,” he says, his pupil blown with lust and desire as he helps you to your knees, laughing breathlessly at how gorgeous you look with his child heavy in your belly and his crown atop your head — truly a sight for sore eyes.

“Aemond I might suffocate you!” You gasp as he positions himself right beneath your glistening cunt, his fingers digging into your ample body as he licks his lips, his carnal desires for you only growing more by every second you deny him your pleasure.

“Then I would die a happy man,”

You gasp loudly, hands reaching to support your weight on the headboard as he pulls you flush on his face, forcing you to sit on his carved nose. 

The moan he lets out as he finally flattens his tongue over your sweet pussy is primal. He licks you clean off your wetness, parting your folds with the tip of his tongue as he plays with your throbbing clit.

Something in Aemond switches on, because in a second he starts rocking your hips on his face, the dip of his nose catching your nub with every roll and his tongue pushes past the first swollen ring of muscles of your cunt, moving it in a rhythmic direction.

He hears you moan and whine in pleasure, which only spurs him on to go faster, while he can feel the tent in his leather pants growing tighter and tighter. He feasts on you like a starved man, groaning and moaning with every lick of his skillful tongue.

He can only imagine how you look, eyes closed, chest heaving with ragged breaths, and head thrown back while you wear the Conqueror's crown, like a true queen.

[driver270]

Mega Meeting

Well, this is mega embarrassing. 😏

You may stop giving me that look now.

[pocoslip]

I would Love to see Armourless Ultra Magnus beat the Crap out of Megatron in the Cybertron Scene from the Bumblebee Movie before he Sacrifice himself as Optimus Prime escape Cybertron

(because i still HATE the netflix transformers cartoon)

[ne0n-and-garbage]

Mandalorians as Jewish Allegory

First of all, we have this quote right here:

"We'll rebuild [Mandalore]. Isn't that our history? For thousands of years, we have been on the verge of extinction, and for thousands of years we have survived." ―Din Djarin

If you just replace the word Mandalore with Israel, it is a completely plausible thing for a Jewish person to say.

Anyway, on to my essay:

History:

Both Mandalorians and Jews have an indigenous homeland that is intrinsic to their culture and belief system, (Mandalore and Israel respectively). Throughout their entire history, they have been consistently under attack from various regimes seeking to commit genocide against them, (Jedi, Empire for Mandalorians, Romans, Nazis, Soviets, Arab colonialism for Jews), and yet each group has managed to remain alive and retain their culture. The Siege of Mandalore has a lot of parallels to the destruction of the Temple, and the Mandalorian Purges are very similar to the antisemitic Pogroms. Both groups are forced out of their indigenous homelands and into a diaspora, under which they are consistently hunted and attacked. Eventually, both groups regain control of their homeland from the colonizers who held previous rule over it.

Culture:

Mandalorians are either born into the culture or adopt the Creed, which is similar to born Jews and Converts. There are groups of Orthodox Mandalorians, such as the Children of the Watch, who observe the traditional laws regarding the Creed, as well as headcoverings, (similar to Orthodox Jewish people). In contrast, there are also more liberal factions of both Mandalorians and Jews. There are specific foods and religious clothing associated with both groups, their own languages, their own mythical beasts. Also, both cultures have a ceremonial bath/Mikvah associated with rituals and conversion.

Overall, I think it's fair to say that Mandalorians are an excellent allegory for Jewish people. Mandalorians are Space Jews. You can't change my mind.

This Is The Way

Am Yisrael Chai

[headspace-hotel]

dwarf fortress update

an important thing to note about this game is if you embark on an island with no other civilizations on it, this cuts you off from a substantial amount of gameplay, as you won't be able to do missions and you won't be able to trade with or contact other civilizations. It does, however, prevent sieges and other forms of possibly undesirable fun

i don't know if civilizations could arise on islands given enough time passing in game

I decided to start a new fortress to mess with some of the mechanics involving interactions between civilizations.

I embarked close to a necromancer's tower, which thus far has had no effects except giving me a frequently replenishing supply of armor and gear to loot off of zombies killed by my militias. I have also had regular sieges from goblins, which i've fought off pretty easily but the map is so littered with goblin corpses and clothes it's looking like a bit of a mess.

Essential lessons so far:

it doesn't seem to actually matter very much whether bedrooms are enclosed or have doors, and citizens get negative thoughts from sleeping in a dormitory, so it's better to just make a huge room, make the floor of a somewhat valuable material, space beds 1 tile apart and designate each 4-tile square as a separate bedroom.

Dwarves are happy around waterfalls, so if you flood your fortress your dwarves mental health will be great right up to the point that they drown to death.

