#legs from here to homeworld

[subestu]

Round 2: Easy

[realtimefanduboutofcontext]

Real-Time Fandub | Steven Universe, "Legs from Here to Homeworld" (2018)

[yahoo201027]

Day in Fandom History: December 17…

After the events of “Reunited”, Steven tries to convince both Blue and Yellow Diamond to cure the corrupted gems, but is unable to do so and instead travels to Homeworld and tries to convince a certain someone to complete the task. “Legs From Here to Homeworld” premiered on this day, 6 Years Ago.

[gabriel-seths-pr-assistant]

Do space marines wear any normal clothes, like something a baseline human in Imperium would wear but made for their size? I'm new to warhammer and in most art of them I have seen they are either in armor or naked in underwear.

Yes, Space Marines do have "normal" clothes for everyday use.

They will often use their power armour for formal occasions since it's more impressive and intimidating — one of my favourite Gabriel Seth moments is in the short story Know Thyself by Andy Smillie when an Inquisitor pays the Flesh Tearers a surprise visit and Seth is literally not wearing pants:

Seth knelt in the Reclusiam’s centre, naked save for an ashen tunic that draped his broad frame.

Seth has to send two battle-brothers to distract the Inquisitor while he scrambles into his power armour to make a good first impression. 😂

However, as I have mentioned earlier, wearing power armour for extended periods of time creates an ungodly body odour. So when they're not in a combat AO, Astartes wear various types of formal, military, or casual clothes.

In general, Astartes are warrior-monks and will often wear monastic robes and habits (which can be quickly shed for a duel or close combat like Jedi in Star Wars:)

However, some Chapters also follow the fashions of their homeworld.

Here are some descriptions of Astartes clothes from the canon:

Ultramarines

Ultramarines are culturally inspired by Ancient Rome and often wear tunics or togas when performing administrative duties among mortals:

— Marneus Calgar.

Messinius was garbed in simple clothes: loose trousers, boots and a tunic that left his massive arms bare. He enjoyed the freedom of movement they gave him. So much of his life was spent enclosed in ceramite, he enjoyed being free of it.

— The Avenging Son.

They spoke in Guilliman’s library, his most sacred sanctum. Guilliman had removed the Armour of Fate, though it physically pained him to do so. Like Maxim, he wore a tunic and trousers. The primarch’s clothes were ultra­marine blue to Maxim’s forest green, and unlike Maxim’s heavily embroidered garb, Guilliman wore no decoration besides the buckle stamped with the ultima that fastened his belt. As usual, he sat at his desk, working while he talked.

— Godblight.

However, Ultramarines also have more formal wear:

Sicarius left his former quarters a short while later. He had donned a gilt-edged red cloak and light carapace breastplate over his training fatigues.

Prabian wore fatigues and light training armour like Sicarius, but he also had a small combat shield strapped to his left arm and wore a sheathed gladius at his left hip. A soft blue cloak with a silver trim swished in his wake.

— Knights of Macragge.

War Hounds

We also get descriptions of formal wear from the Great Crusade era, specifically the War Hounds (early World Eaters):

He looked at Dreagher again. Like Khârn, the man was dressed in white, bands of blue glittering across the high-collared tunic, boots and gauntlets a dark ceremonial blue rather than functional shipboard grey. The Emperor's lightning-bolt emblem gleamed at his collar and shoulder. His dress matched Khârn's own: the formal garments with which the War Hounds symbolised they were about their most solemn business.

— After Desh'ea.

Dark Angels

Dark Angels embrace the ascetic warrior-monk aesthetic to a very high degree:

— Will of Iron.

Space Wolves

Like most Fenrisians, Space Wolves wear furs and deerskin leather clothes:

Arjac moved to the other side of the throne to Fenrir so that he could see the vid-feed from the frigate approaching the space hulk. Like the Lord of Fenris, he was not in his armour, but dressed in a hide tunic and leggings, his arms banded with leather totem cords hung with fangs and bones, his thick belt riveted with iron honour badges. His freshly shaved scalp shone with the speckled starlight from the display. He dragged his fingers through his thick, newly trimmed beard.

‘It’s your pack, you choose the marking,’ growled Ullr. He was out of his armour too, but unlike the grey robes of Gaius and his companions he wore hide breeches tied with thongs from ankle to knee and a fur-lined jerkin that left arms and chest exposed.

— The Wolftime.

Blood Angels

In Dante, Dante himself dresses casually in red and gold day robes while doing office work. In Devastation of Baal, Dante also asks the assembled representatives of the Blood Angels Successor Chapters to attend a meeting in their day robes:

Erwin looked around, his curiosity piqued by the diversity of men who staffed his brother Chapters. As a last symbol of peace (although Erwin thought it more to save space) Dante had ordered that they attend in their day robes. These were almost as varied as their wearers.

— Devastation of Baal.

Blood Drinkers

The Blood Drinkers' homeworld, San Guisiga, is described as a hot, volcanic planet criss-crossed with lava rivers. In addition, a mutation of the mucranoid geneseed organ causes the Blood Drinkers' skin glands to atrophy, giving them very dry, itchy skin. As a result of the hot climate and skin irritation, the Blood Drinkers wear loose trousers and tend to go shirtless:

Chapter Master Caedis worked in his chambers. He was stripped to the waist; baggy, blood-red trousers on his lower half, soft black boots on his feet and a black tabard hanging between his legs – the manner of dress all Blood Drinkers affected when out of their battle-plate. The battle-barge was warm, the way the Blood Drinkers preferred; warm as the volcanic halls of San Guisiga, warm as blood.

— Death of Integrity.

Novamarines

The Novamarines, an Ultramarines Successor Chapter, lean more towards the battle-monks aesthetics:

Like him, he wore a bone-coloured habit, a deep-blue tabard hanging down the front displaying the Chapter badge: a skull surrounded by a stylised starburst. A silver sash embroidered with many campaign markings, the honours of a Deathwatch kill-team veteran, crossed the brother’s chest.

