#born armored and toothed up

[lord-prey]

Fucked up pixie

[heron-knight]

decided to crack open my skull and pour the contents of my brain onto the keyboard. thought the denizens of tumblr might enjoy it. bon appetite

Mech Pilot Care guide

You never expect it, do you. Even as you see the flashes of pulse-decay fire in the sky, illuminating a scene of violence on the cosmic scale. Planetary defense satellites forming Monolithic structures in the sky, their purpose now revealed as they scatter constellations of destruction across the night horizon, drowning out the stars and replacing them with ones born of death. The oxygen in a ship catching fire and burning away in an instant, a flash of light that marks the death of its crew of hundreds. Even if you take your telescope to watch this spectacle, this war in a place without screams, you still feel profoundly disconnected from it. Even as you see a pilot cleave through a drone hive with a fusion blade, the molten metal glistening in the light of the explosions around it, scattering without gravity to the corners of the universe, even as two mechs dance across the sky, their reactors pouring into the engines enough energy to power the house atop which you sit for ten thousand years, flying in a 3.5 dimensional dance with only one word to the song that can reach across the vacuum: “I Will Kill You.” you don’t feel even the slightest glimpse of what goes on inside their minds. You don’t feel the neurological feedback tearing across the brain-computer interface, filling her mind with more simultaneous pain and elation that an unmodified human could ever experience. You don’t feel it as the pneumatic lance punctures through steel and nanocarbon polymer, the mech AI sending floods of a sensation you could never truly know through the skull and into every corner of the body carried on enhanced nerves for every layer of armor punctured, tearing into the enemy chassis with a desire beyond anything the flesh can provide. Let the stars kill each other. After all, I am safe on earth. No, you don’t expect it when the star is hit with a sub-relativistic projectile, piercing through both engines in an instant. You don’t expect it to fall. You never would have expected it to land, the impact nearly vaporizing the soil and setting trees aflame, on the hill beyond your house, and you would never have expected, beneath the layers of cooling slag, for the life-support indicator light to still be visible.

All the fire extinguishers in your house, your old plasma cutter that you haven’t used in years, and whatever medical supplies you think they might still be able to benefit from. All that on a hoverbike, speeding at 120 kilometers per hour through the valley and up onto the hill, still illuminated by the battle above, unsurprisingly unchanged by this new development. 200 meters. 100 meters. You don’t know how much time you’ve got. It wasn’t exactly covered in school, how long a pilot can survive in an overheating frame. You’ve heard rumors, of course, of what these things that used to be human have become. That they don’t eat and barely need air. That they don’t feel any desire beyond what instructions are pumped directly into their brains. Not so much of a person as much as an attack dog. It’s understandably a bit concerning, as if they are alive, then it’s not guaranteed that you will be. Three fire extinguishers later, the surface of the mech is mostly solid, and the cutter slices through the exterior plating. With a satisfying crunch, the cockpit is forced open, revealing the pilot, and confirming a few of the rumors, while refuting others. Pilots, it seems, are not quite emotionless. In fact, there seems to be genuine fear on its face when it sees you, followed by… a sort of grim certainty as it opens its mouth, moves its jaw into a strange position, and you only have half a second to react before it would have bitten down with all its force on the tooth that seemed to be made of a different material then all the rest.

Your thumb is definitely bleeding, and is caught between a metamaterial-based dental implant, and one containing a military-grade neurotoxin. You’re not sure exactly why you did it. The pilot looks at you for a second, before the tubes that attach to its arms like puppet strings run out of stimulants, and it passes out after who knows how long without sleep. This battle has been going on for weeks already. Has it been fighting that long? Its various frame-tethered implants disconnect easily, the unconscious pilot draped over your shoulder twitching slightly with each one you remove. It’s a much longer ride back to the house. Avoiding having the pilot fall off the bike is the top priority, and the injured thumb stings in the fast-moving air. 

An internet search doesn’t lead to many helpful sources to the question of “there is a mech pilot on my couch, what do I do?” a few articles about how easy targets retired pilots are for the “doll sellers,” a few military recruitment ads, and a couple near-incomprehensible legal documents full of words like “proprietary technology” or “instant termination.” However, there is one link, a few rows down from the top-- “Mech Pilot Care Guide.” It’s a detailed list, arranged in numbered steps. The website has no other links on it, just the step-by-step instructions: a quick read reveals that this isn’t going to be easy, but looking at the unconscious pilot, unabsorbed chemicals dripping from the ports in its arms and head onto the mildly bloodstained towel, you come to the conclusion that there’s no other option.

Step one: the first 24 hours.

The first thing you should know is that pilots aren’t used to sleeping. They’re used to being put under for transport and storage, but after the neural augmentations and years of week-long battles sustained by stimulants that would fry the brain of anyone that still has an intact one, they’ve more or less forgotten what real sleep is. If they see you asleep, they’ll think you’re dead, so don’t try to let them stay in your room yet. Once you’ve removed the neurotoxin from the tooth (it breaks easily with a bit of applied pressure, but be careful not to let any fall into their mouth or onto your skin.), start by moving them into a chair (preferably a recliner or gaming chair, as the mech seat is about halfway in between), and putting a heavy blanket over them. Don’t worry, they don’t need as much air as normal humans do, and can handle high temperatures up to a point. This is an environment similar to the one they’re used to. It’ll stay like this for about 12 hours-- barely breathing, trembling slightly underneath the blanket. Feel free to check if it’s alive every few hours, not that you could help it if it wasn’t. It won’t freak out when it wakes up. In fact, it doesn’t seem like they can. Turn down the lights and remove the blanket from its face. It’ll stare blankly at you, trying to evaluate the situation with a brain that’s not connected to a computer that’s bigger than they are anymore. Coming to terms, if you could call it that, with the fact that it isn’t dead. Don’t expect it to start reacting to things for a while yet, give it a couple hours. 

It’s been a bit, and its eyes are starting to focus on you. The next thing you should know is this: pilots only have two groups into which they can categorize non-pilots: handler and enemy. You need to work on making sure you’re in the right one. Move slowly, standing up and walking toward them, making sure they can see where you’re going to step. Place both hands on their shoulders, then slide one under their arm and carefully pick them up. Don’t be startled by how light they are, or how they still shake slightly as they realize their arms don’t have anything connected to them. Most importantly, don’t break. Don’t reflect on how something can be done to a person so that this is all that’s left. Just focus on rotating them as if you’re inspecting all the brain-computer interface ports, while holding them at half an arm’s length. Set them back down, wrap the blanket around them, then lean in close and say “status report.” they won’t say anything, as they usually upload the data via interface, but what’s important is that now they recognise you as their handler. Their entire mind will be focused on the fact that they exist now to do what you want. Now it’s up to you to prove them wrong.

Step two: the first week.

They’re shaking so hard that you’ve had to move them from the chair back to the couch, sweating heavily as they pant like the dog they’ve been trained to think they are. This was to be expected, really. Pilots are constantly being filled with a mix of stimulants, painkillers, and who knows what else, and you’ve just cut them off completely. You’ve woken up several times in the night and rushed to check if they’re still breathing, debating whether you should try to tell them that they’re going to be okay. The guide says they’re not ready for that yet, whatever that means. They’re still wearing the suit you found them in, made from nanofiber mesh and apparently recycling nutrients and water before re-infusing them intravenously. It’s been three days since you tore them out of the lump of metal atop the hill outside. Long enough that the suit’s battery, apparently, has run out. You lift them gently from the couch and carry them to the bathroom. The shower’s been on for the past hour or so, meaning the temperature should be high enough. You set them on their chair, which you’ve rolled there from the living room and covered with a towel. Removing the suit normally isn’t done except in between missions, and it’s only done to exchange it for a new one. Without the proper tools, you’ve opted for a pair of scissors. Cutting through the suit takes a bit of time, but you manage to cut a sizable line from the neck down to the front to the bottom of the torso. The pilot recoils slightly from the cold metal against their skin, but you manage to peel off the suit without incident, The Temperature of which was roughly the same as the steam filling the room, and you’ve done your best to minimize air currents. They’ve got a bit more shape to them than you expected of someone who’s been so heavily modified. Perhaps what little fat storage it provides helps on longer missions, or perhaps this is for the purposes of marketing. Just another recruitment ad that appeals to baser instincts. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Using a cloth with the least noticeable texture possible, you wash off as much sweat and dead skin as you can, avoiding the various interface and IV ports, as you’re not yet sure that they’re waterproof. Embarrassment is the enemy of efficiency, so you’re slightly glad that their eyes never completely focus on you. They shift their weight slightly, however. Despite the difficulty moving with their current symptoms, they lean in the direction opposite the places you wash once you're done, allowing you to more easily access the places you haven’t got to yet. An act of trust that you have a suspicion they weren't “programmed” to do.  As they dry out, you prepare for the difficult part. You take the blanket that previously wrapped around their suit, and gently touch a corner of it to their shoulder. Pilots are used to an amount of sensory  information that would overload any normal human in an instant, but most rarely experience textures against their skin. After about half an hour, they’re used to it enough that you’re able to replace what’s left of the suit with it, and after another you’re able to wrap them in it again. You carry them back to the couch, and place a few of your old shirts next to their hand. They pick one and touch it with one finger before recoiling slightly. Eventually, they’ll be used to at least one of them enough that they can wear it. It’s slow progress, but it’s progress.

Step 3: food

It goes without saying that it’s usually been at least a year since they’ve eaten anything. The augmentations scooped out much of their knowledge on how to survive as a human, assuming that they would die before ever needing to be one again. Start them off with just flavors. Give them a chance to pick favorites by giving them a wide selection and firmly telling them to try all of them. Avoid anything solid for the first month or so, both because they can’t digest it and because they associate chewing with their self-destruct mechanism. Trying to and surviving might make them think the “mission’s fully compromised” and attempt to improvise. They’ll typically pick out favorites quickly with their enhanced senses, so once they’ve sampled everything, tell them to pick one. Remember it, not in order to use it as a reward or anything, but them still being able to have a “favorite” anything is something you should keep in mind for later. 

Use a similar method anytime they become able to handle the next level of solidity. Don’t be alarmed if one of their favorite foods is the meat that’s most similar to humans (such as pork.) they’re not going to eat you, they just will have already formed an association between that flavor and the moment they went from being a weapon to living in your house. Don’t worry about your thumb getting infected, by the way. Pilots barely have a microbiome.

Step 4: entertainment:

Roll them over to your computer and give them access to your game library. No, really. They need enrichment, and there’s only one activity that they’re able to enjoy at the moment. A simulation of it will make the shift from weapon to guest easier. Start them off with an FPS with a story. Don’t go multiplayer, as your account may get banned for being suspected of using aimbots. Watch as they progress the story. The military left pilots with just enough of a personality to allow them to improvise, and that should be enough for them to make decisions on this level. They won’t do much character customization, but keep an eye on which starting character body shape they pick. No pilot would consciously think they have enough of a “Self” to still have a gender, but keep track of the ones they pick in the games. As for the one you’ve found, it appears that she’s got a player-character preference. You even saw her nudge one of the appearance sliders before clicking “start game.” Whether this means that a pilot doesn’t think of themselves as “it” or that it means there’s still enough of their mind left for them to know there’s more to themselves than the body they have, it’s a handy bit of information to know. Some pilots might have had this decision influenced by their handlers having referred to them as “she” in the way it refers to boats, but still, on some level they always know that “it” meant that they’re a weapon. 

