#about smoke's ending

[sterekvidinhasz]

Ever since I found out what happened to Hanzo, I've been really upset, not just as a Subscorp fan, but also as a huge Hanzo fan.

When I saw Smoke's ending, I was very disappointed. In fact, Kuai Liang's ending made me sad too. First of all, I would like to ask NRS why Kuai married Harumi if, since her introduction into the story, she has always been Hanzo's wife. If the intention was to give Kuai a love interest, wouldn't it be better to create an entirely new character or let him have a relationship with a playable character?

If they specifically chose Harumi because she is part of the Shirai Ryu, wouldn't it be better to put Hanzo in her place? After all, he was the grandmaster of Shirai Ryu in the previous timeline.

I don't understand why they assigned this role to Harumi, when it could easily be given to Hanzo, who has been a playable character in the franchise since launch. I also didn't understand why Harumi married Kuai Liang. Harumi was Hanzo's wife, this was literally his only role in the story, she was part of Hanzo's construction as a character.

I can't like the fact that they excluded Hanzo from the creation of Shirai Ryu, as the clan revolved exclusively around him.

It may seem silly, but to me Hanzo was disrespected in every way possible. He is one of the 7 original characters and received an animated film dedicated to him. You might think "but all that attention wasn't necessarily given to Hanzo, that attention was given to Scorpion". Yes, I understand your point, but that Scorpion is intrinsically Hanzo. The development of Scorpion stemmed from Hanzo's story about losing his family and clan. In Mortal Kombat X, he stops being a wraith and returns to being completely Hanzo Hasashi. In Mortal Kombat X comics, he restores his clan (and unfortunately sees his clan massacred again). In Mortal Kombat 11, he has an excellent redemption arc as he fights alongside the good guys and tells his past self to give up undisciplined revenge.

So, I ask: why give everything that made Hanzo Hanzo to another character?

I have no problem with Kuai Liang being Scorpion. He can have Hanzo's gameplay, weapon and powers, that's okay. But why erase Hanzo from his clan creation and not allow him to have Harumi and Satoshi?

For example, Mileena was finally able to have a family, now she is loved by her sister. But why can't Hanzo have everything he wanted most (Harumi as his wife and Satoshi/Jubei as his son)?

This seems unfair to me. They gave Kuai Liang characteristics of another character. I know that in the new era, the characters have new origins, but they simply gave everything Hanzo had to Kuai Liang. They could create a really new origin for Scorpion Kuai Liang, but they simply discarded elements of Scorpion Hanzo's lore and gave it to him.

Hanzo became a homeless teenager, probably an orphan, he probably continues to suffer, when he could be happy next to Harumi and their son, commanding the Shirai Ryu side by side.

As someone who has been following Mortal Kombat for years and dreams of seeing Hanzo finally happy, it hurt my heart to realize that having what he always wanted is impossible even in Liu Kang's timeline.

If they don't want to change too many things, they can just say that Hanzo and Harumi are a couple and are friends of Kuai Liang's family. Hanzo and Harumi welcome Kuai and Tomas to Japan and help found Shirai Ryu. The boy that Smoke finds on Harumi's property could be Takeda, who was born from an affair between Kenshi and Suchin, just like in Mortal Kombat X comics.

I understand that a new era shows new perspectives and is different from the previous era, but what happened to Hanzo was disrespectful, it was a disregard for the character.

Kitana is still daughter of Sindel & Jerrod, Kuai Liang & Bi-han remain brothers, Tomas grew up with them like in the previous timeline, Mileena is still dating Tanya, Suchin is still Kenshi's love interest (he mentions her in intro dialogues)... So why can't Hanzo marry Harumi and be Satoshi's father? Why they hate him so much?

I'm indifferent to Hanzo and Harumi as a couple (there's not much to think about them, Harumi is an NPC and all her appearances before MK1 were just flashbacks or mentions). The point is that Hanzo suffered for eons over the death of his lover and his son, he would do anything to get them back, this has been demonstrated so many times. I just want him to have the life he always wanted.

And honestly, was it really necessary to give Kuai Liang a completely sudden love interest? He spent 30 years single, why is this out of the blue?

I'm very frustrated with all of this. Hanzo was reduced to an insignificant role in the story (even though he assumed the mantle of the most famous character in the franchise for 30 years), the writers decided to shove Kuai Liang into a random and unnecessary romance, we will probably never have Subscorp again (yes, I know we have a lot of content from them, there have been three decades of many interactions and moments between Kuai and Hanzo, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to having more of them in the new era).