— Death of Integrity.

Entertainingly, in Death of Integrity, the Novamarines invite the Blood Drinkers to a formal dinner before embarking on a joint campaign and then fret among themselves about what to wear when welcoming the other Chapter, discussing the symbolic value of different attires. They finally decide on wearing their armour because they want to show the Blood Drinkers that the Novamarines are ready to follow the other Chapter into battle.

Iron Snakes

The Iron Snakes are heavily inspired by Ancient Greece, which also shows in their clothing:

Barefoot and dressed in a loose white chiton, Priad stood on the marble deck of the observation platform at the summit of the Chapter House's fortress.

— Brothers of the Snake.

Raven Guard

Agapito was dressed in black trousers and a sleeveless tunic. His arms bulged with muscles studded with the silvery wink of nerve shunt ports. His pale skin was shadowed by subcutaneous black carapace.

— Lord of Shadows.

Unnumbered Sons

His wargear was held in a makeshift armoury Daelus had set up at one side of the room. He left his armour on its stand and dressed himself in a loose tunic and trousers, pulled on his boots, and belted his bolt pistol around his waist. It was freezing in the station, but he didn’t feel it, and besides, nowhere was as cold as those millennia on board Cawl’s vessel. It was good to be out of his armour for a while. He had a loathing of confinement.

— The Great Work.

Areios had a few inches on the Firstborn Messinius. Neither of them wore their armour. Messinius was dressed in simple robes, Areios the off-duty uniform of short-sleeved tunic and trousers common to all the Unnumbered Sons.

— Throne of Light.

Knights Errant (early Grey Knights)

Clad in a long chiton of unadorned grey over a tan bodyglove with plastek-seals over his armour interface sockets, he was armed only with a few gardening tools hanging from a leather work belt.

— Luna Mendex.

Night Lords

In the Night Lords omnibus by ADB, the Night Lords are described as wearing robes or traditional Legion tunics (those of them that can still remove their armour, that is).

I hope this gave you a fair idea of how Space Marines might dress when they're not wearing armour. 😊

If others have more examples, feel free to add them!

[picturejasper20]

Another thing about Steven Universe as character (and the series) that has been mischaracterized over the course of the years and the source of a good chunk of discourse online is the relationship that Steven has with the Diamonds.

A lot of videos, posts and memes have spread around the idea that Steven went to Homeworld in the final arc of the series because he wanted to ¨be besties¨ with the Diamonds, when what happens in the actual show is very different.

In the episode "Legs from Here to Homeworld"-which takes place after the episode ¨Reunited¨ that Blue and Yellow Diamond find out that Rose Quartz was in fact Pink Diamond- Steven shows to Blue and Yellow one of the corrupted gems (Centipeetle) and helds them accountable for making a lot of gems end up this way and orders them to fix the mess they caused.

Steven: ¨Do it again! It was working!¨ Yellow Diamond: ¨How long do you expect us to hold her together?¨ Steven: ¨I don’t know. Forever! You did this! So you have to do something!¨

Seeing they need White Diamond to fix the corrupted gems, Steven thinks of going to gem Homeworld to see if he can talk to White about the corrupted gems and convince her to come to Earth and help them.

That's the main reason Steven goes to Homeworld- he doesn't like the Diamonds nor wants to be friends with them- he just wants to see if White Diamond can listen to him and help to heal the corrupted gems.

He is aware that the Diamonds listen to him because he himself is a Diamond-Pink Diamond. So he goes along with this little game pretending to be Pink thinking that way White Diamond and the others will listen to him. He believes that maybe as ¨Pink¨ he can make them see the errors of their ways and stop this mini war conflict that he has been caught on in the last few years.

Others have made more detailed analysis about this in the past, that a good part of this arc has a huge trans/queer metaphor for Steven's character- where he keeps being refered to and imposed an identity he doesn't see himself as. He gets called by the Diamonds and other homeworld gems as ¨Pink Diamond¨ and refered to as ¨She¨, when he often corrects and clarifies that he prefers to be called ¨Steven¨.

The final showdown against White Diamond is about this: White keeps trying to play mind games with Steven, making him believe that Pink/Rose is still alive in him and he is in fact Pink/Rose. Because Steven doesn't know this for certain, it proves to be effective for a while, making him feel very confused.

White believes that she is perfect in every way- it is what all her identity is about. She is obsessed with her own perfection so much that she doesn't allow herself to think that she has flaws nor she can't be wrong about something- and because she thinks she has to be perfect, that means that she is right about Pink Diamond still existing inside Steven.

The reality proves her wrong when she takes out Steven's gem and everyone sees that the gem part turns into Steven. As a way of metaphor to a trans allegory and self love, Steven sees that he has always been himself and he shouldn't let other people define what his identity should be, that only him should decide that.

So, in a way, the Diamonds Days arc is intended to be seen as a metaphor to a LGBT+ kid/teenager standing up against their relatives, grandmothers or aunts in this case- and prove them wrong about their identity, that they are what they are and their family can't change that.

Okay, so Steven proves the Diamonds that they are wrong, they change their minds and they help with healing the corrupted gems by the end of ¨Change Your Mind¨.

Does this means Steven becomes friends with them after this?

Well... no

In Steven Universe The Movie, during the song sequence ¨Lets Us Adore You¨ the Diamonds beg Steven to stay with them a bit longer because they miss having Pink around, Steven is seen very uncomfortable around them and wants to get out as quickly as possible to return to Earth.

He sees them as somewhat allies and tries to persuade them in different ways to improve the current situation on Homeworld but he doesn't seem to like them much and doesn't enjoy being around them even if they aren't acting antagonistic towards him anymore.

He has a similar reaction when they come to Earth near the end of the movie. He is very done with them and says that they staying to leave on Earth isn't a good idea on the long run. Instead he shows Spinel to them and Spinel sees this as an opportunity to make a new friend again.