Step 6: outside:

There’s a profound difference between experiencing the world through information fed directly into your brain and standing up for the first time, wandering around the room and investigating with hands not made of a half-ton of metal. She’s not used to feeling the air on her skin as she stands in front of the window, visual data coming from two eyes instead of seven cameras. It’ll take a while to get used to it again. New old data, reminiscent of a time before she’s been trained not to remember. It’ll take a while until she’s walking like a human and not a mech, as the muscles used are different, and the ones to hold herself upright haven’t been used in a while. She’s going to fall down at least once. Be sure you’re standing next to her when it happens, as pilots that fall aren’t trained to think they can get back up. It’s worth it, though, when she opens the door herself and strides into the yard, still wobbly but standing. Be careful not to let her look into the sun, partially because it looks nearly identical to the barrel of a pulse-decay blaster milliseconds before it fires. She would get hurt trying to dodge it. It will be somewhat confusing for her, standing on a hill as she once did, but not contained within a 12-meter metal chassis. A feeling of being small and alone without the voices of the computer. This means it’s time for step seven.

Step 7: 

All this time, and any idea that she’s still a person has, for her, been subconscious. Any thought of humanity is stopped when it slams into the wall of her handlers and mech AIs reminding her for years before now that she is a weapon. She’ll still ask for your permission before doing just about anything, and that’s just the rare times that she’ll do something you don’t tell her to. Even after you’ve moved her into your room, she’ll still try to sleep on the floor. She still thinks that beds are only for humans. Kneel next to her as she curls into a ball on the ground, assuming that’s what she’s supposed to do. Expect her to try to move down to the foot of the bed after you set her down on it. Gently move her back up until her head’s on the pillow. Sit on the edge of the bed, and hold out your hand to her. After a bit, she’ll take it, wrapping both hands around it and tracing her fingers along the scar on your thumb. Lie down next to her, an arm’s length apart. Place your other hand on her forearm, then slide it up her arm to her shoulder. Don’t move too quickly, and don’t surprise her. Whisper softly but audibly every movement you’re going to make in advance. Move in a bit closer, until you’re wrapped in her arms. Mech pilots aren’t used to this. They aren't used to feeling someone next to them. Not above them, but next to them, getting exactly as much out of this as they are. Even after several months, many won’t admit they deserve it. You wouldn’t waste time lying next to a gun. So why do they feel so strongly that they don’t want you to leave? Why do they hold on tighter? They often feel they’re doing something wrong. Overstepping a boundary. There’s a rift between what they want and what they’re told they can want that nearly tears their mind in half, and it hurts. No normal human will ever know how much it hurts them to think they’ve broken some instruction, that they feel things they aren’t allowed to. Nobody said it was easy, learning how to become human again. Tell her it’s okay. That she’s allowed to feel this way. She still won’t know why. It’s time to tell her. The guide can’t tell you what to say, only that you have to say it. It has to come from you. You have to be the one that tells her what she is underneath all the modifications. It’s time, say it.

“Do you feel that? Do you feel your heart start to beat faster as it presses up against mine? Do you feel your own breath against your skin after it reflects off my shoulder? Do you feel your muscles start to tighten as I slide my hand across them, then relax because you know it means that you are safe? It’s because you’re alive. Because despite everything, you’re still alive. Still someone left after all the changes, all the augmentations. And I know you’re someone because you are someone that likes food a bit spicier than most would prefer. Someone that closes her eyes and gets lost in music whenever it’s playing. Someone that added that one piece of customization to her character, even though they would wear a helmet for most of the game and nobody would know it was there but you. Maybe you aren’t the same person you were before. Maybe they did take some things from you that nothing can give back. But you’re still someone. Someone that people can still care about, and I know because I do.”

You can feel her tears drip down onto your neck as she pulls you closer. She tries to say something, but you can’t understand what. You tell her it’s okay. That it’s not easy, and that she doesn’t have to pretend that it is. Not for you, and not for anyone anymore. She doesn’t have to be useful anymore. No need to keep it together. All that matters is that she’s alive. 

There’s another battle going on in the night sky outside. The same flashes of light you saw the night you stopped living alone, even if the other person couldn’t admit that they were one yet. She still flinches at the brighter bursts of pulse-decay fire, still stretches out her hand on reflex to prime a pneumatic lance that isn’t there. But she knows it’s not her, it’s just a ghost of the weapon that died when it hit the ground. You can feel her relax as she realizes this, moving her hand back to dry her face before reaching out towards yours. You hadn’t noticed the tears on your own face. You place your hand on hers as she wipes the corner of your eye. Outside and above, the war continues on a cosmic scale, so far apart from where you both are now that you barely notice it. Let the stars kill each other. After all, the one before you has already fallen, and she doesn’t have to return to the sky. Together, you are safe on earth. 

[maybe-im-dark]

The Subtle Art of Fashion: Logan vs. Victor

Okay, let’s talk about the iconic contrast in style between Logan and Victor. It’s honestly a whole essay on character psychology in itself.

1. Logan’s “Rugged Simplicity” 🪓

Despite being born into a wealthy family, Logan lives in flannel, denim, and leather—clothes that are tough, reliable, and low-maintenance. It’s like he’s actively rejecting the life of privilege he was born into. For him, it’s not about looking “put together”; it’s about clothes that can withstand the blood, sweat, and tears of a chaotic life. That beat-up leather jacket? The threadbare flannel? They’re his armor and the comfort of knowing he doesn’t need anything fancy. Logan’s clothes scream practicality over pride. This guy just wants to get through the day without his shirt ripping during a fight.

2. Victor’s “Luxury Escape” 🥂

Now, Victor was born into nothing—a life of poverty and neglect. So, of course, he’s drawn to the finer things in life. Fine silk shirts, perfectly tailored black coats, sharp boots. Every piece he wears is a reminder that he’s no longer that impoverished, desperate kid. He wears his wealth because he’s earned it (and feels he deserves it). For Victor, expensive clothes aren’t just a luxury; they’re his way of stepping into a powerful identity, one that he fought tooth and nail for. Silk shirts are his personal form of defiance.

3. The Psychology in Their Clothes

Logan dresses to forget the past, to strip away the wealth and status that once defined him. Victor, on the other hand, dresses to rewrite his past, embracing the opulence he never had. Where Logan’s style says “I don’t need anything,” Victor’s says “I deserve everything.”

So, next time you see Logan’s flannel vs. Victor’s silk, just remember: they’re not just clothes—they’re lifetimes of survival and self-definition. One refuses his roots, while the other reclaims what he never had. And honestly? That’s what makes their brotherhood, rivalry, and lives all the more complicated.

[yaut-jaknowit]

I love ur writing so much like 😻 ur stories are like the best I’ve seen.

Anywaysss simple request I think ?

Human female hunter , is a part of a clan on yautja prime, known for their skill with staffs/spears, is respected amongst many other hunters, while also owning a rather big snake that hangs out on readers neck/body a lot, good use for poisoning the prey, Gawtin caught word of the said reader is rather curious of her. Later on Gawtin runs into reader hunting on a planet that reader kills a queen xeno. (Reader wears xenomorph skin as armor to protect themselves from their acidic blood) and Gawtin has catched feeling for said reader

Venom

Pairing: Gawtin (female Yautja) x F!Reader

Word Count: 3755 (not ten but seven, close enough)

Summary: Born to human parents yet found by a female Yautja who raised you as her own wasn't destiny. Life finds away. Raised to be a hunter from the moment you could crawl, you sought out the life as a warrior. You grew to the top and live amongst other hunters. Gawtin hears your name in rumors and couldn't help her curious nature to hunt you down.

Author Note: Even if it was a simple request, I never make it easy on myself. I'll write ten pages for a two sentence ask.

P.s. Heads up, I'm on the other side of the US right now for a vacation. I'll try to get another post out this week but I can't promise anything. I'll be sipping soda and relaxing in either a pool or a beach. Thanks for your patience!

Masterlist

Ao3

Different clans will specialize in different fighting styles. They have to. They have to adapt to the path craved for them in this universe. Spears are known mostly along the fishing and jungle clans. Bows are also used within the jungle clans and the forest. Machetes for the forest. As for those who live on the freezing poles, traps are their chosen weapon.

In the one of the clans that resides in along the coasts, a ooman lives within a species that hunts them. To hear of such news was jolting. Yet intrigued the moss green Yautja. Let alone, rumor has it the ooman has a pet of their own.

Though, not from Yautja Prime, the creature was rather deadly with one single bite. Enough venom could take down a fully grown Yautja. No wonder the ooman has such a pet under its care. Yautja Prime was a dangerous place, even to its native inhabitants. Everyone is born with the instinct to sleep with one eye open. The ooman had to use what it had to survive on such a planet.

This ooman, from word of mouth, is respected amongst her clan. A ooman with respect from a Yautja, let alone a clan size. However did she accomplish this? Gawtin prayed to Paya for the chance their paths to cross.

Paya is merciful to answer a prayer once in a while.

.

The atmosphere that struck you in the face was similar to the lands you called home. Warm, hot, high humidity barreled down on your form the moment the ramp lowered. You breathed in through your mask for the semi fresh air that filtered in.

This was a hunt you’ve trained long and hard for. Years upon years of harsh, tiring workouts that had you collapsing onto furs at the end of it. Only to wake up hours later to rinse and repeat.

In the clan you call home, you are a respected, blooded warrior that has earned their title like any other Yautja who hunts. But this, this here will change things back home. The head of a Queen Xenomorph will forever have your name in their scrolls. With the addition of the skull, you will be have a better status, further upholding your mother’s name.

From the bits and pieces you remember so long ago, she had to fight tooth and nail to keep you. You knew you weren’t like them. It was a quick realization that stung as a child. You were treated different, nothing more a worm that didn’t offer much besides being bait.

Those that once looked down on you will now have to look up at you. The skull of a Queen will be strapped to your back and carried off your ship. Your head held-you stopped yourself from getting ahead. Don’t count the skulls before they are obtained. Or else it’ll be your downfall. Cocky Yautjas usually either lose their personality trait in two different ways: death or they learn.

Your name won’t join the ever-growing pile. It’ll be a name Yautjas will learn about in history scrolls.

From the weeks you’ve done your fair share of research about this hive alone, there’s a reason no one has taken it. Tucked away in tight tunnels that a Yautja wouldn’t dare attempt to squeeze themselves into, hid away a smaller species of Xenomorph. They’ve evolved this way in a short span of a year by what you’ve read.

Yet, the queen hasn’t been seen ever. No one knows if she’s also changed in size due to this evolutionary trait or if she’s the original queen who dug her way into this tunnel system.

Many have tried with solo teams and hunting parties of twenty to bring down this hive. No one has succeeded. Yautjas are just too stocky and large to fit in these narrow holes.

But you? Are the perfect size to get past the first entrance and fight your way to the queen. This was a fight you had to plan every step, every breath, every thought carefully or else you could die. No one wanted this hive, but you did. You will succeed and return home. You will.

With your gear strapped secure to different parts of your body, you strode out of the ship and stepped along the dark, volcanic rocks. It crunched at every step you made, alerting enemies to your position.

The sharp rocks clawed at the bottom of your durable shoes but couldn’t pierce the finely woven material. You’ve done your research and for every needed supply to have a fighting chance of surviving.

From the ship and up to the closest recorded entrance, it was only a short ten-minute hike up. You wanted your ship close in case of a retreat and reform of a new plan. Said entrance was small. A manageable size for you to crawl into on your hands and knees. Just enough space for you to sit back on your haunches and use the collapsible spear attached to your hip when you’re attacked.