Please do not take this as a criticism of Kuai. I think he was also a victim in all of this. They didn't need to discard elements from Hanzo's old lore and give it to him, Kuai is already a well-written enough character, I even think that his part in MKX comics, where he destroys the cyber initiative and takes leadership of his clan, is the most amazing thing I've ever seen, his transition from a boy who lost his brother to a Grand Master is sensational. He didn't need it. Each character has their individuality, no matter what mantle they take on. For example, when Kuai became Sub-zero after Bi-han's death, he had his own story. Bi-han, now Sub-zero again, appears to have his own story as well, quite different from Kuai Liang's and quite different from his own in Mortal Kombat (1992), Mortal Kombat II and Sub-zero Mythologies.

Anyway, that was just a rant. I have a lot of attachment to Hanzo as a character, so seeing what happened to him is something that really frustrates me.

[artschoolglasses]

Americans not giving a shit about the wildfires burning down forests and homes in Canada until smoke starts spreading across the border. Meanwhile Indigenous communities across the country are far more likely to be impacted by the fires and I’ve seen all of one link to a charity and about nine million memes. 🙃

[jagalart]

Hue 16

[bunnieswithknives]

Steve Cobs I hope you EXPLO- oh wait.

[blorbologist]

hey im not over this. I just went to dig it up and. it's literally the exact same shot. (except Orthax is giving Ripley a smidge more personal space, and she doesn't have the glowy-glowy ember eyes)

[suja-janee]

(Mostly) Harumi centric doodle page for a friend

[philyuri]

being a phannie is about winning the rpf lottery at the cost of your mental health

[wtftaylr]

some 'on the boat back from fortification hill' goofs. This looks like the beginning of a beautiful one-sided friendship

[smrtnik07]

shirooooooo....

[loycos]

what did you make of the scene where caitlyn hits vi ? the timing of the blow was so unexpected to me…she was kinda steadying herself and then WHAM. What was going through her head ? Was she making some kind of decision ? Mind still reeling that she chose (?) to gut punch Vi to signal the end of their relationship.

well, i dont exactly know what made her make this decision. it looks like a momentary lashout based on rage. i think her rage comes from a place of betrayal, so she wants to make vi as hurt as that betrayal feels.

i actually think the "misunderstanding" thats happening here is very well written. clearly we as the audience see that caitlyn is becoming more and more unhinged. vi sees it as well. caitlyn might have missed the shot and killed a kid- her composure at that moment was very much shaken. most people, given this scenario, would choose to opt out. so to us, caitlyn being so insistent feels callous and irretional. which, it is. but lets look at it from caitlyn's perspective.

so, caitlyn feels a lot of guilt about the fact she didnt shoot jinx back at the dinner table. its very well established. she mainly blames herself, but i think a small subconscious part of her also blames vi- vi is the one who got her to hesitate, after all. the fact that she "messed up" last time and that caused so much grief and pain not only to herself, but to the 2 cities, makes her EXTREMELY determined to NEVER make that mistake again.

vi told caitlyn to not bring back up, so basically, theyre each other's only support. caitlyn agreed, that means that to her she put 100% of her trust in vi to help here and to have her back. vi told her, my sister is gone. when u have the chance, take the shot. caitlyn is convinced theyre on the same page here. so when vi turns on her, shes in utter disbelief, and she starts questioning whenever vi ever had HER best interest in mind.

thats why i think caitlyn is so obsessed with bringing up the idea of who's "side" vi is on. you could read it as "piltover vs zaun" but i think what she means is "me vs jinx". at the dinner party caitlyn didnt shoot because of vi, and she wonders whether or not the girl she sacrificed everything for would do the same for her.

and at that moment, after she missed her shots, again, because of vi, she comes to the realization that vi would never choose her over jinx. and she flips out.

now. thats how CAITLYN sees it, im pretty sure. we know there are other things at play that have affected vi's decision, and that caitlyn currently is not seeing the bigger picture. but that's what i think she felt that drew this severe of a reaction from her.

[surrealpanda]

p4 dump feat. souyo and the hardboiled look (best outfit in game)

glasses version of 2 below the cut

[voltaical-art]

some obligatory "i finally finished the game" Avernus trio doodles

[hitlikehammers]

Early November, 1984 and all Eddie wanted was to light up behind the Byers' place in peace🚬

he went all that way and all he got for it was a maybe-dead💀-but-definitely-unconscious-king👑-slash-maybe-babysitter(?), plus some shithead children directing his van🚐 to those fucking abandoned labs that may as well be lit up in neon lights screaming 🚨THIS IS A FUCKING TRAP🚨

Eddie shouldn’t be here. Like, not in a it’s forbidden kinda way, but more in a, there’s no real reason for him to fucking be here.

Save for the obvious.