Well, about SU Future? How does Steven feel about them in that series?

In Future is where Steven begins to show real strong PTSD trauma symptoms (something he has had for a while except it wasn't nearly as strong). He knows that he has a problem most of the show but he avoids going to ask the Diamonds for help because he just feels very uncomfortable around them and it reminds him of traumatic experiences he had with them in Diamonds Days arc.

He doesn't go to them until after he accidentally shatters Jasper in ¨Fragments¨ and sees himself as a monster because of this. He separates himself from the rest of the crystal gems, feeling like he is as terrible as the Diamonds were. In ¨Homeworld Bound¨ he interacts with the three Diamonds, asking them for any way they can help him with his powers.

Most of the episode he feels frustrated because A) He can't find a solution to his problem and B) Sees that the Diamonds and Spinel are doing pretty well and he has been getting worse. It makes him get more and more angry the more time he spends in there.

The scene that leaves pretty clear how he feels about them, specially White, is when he talks to White. As shown in the gif above, when White touches Steven near where his gem is, Steven pushes her hand off from him, clearly being reminded of the time White ripped his gem off him in ¨Change Your Mind¨.

White uses her powers so Steven can talk to own self. This leads to an iconic scene that Steven gets angry at himself and White. He has a very strong intrusive thought of crashing White's gem into a pillar for what she put him through. He gets shocked for this and makes him run away scared as result.

This scene leaves clear that Steven has a lot of buried resentment for what the Diamonds did to him, mainly White. Being around them reminds him of his trauma, it makes him deeply uncomfortable and he would rather avoid them as much as possible.

The Diamonds get concerned about Steven and show up during the events of ¨I Am My Monster¨ when Steven transforms into gem like monster. The Diamonds and Spinel blame themselves for Steven feeling this way because of their past actions. White feels it is her fault because of how she hurt Pink Diamond and this brought problems to Steven.

They help with calming Steven down and him returning to his human form. Now there is some argument to be said about why they took part of this hug aside from using their powers to help the gems. I have talked more about this in here but i think it is to represent Steven accepting himself as being part Diamond and maybe forgiving, realizing that he isn't an ¨irredeemable monster¨ because of what he did, that way he stops seeing himself as one and goes back to his normal form.

After this, it is a bit unclear where Steven stands his opinion on his relationship with the Diamonds. I would assume that it is probably not much different than it was before. He still doesn't like them and probably doesn't want to be around them even after all that happened.

In short: Steven sees the Diamonds as allies and post the events of ¨Change Your Mind¨ he shows to be uncomfortable being around them, he doesn't seem to like them and mostly prefers to avoid them. He is glad that they are changing their ways for the better but he would prefer to not interact with them if he doesn't have to due to his own trauma.

The Diamonds regret how they have hurt Steven (and Pink) and care about Steven but he thinks it is better for him to have a distant relationship with them for the reasons i discussed. They can still improve and make amends for everything they did and Steven doesn't have to feel forced to have a relationship with them if he doesn't want to.

There are other things that could be discussed, about how the Diamonds Days arcs should have been longer or how the Diamonds needed more screen time- However, the point of this post is talk about people have mischaracterized Steven's relationship with the Diamonds, saying Steven is best friends with them when in reality he doesn't like them and spends most of Future series avoiding them.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Human Optimism

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“I will be direct with you; I was against your coming here.”

Yafin had not expected such a direct response from the head doctor and was momentarily silenced as they continued.

“When I first read your request to interview one of our oldest patients I saw it for what it really was; a puff piece meant to make a name for yourself with no regard for the patient.”

 “Now that’s not-“ Yafin began before the head doctor cut him off.

“But you wouldn’t take no for an answer and decided to go over my head to the hospital board and pitch it which is the only reason you are sitting here today.”

“Dr. Timlock, I want to assure you your fears are unfounded.” Yafin began but he saw from Timlock’s expression he would make no headway there. “Yet as you mentioned the board liked my story pitch and so regardless of what you may feel this interview is ongoing.”

“Furthermore,” he added for extra spite, “your patient even agreed to the interview and so your say in the matter has lost relevancy.”

The room was silent as the doctor fixed him with the coldest glare he had ever seen. A chill ran up his spine and he felt the room suddenly become ten degrees colder as the doctor stood up from behind her desk and walked around to him.

“Listen here you little sha’rav,” Timlock spoke through gritted fangs, “you may have gotten this sham of an interview but I am still the head doctor of this facility. If I see your questions making the patient uncomfortable or their heart rate jump even by the slightest of margins I will end it right there and then and have your legs broken.”

“That wouldn’t kill me.” Yafin chuckled.

“I know,” the doctor countered with a devilish grin, “just enough to put you into the hospital. MY, hospital; where I will make sure you don’t leave for a long, long time. Do you understand me?”

Yafin’s amused expression quickly fell away as he nodded in silence.

 “Good.” She finished and began walking to the door. “Let’s go meet your subject.” ------------------

Wayfare Station was the most advanced medical facility this side of the quadrant. It operated as a massive two tier medical institution. The first tier comprised of nearly a hundred levels capable of caring for over three hundred different species and the specific environments of their homeworlds to maximize treatment and care, while the second tier comprised of an equal number of levels dedicated to the most advanced form of medical research and testing facilities for cutting edge treatments.

Dr. Timlock was the head doctor and as such maintained a constant stream of data being sent from both tiers of her hospital. Any other doctor would have been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information but Dr. Timlock was a Vikarian which meant her advanced neural pathways were more than capable of consuming the information and responding in short order. Everything from material request forms to latest emergency admissions she was kept apprised of.

Yafin strode after the doctor as she led them to the research tier of the facility where his interview subject was being kept for observation. It was easy to tell the transition between the two as the hallways slowly began to thin out in crowds of patients only to be replaced by an ever increasing amount of security checkpoints.

“Is this level of security necessary?” Yafin asked as they cleared the sixth checkpoint in the last thirty minutes.