In the quite warm, morning, you stood still, tilted your head back. The sounds of an empty location echoed back at you. A gentle breeze ruffled your hair but didn’t bring any concerning scents with it. That didn’t mean you could relax. Anytime you were on a hunt, you had to be ready for anything to come your way. The only time you’ve been able to receive some peace and quiet is traveling in your craft. The hum of the engines always lured you to sleep.

A few buttons were activated on your wrist gauntlet. The hunt begins.

The trek from base of your ship to a hole further up the mountain would’ve proven difficult for a novice. You planned every step of the way up, mapping what ways were easier to get to what was thought to be the main chamber. The least you knew about the inside was that it opened back up. The mountain hollow from once being an ancient volcano that once blew.

Your ears strained for every little sound, every pebble that shifts in what looked to be a wasteland. The coast was clear. You knelt down and inspected the hole thoroughly before starting the crawl inside.

Every muscle in your body is prepared to launch if the need arises. Your hand ready to spring three moderate sized blades out from your gauntlet. All of it coated in a mixture that protected it from the acid spray of a Xenomorph.

About fifty feet into this tunnel, you had to flick up a HUD from your mask to cover your eyes. The area that once was blanketed in darkness turned all different shades of green.

No movement ahead of you. A good sign in your eyes.

Before you left the tunnel, you paused and timidly peeked out to scan the larger tunnel. It reeked of recent activity. You didn’t like that but knew it was part of the situation and adapted to it.

Slick, sticky substance coated the walls. You peered at it and knew instantly what was. A helper in the situation. You used a hand to scoop some of it off and began to cover every inch of your body. It was disgusting to feel this latch onto your skin but it was a necessary evil to keep yourself alive. You gave a quiet huff and followed the mental map of areas known to the archives. These tunnels larger and allowed you the chance to stand fully.

No one knew where the Queen’s chamber was. You were here not only to find it but destroy it in the process. Everything was planned up till then. From there, as you’ve learned, your species is well known for: adapting. You were to adapt the plan at the end and claim the skull as your own.

Skittering of claws had you pausing and lowered yourself, ears picking up every little sound. Something was coming up behind you. You fought the urge to instantly go into fighting mode and pressed yourself against the sticky walls.

Hard meats aren’t technically blind but they don’t have eyes to see the way you see. Smell and hearing is a large factor to finding prey. Also, a use of echolocation helps them perceive the area in a different light. You’ve learned that the imagine they create in their mind is a general picture. Still blurry and unclear but enough information to move about. That’s why you took to smooshing yourself against a wall.

On your HUD, a bright, hard meat shape patrolled past you, tail posed. You stayed calm and watched the creature move on and down the tunnel you traversed through. With a breath of relief, you continued onward in the same direction. The gunk stuck to your skin was a horrible feeling that was hard to ignore. For the sake of your life, you are able to push the thought down and focus on your predicament: finding the Queen’s chamber. If only you had more information…

The longer you trekked through the tunnels, the more uneasy you grew. At any point, one of the Xenomorphs could catch you slacking. Then, you would lose all the hard work you’ve put into this life and join Cetanu. That’s something you refused to let happen.

This didn’t seem like a large hive with numbers but the amount of tunnels that led to the outside world or to different chambers was astonishing. In its prime, this place would’ve been amazing to see and study.

Today, it would fall.

Some time later, you stumbled across the largest of the chambers. Instantly, you knew this was the Queen’s chamber. Not only the size of the place itself but due to all the drones gathered here. Then, a massive form appeared on your HUD, slow in movement.

The Queen herself.

Your eyes widened behind the screen covering them. You could confidently answer the fact this Queen was the original queen from when the hive was established around a year ago. Her large body easily dwarfed her smaller than average drones that cared for her.

For a moment, you heart thundered in your ears. Not from fear. No, from the adrenaline beginning to filling your veins. You may not have been born a Yautja but the love for the hunt still exists in your blood. A grin grew on your features, hidden behind the mask that covers the lower portion of your face.

Careful, calculated, controlled movements allowed you to grasp the collapsible spear at your side. Any closer to the would draw the attention of a drone to you. You held the shrunken weapon in your hand and watched the group.

From what you could speculate in a language you didn’t understand, they were none the wiser to your presence. The goop used to hide your scent worked wonders to keep the hive calm.

You prepared for when the hive would be alerted to your presence the moment you stepped closer. A drone paused and turned its head towards you. It tilted its elongated skull and made a short screeching noise. Not alerting, just curious. You paused once more and could only wait.

When it opened its mouth again, you instinctively opened your spear and threw it at the hard meat. Before it could release a horrifying call, the sound died with it. The weapon now out of your hand and pierced into the skull of your prey. You unleashed the three blades attached to your gauntlet and rushed forward to gather the lost spear. You wrenched it free and began the berate of relentless attacks on the newly alerted hive.

A screech sounded from the largest of the beasts that lived within the quarters. You sliced the throat of a Xenomorph. A spray of acidic blood arching out and landing straight on the armor that protected you. A mixture between past battled against the very species you aimed to kill today and metal shielded the weaker parts of your body. The blood hit in varies areas, landing mostly on the armor. The pain that flared to blazing life only fueled your instinct for the hunt.

Claws raked across the air you stood a second before. You were moving and swung out the three blades to slice the thickly scaled beast the towered over you. More blood threatened to sear off your skin and dripped off the armor that kept you free. The Queen roared out and wiped its deadly tail around. Her long legs stepping back to get you withing biting range.

Drones came to her aid. In swift, deadly waves, you used your trusted weapons to keep the drones at safe distance away that didn’t have you ending up dead.

One of the tinier ones was able to push past your defenses and latched onto the break of your armor. A joint in your elbow and slightly above it was free from either the hard scales or metal that shielded you. Teeth bit harshly into the free chunk and flesh. You yowled in pain and immediately ran your three blades through its skull. The little vermin died with its fangs still buried deep into your arm.

Anger fueled you.

The distraction brought the group closer than you possibly could deal with. Claws raked at armor and exposed skin. Red blood crying from the spilt skin. You gritted your teeth. The spear in your hand was used in a terrifying arch.

Those that pushed past your defenses were battered and sliced by the deadly end of your weapon. They retreated and were already testing what they could do to get through again.

You tore the small creature off of your arm and threw it at one of the larger ones. Blood poured freely from the newly created wound. The worst one of them all.

Above you, the Queen snarled swiped at you with one of her spindly hands. You narrowly dodged a killing blow and rolled. Out of the roll, you reared your spear up into the exposed belly of the Queen. She choked out a roar and moved faster than you could perceive.

Once on your feet, the very next second, you found your back to a wall. All of the air rushed out of your lungs. You sputtered to gain new oxygen through your mask. It left you vulnerable for a second too long.

A massive hand pressed your firmly to the ground. You snarled once you gained enough air and glared at the hide crown of the Queen’s head came into view. She opened her mouth. The inner mouth slithered out. She hissed a deadly tone into the space that could be your last.

The raging drones behind her slowed down in their vicious actions since the threat had been contained. But, you weren’t going down.

It some strength but you were able to shimmy your forearms underneath your chest. With your legs, you started to push against her bony hand. It worked. Just enough to rest on your elbow and jab your three blades into her wrist. The Queen howled and reared back, opening you back to the battle.

Your discarded spear was snatched from the ground and wielded once more. You pinned a glare on all the drones that surrounded you. They all sounded their cried of offence at you attacking their queen. You brushed off the calls and returned to battle.

In a mess of acid blood and red blood yourself, you returned your attention back to the Queen. Behind her, her tail snapped wildly. You twirled your spear and pointed it at the largest of them all. She swiped at the air before her, challenging your dominance in hand. You cared less about the challenge before sprinting forward, thrusting the spear forward.

It left your hand and soared through the air. It pierced the thick hide that protected her upper shoulder and rendered the limb useless now. You stayed moving in full force and leaped up. Your other weapon rammed into spot lower than the spear. You kept the same momentum upwards and used the spear as leverage.

Now on top of the Queen, you shoved the same three blades drenched in acid blood into her back. She gave another cry. You turned the blades a certain direction and pulled them through her scales more. Then, her body fell to the ground.

A special spot along her spine had been severed, rendering her paralyzed to the spot. You grinned once more behind the mask and leaped off of her back. A new wave of hard meats came to intercept you.

The battle ended. You stood victorious, surrounded by a sea of dead Xenomoprhs and a Queen who would not move. You knelt before the large beast and placed a hand on her expanse crest. “I thank you for your skull and what new titles it will bring me,” I praised the creature before moving around and driving the spear into her throat.

The life in her body fading until her heart beat one last time.

A new silence entered the chambers and left you feeling… watched. The hairs on the back of your neck rose as you scanned the area, changing the different vision modes on your HUD.

Up top in one of the larger tunnels, a blazing yellow figure appeared. From the overwhelming scent of the dead Xenomorphs and their smell alone, you couldn’t tell what this thing was. You growled and positioned yourself into a fighting stance, ready to take it on. Anything to defend the trophy you had earned fair and square.

The figure stood up, forced to hunch over. It dropped down into the chamber with barely a sound and stood a safe distance away. The form itself you recognized as a Yautja but not the being itself. Still on end, you kept your weapons up.

She, you got a whiff of her scent, stopped and held her head a respectful distance up. Not in a challenging way nor submissive. She had to be observing you the same way you did to her.

This new Yautja was average sized for a female. Tresses hung from her head freely. Your eyes darted without moving any other muscle to the recent kill at your side. Was she here for this? Was she mad that you had gotten the kill before her? And the fact she was in here. No other Yautja has ventured this far without meeting a terrible end.

Yet, here she stood.

Due to the fact all you could see was her body heat, you couldn’t tell what clan she represents. You didn’t trust her, already knowledgeable about how many Yautjas feel about oomans. The weapons in your hold never turning away from the possible threat.

She took a step forward. Only one. “Paya has answered my prayer to allow me to meet such a creature as yourself,” her voice velvety but with a harsh undertone. Your skin pebbled with bumps. “I have heard of your existence on Yautja Prime.”

It was an infamous situation of your existence. Some clans allow oomans such as yourself to live amongst them. Some offer better treatments than others. Yours, clearly, allows you life but only if you live as one of them. Since you could remember, that’s all you’ve known. But it’s a lifestyle you would never give up. You felt born with the need to hunt like many of your clan.

To ensure she didn’t see you either as a threat or submissive, you kept your chin level and eyes neutral pinned on her. “Who are you?” You wanted an introduction. Some sort of clue on who she was and why she was here. From her first words to you, it seems like this was planned in her eyes.

“My name is Gawtin, ooman,” she answered freely. You felt a smidge better at her willingness to answer your questions. But you refused to let your guard fall.

“And why are you here?” You also wanted to ask how she got in here. You’re the only survivor to get in here. You could only reason with the fact you had distracted the group for her to make her through one of the larger tunnels towards the top of the mountain.

Her mandibles clicked together. “You are infamous on Yautja Prime. Your name is whispered among clans both in good and bad tones. A Yautja grows curious to meet such a creature to capture a rumor.” You already knew yourself to be known on Yautja Prime. Oomans aren’t a rarity but to live on their planet was. Either as a pet or a warrior.

“What is it to you?” you snapped, unsure of her intentions still. Even around those in your clan, you knew you had to keep your guard up. Any of them would be more than willing to claim your skull for their own collection.