It’s just…after the whole dead-not-dead thing with the youngest kiddo, the property around the Byers house has kinda turned into no-man’s-land; easy place to get high when Eddie wants a change of scenery, basically, with no one trying to break his nose, or call the pigs.

Or snatch his supply.

But when he hears that fuckface Hargrove call out, the tone on him—and Eddie’s real sensitive to tones, he can guess between the lines for everything he can’t read—he perks up; listens in. Stays put out of sight.

(And no, he does not cream his pants when Harrington calls back, Jesus; taunts like the cocky prick that he is—

And no it is not a close thing or…whatever.)

Point being: he hears more than sees what happens. Up to and including a gaggle of literal fucking children dragging Harrington toward wha Eddie thinks is Hargrove’s eyesore of a car, one of the sheepies crossing around like they’re planning on driving it, and Eddie’s not one for the rule of law or anything—definitely not if it’s Hargrove’s property that’s on the line—and fuck yes Eddie’s driven without a license, and far below the age to get one, but, but—

He’s tripping over himself to turn the keys in his own ignition and swinging the van around quick enough to kick up dirt before he leans over and throws open the passenger door.

“Hey,” he hisses, low but not quiet, he needs them to hear but he doesn’t know if Hargrove’s gonna storm out any second, it’s a delicate balance; “hey, get in,” and he’s crawling over the seat to open the back, too, to push things to the side to mostly leave it flat, tossing blankets to the middle with no care for their cleanliness because there’s no time for that shit, there’s no time and then he’s grabbing the hinges of the doors and flinging his whole top half around to eye this hoard of strange ankle-biters and what’s revealed quickly to be their still-weirdly-attractive-when-beat-to-shit charge in Steve Motherfucking Harrington, trying to project some degree of meaningful trustworthiness, because he is trustworthy, here and now, but they’re kinda in the fucking clock of crazy-eyes-Mc-West-Coast stumbling out of the house, so Eddie’s kinda gotta urge these rugrats with real feeling, waving his hands to the point where his fucking wrists hurt:

“Get in.”

And of course these little urchins still and just, raise a fucking eyebrow at him. Like they’re not working on an inexact sort of fucking timeline—

“Who the fuck are you?”

Yeesh. He wasn’t off when he said they were ankle biters; the little lambies have teeth.

“I just wanna help,” Eddie tries to say it with as much of the genuine concern that he really and truly feels, and not get weighed down with the probably-suspicious-off-the-bat vibe of pulling up in a random van just to start the exchange out with waving some strange kids into the back of it.

Jesus, that sounds terrible, wow, okay.

He gets it.

“No,” oddly, not the ringleader girl who eyed him first but it’s the curly headed boy now who stands up, squares his shoulders, and stares Eddie down with an only-slightly-less-menacing glare. “No, you’re not gonna hurt Steve.”

“I don’t want to hurt him, I swear,” Eddie’s honestly surprised by how unmuddled his tone bleeds put as desperate, versus irritated by this motley crew of munchkins trying to fight him when he is risking his own neck to help them.

And…King Steve, but then: can he be that motionless, hanging awkward from the noodles limbs of a handful of preteens (at most)?

“I just want to get you out of here, somewhere safe,” Eddie bites his lip, wonders where the fuck he intends to go and realizes he was probably just going to drive toward his home and hope for the best; “Er, somewhere safer than here,” and they don’t fucking budge, little assholes, and Harrington doesn’t fucking twitch, and just, just…

Ugh.

“Come on,” he urges them again, just shy of begging; lets how fucking nervous he’s getting seep clear into his tone a little, but he honestly doesn’t think he’d have convinced them to move if not for the crashing of something in the house behind them, and—well.

Nothing like impending doom to speed shit along.

“I wanted to drive,” the redhead’s muttering with a scowl as they heft the body they’re barely keeping off the ground and awkwardly feed Harrington head-first up to Eddie where where he’s crawled properly into the back of the van to help, and Eddie thinks these little fuckers just might be more wild and feral and insane even than he originally would have guessed for how they make to scramble behind their Steve; only just manages to steady and lower the royal body as careful as he can before the hoard clamors in and denies Eddie so much as a moment to press his finger under Steve Harrington’s flop of bloody hair and touch below his jawline where those stupidly infuriating moles of his speckle his skin, marks that Eddie’s hasn’t ever really paid attention to ever, nope, Eddie only needs now to assess whether he’s just accepted a dead fucking body into his van but: no.

Maybe a little sluggish, but pulse’s strong. Which: Eddie doesn’t care about past the legality of it all. Beyond getting saddled with a murder charge or some other bullshit.

No other reason. Of course. Yeah.