Dr. Timlock let out a snort of amusement but didn’t bother to turn and address him directly as they continued walking.

“What we do here is ground breaking medical research for the betterment of the universe,” she said as they cleared yet another checkpoint that included viral gene scanning, “there isn’t a day going by that we don’t have some form of corporate espionage agent trying to break and steal that research for monetary gains.”

As if to emphasize the point Yafin cleared the next checkpoint and was greeted with the sight of a technician sprinting down the corridor with a jar of some kind before being tackled by three security personnel.

“Doctor.” One of them nodded as Timlock approached. They tilted their head in the direction of the technician being hoisted up, their hands now in iron cuffs. “Caught this one trying to steal the latest batch of treatments for bay 17.”

 Timlock looked over the spy and scoffed. “Couldn’t even wait for a shift change I see; amateurs.”

She turned her attention back to the security guard. “Excellent work as always; have them handed over to authorities and ask for max sentence to be applied.”

The guard nodded and hauled the spy away as Yafin watched; his fingers rapidly typing out what had happened on his digipad.

“What makes you think the authorities would take your recommendation into account for punishment?” Yafin asked as the pair resumed their pace.

Timlock shrugged as if the matter was now little more than an annoyance. “When you hold the lives of many an injured officer in your hands and bring them back form the cold grasp of death they tend to be generous with gratitude.”

Yafin would have liked to press this line of questioning more when the doctor suddenly stopped outside of a pair of thick green plated doors.

“Bay 233,” Dr. Timlock spoke as she swiped her security badge along the access panel, “they’re expecting you.”

The sound of thick metal bolts withdrawing drew Yafin’s attention and the thick metal doors slowly retracted into the doorway revealing a dark interior lit only by several small floor lights inlaid into the walls.

Yafin made to step forward but felt a tight hand grab his shoulder. He looked to see the Doctor fixing him with her cold gaze once more.

“Remember what I said.” she spoke.

Yafin gulped loudly and nodded. With the understanding achieved the doctor removed her grip and allowed Yafin to enter the room. She stepped in after him and the thick metal doors slowly returned to place sealing the room off with a loud thud that made Yafin jump.

“Security measure.” Timlock replied with a trace of amusement. “Nothing can get out of this room that could endanger the facility.”

Before Yafin could ask what they meant by that the floor opposite the doorway suddenly creaked and a large portion of it suddenly sunk into the floor. It peeled away effortlessly as a large cylinder like object began to slowly emerge from the ground.

“Suspended animation?” Yafin asked as he recognized the device as it continued to rise. Dr. Timlock shook her head.

“The treatment side effect made it so long term suspension was untenable. The tube itself serves as a convenient housing apparatus for the time being.”

The cylinder jerked to a stop as it ceased rising and the floor tiles closed back around it. Yafin approached the tube and with the sleeve of his arm wiped away a portion of the built up frost on the side to get a better look at the occupant inside. As he wiped it away a pair of cold green eyes were watching him from beneath the frost and Yafin let out a yelp of surprise before stumbling backwards.  

“May I introduce you to Mr. Morris Findel.” Dr. Timlock spoke up as she held on to her amused smile. “The longest patient held within our hallowed walls by four years.”

“Three years……362 days…to be….exact.”

Yafin looked around for the voice only to see it coming from a voice module built into the side of the tube. Timlock looked unphased by the correction and took a seat along the wall.

“On our world we don’t have 365 days.” She corrected Mr. Findel.

“I’m….human….” the voice continued with robotic overtones, “Of course….I count….by human….days.”

Yafin straightened himself up and finally got a better look at the subject of his interview and wished he hadn’t.

For a moment he thought the tank’s healing fluids had been corrupted as he could barely see Mr. Findel’s face. Yet upon closer inspection Yafin saw that the black fluid swirling around him was not the mistake of a cleaning system, but in fact swarms of machines clumped together into black masses. He was seemingly naked save for the long breathing tube that descended from the top of the tank and connected to his mouth, but the black swarms made it difficult to tell.  

“It’s…rude…to stare.”

Yafin’s observations were broken as the Mr. Findel was now looking directly at him.

“My apologies.” Yafin quickly replied. To his surprise the voice module chimed with robotic laughter.

“Just….pulling…your…chain.”

Yafin was confused by the dialogue and turned to Dr. Timlock to ask if the machine was broken. “It’s a human saying.” Was all she replied before allowing him to turn back around.

“Thank you for meeting with me today.” Yafin began. “I know it must be difficult with your current condition.”

“Oh?” Mr. Findel inquired. “And what….condition…is that?”

Yafin had not expected this question. His mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to find the words without sounding offensive.

“Well…..with missing all your limbs.” He finally stammered out.

To his surprise Mr. Findel’s expression adopted one of confusion.

“What….do…you mean?” he asked. “My limbs…..are right-“

Through the black mass Mr. Findel lifted what had once been his left arm only to find it severed at the elbow; his eyes growing wide in shock.

“What…is…..where….is my…arm!?”

Voice modules were notorious for lacking ability to convey emotion but Mr. Findel’s body motions were becoming frantic as he moved his body to check his other limbs and see them through the black goop of machines.

His right arm was completely gone from the shoulder, his right leg ending at the knee and his left leg only having the ball joint in his torso.

“Oh….god….” the machine began to repeat over and over as the human thrashed around in his tube.

“What did I tell you!?” Dr. Timlock’s voice shouted from behind a stupefied Yafin.

“I didn’t mean-“ Yafin began before he heard the door open once more and a pair of security guards entered.

“Get him out of my sight at once!” Timlock shouted as she ran over to the tube and began entering in several keys in rapid succession. Red warning lights descended from the ceiling as the reporter was whisked away, his last glimpse of his would be interviewee being of one of sheer panic and fear before the doors closed shut on the patient and his career. ------------------

“You….think…he…bought it?”

“Oh you really got him good with that one.”