This time, Gawtin stepped closer into your space. You hunkered down, muscles taut as you readied your weapon. She didn’t react and stayed that step closer to you. “I would like to offer a chance to hunt with you.”

Now, that took you off guard. “You want to hunt with me?” you reiterate for her. Puzzlement filled your voice. You stood up taller and tilted your head at her.

“Yes. That is what I said.” You kept your gaze on her, studying all the details possible with what the HUD allowed you to see. She showed no challenge, no sign of a threat towards you. She was polite and calm. Plus, the opportunity to hunt with someone outside of your clan was a chance you didn’t dare give up.

You dipped your head. “I’m willing to let you join in on one of my hunts.” You didn’t want to sound excited and kept it cool and level. Don’t act like an unblooded.

“Good. I shall meet you outside once you’ve collected your trophies to discuss our hunt.” With the ended, she turned on her heel and strutted to a nearby tunnel. You watched her get down and crawl her way in before disappearing. You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

With her gone, you returned your gaze on the dead Queen at your feet. Not only was this a turning point in your life, but the fact a Yautja from a different clan asked for you to go on a hunt with her. Your life was becoming ten times more interesting now.

[papurgaatika]

All The Quiet Nights You Bear

Pairing: din djarin x gn!reader

summary: Din Djarin is not warm, he does not drink hot drinks, or sit in steamy baths. But for you, he can try.

Tags: angst, din djarin my sweet boy,, bathing, yes this is just giving Din a bath, fluff, hurt/comfort but I'm hurting all of you and comforting him, mention on Din's mother, angst with a happy ending, tooth-rotting amounts of intimacy, non-sexual nudity, no use of Y/N and no description of reader

word count: 1.8k

A/N: Before I start! This is my first official fic that wasn’t a bullet-pointed list I keep in a locked notes app on my phone so I am begging y’all to please be gentle with me. I want to give a MASSIVE shout-out to @joelsdagger for not letting me off the hook and making sure I stick with this, literally would not have been able to do this without her. So the fic: basically I got in the shower one day and thought about Din just being soft, and thus this was born! Fair warning that I Will by Mitski was in heavy rotation while writing this. I literally love him like a real person and he makes my heart hurt and I want to take care of him, so I got self-indulgent. I also don't really know the star wars universe so this is me making shit up as I go!! Anyway!! Peace and love from me I hope y'all love it as much as I do!!

Din Djarin is cold. He slept under the thin sheet he kept in the bunk of the crest for years, his beskar was always cool to the touch, he took cold showers. The idea of warmth never put him at ease either. It seeps into him, clinging to his body under his armor, reminding him of his blaster right after setting it off. He wants to crawl out of his skin anytime he finds himself on a dry planet, sweltering under its suns. 

Din wasn’t used to just how quiet life ended up being on nevarro. Grogu was in school most days, there was relative peace in the area, yet he still found himself clinging to his old self. Never relaxed, always on edge like he was waiting for a fight to break out. You find yourself watching him more closely, recognizing his routines, wanting to put his mind at ease. But how could you? He still took cold showers, quick and precise about it. Never lingering to enjoy the feel of water on his skin, never stopping to relax.

He thinks that the last time he truly took a hot shower was before he took the creed, when his parents were still alive, when he was only Din Djarin the boy, not a mandalorian. It hurt him to think about it, to picture his mother. Her face had grown fuzzy in his memory after decades without her, but he could feel her. The way her eyes were always soft and warm, her voice like the gentle rain that lulled him to sleep when he was young. He missed her. He missed the way she used to hum while warming the water for his bath, the smile on her lips when he would run up to her. He had tried once, to take a warm shower, to try and remember the oils his mother used to use when he was young. It had ended in him slouched over in the bathroom, the steam almost too much, silent sobs tearing through him. So no, din djarin did not take hot showers. 

But you? You were warm. So warm he felt like he was melting every time he even thought about you. The way you kissed his fingers, the gentleness you have while holding Grogu, the look in your eyes when you lay with him. You were all warm showers. The steam that tumbles after you when you open the door lingers around you like it's trying to surround you, to crowd your senses, to be all over you. Everything that din wants to do to you. He would chase after you throughout the whole galaxy if it meant you would say his name, soft and sweet like he was being saved just by hearing it. 

You were the only warmth that he craved. The only heat he allowed himself to enjoy, to truly want. And so when you call him over to the bathroom, voice soft and gentle, he comes. He will always come to you. You smile when he enters the room and takes in the scene in front of him. The bathtub full of water, steam rising from above it. You, with an expression warm enough to rival the water, eyes locked on his. “Come here,” you whispered, taking his hand in yours. He was uncharacteristically slow to move towards you, but you stood there, hand still waiting for his. Your hand took his, your thumb tracing over the side of his fingers so soft he could barely feel it. “Din-” you whisper looking up at him, “let me take care of you, sweet boy” 

That was your boy. The one you were working so hard to melt, to make him soft around the corners. It was rare that he wore the armor anymore, his days usually spent at home with you and Grogu, the need to hide no longer necessary. You bring his knuckles to your lips as a silent promise to be gentle, to not let him break. “Is that okay?” you ask, hand still holding his. 

He nods, not trusting his voice nearly as much as he trusts you, and you smile. God that smile. Din Djarin would live in that smile if he could. The only smile he thinks will be in his mind like his mother’s. You reach for the hem of his shirt, not pulling at it yet, just letting your fingers rest on top of it waiting for any indication that he was okay with it coming off. You hear a small hum leave his throat and you help him take it off. This was a sight you would never tire of seeing. Tan and broad, his tummy soft under your fingers likely because of your cooking, and god was he beautiful. “Always so pretty to look at” Your fingers trail on his chest. You place a kiss over his heart, a gentle reminder that it was yours and that yours was his. 

You watched as he removed the rest of his clothes, admiring the vision that he was. Yours, yours, yours. You nudged him to the bath, waiting for him to get in. He didn't think he could do it. It was hot. It was like the ones his mother gave him. It was not like him. He was not soft or warm, he was cool and hardened from years of fighting. But it was like you. It was for you. And for you, he could do anything. He let out a soft hiss as his feet hit the water, the temperature still taking him by shock slightly.

“It's okay, just relax. I've got you” Your words pulled him from his thoughts, looking over at you with a tilt of his head.

 “You’re not getting in cyar’ika?” he sounds disappointed, almost like he wants to beg you to hold him, but you shake your head at him. 

“This isn’t for me din, just want to help you relax okay?” You move to sit on the stool you put behind the bath, grabbing the basket full of oils and shampoos and letting them fill both of your senses. You use a cup to grab some of the water and pour it over his curls, the strands dampening and sticking to the back of his neck. You take the time to press a soft kiss to his head, nose and lips wet with the water. You pop open the bottle of shampoo you had fought to find. Din rarely spoke of his life before the creed, but you knew enough to set out on a search for it. The aroma of the shampoo grew easier to smell when you poured it into your palm, sandalwood and something almost citrusy being massaged into his hair. Your nails rake over his scalp and press into his forehead where you know he gets headaches. A soft groan leaves his lips, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“Is this alright my moon?” you whisper, not wanting to disturb the peace that had settled into the room along the steam of the bath. 

“It’s perfect my sun,” he replies, words uncharacteristically soft for him. A small smile finds its way to your lips as you continue to massage the soap into his hair before rinsing it out, taking care to not get it in his eyes.

 “Scooch up, I'm gonna do your shoulders” You dip your toes into the water, legs resting against his thighs before grabbing the soap and a washcloth. 

“So pretty for me Din,” a kiss on his neck “always so perfect,” another one above his collarbone “don't know what I would do without you.” a third kiss on his shoulder, right above a scar he had gotten over the course of his career. You let the soap run down his back gently, watching the bubbles drip down and hit the water. You rub small circles into his skin with the washcloth, running water over it to rinse off the soap, before moving to his arms. Even before you had seen his arms, you had known that he was strong. Hunting bounties all day, fighting, piloting the crest, had led to his arms and hands being known for violence, for having blood on them. But not to you. To you they were the ones that draped across your body at night, the ones used to hold your son while you were out in the markets, they were warm and strong and perfect. They shielded you and protected you, and while you didn’t think you could do the same for him, you were willing to try. Your fingers trace patterns over the scars and freckles he has, goosebumps forming on his skin.  He is sitting in front of you in the bath, the water so hot at one point, that his skin is a little red. Your hands are in his hair taking time to wash it, to truly wash it. Your nails rake against his scalp as the shampoo lathers, before you rinse it out taking care to not get it in his eyes. You massage the conditioner into the ends of his hair, before leaning down to press kisses onto his shoulder. 

“Thank you for letting me do this for you my moon” you murmur resting your chin on his shoulder. He lets out a soft hum that you can feel as you’re pressed up behind him. “Thank you for doing it, my sun.” you can feel the water growing colder than you would like under the two of you, so you make quick work of rinsing the rest of the conditioner out of his hair, lightly curling a few strands around your finger as you finish. Neither of you wants to make a move to get out, the warmth of each other making the water’s temperature almost obsolete, but a sneeze betrays him getting a giggle from between your lips, and din swears it’s the sweetest sound he will ever hear. He can feel your lips curled into a smile as you let your forehead fall to rest on the back of his shoulder and shake your head. 

“Time to get out I think,” you say, reaching over to grab a towel for yourself before stepping out and pulling it around yourself. Din stands next, taking his towel from your hands and wrapping it around his waist before pulling you into him, a surprised “oof” leaving your mouth as he holds you against his chest. You blink up at him, eyes twinkling at just the sight of him and raise an eyebrow waiting for him to speak. 

“Thank you cyar’ika,” his words tremble slightly as he takes a deep breath “Really, this was amazing.. Thank you.” He presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head before letting one of his hands capture yours, interlocking your fingers together. “Anything for you my love” you whisper back before nodding softly to your shared bedroom “Come now, let’s just rest for the day.”

[noblesixjm04]

I can't get this out of my head. It's just something that ive had rattling around. If this doesn't make much sense I'm sorry lol but.

Do you ever think about if the Spartan ii's ever met one of those siblings without realizing it?

Like. John meeting a young female marine. She's quick witted and wicked smart. There is almost nothing she will back down from. At least not until she gets a "win." She will never leave one of her teammates behind. She's also known among her friends for her dry sense of humor.

One day she runs into John whiles he's out of armor. She never realizes that he's the Master Chief as they stare at one another. Blue eyes look into blue. The roots of her hair are blonde. Contrasted against a dark brown. They share the same smattering of freckles. Dusted along their face and down to their arms. Petering out along the backs of their hands.

And when she smiles there's a gap in her front teeth. (One tooth is chipped from a hard won game of King of the Hill.) She jokes that they match.

Apparently her brother had to. Her parents told her about him. How he had passed a few years before she was born. Her mother told her about her and her brothers shared a constellation of freckles.

Maybe Kelly runs into a pair of twin engineers. One is a girl. The other a boy. The girl has her hair cropped short. It's faded green. The boy has long hair. Held back in a tight braid. It's blue.

They strike up a conversation with Kelly one day. Mostly out of boredom. At one point talking about how they had been on their schools track team. Twin Terrors they had been called. They were the fastest in the entirety of their schools career.

They are the only two out of the group of engineers and scientists that could match her humor.

Kelly never sees them again after that. But she thinks about them often enough. About how they all shared the same accented voice.

About the day they all raced.

She won. Of course. But something about it made her feel like she was missing something. She matched it to the same feeling to her younger years with the rest of the ii's on Reach. On some of the few days they had true fun.