The only thing that floors him more than the Hardy Boys-plus-Girl on steroids tearing onto the cushions around where their unconscious charge is laid out, as Eddie shifts into gear and makes to get the fuck out of dodge, like, yesterday, is the even-louder voice in his head that asks probably the most pressing question:

The fuck did the King do, and how, and why, to make these children this loyal?

What follows all that is quite arguably—actually more than that; definitely a strong contender for—the most surprising thing that’s ever happened to Eddie. That could maybe ever possibly happen to Eddie, in any circumstance for any reason within any universal construct or reality. And he’d been really marinating in his Munson Doctrine this year, too, having been forced to reevaluate some shit after the letter arrived to hammer the most disappointing nail in the coffin of Eddie’s first senior year, but then…fuck everything, then there were the stupid little sheepies and their stupid gorgeous goddamn babysitter—which still, still: what the fuck was that, who the fuck even was Steve Harrington?—and Eddie’d barely even put the ink down to dry before all of them banded secretly together and shredded that motherfucking document before it could even properly take root in Eddie’s brain.

All while something else entirely started to take root in his chest, in his hea—

Well. Something. Something that wasn’t even remotely recognizable inside his most recent—and most polished to date, if he does say so himself—draft of the Doctrine like, at all.

Which is the point.

Because Harrington was indeed alive, and did indeed wake up, and clocked Eddie quicker than expected, even by name—Munson? What the fuck?and hell if that hadn’t fluttered between Eddie’s ribs an indefensible amount that no one would ever know about ever, thank you very much, but still: Jesus H. Christ—

But all his own humiliating discombobulation at the not-even-hands-just-voice-and-presence-of-the-golden-boy aside: it’s a damn good fucking thing Harrington wakes up, and is definitely not dead, because Eddie knows where the King lives, and he knows he’s not driving in that direction but had instead been foolish enough to give these shitweasel munchkins the benefit of the doubt here, like that there maybe was a safe house or some shit, fucking sue him, he was a little prepccupied, yeah—by the threat of a chase with that Hargrove fucker and then by the absolutely spectacle of Harrington screeching at the wayward waifs like a harried mother at the stovetop, because fuck, but Eddie nearly crashes them into three ditches and at least five trees for for trying to watch and he can’t even pretend otherwise—but the end result is definitely not a fucking safe house, and these little asshats have directed him in the wholeass wrong direction, if the undeniable fact of the old abandoned labs at the edge of town looming big through his windshield, looking at least slightly less abandoned (as if that’s not goddamn terrifying in and of itself), what the fuck has he literally driven into, is he an accomplice, and to what, and just, just Jesus—

“Hey.”

Eddie is honestly wholly jolted out of his spiral for a lot of reasons, here. The low tenor exhale of a sound in a voice too kind and open and invested, to much like music given what it does to Eddie, what music means to Eddie and what this voice shouldn’t fucking mean too straight out the goddamn gate. The proximity of a body close enough to feel the warmth of each breath. The indefensible feeling of it being nearly erotic out of nowhere and with no justification at all—just the reality of Eddie’s world right now, to feel the barest brush of the side of a body alongside his, leaning forward where he’s still in the driver’s seat. All of that would tip his world at the very least into a different sort of spiral pattern, breathless in a completely other way.

But.

What knocks Eddie hardest and most effectively in one go is the hand on his shoulder, braced to comfort and steady, and the realization in the flesh of how fucking big it is, how the span of that palm, those fingers, because Eddie knew those hands looked big, not that he’d studied them with any real…attention or anything but feeling them was something entirely other, and the touch, the touch is…is—

“Hey,” and Harrington’s breath is close enough then to tickle Eddie’s hair, goddamn: “breathe.”

And where Eddie hadn’t been wholly aware that he wasn’t, y’know, doing the breathing thing so well, either for the absolute insanity of the evening or the ominous spread, all proper D&D-style foreshadowing of nope don’t go there not now not ever waiting where these menaces had directed him to drive; but whatever the reason, where Eddie now takes a gulp of air in now that fucking burns, there’s Harrington, leaning over a little more, a second hand on Eddie chest to steady him as he falls all while he’s fucking squeezing Eddie’s shoulder, only a second before he’s getting ready to jump out of the van like he wasn’t just beaten unconscious like, five fucking minutes ago.

What the actual flying fuck.

If Eddie weren’t a goddamn idiot, he’d put the van in reserve before anyone could get out the back, fuck the way they’ll be thrown against the sides, at least they won’t be walking—willingly—into whatever the fuck’s waiting, all angry red and kinda…pulsating in the distance in a way that may or may not be a trick of his own paranoid mind, and then spewing little glowing motes into the air like lightning bugs.

Which could be charming, if it weren’t way fucking past the season for that shit.