Dr. Timlock grinned from ear to ear as the door closed behind her and the warning lights suddenly turned off. The room was quiet once more with just her and her patient alone to converse.

“I’ve…been…working on…my acting.” Mr. Findel said with an apparent grin beneath his breathing tube.

“Don’t oversell yourself.” The doctor countered as she pulled up the chair from the wall and sat down in front of Mr. Findel’s tube. “You’re no Danika Wade.”

“Everyone…is…critic.” Mr. Findel replied as he let himself be swirled around in the tube by the tiny machines.

Timlock watched this and the amusement of their prank began to fade away as old memories resurfaced.

She remembered the night Mr. Findel was rushed into her hospital. He was an engineer at the time who had been standing inside the engine room of his ship when a grade 3 explosion was triggered by a faulty power coupling. It blew him to pieces and the ship had barely limped to the hospital station before it suffered catastrophic failure and detonated as the patients were being offloaded.

Findel was projected to be die from his wounds within the hour and her lead at the time told her to move on to other patients that could be saved. Timlock had disagreed at the time and had chosen to do something drastic.

Rushing into one of the research wings, she came back with an experimental vial of nano-machines that were designed to repair even the most serious injuries. Her lead protested the usage of the experimental treatment but Timlock had administrated it anyway.

She’d watched as the machines began to repair the wounds, but all took quickly did she realize why it had remained experimental tech.

Without a base template to work off of the machines could not fully repair the body. They did not regrow his limbs to their former length and dexterity, but instead sealed the wounds shut and designated that he had reached stable condition.

Mr. Findel’s condition had stabilized, but he was still suffering from immense pain internally as not all his wounds were fully healed. When doctors tried to operate on him the machines would rapidly undo their work and “Restore” him to their designated default state leaving him in a state of suffering. Even EMP treatment was unable to disable the machines as more often one was left unaffected from the EMP and would rapidly multiply.

Timlock was nearly fired that day had it not been for the fact that to fire her would have meant admitting the hospital was incapable of treating all ailments and would damage the view in which the hospital was seen universally. So it was swept under the rug, quietly.

Mr. Findel was moved to a research wing for further treatments while Dr. Timlock was now assigned as his overseer. She dedicated much of her time to rising through the ranks to eventually have enough sway to divert the much needed materials to finally cure Mr. Findel of his current tortured existence.

“Is….something….wrong?”

Timlock’s dive into the past was broken by Mr. Findel’s voice. She looked up at him floating in a tube of her own making and sighed.

“Was thinking of the day we met,” she remarked, “and how I failed you.”

“Could….be..worse.” Mr. Findel replied as he shrugged his shoulders.

Dr. Timlock let out a chuckle of disbelief. “How? How could this be any worse?”

“Could…be…dead.” He replied almost immediately.

Timlock’s mouth hung open for a moment before finally relenting to a question she had long since wondered herself.

“Do you want to be?”

Findel said nothing and so the doctor continued.

“I’m no closer to finding a way to turn off those damn things and you’ve been stuck like this for four years.”

“Three-“ Findel began but Timlock would not be interrupted.

“Every day you’ve had since then has been nothing but pain and anguish. Don’t you want it to stop?!”

Findel floated in silence as he pondered the doctor’s words. He could see the years of failures to resolve her debacle weighed heavy around her neck.

“Yesterday…” Findel finally began. “I….didn’t know…..you…were bringing…reporter.”

“What does that have to do with anything!?” Timlock snapped back.

Findel’s expression softened. “Today….was….fun…because…of it.”

Timlock watched in disbelief. The fact that this human, this object of near constant suffering, still had some semblance of fun was almost beyond her capability to reason.

“Tomorrow….may..be worse…” Findel continued, “or……it may be.... better. I…..don’t know…..and that’s…why I….keep going….always…the chance….to be….better.”

[thewertsearch]

Resolution to the summoner's mutiny is foggy, as I only understand what has 8een rel8ed to me through the 8rief answers I thought to solicit. Ultim8ely, the ire of the Condesce would 8e such that in the settling dust of the conflict, she would 8anish all from the homeworld, except the young. […] I cannot imagine how she would come to enforce such an upheaval in our civiliz8tion. Though I suppose she will have on her side the advantage of an unparalleled lifespan, and the leverage extended 8y the hideous psychic prongs of her deep undul8ing monstrosity.

Attention is drawn to the prodigiously long lifespan of the Condesce - the empress of Mindfang's time, and Feferi's probable ancestor. I used to think that the modern Empress was a different troll, but now that we're aware of fuchsiablood longevity, I'm pretty sure the two are one and the same.

Based on a line from Feferi's introduction, I was assuming that she was the only fuchsiablood in the universe - but let's take another look at the way that line's phrased.

You are 'the only of your kind' known to possess this blood.

That doesn't necessarily mean she's the only fuchsia troll, does it? For example, it might just mean she's the only Alternian with fuchsia blood, because the Empress doesn't actually live on the planet.

I really want this to be Mama Peixes, because the existence of a living Ancestor has so much story potential. Just how much does she know, and what's her agenda?

Nevertheless, I take the prediction as truth, and find it amusing that a homeworld domin8ed 8y children will 8e the gr8 summoner's legacy. One of them, at least.

Anyway, the Summoner - the boy who could fly - is the reason Alternia is a planetary Neverland, making it clear that he was the original inspiration for Pupa Pan.

It's also notable that we've only just started delving into Alternian history, and we've already learned about two massive rebellions against the social order. Contrary to what Alternians have been led to believe, this oppressive culture clearly isn't natural to them, and they've been fighting it every step of the way.

They don't want to be a murderous empire - they're forced to be, again and again and again.

More importantly, and less amusingly, his legacy will 8e my demise. You see, I first learned his name when I asked who would 8e the one to kill me.

And here's yet another layer to the Quest Cocoon Incident. Vriska wasn't content with living like Mindfang - she wanted to die like her, too.