Linda was sent to therapy. Well. Not really sent. It was... Suggested. That she go.

Linda did. This time. For the first time. The last time.

She met an older man. Her elder by about three or four years. With the same red hair, that has streaks of white at the temples, and piercing green eyes.

Those eyes that looked at her like she does down the snipers scope. Those eyes that seemed to know her own.

She could see them widen. Hear the hitch on his breath as they flicker to a photograph and then back to her.

He...

Maybe she had seen him in passing once. Despite him never having been on this ship before.

He has been the one to pull the trigger.

"I don't think I'm the right match for you." His voice rumbled in a familiar way.

When she left. Linda tried to stop thinking about the worn, frames photo on his desk. The one with a boy. About eight or nine. With a shock of bright red hair. He held an archery trophy in one hand. In his other. The hand of a little girl. Close to five. With that same shock of red hair and green eyes that seemed to see you even through the cameras lense.

Fred meets a medic after a nasty injury. The Odst's and Marines in his company joke that he has as getting the best medic around.

He was a young man. Kind and deeply empathetic.

Those same Marines also joked about how the two of them could be siblings in a different life. With how they shared the same sloped nose and sharp jaw. The same, soft manner of speaking.

"Seriously Lieutenant. Just give the Doc the same hair cut. Could fool me that's for sure."

The medic said that he did have a brother. One that he has never met. That he had passed away a few months before he had been born .

But he and his parents visited his grave every year on his brother's birthday. And that this was the first year that he wouldn't be able to.

"He's be turning thirty three today." The medic had just finished Fred's stitches.

"Oh." Fred spoke it before it could be stopped.

"Oh what?" The medic had asked.

"I turned thirty three today." It was one of the few things he remembered. Something he rarely thought about. Because something around it had made his heart hurt.

"Here then. Happy birthday." The medic handed Fred a chocolate granola bar.

[star-farer]

the truth will out

Summary: It is easier to forget, it is easier to forget. AU: Graft Taglist: @kybercrystals94 (not the AU you had wanted to read, but is it okay if I still tag you?)

It’s a nightmare, he tells himself when he wakes up in his bunk, flat on his back, fingers digging into the sheets beneath, sweating buckets, panting as if he’s been made to run laps.

It’s all just a nightmare.

He repeats it to himself when he quietly stumbles to the ‘fresher before the rest of his brothers wake up. He repeats it to himself in the shower, when he scrubs his face ten times, then thrice more, just to forget it all. He repeats it to himself when he brushes his teeth so hard they shine, his bleeding gums washed clean with the water he gulps down.

Shake Echo awake gently, shake Wrecker a little harder, make sure Tech actually fell asleep in the first place, Hunter’s probably already at the training rooms. Crosshair still checks his bed, even if he can see across the room how neatly it’s been made. Make each of them a cup of caf: Echo likes it perfectly balanced, Wrecker prefers it on the sweeter side, Tech wants it dark to act as a stimulant, Hunter likes it balanced too, unless he’s had a cup already. Crosshair still makes him a cup, in case he comes back, covers it with a fitted lid to keep it warm longer.

Get ready for the day, slip into his blacks and armor, make sure he has all his weapons. Nod once at each of the Batch and head for the mess hall. They’ll meet Hunter there.

They don’t meet Hunter in the mess hall. He’s probably already eaten.

Jaw clenching, eyes narrowing, fists curling, the regs spew insults and shoot glares their way. They keep their head down, he keeps his head down, sharp tongue behind glistening teeth, focusing on his food. Hunter’s waiting for them. They can’t keep him waiting, even if he doesn’t mind. They can’t risk tarnishing his position with their tardiness. He’ll be punished for it. They’ll be disbanded.

“Clone Force 99,” comes the dispassionate voice of a Corrie from behind him. Crosshair lets the red bucket see his tattooed namesake over his shoulder, raising one apathetic eyebrow. “Vice-Admiral Rampart wants to speak to you.”

It’s a good thing Wrecker eats fast, or he’ll be starving all day. Slipping their helmets on, they stand and follow after the Corrie, through winding halls and past emptying rooms. The facility is being decommissioned. They will be relocated off-world soon, most likely to the base on Coruscant.

At last, they are brought into the Vice-Admiral’s private office, a quiet affair that overlooks Tipoca City and the surrounding seas. Fingers steepled beneath his chin, there is a dangerous flash in the man’s eyes, akin to a shriek-hawk’s. He dismisses Taun We with an ungracious flap of the hand. The Kaminoan bows her head and sways right through the squad who part like torn flimsiplast.

“Clone Force 99, sir,” salutes the Corrie, waving them in as they come to stand at parade rest beside him. They position themselves carefully, strategically: Tech and Echo in the front, Wrecker and Crosshair behind them. Hunter stands front and center.

The Vice-Admiral stands, a hint of a smirk playing on his soft features — Crosshair could disarm him in the blink of an eye, and of all his brothers, he is the worst at hand-to-hand combat. The nat-born’s gaze flits to rest upon each of them, before he nods at the Corrie. “Thank you, trooper. Dismissed.”

Hands behind his back, he frowns at Crosshair. “Sergeant CT-9902, step forward.”

His molars fuse, his lips turn down in a sneer, but the Vice-Admiral only sees the blue-grey bucket and green visor, not the vicious scowl in his eyes. He complies, like a good little soldier ought to.

He knows his position, his squad’s position, only one mistake away from being disbanded and reorganized. He’d had to fight tooth and nail, come up with every reason and excuse he could, called for support from Marshall kriffing Commander Cody himself to convince the long-necks to leave Clone Force 99 be.

Hunter hadn’t said anything through it all, but Crosshair knew that feral smirk stretching across his face was replete with pride and approval.

The Vice-Admiral roves his gaze along Crosshair, from bucket to boot, thoroughly unimpressed. Flicking his eyes back up to the visor, he scoffs and turns around to pick up a holopad on the table.

Crosshair accepts the holopad, but makes no move to switch it on, waiting for the nat-born to explain instead. One of the few strange quirks of the Vice-Admiral is speaking first before any other, a quirk that Tech never appreciates.

“Scrappers on Bracca reported a power surge on a Jedi Cruiser.”

Crosshair’s frown deepens. Did he really interrupt their first-meal for this? A power surge? They're Special Forces, not some reg squad that could be spared for scouting.

The Vice-Admiral pulls out a puck and switches it on. With barely restrained anger, Crosshair stares at the flickering holoimage of a familiar clone in orange-yellow swathed armor, head swung to stare towards his right with arms akimbo.

Marshall kriffing Commander Cody.

Their most recent loss — a CC gone AWOL in their latest mission.

“CC-2224,” smirks the nat-born, “This was captured only five standard minutes back. You are to bring him in for questioning, or have him terminated. Am I understood?”

Crosshair clenches his fists at his sides and hisses through gritted teeth, “Yes sir.”

For another moment longer, the Vice-Admiral leans forward a little, his gaze darting about his visor. Whatever he is searching for, he finds, because he reclines back against the table and crosses his ankles, a smug tilt of his lips.

“Good. Dismissed.”

He ignores the feeling of being watched like prey as he turns his back on the predator and leads the squad out of the cage. Strides down white corridors to their barracks, packs whatever he needs, overseeing them pack whatever they need, then striding back out the moment all of them turn expectant gazes to him. Hunter’s cup of caf still bleeds warm through his blacks when he absentmindedly brushes his knuckles along its curves.

Down familiar halls, past familiar chambers, and they step into the hangar where they split, Echo and Tech in the direction of the Havoc Marauder, Wrecker and Crosshair towards the armory.

If Wrecker is impressed by the array of ammunitions before him, he doesn’t show it, and for once Crosshair is grateful, a headache slowly needling along his temple. The last thing he needs right now is one of Wrecker’s enthused war-cries to aggravate his case further. This silence, welcome and comfortable, they maintain as they load the crate with everything they need, Crosshair following Wrecker’s lead in these matters.

Once the crate is filled, they head back to the hangar, Wrecker opting to sling the crate on top of one shoulder than using a cart. Echo waits outside the ship, nodding at the sight of them and climbing up the ramp. Wrecker thuds up after him. Tech is presumably prepping the ship for take-off in the cockpit.

Scanning the hangar once more, no sight of storm grey and blood red pricking his vision, no deep scarlet amongst brown locks, no ash half-skull and wolf-blade smirk, Crosshair ascends the ramp as well.

The ramp shuts behind him immediately, and he looks about the Marauder, straining to hear the tell-tale ring of a vibroknife being sheathed, the deep inhale that precedes a short but hearty encouragement. But he receives no firm shoulder clap, receives no shove to sit down and strap in.

“Wait.” His voice cuts through the air like a blaster shot, hot and sharp. Three heads turn to him expectantly at the same time. “Where’s Hunter?”

The silence that follows is not unlike Wrecker’s in the armory, welcome and comfortable—

What?

What?

Tech turns his head back to face the controls, hands gripping the bars so tight his gloves scuff together. Wrecker all but collapses into his seat, his head falling into his large hands as he bends over.

Echo is the only one who still faces him, still holds Crosshair’s defiant, ferocious gaze. They can’t leave Hunter behind. The kark is wrong with them? He’s their Sergeant, their ori’vod, their eldest, their—his—he—

“Crosshair.”

Echo’s voice is firm, steady, more an order than a statement.

Not smoky, not low, not gruff, not—

What?

“What?”

Echo’s mouth twitches.

“Kaller.”

Kaller? What? What—

Oh.

Oh.

No. No. No, no, no, no no no no nononononono—

“Breathe, Cross.”

There’s a hand gripping his elbow, he’s on the ground now, on his knees. He reaches out, reaches for another hand, and—

Metal, cold metal, a scomp link, attached to a cybernetic arm.

Not fingers calloused from twirling knives, not knuckles scuffed with bruises, not a palm’s warm muscles enveloping his own slender paw.

Oh, he thinks briefly as his vision darkens and he slumps forward against chilly plastoid, vaguely registering voices bouncing around, So this is loss.

[friezaglasiencold]

Hi there, Frieza!!

I'm a researcher writing a book about the ins and outs of Icejin Culture. Seeing as you're one of the few left, I need your assistance.

What are some rarely known facts about your species? Customs? Taboos? Preferences?

Give as much information as you're comfortable with.

Thank you,

RR Interstellar Research Facilities

$73 Cicada Drive

XX217

Nosy, nosy. Hoho...

Fine, I'll bite. Do keep in mind that some of this was learned secondhand-- despite holding the throne I prefer to focus on the business side of things and don't spend much time on my planet of origin. As the prince of that sad lot, though, I'm obviously the most relevant person to ask. Forgive me if I ramble; I'll put it under a cut in post.

Now, let's see. 'Customs' could range anywhere from religion to breakfast preferences. I'll cover some of the ground in between, but I'm not going to type an essay for you. If you want more than what I give, send another message, and be more specific.

To begin with, the species has many names, as I've mentioned before. Here are some of the ones I've encountered in my travels:

Icejin (Most common.)

Arcosian (Scientifically accurate.)

Frost Demon (Fond of this one.)

Glaesar (Less common. Very formal usage.)

Polarite (Rarely used. Probably archaic.)

Suliform (I believe this is derived from 'Arcosulite', the unique mineral found in biogem shells.)

Changeling (Obvious origin.)