And in fairness, the whole experience of Steve Harrington touching him and leaning close and breathing near him and telling him to breathe? That shit does carry him through—mostly—the hours that will follow, cliche and genuinely fucking embarrassing as it is, as it will be, to acknowledge at all.

But in the now—

“Thanks, man.”

And…oh, well, fuck.

As in point number one: that hand—bothhands—really are distracting as all hell but then also, simultaneously, very much point number two:

What the actual fuck.

“What?”

Apparently sending Eddie-usually-eloquent-enough-to-spin-some-pretty-bullshit-on-demand-Munson reeling outta nowhere is this fucker’s MO. Probably for the best that Eddie’s been writing him off as a pretty airhead for years now—if for nothing more than his own sanity.

Or else, like…relatively speaking.

“You got us here,” Harrington gestures out the window and…yeah.

“Here?”

That’s the relative part. And the insane part to be thanked for. Because where they’ve ended up is definitely the DoE labs that were supposed to have shut down or whatever, after people disappeared and came back and disappeared again and also didn’t and were never gone and fake bodies and whatever.

No one thanks anyone for bringing them to a place like this.

“And it’s more than I could have asked someone to do,” Harrington’s going on like it’s a casual thing, a favor like walking his goddamn dog and not more like what’s actually staring them down inside the fencing, namely the building that doesn’t look as abandoned as advertised by half, and definitely doesn’t at all look like the only thing it’s missing is a big neon sign blinking TRAP! FREE TRAP! IN THE MARKET FOR A QUICK PAINFUL DEMISE AT THE HANDS OF THE WORLD’S SHITTIEST TAINT FACTORY EAST OF ARMPIT-IAPOLIS? STEP RIGHT UP! ALSO REMINDER: CLEARLY A TRAP!

“Harrington,” Eddie doesn’t love the way his voice trips over a bonafide gulp. “Steve.”

He also doesn’t love how much feeling sneaks into that part because one, where the fuck’d that even come from and two, he…

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever said this guy’s first name out loud. As in…ever.

He doesn’t love how nice it feels, how scary but bubbly-warm it tingles at the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach.

So there’s all of that.

Still set inescapably under the threat of the non-existent-but-no-less-real-neon-sign-of-death and…stuff.

“We know what we’re doing,” Steve’s pats Eddie’s shoulder again, moves the hand from his chest like he’s pulling away, like he’s leaving to go toward the trap and Eddie whips his head around just in time to catch Steve shrug sheepishly and add:

“Like, mostly.”

It is not at all lost on Eddie, how Steve doesn’t even try to sidestep that he’s walking into the gaping maw of probably death, here.

That might be the most terrifying part of this yet.

“I could,” Eddie’s voice is a crackle, so he tries clearing his throat, licking his lips; “I could at least try to help.”

That comes out a little stronger, but not steadier, and he doesn’t really think he’s making his point very well at all.

But then there’s Steve, and his hand back full on Eddie’s shoulder, saying:

“You could,” like he believes that; “and we’d be grateful,” added in like he means that too.

And most unbelievable of all of it, what he tacks on last with a squeeze of his hand and a lower pitch for no reason Eddie can figure save to catch inside the clench of his pulse so it takes to jittering like fucking mad as the King himself exhales:

“I’d be grateful.”

And what the fuck does that mean, said with eyes so bright when the night’s so dark?

And what the fuck does it mean when Eddie’s heartbeat starts jittering, a butterfly between cupped hands, until:

“I need you to be safe though,” and the words have physical form, brush Eddie’s frizzled curls straight behind his ear like…tenderness, delicate.

What. The. Fuck.

Eddie blames the way his heart goes form butterfly to battering ram, ready to crack through his ribs for no reason save a feeling he can’t justify, but’s too real to pretend away as less when he half-fucking-moans:

“What about you?”

Because Steve’s shepherding the kiddos. He’s keeping Eddie on the sidelines, safe. He’s charging into battle with a handkerchief and a bat and a goddamn pair of rubber gloves found from somewhere, sticking out his back pocket like he’s flagging in day-glo, holy hell—

But who takes care of Steve?

“I’ll see you at school,” Steve winks, leans this time to bump one shoulder straight to Eddie’s and then he’s jumping out the back of the van, and he’s moving too fast and—

“Harrington,” Eddie calls, suddenly forgetting he’d ever been trying to keep quiet, to avoid attention of whatever they’re going out to face, Hargrove or harbingers of worker fates, or both at once; “fuck, fuck,” he hissed as he trips over shit that got shifted back in his way as he stumbles to the doors and yells:

“Steve!”

And it’s like maybe saying his name does something to Steve himself, too, because he pauses, and even for the distance, the little curve of his lips isn’t a smirk, it’s a smile.