Given that Vriska knew about the Summoner, one can only imagine how weird she must have been around Tavros. Not only was she constantly berating him, she was also putting him on this bizarre pedestal, comparing him to someone I'm damn sure he never knew existed.

And she'd never tell Tavros about the Summoner, either, because that would allow him to derive confidence from something other than her tutelage. No - she just silently compared him to a legendary hero, and he constantly failed a test he didn't know he was taking.

Seems like something's going very wrong in the Veil.

This seems like a sign that the session is on its last legs, and we're running out of time before it completely turns to static. We're entering the endgame.

The oracle I will resolve to part with. I will conceal it in a crypt 8earing the sign of the expatr8, with a map to its loc8tion hidden in this journal.

The cueball was sequestered in an Expatriate chest, which makes me speculate about whether Equius ever got his hands on it.

He can't see inside it himself - but like Mindfang said, it shouldn't be too hard to find a technological workaround, and Equius is a roboticist. I wonder if either Zahhak ever used it for themselves?

To whomever finds it, 8e wary, for the truth it tells may leave its new keeper 8lind as I was. Though no more.

She warned you, Vriska.

She told you it would leave you as blind as she was.

And it did.

[lemon-russ]

Poorly edited and written half awake and sick- the best flavor of porn ✨❤✨❤✨

Mortarion x F!Reader (Pt. 6/ 5th prequel )

Previous

The whole fic is now on Ao3!

CW: Dehumanization/ human pet, like A Lot of being a Pet, thigh fucking, fingering?, general Primarch smut

TAGS: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk @sharenadraculea @moodymisty (even though you read it already lol sorry)

Thank you @squishyowl for the dividers ✨

“Don’t be difficult, pet” Mortarion chides, “It’s just clothes, try them.”

You press your mouth into a line, staring at the slip of fabric your master held up to you. A short, flowy white dress that you couldn’t see actually covering very much of you. It looks… impractical, to say the least. Nothing like your reliable tunic and trousers.

Mortarion sighs at your continued silence. “Do you want me to force it on you?” He says, raising a white brow.

You frown, and reach up to take the fabric. You’d rather not find out how that process would go.

He lets you crawl in your cage and draw your little curtains to change. You struggle to figure out the dress, but you find no matter how much you tug and wiggle, your chest is still hanging out the top and the bottom barely falls below your ass.

“M-master?” You sheepishly ask.

“Are you done? Let me see.” He says, tugging the curtain to your cage.

You blush. “Uhm, I don’t think it’s the right size for me, master…” you squeak as the curtain pulls back.

His eyes go wide, falling down your figure. “…It fits perfectly fine, pet.” He says, voice slightly strained. “Come, out, let me… see it fully…”

You pout and crawl out, standing upright. The dress, sweet and white and ruffled around the skirt, shows off your shoulders and cleavage, while the shortness shows off your soft thighs, and you assume by the breeze, the place your thighs meet the bottom curve of your ass.

Mortarion looks… stressed? He raises a hand to his mouth, rubbing his chin and mouth as his eyes burn through you.

“T-turn around, pet.” He rasps, coughing dryly.

You do so, giving a small twirl of your skirt. You think you hear your master make a weak groan.

“It is a… little short. In the back.” He coughs out. “But that’s alright, it’s only you and I here.”

You turn back to him and tilt your head curiously. What an odd thing to specify. It was always just the two of you, for… months, it must be now. You’d long since lost track of the time with your Master.

He swallows, gaze locked on your thighs. “Since it is only I, and you are my pet, there is no worries.” He nods to himself, raking his eyes up your curves. “Since I’d never do anything untoward to my pet. Of course.”

You smile up at him. “Oh, of course, master.” You chirp. Then pause. “But it just feels like maybe this dress won’t be practical since I crawl a lot…?” You dare to press. Something about his heavy lidded gaze makes you feel a way you can’t quite place.

He grips his face again, nodding a little too quickly. “Well. Why don’t you go crawl back in your cage and, we can see.” He chokes out.

You return to all fours, and immediately hear that noise again- he definitely just groaned. You scrunch your brow and look over your shoulder at him.

Mortarion looks like he is going through the stages of grief all at once, staring daggers at your barely covered ass. You frown, is he alright? Back on your homeworld, people were covered pretty head to toe due to the ambient dust and UV risk. To be so exposed feels impractical and unprotected, but you’re not sure why your master was reacting so strongly.

“Master…?” You ask gently. His eyes flick up to your face and he grimaces like he is in pain. He shuffles his legs, taking a deep breath.

“Come here, pet.” He forces out in a strained voice. “

You crawl over to his feet obediently, smiling up at him from the floor. You tilt your head, making him flinch for some reason. He stares down at you a moment before chewing his lip and gesturing for you to spin around. You do as he asks of course. You are past nitpicking Master over what he commands you to do.

“This is a… very pretty dress on you, pet.” He rasps from behind you. You see him lower to his knees on the floor behind you from your peripheral. “It is… very clean. Innocent, in a way.”

You glance at him, raising a brow. “Innocent…?” You as

He swallows, letting out a rough sigh. “Don’t worry about it, pet. Face forward.” He scoots up behind you, hands slowly coming to caress your back. “I wish to… try something. Don' panic.”

You knit your brow, confused. Panic? Why would you-

He takes you by the waist, pulling you back to him. “such a sweet pet,” he growls in a rasp, “it's ok if I just-”

You squeak a little at the sudden grasp, Mortarion’s hands nearly circling your hips entirely. Something huge, warm and firm seats between your plush thighs. You turn to look back at your master, but a large hand grabs your hair and forces your face forward.

You blink in surprise, both at the sudden manhandling and at your body’s reaction to it. Why did that feel so nice? You don’t get time to unpack it.

“Shh, shh, it's ok pet, I'm just going to do something, don't worry.” Your master says placatingly, rolling his hips and slowly squeezing himself between your thighs. Something on him slicks his path so he moves more freely between your legs each pass.