Culturally, the most prominent keystones are these--eloquence, formality, education, competition, and achievement. It's considered very rude to speak casually to someone with whom you are not close; you may think an individual is gibbering mad when he addresses you in riddles and tongues, but that's only because the general population is staggeringly naive. You must learn to read a room, and to never trust someone at first glance.

Or at first reading. Heh. I hope you've not been taking everything I say here at face value.

Children learn early on the importance of social hierarchy. Climbing it came naturally to me, but I've seen how the proletariat scrabble over each other with such thinly-veiled desperation. Resources are scarce on the home planet, after all; that is, I believe, why we became such competent spacefarers in the first place. Arcos is an inhospitable world. The few times I've visited it's been out of obligation to appeal to those remaining (mostly the elderly, infirm, or very young; nobody stays there long). I can't have them forgetting about their Prince, after all.

Ah, here's a fun fact--the point on Kuriza's head is a vestigial egg tooth. I only learned this after he was born; I'd no idea what the thing was for until I asked around. It's cute, isn't it? Evidently ovoviviparity only became the norm a couple of generations prior, and before that the egg would remain intact until a few hours afterward...

Hm. Let me think of more. I'll only bother with the interesting ones.

-Makeup denotes status. A nobleperson appearing without a full face of makeup in public is grounds for a legitimate scandal.

-It's possible to approximate a person's power level by their biogem color. The closer to violet, the stronger they are. Something, something, life energy -> radiation -> light frequency, something, something. It's also possible for gem color to change over time... infants and toddlers typically have duller, redder colors. Yours truly was the first person in recorded history to be born with purple gems. ;)

-Being relatively long-lived as we are, our written histories are frustratingly sparse. My father amassed quite a collection, though.

I could go on, but I have other things to do. That should satisfy for now.

Ah, but here’s one more for the road…

Something many people assume is that I'm entirely nude in my final form--untrue. There’s a thin layer of protective, flexible armor over the skin of important nerve clusters; the area you've all been so doggedly curious about parts during intimacy. I hope that clears things up. Now stop asking.

[wuxiaphoenix]

On Writing: Chewing the Scenery

I have, for research purposes, been checking out some old episodic serials on YouTube. At the moment I’ve now seen two episodes each of Buck Rogers (1939) and Flash Gordon (1936).

First conclusion: You know, as far as Evil Overlords go, so far I’ve got to give a thumbs-up to Ming the Merciless. He’d rather conquer a planet than destroy it, offered the option; and he’d rather coopt the less-than-moral Mad Scientist not by torture or brainwashing, but by giving him an excellent lab to work in! His male guards may be less than competent, probably due to the armor pinching in uncomfortable places, but his female guards are highly effective. Yes, yes, he wants to kill the hero Flash Gordon - but seriously, people, this barbaric Earthling looked at his one and only precious Princess of a daughter. What responsible father wouldn’t pull out the ray guns? 

And Ming’s one of the better father figures and more responsible leader-of-minions I’ve seen. No, really, his Pit of Doom with horrible evil creatures at the bottom to viciously destroy anyone who falls in also has a net above the monsters’ reach and an emergency exit door just in case someone he cares about accidentally falls through the trapdoor. Which does, indeed, happen.

A few other odd thoughts and bits of trivia.

So far there is an awful lot of tromping back and forth by the actors. They can’t just walk anywhere. They tromp.

Saber-toothed sumo wrestler opponents. Well, that’s one way to do a vicious but survivable fight scene.... 

I do have an argument with the whole “take you as my bride!” plot. Mostly that the way it’s done doesn’t fit with historical conquering emperors. A better fit would be a speech like, “I shall take this planet Earth to rule and protect, and as a symbol of my dedication and POWER I take this Earth woman as my bride!”

Also you wouldn’t have the wedding in a secret chamber hidden behind tunnels of monsters. Uh-uh. The wedding would be held with pomp and ceremony in the majestic palace court! All the ministers and generals would be there!

...Which would, coincidentally, be very plot-convenient when the hero attacks and rescues the would-be bride! All the lesser powers in the Empire would see their Evil Overlord humiliated by this alien outlander. Why, does that mean Ming the Merciless is not invincible? Oh, then who might succeed him...? Cue the vicious faction fights and various turmoil as the hero escapes, and whoever wins - or loses - might be seeking the hero out to ally against their common enemies....

On a real-world note, Philson Ahn, the actor who plays Prince Tallen in Buck Rogers, was the younger brother of Philip Ahn, the first Korean-American actor. Born in 1905 after his parents got the heck out of Japanese-occupied Korea, Philip played many roles for decades while also organizing independence movements for his parents’ homeland. So this even potentially ties in to stuff I’m currently working on. Very distantly. Heh.

The End... Or is it???

[ghostofskywalker]

Or a drabble with Fives, something with just cuddling, having a quiet moment. 💖✨

some more tooth rotting fluff for you :)

words: 584

clone troopers masterlist

It was a rare luxury to open your eyes and see your lover next to you in bed, his arm wrapped around your waist and your head laid on his bare chest. It wasn’t often that you got to see him for more than a few days every six or eight weeks, as you didn’t get to pick the leave schedule for the 501st, and you were at the mercy of the powers that were when it came to how often you would get to see your boyfriend. 

You didn’t want to wake him, because getting up late was such a rare thing in the life of an ARC trooper, as was the plush mattress and copious amount of blankets and pillows that currently resided on your bed. He often told you it was like going to sleep on a cloud, and that the bunks on the Resolute could never hold a candle to the soft bedding in your tiny Coruscant apartment. 

You shifted slightly, stifling a yawn as you snuggled closer to him. Clones always had a higher body temperature compared to nat-borns, and you took full advantage of that fact as often as you could. Snuggling up with Fives was quite possibly your favorite thing to do in the entire world, and you never wanted to give it up at this moment. 

Your eyes were half open when he finally stirred, and you felt a soft kiss being placed on your hairline. His lips lingered for longer than usual, and you just sighed in content. No words needed to be exchanged this early in the morning, he was here, and you were together, and that was all that mattered. 

But of course the peace was always interrupted by something, and this instance was no different. His comm began to beep incessantly from the nightstand next to the bed, and you really wanted to take it and throw it out the window before it told you that Fives had to leave. 

“Hello?” Fives asked as he pressed the answer button on the device. 

“We’re leaving for another deployment in an hour, you need to get your shebs over here.” 

You liked Captain Rex, he seemed like a nice guy and was fun to talk to on nights out, but right now you wanted to strangle him. 

And Fives clearly felt the same way, if the sigh he heaved was any indication. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll be over there in a little bit.” 

“You need to get here now.” Rex sounded tired, and you wondered what kind of crazy things he had to deal with last night while the rest of the battalion went to 79’s. “Untangle yourself from Y/N and get a move on.” 

You would have objected, but he was exactly right. Fives promised to be at the docking bay within a half hour before hanging up, and then he turned to you. “I’m sorry cyare,” he said softly. “It looks like I have to go now.” 

“It’s okay,” you said, despite the fact that you didn’t really think it was. “I enjoyed all the time we spent together.” 

“Me too, and hopefully I’ll be back sooner rather than later.” 

You nodded, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his lips. “I hope so too. Now go, before I get too attached and try to kidnap you.”

He just laughed, stealing another quick kiss before he got up and started to collect the pieces of his armor from the floor.

[hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend]

Day 22: Telling (originally day 14!) no warnings. word count 673. Ao3

dawntrail spoilers!

“I had been at the palace for some time when Lamaty’i came to join us. Like me she had been cast aside by her parents,” Koana says, overlooking the great river, as Siberite watches the telling signs of worry leak through the armor she had watched him maintain since meeting him. The sway of his tail, the slightly wider eyes, and hands searching for something to do, all different from the scholar that only showed studious in varying degrees or the surprise when she joined him with no room for arguing on the matter. For a moment, this single moment, he was a person she could understand, a person that brings an ache in her chest as he continues. “I knew the pain of solitude and wanted to spare her that suffering. As this tiny child’s new brother, I swore: I would always be there for her.”

She looks down at the wooden pier, trying to stop the misting eyes, fingers tracing the recreation of a gifted palladium and siberite gem necklace. The two of them grew up in much different circumstances, and still for a moment she swears she can see the image of her own brother in his place. Can recall a similar sentiment she found in his journals just before she was born, and even stronger just before his death when he nearly completed preparation to make sure she would never be alone like he was growing up. That she would never want for a shoulder to cry on or someone to lend an ear to life’s questions and misgivings. A universal feeling among older siblings perhaps? 

Or maybe among those that stumble upon others that mirror the children they once were.

Her mind flashes back to her first meeting with a blonde hair, blue eyed teenager who didn’t have a name of her own yet, and feels the same sinking feeling watching as she stood there with a bowed head and folded hands as Thancred scolded her for running off which led to her capture and their current situation. Siberite could see the solitude she had grown up with and the emptiness one develops to hide any trace of yourself. Of expectations thrust upon you because of the death of another. Things Siberite knew all too well, things that made her seethe in the moment and swear that she would not let her suffer the way she did. She would fight tooth and nail to give her a life free of that suffering, to allow her to have the freedom of being young and making her own choices and mistakes that she never got to have. 

Just like her brother once did, if only briefly.

Looking back up at him, Siberite searches for something to say, something to keep the person behind the stoicism here. But all she can manage is, “I understand.”

He looks up at her surprised, clearing his throat to regain composure, “Then you see why I would do anything to rescue her.”

She nods, “You’re her older brother, and you saw yourself within her all those years ago. Wanting to protect them and make sure they have better is what we do.” Siberite stands next to him giving a light nudge with her shoulder, trying to keep the mask at bay, “And trust me, she knows she’s not alone, and because of you she never once felt like she was.”

He gives a curious tilt of his head, “You sound like you speak from experience.”

“I had an older brother who promised the same thing,” she says with a small smile, “In the brief time we were together I never felt alone, and even after he was gone he still made sure I was never going to be.”

“And who was it that you swore to spare from the pain you felt?”

“That….is a bit of a long story.”

“I see.”

“But one I will tell you while we get this boat fixed so we’re ready to go when Thancred gets back to us.”

[littjara-mirrorlake]

Plane Shift: New Phyrexia - Human Subraces

For the past 2-3 years, I've been working on a homebrew D&D 5e supplement for New Phyrexia, and it occurred to me that I could publish/share it in installments here on Tumblr! Today, I'll put up human subraces. Core-born Phyrexians and playable myr (among other things) to come! PS:NP was written to take place during Scars of Mirrodin block or earlier, since that's when my campaign is, but its contents--including these subraces--are forward compatible with other points in the timeline.

--

Like their relatives on other planes, the humans of Mirrodin are ingenious, ambitious folk who strive to leave their mark on the world. They are divided into five distinct ethnic groups: the Auriok of the Razor Fields, the Neurok of the Quicksilver Sea, the Moriok of the Mephidross, the Vulshok of the Oxidda Chain, and the Sylvok of the Tangle. Your Mirran human character has the following traits.

Type. You are a Humanoid. You are also considered a human for any prerequisite or effect that requires you to be a human.

Ability Score Increase. One ability score of your choice increases by 2, and another increases by 1.

Age. Humans reach adulthood in their late teens and live about a century.

Languages. You can speak, read, and write Common and one other language of your choice (except  Phyrexian).

Size. Humans vary widely in height and build, from barely 5 feet to well over 6 feet tall. Regardless of your position in that range, your size is Medium.

Speed. Your base walking speed is 30 feet.

Ethnic group. Choose one of the five Mirran human ethnic groups for your character to belong to.