It’s fucking beautiful.

And then he’s saluting cockily before he turns on his heel with just one last parting shot;

“See you on the other side, Munson.”

And the tunnels beyond only let him watch so long, see so far. The weird shit in the air, and the bandanas he can see a scuffle over, to make sure they’re tied over noses and mouths, lit by weird pulsing colors, obscene squelching noises he can hear the echoes of even this far back and just, just…

Typical eldritch fuckery from a monster manual.

That doesn’t belong in real life.

It’s a fucking trap, Admiral. Good fucking god.

And Jesus H. Christ, but Eddie hadn’t even had the chance to light up tonight as he’d planned, as he’d explicitly driven out to do.

For fuck’s sake.

>>>part two 💚

For @miraculousmultifan, who requested Post-S2; 'Now, I’m not going to deny that I was aware of your beauty. But the point is, this has nothing to do with your beauty. As I got to know you, I began to realise that beauty was the least of your qualities. I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—very late, obviously, and MID-S2, rather than post but it ENDS UP being post-S2, promise 🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yesdangerpls @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

divider credit here

[quibbs126]

These have been my drawings since yesterday, more of the AU of mine

Eventually I realized “wait, I just want to draw Megatron and Optimus in this AU. And it’s my AU, I can just draw what I want”. So that’s why this is just these two

It’s not that I don’t want to expand the AU, and I know I should draw more characters for it, and I probably will at some point. But I had a moment of realization that I can just do what I want, and I’m being indulgent

But yeah, so we got some poses and weapons for Megatron and Optimus, plus a couple little tweaks and enhancements to their designs. I did forget the top line on Megatron’s buster in the top left though. And that axe of Optimus needs some tweaking, and I need to learn how to draw it better. And how people hold axes

But Optimus has his axe here, which is supposed to contrast with Elita’s axe. It hasn’t been drawn either but she’s supposed to have a large double-sided axe, while Optimus has a smaller, only one-sided axe. I’m thinking he shares some of X’s mentality in that he’s not the most fond of fighting the infected bots, and him having a smaller, more utilitarian axe is supposed to reflect that. Also I mean, it’s his typical weapon

Anyways, moving down to the bottom right since it’s also new stuff, I’ve been wondering for a bit on what these guys would look like without their helmets, so that’s what this was. Sketch only because it wasn’t supposed to be at the level of the other three

The page was supposed to be more sketches, but I liked the first one and two so much I fully colored them, and the third followed suit. I used the Syrup pen this time, I think it worked better than the marker in this instance

But back to the head things. With Megatron, I was debating whether I wanted to do cables or his solar panel things. But while attempting the cables, I realized they’d be a pain to draw, so solar panels it is. They too are not drawn well, but it was more to get the idea of them. They fold and such like the ones he has in IDW

Optimus meanwhile I have decided is bald. Well okay, it’s supposed to look more like the thing Cyborg has going on in Teen Titans, it just doesn’t come off as well in sketch form, with also a port for charging in the back

I did this partially because I like the Cyborg look, because it’s funny to me, and also because I genuinely don’t know if X, unlike Rock, has hair or not under his helmet. This is following my assumption that he does not

Also I drew them sleeping with their helmets on before, but this was before I considered if their helmets were removable or not, so ignore that

Oh and one last thing, with these helmet-less designs, I think I've given up on the idea of them having hair. It's just that most characters I can't see having visible hair under their helmets. I think I like the concept, but I just don't know how to give them hair

But also with the two heads, I feel like there’s supposed to be a difference in Megatron’s mechanics compared to other bots. I’m not sure I’ve gotten into it, but I think I’m going with the idea that since he takes some narrative inspiration from Zero, and Zero was built by Dr Wily, thus making him entirely different from the other Reploids, Megatron too has mechanics unique to himself compared to other bots

I’m thinking that in some ways, his body is more rudimentary seeming, such as how he has clunkier looking solar panels (even if that means he doesn’t need external charging sources), or how his arm cannon isn’t retractable, whereas other bots with transforming weapon limbs can retract them at will

I haven’t really gotten around to figuring out why he has different mechanics than the rest of the bots, or why the virus made him docile, or why he’s the source of the virus. I mean it’s most likely because whoever created him built him to be this way, but I don’t know who did. It’s just that I’m taking from Zero and Wily, despite Transformers not really working in that method. I mean, I did say here that Alpha Trion created both Optimus and Elita, but I don't know who fits for creating Megatron

But oh well, things to figure out another time

Moving on to the top left finally, yeah like I think I've said elsewhere, megop's definitely a thing here. It's my AU, I can do what I want

I do still need to work on posing with two characters, but I think it turned out pretty nice

They are both supposed to blush blue, since that's a thing Transformers do, and it was supposed to both be circle blush, but I didn't like how it looked on Megs, so he squiggle blushes now. I have elected that they just have various forms of blushing, between everyone. Optimus has circles, and also his nose blushes slightly too, because I don't know, he doesn't have ears. His antennae are also supposed to be flapping here as well

His gem is also supposed to be shining brighter in that moment, with me deciding their gems get shinier when they're happy, and duller when they're sad or otherwise filled with negative emotions. Because why not?