The wiki says soap making is a low importance industry. This is a dirty rotten lie. You will need to have automated ash production, bucket production, lye production, and soap production to have enough soap ever.

burrows make dwarves STAY in a certain area, however they don't make them GO there. this essentially means they are useless as if you have ordered dwarves to stay within the burrow when a forgotten beast is attacking and causing havoc, they will not go there if they are outside it, however the dwarves inside will not be able to leave the burrow for food, drink, water or any sort of supplies so they will eventually just starve or thirst to death. so basically don't use burrows

limit the fisherdwarf task to one (1) dwarf AT MOST or you will have rotting fish everywhere and nothing will get done because everybody is at the fishery "cleaning raw fish"

you absolutely must go into the labor menu and turn off automatic web collection or else the instant you open a cavern your citizens will run into the furthest deadliest corner of that cavern and die.

you absolutely must dig your mine shaft separately from your main fortress and place multiple tiers of doors that you can forbid as needed to sequester off increasingly deeper levels of the mineshaft. it helps to have a separate still, kitchen and food stockpile within the mineshaft as well. when you designate a mining project, wait for the miners to go in and forbid the door to the surface behind them. place tiers of stone and ore stockpiles feeding into each other within the mine shaft so stones are hauled up to the surface levels and can be easily hauled into the fortress when you unforbid the door for a time. if you don't keep the doors forbidden, citizens will constantly wander in and out of the mineshaft and get killed or starve to death. In particular, they will try to haul objects out of the caverns and will path through the cavern passages instead of the stairwells you dug.

I've been killing all my grazing animals except sheep because babies born in a pen don't "belong" to that pen and will wander down into the fortress, and once underground they will starve to death from lack of grass. having to stop what i'm doing every 10 minutes to return to the pasture, scroll through my animals, and assign the new baby calf or donkey or whatever is such a pain in the ass that it's hardly even worth it to have animals that don't produce fiber.

castrating animals is super unreliable as a means of keeping their populations in check, because migrants and visitors are CONSTANTLY bringing in new pets

Either that, or some animals can reproduce asexually. I keep getting new reindeer calves despite having only one reindeer bull and no reindeer cows

Turning off contaminant tracking doesn't stop contaminants from being tracked everywhere

embark next to a brook, not a river, because with rivers your citizens will constantly fall in and drown. however you will need to dig out the rocks from the bottom of the brook in one spot and place a well above it. do NOT use "water source" zone designation because whatever zone you designate for water collection will get contaminated with vomit within 5 minutes due to above contaminant tracking glitch, and your dwarves will become miserable about being "forced to drink vomit"

even in an overwhelmingly happy and content fortress some dwarves will inevitably go insane and start killing everybody in sight.

The justice system can convict dwarves of disorderly conduct when they attack other dwarves, however if the victim dies of their injuries that isn't a crime and you can't convict the attacking dwarf. When a vampire kills another dwarf it DOES show up as a "murder," however the offender will not be punished

I don't actually know if there is a point in having a justice system, since all it does is chain up random essential workers for "violating production orders." Sentences are much longer for one instance of violating production orders than for 30+ separate counts of disorderly conduct, and there seems to be no way to punish murder.

Every way of producing food wildly overproduces for the needs of the fortress. i have over 1500 muskmelons help

if you don't turn off "forbid death items" the surface will soon be so littered with forbidden gloves and random crap worn by goblins that you can't build anything.

Once you make a tavern (and you should, it really helps dwarf mental health) you will have constant petitions to join your fortress to "entertain visitors and citizens." as far as I can tell you should deny all of them because visitors will steal your stuff, especially masterworks, and sometimes kill your citizens.

Approve all the petitions to stay in the fortress "eradicating monsters" though. When they die you can loot their stuff

if you're having too many migrants you can arrange a fatal accident to happen to the merchant caravan

if you need a fatal accident to happen to one of your dwarves (or need to separate them from everybody else) assign them to a militia by themselves and "station" them in either a dangerous place or a room that you can lock and forbid the door.

It's really disappointing how wrong the wiki is about a lot of things, i've been told incorrectly about game mechanics several times by it.

The bugs i've been dealing with would be less annoying if i didn't have a supposedly good resource telling me "This is how X works" and then it doesn't work that way

[prissnukem]

[isagrimorie]

The more I dig into the Voyager rewatch, and the more I see Janeway is giving in more and more to the Valkyrie she's always inside. The more intriguing Janeway is. I already think she's great but digging deeper into Janeway is amazing.

I keep thinking of how Janeway holds on to the Starfleet regulations and it makes me think of that Doctor Who quote and how she fits the description to a tee:

"Good men don't need rules. Today is not the day to find out why I have so many."

I feel this is Janeway -- she has rules for a reason, she's not evil but she also knows she can go very, very far.

Janeway has been through a brutal border skirmish in the conflict with the Cardassians. She downplays it but, how Kate Mulgrew, it feels like there was a lot more there.

She ranked up from Lieutenant, not because of being a Science Officer but because she's a decorated vet in a bloody siege, where they won.

As we've seen from Sige of AR-558 and the episode in Strange New Worlds ground combat is a whole different beast from ship-to-ship battle.

(Tom looks like a zombie in the last one btw)

Also, IMO, she's one of the more inventive tacticians in Starfleet-- the way she used the torpedoes in Year of Hell as a mine was amazing!

That's a great naval tactic shit. Hot girl navy.

But also, Janeway fits so much the Doctor Who, Good Man Goes to War rhyme:

Demons run when a good man goes to war. Night will fall and drown the sun, when a good man goes to war. Friendship dies and true love lies, night will fall and the dark will rise, when a good man goes to war.

It's also true of Janeway that when the three people that form the basis of Janeway's mental health died and/or became very sick, Admiral Endgame Janeway happened. And then she destroyed the Borg.

Janeway needs rules for a reason.

/edited