Auriok

The Auriok are a nomadic people, specializing as warriors, spellcasters, and diplomats who form alliances between tribes and with the other races of the Razor Fields. Each Auriok tribe is led by a champion who is responsible for their people's well-being. Auriok skin is bronze-colored and embedded with gold, and their hair is bleached white by the constant light of the suns.

Auriok Combat Training. You are proficient with the longsword and shortsword.

Diplomatic. You have proficiency with Insight and Persuasion.

Neurok

Having thrown off the yoke of slavery under vedalken masters, the Neurok have risen to a dominant position in the chrome-spire settlements on the Quicksilver Sea, based in their capital at Lumengrid. They are scientists and inventors, among the first to notice and study the increasing amounts of glistening oil on Mirrodin's surface. Silvery, chrome-like metal adorns Neurok skin, and their hair, often hidden under elaborate, multi-eyed headdresses, is brown, red, or blond.

Breadth of Knowledge. You gain proficiency with any combination of three skills or tools of your choice.

Cantrip. You know one cantrip of your choice from the wizard spell list. Intelligence, Wisdom, or Charisma is your spellcasting ability for it (choose when you select this race).

Moriok

Carving out a living in the inhospitable swamp of the Mephidross, the Moriok endure constant exposure to its necrogen gas and battle the harsh urges its fell magic draws out. Lead-like metal emerges from underneath their skin, often forming visors over their eyes. They are tall and pale, decorating their bodies with dark leather and ornaments of tooth and bone.

Inured to Necrogen. You are resistant to poison damage, and you have advantage on saving throws against being poisoned.

Relentless Endurance. When you are reduced to 0 hit points but not killed outright, you can choose to drop to 1 hit point instead. You can’t use this feature again until you finish a long rest.

Vulshok

Renowned blacksmiths, warriors, and geomancers, the Vulshok people create armor and weapons of the best quality that can be found on Mirrodin. They are divided into six tribes based on their smithing specialization: Anvil, Blade, Hammer, Helm, Shield, and Spear. The iron spikes on their skin afford them a degree of natural armor. Vulshok are heavyset and sturdily built, and ember cores are embedded in their chests, glowing red-hot in moments of strong emotion.

Expertise of the Forge. You have proficiency with smith's tools.

Heart of Flame. You have resistance to fire damage. In addition, you know the produce flame cantrip. Intelligence, Wisdom, or Charisma is your spellcasting ability for it (choose when you select this race).

Iron Skin. You gain a +1 bonus to your AC when you aren't wearing heavy armor.

Sylvok

The most insular of Mirrodin's humans, the Sylvok are druidic hunter-gatherers who place emphasis on tradition, nature, and harmony. Unlike the canopy-dwelling elves, Sylvok inhabit the undergrowth of the Tangle, subsisting off gelfruit and the meat they hunt. They view artifice as a form of worship, using their skills to venerate the natural world through imitation. Their skin is decorated with intricate patterns of copper that imitate the look of plant growth.

Expert Navigator. A lifetime spent in the twisted growths of the Tangle has made you sure-footed and adept in tough travelling conditions. You ignore nonmagical difficult terrain.

Sylvok Magic. You know the druidcraft cantrip. When you reach 3rd level, you can cast the animal friendship spell once per day; you must finish a long rest in order to cast the spell again using this trait. Intelligence, Wisdom, or Charisma is your spellcasting ability for these spells (choose when you select this race).

Tangle's Lore. You gain proficiency in a skill of your choice from among Animal Handling, History, Nature, Religion, and Survival.

[drdeathly]

Random old unikitty oc showcase???!! (how unexpected)

Here’s doodles of my old unikitty oc when I was still in the fandom. Her name was somewhere in the lines of “Lunette” or something, probably based off of the name “Stellaluna”.

She’s a half-bat/half-alligator almost-completely-blind, nocturnal, ingenious, mad scientist/martial artist with a sharp tongue and a sweet tooth.

(Here’s a very early drawing of her)

In this concept art she seems kind and wondering, but don’t be fooled. Ever since a certain incident - she’s changed for the worst.

I made her alongside a few other oc’s but after the creator confirmed a certain something and I blotted the two out of existence out of anger and shame. But we don’t talk about that. I’ve grown up.

Her origins went through a lot but i’ve settled on this thing (it’s a lot but this is the awfully condensed version):

Basically Dr.Fox and Eaglator broke up prior to the show cuz he’s an asshat but then years later Dr.Fox is like “ok i’ll give you one last chance” and like an hour later Eaglator fucks it all up again and she’s like “ok i’m leaving you forever” and he’s like “nooo” but then she’s all like “fuck you”

Blah blah blah, Dr.Fox gets with Hawkodile after some time and she comes out about her crazy ex (who Hawkodile is enemies with) but a few weeks later *gasp*, she has an egg?! (it’s fiction, I can do crazy shit an say the universe is telling a joke) Hawkodile says, “I’ll be her dad :3” even though he knows he isn’t and lalalala, spare me the fluff and angst please, the child is born.

(very old sparkle matter doodle)

She’s not an “eagle-alligator-fox” because I wanted to make a flying fox joke. It’s mostly a play on words, it doesn’t have to make any sense. Many of the things I do are based off of stupid jokes. Plus, A unicorn had a child with a cat, have mercy on my dammit. And - I could just say that Dr.Fox does have bat genes from a great grandfather or something to make it *slightly* more accurate.

She’s a biological powerhouse who’s not even at the prime of her power, the only tradeoff being her AWFUL eyesight, having to wear goggles when in sunlight due to them hurting her eyes.

She can breathe underwater for extremely long periods of time, she can fly, she’s really damn strong (carrying around a giant tail all the time does stuff to ya), her hearing is impeccable (though it’s a big weakness at the same time), from the bottom half of her torso and below her natural armor is great, plus more i’m probably missing.

She gains a lot of bat and alligator perks at the same time. One big thing though is her personality:

As mentioned earlier, Lunette is ingenious and is capable of causing an entire planet to fall into anarchy if it means her $5 latte with a comically large amount of sugar goes down a dollar (this got her #0 on santa’s noddy list) (fun fact - she got so mad at this she orchestrated propaganda around the world saying Santa wasn’t real almost killing both Santa and Christmas)

She’s capable of creating bizarre machinery and creations like her does mother but is considered much more off the rails with what she creates (and does), often sending disasters in varying forms to the unikingdom or even her own home. She prefers to fight with mind and mech, but when a push becomes a shove she’ll use her body.

She overthinks, constantly thinking everyone thinks less of her. Her clairvoyance doesn’t help, having hearing so good if she focuses hard enough she can hear people’s thoughts. Lunette constantly feels like she needs to prove herself to someone, even if that someone is entirely made up, and these feelings make her so overwhelmed her mind goes feral. Pray you never get into a competition with her!

Impulsive, stubborn, vengeance seeking, and generally kind of a jerk, though her similarities to Dr.Fox is clear with her intelligence Lunette takes A LOT more from her father.

However, these similarities to her biological father is one of the main sources of her self-hatred, pity, and other negative feelings

[aeoneris]

Setsuna's 30-Day Hunter OC Meme!

Glad to see people enjoying the meme I made, and I just finished mine up yesterday (30 days really goes by quick!). I decided to document my thread on Twitter here.

Presenting, Setsuna!

Day 1: Introduction

This is Setsuna Yukino. Age 25~30+, Nonbinary (They/She), Human. Born and raised in Kamura Village.

-

Day 2: Weapons

Setsuna specializes mostly in Insect Glaives and uses the Fox Halberd. On rare occasions though, they'll use the Mail Soulpiercer bow made from slaying Magnamalo.

-

Day 3: Armor

Setsuna's main armor set for hunting. There's a bit of the influence of the Wyverian twins, and even Master Utsushi- the fox mask is a gift from him, and Setsu habitually wears it on many hunts.

This is what Setsu normally wears on off-days. Or if it isn't this yukata, then a baggy jinbei/common workclothes similar to what the other villagers wear.

While there's the main outfit, there were 3 different sets worn throughout the Risebreak story.

-

Day 4: Buddies

Setsuna's buddies are Fuu the Shikigami Palamute and Kogitsune, the... nine-tailed fox who acts like a Palico for some reason?

Fuu was passed down to Setsuna when they were a child. In fact, he is older than his owner! He's a familiar face in the village, and everyone knows who this magnificent beast belongs to. A fiercely loyal guy.

Kogitsune's been acting as Setsuna's support ever since they saved him from a rogue pitfall trap years ago. He's their housekeeper, but occasionally helps with hunts. Setsuna decided not to question his existence, or why he acts like a Felyne. What matters is that he's a friend.

-

Day 5: Monsters

Setsuna is best associated with Mizutsune, being fox-like and lithe in battle. (But, if you asked, they actually enjoy hunting Rakna-Kadaki the most. Probably because it's like a big bug... And Setsu loves bugs.)

-

Day 6: Hobbies

Setsuna's favorite hobby is raising kinsects in their spare time. They've been doing this for many years, since childhood. They also love exploring and finding where rare endemic lifeforms live.

As for side jobs, Setsu often helps other villagers with tasks like physical labor. If they never became a hunter, they'd basically be living day in and out like this. Lowkey would be a workaholic, but they do take breaks often. (This art is a younger version of Setsu.)

-

Day 7: Family

Setsuna considers most of Kamura family, and they regard her the same. The Wyverian Twins are like Setsu's older sisters, and Yomogi, Iori, and Komitsu little siblings. Setsu also has a mother and father who are traveling merchants that sell Kamura's wares.

-

Day 8: Comrades

Setsuna has a small network of friends she likes to hunt with most, but doesn't mind helping strangers if they'll have her. She especially enjoys hunting with a certain instructor. When it comes to gathering requests though, Setsu prefers to be alone.

-

Day 9: Bond

Kamura prides itself on the fact that their greatest hunter and the village instructor are locally known as a legendary power couple. You might catch them running across the rooftops on the way to their next mission. Setsuna and Utsushi are professionals, but rest assured... They are very much in love. Painfully so. There is not a bond that is stronger than the one between master-and-disciple-turned-lovers.

Here's a link to the first fanfic I wrote about Setsuna and Utsushi, if you're interested in their story. The thread also has the rest of my fanfics about them, in order.

-

Day 10: Food

Setsuna tries to have a balanced diet, and will eat almost anything they're offered. Lately, they've grown a sweet tooth because of Yomogi and Komitsu. However, if you asked, sashimi is their "favorite" food because it's the only thing they know how to prepare.

To be clear, Setsuna... cannot cook. Not even if their life depended on it. But they're oblivious to the fact. Everyone goes out of their way to stop them from trying to cook. The instructor is even stumped on how to teach Setsu...

-

Day 11: Inventory

Setsuna likes to travel light and only brings what's needed for every mission and hunt, like a few potions and rations. They're pretty handy at finding materials to make useful things on the spot when it gets tough.

-

Day 12: Symbolism

Setsuna is often represented by "the snow of winter melting to give way to spring", a chrysalis, or a snow-faced fox.

-

Day 13: Music

Here is Setsuna's playlist, all songs that remind me of them or their relationship with Utsushi.

-

Day 14: Habits

Setsuna tends to look a certain way when they're pensive or lost in thought. It's something like concern or even at times a "resting bitch face", and makes them intimidating to people who don't know about it. Also has a habit of being sleepy after eating.

-

Day 15: Half-way Free Space!

Setsu is a surprisingly good singer, but the quickest way to make them stop is to point it out... So if you'd like to keep hearing it, don't say anything at all and just enjoy it.