Oh yeah, I'm also not sure what I'm doing about faction symbols here. They don't have them because initially I didn't plan on there being Autobots and Decepticons, but they should probably have symbols, since they are part of an organization. But should it be the same Autobot symbol or should I switch it up? I'm not sure

And I think that's about it? I think I've gotten through everything relevant to this page of stuff

I've been planning on drawing full body refs for individual characters here, I just haven't done so yet, in part because I wanted to figure out Optimus' axe first. But yeah, hopefully I end up doing that, in my head they're all official and proper looking, like I actually made something of effort and not just sketches on a white canvas. We'll just see when I do

Other things I plan on drawing for the AU? I'm not sure entirely, just some ideas, like drawing Alpha Trion so I can figure out his whole deal with Optimus and Elita, and maybe also trying to figure out the Prime situation since I don't want Alpha Trion as one and I think I might just make them all their own things outside of the Thirteen Primes, at least of the ones I choose to use. But that also means trying to figure out his design. I also need to draw Elita more, because while I have some basics of her design, there's details that I've not settled on and need to get around to fixing. And also I should probably try my hands at the Decepticons again. No clue what to do for Shockwave though, since Reploids tend to have human faces

[teenytinyapprentice]

LBMR week: day 3 - chills

quick smoke break (someone forgot their coat)

[whatwooshkai]

Lucky Number 7!

"Designation?"

"Chase."

Chase keeps his finials pinned flat against his helm, doorwings wide and fanned to keep the bot behind him from getting too close, which they have been for the past five minutes.

He has a vibroknife in his subspace. He'd rather not use it- you can only make a first impression once.

The femme flips through a datapad until her optics go wide. "Oh," she murmurs, the dangling jewelry from her finials making a loud ting! when they flatten to her helm. "Oh, you're one of those. Hang on."

Chase's optic twitches. He is normally very good at keeping his emotions in check, and no one who knows him has ever seen his temper, and that's the way he wants to keep it.

But if one more bot refers to him as "one of those" he's going to do something stupid.

Chase hates doing stupid things.

"Okay, I got you right here!" The femme gives him a sheepish smile as she hands over a pair of keycards. "There was an issue with organizing the dorms this year. Normally you'd be put with other bots in your track but you ended up in the randomized group, so you'll be staying with a few bots from other tracks. That's not a problem, is it?"

Chase's finials lift slightly away from his helm. "That is fine," he says, accepting the cards. That is... probably for the best, actually. "Thank you."

"No problem!" the femme says brightly. "So you're in room 704. Elevators are on your left. Next!"

Chase shuffles away from the table, readjusting the bag he has slung over his shoulder, eyeing the key cards in his hand.

Primus, when was the last time he met new people?

The elevator is blessedly empty when he steps inside, and so is the hallway as he follows it down to his room. Well, he was in one of the last groups to check in, so that's expected.

The door has four slots for name tags, as all of the ones in this hallway do. Only two have been filled in so far, for mechs "Boulder" and "Heatwave". Both have little drawings on them, one better than the other's. However, both seem to have identical handwriting... interesting.

So it seems only two have checked in. Maybe he'll have a choice of berth, then.

Chase swipes the key card and gently opens the door.

There's two sets of bunk berths, a desk in front and behind each one. None seem to have been claimed, but on the left, there's a bag tossed on the top bunk and a few posters plastered up already, and some blankets and pillows piled up. And on the left, there's a bag on the bottom bunk, and-

Oh. He's being glared at.

"Another one?" the mech mutters, green optics narrowed at Chase. He's orange a white, with a scar cutting down through one optic. He looks about Chase's age. "'Oh, we'll get you your own room, Blades'! my aft. Mechs walking in every five minutes," he huffs.

Chase frowns. "The attitude is hardly appropriate," he says, and the mech's optics suddenly go wide, as if he thought Chase couldn't hear him.

He mutters something unintelligible and then turns over on his side, revealing a pair of rotors. A flight frame, then.

Blades. His name wasn't on the door.

Chase looks around at the other bags. So his choice has been made for him, then. As usual.

He sets his bag down on the berth to the left, projecting his calendar up on the wall. And then he sits.