He lets go of your hair in favor of slipping his hands under your dress, grasping a cheek of your ass in each massive hand. His thumbs push your panties out of the way, and he lets out a shuddering groan as he enjoys the view.

You glance below you, having to lean a little to get a view clear of your chest. You gasp at the sight of him. He's so large, your dress catches over his cock with every pass as it presses rhythmically against your belly. The pale pink head is slick, leaving a wet trail between your legs, staining the fabric it rubs against with moisture.

The friction of it is starting to affect you, and you squeeze your thighs tighter to get more pressure against your hidden clit. The movement elicits a long, pleased whimper from Mortarion. He bucks faster against you, leaving a stain of pre-cum along the belly of your pretty white dress.

“See, no worries, you aren't even undressed, it's nothing untoward…” he groans from clenched teeth, sounding much more like he is trying to convince himself more than anything else.

You aren't sure that's how this works.

He places a hand between your shoulder blades and forces you face down into the soft rug, which he bought you last week after you complained of aching knees from crawling on the hard floor. Thankfully it now saved your cheek, which was being smushed into it.

“M-Master-” you whimper, trying to roll your hips back on him. He uses his knees to trap yours, forcing them together tighter for him. In the back of your mind your mind, you think about what an odd bruise you’re going to have between your thighs.

“Good girl-” he growls, rumbling from his chest. “Such a sweet little pet, such a- hrg- S-soft pet-” he groans as his hips pick up speed.

You whimper, lost in the not-quite-enough stimulation from the friction, but trapped face down and ass up as Mortarion thigh fucks you faster and faster.

“Master-” you whimper again, muffled into the rug. He falters his thrusts a moment.

“Are you- hurting, pet?” He rasps dryly, forcing his hips to slow.

You try and shake your head, “N-No, I- I just-”

You catch yourself last second. You almost asked him to give you more stimulation, which is very close to making a demand of him. But… the ache of your teased clit….

He leans over your shoulder to study your face. His own was flushed (or flushed in comparison to his normal pallor), and sweat stuck hair to his forehead. His hand lifted from your back, allowing you to meet his heavy gaze.

“Do you want…” he swallowed, looking in thought. “I… I suppose it would be… bad for you to become frustrated with no outlet.”

You look at him confused. He continues, leaning back again. “I heard when pets are… frustrated in that manner, they can become stressed.”

Before you can ask what that could begin to mean, your mind is wiped blank. He slips his fingers under your panties, clumsily rubbing around you. Which is enough as far as your body is concerned.

You pant a weak whimper and roll back against his fingers, making him groan and begin rolling his hips again.

“Th-there we- go-” He wheezes, “this is… still alright… still not ruining you-” he pants, picking up his pace and circling your entrance with his fingers.

You have no idea what he’s mumbling about, whining and whimpering as you finally start reaching your edge. When you let out a gasp, legs shaking and soaking him, he growls with you.

“Good pet, good girl, that’s it-” he rasps, slipping the tip of his thick finger in you, “There we go, there we go-”

He gasps and suddenly presses your face into the rug, thrusting hard between your thighs. With a weak, gasping final moan, he presses his cock against your belly and soaks your dress with pulses of cum.

You squeak at the sudden force, then whimper at the feeling of being drenched. Covered in your master’s cum. Something in your mind snaps into place, like a missing puzzle piece.

Panting, coughing, and wheezing, Mortarion rolls you on your back. “I- I’m sorry, pet. I went too far, I don’t know what came over me-” he stops mid sentence when he sees your face.

His brow knits, his flushed, clammy face growing concerned. “…Pet…?” He says carefully.

You smile up at him, flush, happy, panting, ecstatic. You wiggle your hips, his cock still trapped between your knees, dragging a weak rasp from him.

“Master,” you trill, making him raise his head to look into your fuck-drunk face, his face a mix of shock and disbelief, flittering to deep concern when he fully processes the look in your eyes. Concern for you or himself, you can’t tell.

“Master,” you purr, “Can we go again?”

[justfreakynothingelse]

Wrote this over a few hours last night, on discord, and was asked to put it here. Made a whole new blog so I don't flashbang my friends with this shit XD

Mortarion's a man of few words in the best of times, even with his beloved. He knows this. So as his beloved lifts their eyes to his, they see a burning desire for them to have him. And he wants, if he knew what exactly he was feeling, to scream for them to touch him; to take him inside them and use him as a toy, but he's never gotten this far with someone, before. His relationships with others have mostly been professional, and even those have often been reluctant, for the other members. As such, when they meet his eyes and see the raw desperation within them, he does not scream out. He does not vocalize his desires, no. He simply pushes his pants down just enough for his aching, throbbing, leaking, painful cock to spring out. After eyeing his cock for a few (painful, nerve-wracking, to Mortarion) moments, they reach a hand up and tentatively rub the weeping slit at the head, and Mortarion moans. He swiftly clamps down on the noise; a hand rising to cover his scarlet face, embarrassed by his own weakness, but mere moments later, his lover touches him that way, again and again and again, dragging out, even against the resolute will of the Primarch, whimpers and whines and bucking hips that simply send Mortarion down into a further well of mortification.

" 'Tari, are you okay? We can stop if you need..."

"No!-" large lavender eyes clench shut, at his outburst "Do not."

Their tiny hands resume their ministrations, drawing gasps from the giant as his precum steadily drips onto his skeletal form. Mortarion's eyes slide shut; taking in the raw ecstasy of the moment and attempting to regain composure. He might even have succeeded, if not for the raw heat that ran over the head of his cock at that moment. His hips thrust into the air as he moans and startles up, finding his beloved staring in surprise at his reaction.

"I'm sorry, 'Tari! I've heard that a lot of people like um... being licked there... so I wanted to try..."

Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. This is actually happening. Disgusting. Worthless. Coward. I could've hurt them, why are they doing this?

Mind still reeling from what just happened, Mortarion pants as he runs a hand over his face, attempting to compose himself as he sees nothing but their deft little hands on his cock, and their wet little doe eyes—they look like they might cry—looking up at him.