-

Day 16: Motives

Setsuna never actually wanted to be a hunter while growing up. They were content with being an everyman of the village and living day to day with no real aspirations. But around the age of 19, they were stirred to act...

After witnessing the aftermath of a monster attack that took away a friend's life. Wanting to know how to protect others, Setsuna finally reached out to the only person they knew that could help...

Utsushi knew of their potential for a while, but only took them up as a disciple when they were ready and serious about being a hunter. Setsuna studied under him for about 5-6+ years before the start of Rise.

Here's a link to "Cocoon", a fanfic about Setsuna's backstory, if you're interested in the details.

-

Day 17: Temperament

Setsuna was used to being ostracized at a young age, and though it doesn't really happen anymore, they got used to it and don't really care about what people think about them. So if anyone had an issue with them, they would just calmly assess the situation.

They'd rather avoid confrontation as much as they can. But that being said, if someone really came at them... Well, there always comes a point where Setsu gives off a weirdly intimidating aura, so sooner or later, someone will back down.

-

Day 18: Happiness

Seeing a smile on a client's face after a job well done, watching their kinsects grow up well, spending time with the instructor... These things make Setsuna happy. The fact that tomorrow could bring these things makes life worth living.

... Also, on rare occasions, a really good smoke.

-

Day 19: Aversion

Setsuna doesn't feel comfortable with people who are too abrasive, who look down on others, or aren't very humble. And of all the things they really hate, it's the idea of not being able to fulfill a promise.

-

Day 20: Trauma

When Setsuna was a child, their grandfather left on a journey and never returned. The void that he left behind slowly changed them into a person who couldn't take risks and had no aim in life. At least, for a time...

Things are much different now. Eventually, Setsuna learned to embrace life's whats and ifs by their own hands. Their body is covered with scars from their time as a hunter, but they learned to accept every single one as proof of surviving risks taken.

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Day 21: Fear

I mentioned that Setsuna hates "the idea of not being able to fulfill a promise." But actually, that hate is an irrational fear. They can't handle the possibility of leaving behind unfinished business.

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Day 22: Spirituality

Setsuna seems lax, but there is something fervent about the way they deeply respect the balance of nature and their part in the cycle of mortality that surrounds hunting. They always offer a tiny prayer of thanks for the life that they take.

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Day 23: First Impressions

When people first meet Setsuna, they tend to get bewitched and intimidated by her presence. Is she royalty or something? There's just something about her. But as soon as she opens her mouth, people are taken aback by how oddly friendly she is. It often leads to awkward first conversations, where even Setsuna is confused about what's going on. As people get to spend more time with her, they'll find that she's just an offbeat, but benevolent fellow. It's strange that this is the type of person who became Kamura's savior, and there would probably be conflicting tales about the Fierce Flame if it weren't for Master Utsushi regaling everyone in fine detail about her efforts.

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Day 24: Facade

Setsuna is genuinely an open and amiable person, but when it comes to certain situations... Well, Setsu can try to hide their feelings, but it's noticable when something is bothering them. There are certain complicated emotions that Setsu has trouble conveying in a straight-forward manner. Not because they want to hide them, but because they physically/mentally have trouble with it. Only their closest friends and partner know to give them time and space to speak.

I think it's also worth bringing back the "degrees of feeling jealousy" meme that was going around in certain fan circles. Setsuna is really funny when trying to keep a straight face.

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Day 25: Change

I mentioned it before on Day 16, but Setsuna originally didn't want to be a hunter. At that time, they were a lot more lonesome and estranged, yet paradoxically having a doormat habit of doing things for others just to feel important.

Nowadays, Setsu is much more vibrant and friendly, with every action full of intent. Even if they are still a bit odd in some ways, they're someone you can rely on and trust.

Appearance-wise, Setsu used to have short hair around the time they first started training under Utsushi.

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Day 26: Criticism

Those old habits of being a doormat die hard, and Setsuna does have issues with taking on a little too much at once. While they do follow through with everything, due to that fear of ever leaving anything unfinished or not fulfilling a promise...

They can really have a habit of draining themselves after everything's over. They are working on taking things one step at a time, and sharing any burdens with others they trust.

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Day 27: Atmosphere

Setsuna knows the Shrine Ruins like the back of their hands, since they've been exploring it since they were younger. But after being deployed to Elgado, they've really come to be fond of the Jungle area. They do well with any kind of weather, but they love the gentle sun after a light rain. Or even a sun-rain, itself.

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Day 28: Rest

Setsuna seems to have the ability to be awake at any time they're needed. They usually wake up at sunrise, but they also enjoy staying up under moonlight and sleeping in when they're free to do so. They also tend to take quick naps usually after a meal.

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Day 29: Dreams

Setsuna hopes they'll always be able to help others through the art of the hunt, even if it means traveling the world. But if it comes to that, they hope they'll always be able to come home to Kamura, and be by Utsushi's side. It's more a promise, than a dream.

Well... There's a chance that Utsushi will make sure he's always by Setsuna's side, whether they like it or not, so the dream of helping others can happen without any worry. For better or worse.

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Day 30: Ending Free Space!

Setsuna's favorite kinsect is a Pseudocath named Hasu. Thank you for reading about my hunter, and sharing the 30-Day meme!

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Get to know: Medieval! Tulkas

Warnings: Mentions of illness/death/weapons use

⚔Early life and family: Tulkas was born to Lady and Lord Shield much later in their lives, when they had all but given up hopes for a child. As a baby, he was born large and robust, and his lady mother struggled to give him birth. Tulkas had cried so loudly that the midwife had gone on to declare, "A warrior comes!"

Tulkas would go on to live up to her prediction. Despite being given an education befitting his station as his mother’s heir, Tulkas preferred sparring and jousting and war to academics. Nonetheless, he paid some attention to other areas of study given his future position, but was often considered a trial for his tutors given his mischievous nature. 

Due to being an only child, his mother sent him to nearby House Archer to live with the family as their ward, and to serve as a cupbearer for Lord Archer. Tulkas soon grew close to the Archer children, Oromë and his sister Nessa, and the trio were seen as thick as thieves.

⚔Appearance and Personality: Tulkas inherited the impressive height both of his parents were known for. By the time he stopped growing, Tulkas towered over everyone at seven feet tall. He had the broad shoulders and powerful body from his father’s side of the family. From his mother’s side, he inherited their famous spun gold hair, ruddy skin, and amber eyes. Tulkas often preferred robes of well-cut wools and leathers to silks and velvet. A handsome man who could charm even the iciest of lords and ladies into surrendering their charms, Tulkas was never short of companionship.

Like his mother, Tulkas was slow to anger. And like his father, he was slow to forgive, never forgetting those who insulted his honor or harmed those he cared about.

He is generous as well, often treating guests with an open hand, and he is known for always setting a tasty table. He enjoys sparring and jousting, and converted an abandoned building within Stonehearth into an impressive stadium with built-in seating and a field large enough to host races, archery contests, wrestling, and boxing. Wagers from these contests have been known to set records, and contests have attracted competitors from all over Valinor. 

⚔Weapons and armor: Tulkas will wear only padded leather when sparring. For jousting or actual war, he will wear heavily plated armor chased in silver and gold, the colors of his house. The crest of his helm bears a rearing bear chased in yellow gold.

While Tulkas prefers hand-to-hand combat, he is skilled in the use of the sword, spear, lance, and morning star. He wields the family longsword, "Golden-Tooth."

⚔Relationships: Tulkas was close to his parents, often confiding in them and seeking their counsel. Tulkas grieved deeply after a great plague spread through Valinor and claimed his mother and father. He would have shut himself off from the rest of Valinorian society had it not been for his friends.

Later, he would take in the Tarkil twins after they lost their family and give them positions within his household guard. Tulkas saw great potential in both, but paid closer attention to Lady Meássë. Theirs was a student-mentor relationship that slowly morphed into something else over time. Tulkas’ relationship with Makar was nowhere near as harmonious. The two often quarreled, with Tulkas thinking Makar was too impulsive and unpredictable with his fists. He also did not care for Makar’s harsh attitude towards elves and kept him well in hand.

Tulkas once had a friendship with the former Crown Prince, Melkor. They often sparred and jousted together, and even helped each other during melees. There were even rumors that went so far as to suggest both he and the Crown Prince had been lovers. Neither refuted nor accepted these claims, but Tulkas never forgave Melkor after he left to form his own kingdom, and word of his many abuses reached Valinor. The lord of House Shield joined those who opposed Melkor’s request for pardon and a chance for negotiations, and he earned the former Crown Prince’s enmity because of it.

His friendship with the Archer siblings, on the other hand, continued to stay strong. They would all go hunting and camping whenever the opportunity presented itself, and they would invite each other for feasts.

⚔Other: Tulkas is one of only a few Valinorian nobles to have tattoos. These include the sigil of his House, intricate scrollwork, flowers, birds and animals, all depicted in gold and black ink.

tags: @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese @edensrose @wandererindreams

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

Abjid liked to think they had pleasant memories of visiting Val Royeaux as a child. It wasn’t true, they couldn’t remember anything pleasant about their childhood. Their memory was full of holes, gaps, enough years missing that they couldn’t tell how old they were offhand--They were born in 9:02 Dragon, allegedly, as far as they knew. 

Perhaps their most guilty pleasure was imagining what could fill those gaps in their memory. Val Royeaux wasn’t too far from Val Foret, it wouldn’t have been impossible for them to visit. Abjid’s clan was currently settled in Emprise du Lion, Abjid was supposed to be in Ferelden now, They had been living in Kirkwall less than a week ago, but now they sat on a tucked away stone bench near one of the markets in Val Royeaux. Maybe they came here as a child.

There was a stall in the market nearby filled with all sorts of brightly colored candy and sweets, bright-eyed children pulling their parents over to get sweets, or spending their own pocket change on a bag of candies with their friends. Abjid wanted to picture themselves like that, wanted to somehow unearth a memory of this that they had long forgotten. 

Even now, though, they couldn’t wander the streets freely. A Dalish elf in fine clothes wandering Val Royeaux would bring too much attention to them. Instead, they needed a crafted illusion spell to change their appearance, make them look like a human man of moderate standing.

They couldn’t walk the city as themselves, they couldn’t manifest memories of a pleasant childhood. They could, though, unearth memories of Val Royeaux. They had been here as a child. 

Once following around a servant from the Foret estate, to get a headstart on learning the duties ahead of them. Later tied up and dragged to the White Spire, left in a windowless cell after they had fought tooth and nail every Templar that came to take them. And then as a rumor, idle gossip, a ghost story. Whispers of an bastard child, a possessed mage, a secret funeral.

Part of them desperately wished that they could walk the streets with their head held high, let people look, let them gossip. Abjid wanted nothing more than to announce who they were and let scandal destroy the Foret family. They wanted rub in everyone’s faces how they were alive, that they were a Grey Warden of such standing that they had personally been gifted armor from the Empress. They wanted to show up at their father’s doorstep, let him see them alive, thriving, married, dressed in fine gowns, adorned with Vallaslin. 

But Orlais had killed and erased elves stronger than Abjid. They could only win by playing The Game. They had to smile, dance around issues, lay in wait, sacrifice pawns, gamble innocent lives for sport, for revenge, for the improbable chance to hurt someone untouchable.

They couldn’t.

But they could pretend. Imagine.

Abjid watched children run around the marketplace laughing. They liked to think they had pleasant memories. It was easier that way.