He's not really sure what to do now. Conversation is not really an option, what with the less-than-warm welcome, and he has no need to explore the city he grew up in.

Well, that’s a bit of a stretch. He mostly grew up in various facilities around the city, but he spent enough time out on the streets to know it.

Besides… he’d really rather not risk running into his batch. Not alone, at least.

Even though his coding cries for them, his frame hurts without them, he couldn’t get out of berth for several days after they were officially separated-

He’s better now. He has to be better.

He’s never had to try and make new friends. He’s never had to make friends, period. Chase can’t remember the last time he met someone new before this week.

But it can’t be that hard, can it? Sure, this Blades is… hostile… but maybe the others are a little more friendly!

Speaking of- someone decides to kick the door open at that very moment.

Blades looks up, and slight relief teeks through his field as he lies back down. So one of the mechs on the door, then.

Heatwave, he imagines- only because the mech is hot.

He stops a few feet from Chase once he lays optics on him, but Chase can feel the heat he gives off from here. That has to be unnatural, surely. Even Ultra Magnus, the largest mech he’s ever met, did not give off that much heat.

Beyond the odd temperature, the mech looks friendly enough. He’s red, with bright and warm yellow optics, and twin scars cutting up one cheek. In his arms are a plethora of cubes and energon sweets, several shoved in his mouth as well.

He mumbles something Chase can’t make out around the food in his mouth, then tosses a cube at Blades. The flight frame mutters some kind of thanks, and the mech turns back to Chase.

He shuffles his items into one arm and offers a hand to Chase. He once again speaks, presumably introducing himself, but Chase can’t understand a word he says.

He takes his hand and shakes it. “You really shouldn’t speak with your mouth full,” he says.

Yellow optics narrow at him. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” he snaps. There’s a thick accent there that the universal translator is doing its best to suppress. “I asked for your name.”

Chase’s doorwings flick and the mech’s optics only follow them for a second before training on Chase’s face again. “Chase,” he says. “I will have to ask you for yours again, I did not understand you. Also, please let go of my hand.”

“Heatwave.” A correct guess, then. Chase’s doorwings raise slightly, but Heatwave’s gaze doesn’t shift to them again. Instead, he keeps his optics trained on Chase’s face, who looks away from the optic contact. He does release Chase’s hand, though. “You should check out the mess hall,” he says, moving his quarry back to both arms. “Never seen so much fuel in my life.”

Chase watches him in mild fascination as he figures out how to climb the ladder of the bunk without dropping any of the cubes, and from there Chase can’t see what he does with them.

So he’s expected to go collect his own ration. Good to know.

…He should be trying to make more conversation, right? Blades might be a lost cause but Heatwave at least introduced himself.

He just… doesn’t know what to do from here. Should he ask what track Heatwave is in? He can guess, from the paint job, but would Heatwave even entertain that? He’s sure he knows what Chase is here for, and has thankfully not said anything derogatory about it… yet.

It’s not wrong to expect it to happen eventually, right?

Then he realizes something. “Where are the washracks?”

Heatwave leans out over the top of the bunk. “Hallway.”

Chase frowns. “Why?”

“What, never been in a communal wash rack before?” Heatwave asks, an oddly aggressive tone to his voice. “This ain’t no prissy enforcer academy, Chase. You’ll hafta get used to other mechs in your space.”

Oh, that accent is really coming out now. Chase wishes he could place it. “It is not a problem,” he growls, though it is… not ideal. The idea of sharing washracks with anyone other than his batch makes his plating crawl. He doesn’t appreciate the attitude, though.

“Whatever you say.” Heatwave leans back.

Okay. So far, his roommates are violently antisocial and rude. Wonderful.

It is now that the fourth roommate decides to show themselves, and Chase braces himself for the worst.

They gently push the door open, holding a datapad. They’re green and far more heavyset than any of the others, though Heatwave comes close. Blue optics widen at him. “Hello,” they say, in very thickly accented Common.

No universal translator, then. Interesting.

“Hello,” Chase says back, offering his hand. “Chase.”

“Boulder.” So that’s all four. Good. “I am… stop by for my datapad. Good to meet you.”

“And you.” Primus almighty, Chase wishes he’d met someone who wasn’t Iaconian before today, because all these new accents, and he can’t place a single one. Maybe if he knew what their mother language is, he could speak to them better? “If you speak in your native language, I can still understand it,” Chase says, tapping his throat.

“I know,” Boulder says. “But I like to make the effort.”

“Okay.”

Boulder turns away from him and grabs the datapad from their bag, before offering everyone a wave and leaving again.

Chase sits down on his berth again. Boulder seems nice.

…This might not be so bad.