(Inhale) "It's okay," (exhale) "you can, uh, keep going" (inhale)

His lover leans down, and Mortarion shuts his eyes, mind torn between desperation—hoping they don't leave in disgust, at his weakness—and the side of him he has always repressed; the side that even now, as the flames of his desire are mere embers compared to what they will become, are still burning within his core, and screams to sheath himself within their throat.

Tiny lips on the head of his- (exhale) Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, how is this better than before? (inhale) A soft tongue catches the slit of his cock, able to just barely dip down into it a tiny bit, his eyes rolling back as his lover does so (exhale)

A groan, driven by three ruined lungs and the bliss of a broken man, shakes the room.

(inhale) as they trace the vein on the underside, pulsing with need (exhale) Mortarion's hips twitch, as his lover slides his pants a bit lower.

Mortarion cracks his eyes open; tired and scarred from overwork and the acidic gasses of his homeworld. And oh, in that moment everything, his entire torturous life, has been worth it; his beloved trails their lips down to mouth at the base of his cock, and he's no good with people, pathetic, good for nothing waste but he thinks in that moment that he understands exactly how they're feeling. As they drag their tongue back up, swiping it around to cover as much of his shaft as possible, he watches one of their hands drift between their legs. Mortarion ventures to breathe through his nose (usually difficult or impossible, due to the gasses he breathes), and in that moment, a riot of primal hormonal scents swirl into being within his brain, all of them calling him to take-claim-pin-breed-protect.

A small growl leaves his throat, unusual even for the usually surly primarch, catching his lover off guard.

"Everything okay, love?"

And with a voice deeper than any they've ever heard before, all Mortarion can do in that moment (and his brain drags itself to forming words) is grind out a terse "yes."

"That doesn't sound like a yes, 'Tari-" rising in a flash—speed no baseline can muster, and even he usually doesn't use—Mortarion is over them; cracked lips poised by their ear as he snarls- "I said yes. I'm simply... unused to this sort of situation."

"Oh!- Okay, 'Tari." And oh, their little hands trail their way up and across his chest, and Mortarion, despite his hatred of his body, wants to rip his clothes to shreds so he can feel them better. As it is, he groans low in his throat, almost wanton, as his lover gently pushes his shoulders away, guiding him to lie down once more.

His cock, neglected for much longer than Mortarion would like (he needs to be inside them, please please please-), made a small mess on the sheets, when he pinned his beloved.

With a gentle smile and a shy kiss to his lips (he can taste himself on them, and the mix of essences almost ends him, then and there), his lover blushes and looks away, clearly contemplating.

I need them, I need them, I need them, by the mountains of Barbarus, please, I need them

In the few seconds where they look away, his mind flutters, finally willing to think of the things so long derided. Of soft hands on his stomach, as his beloved takes him to the hilt. Of little hands running through lank white hair, after the fact Of weak legs throwing themselves around his hips, as he drives himself deeper, harder, within his lover. Of the way they'd cry out for him; his ruined voice hissing in Barbarusan as he tells them of worlds burned in their name and cities gassed and poisoned, for the crime of an official mentioning their very existence. Of coming home to open arms and good food Of having himself be the sole star in their sky.

When they look back, his face is flushed as if he were a supergiant star about to burst; all but glowing from the redness of his face.

"Um, 'Tari... I hope this is okay, but can I... try to take you? It's okay if you don't want that I just..." His mind goes foggy as they continue talking; worries and need and apology dripping from their lips as they continue, blissfully unaware of the war raging in his mind. To take or be taken? He's torn between the ingrained drive, of his upbringing, of decades of torture, to submit. To beg and make himself small. Yet that clashes with the born and bred drive to conquer; to pin them and make them his, wholly and completely. To be entirely in control

A rattling breath leaves him, and he sits up. "...Fine," he grumbles, looking away, lest they see the nervousness swallowing his eyes.

"Wait, really?" And with a bounce they knock him over, practically mauling him with kisses, which, as reflex, he grumbles and hisses about. Their hands lace themselves into his hair, and oh, what bliss, but then their lips leave his face and their hands leave his hair, and the moment is over.

In a heartbeat (when did their clothes come off?), they're poised over his cock; red and hot and throbbing from need and neglect. Mortarion is about to protest, because Oh stars, how much did I miss? and I don't know what to do, help help help help-, but his protest dies in his throat as he watches their little body opening up to accommodate him. He's not the largest of his brothers, but next to damn near any baseline, he's apparently enormous. The willingness of his beloved to take him is almost disconcerting, on that count alone... Let alone that despite how long he's been with this little mortal, he still refuses to show them practically anything of his body, out of disgust at himself. Their pristine skin, so supple and soft, makes his look like a mockery of nature next to it. But nonetheless, despite such qualms, they fade to nothingness as inch after overwhelming inch of him slides into his lover.

"Mor--tarion, is-is-is this okay?" They stutter and gasp out, less than halfway down on him. His brain itself feels like it's backfiring; falling over itself and curving back onto previous topics, trying to find words for how he feels in this moment. After a few moments (his lover still slowly sliding further onto him), he decides on what he wants to say.

"Don't stop, please, I can't- don't stop-" Cut off with a moan, as his partner wiggles and manages to find, somehow, more space for him within, and oh, when did they get that far down? Their ass meets his hips with a tiny plap that'd be barely audible to any mortal, but to him it echos like a shot in a dark hallway. They took him. They actually, really took him. He didn't know they could do that; they're so much smaller than him.

A shuddering gasp leaves his beloved as they feel him hilt within them, and it's all Mortarion can do, hearing that gasp, to not pull them further down; to not arch his spine as he pulls so that he's as deep as possible. As they breathe, Mortarion manages to move; cupping their hips with his hands and letting his fingers interlace on their back as his thumbs run over their pelvic bone - just palpable under their beautiful shining healthy skin.

As his lover braces themself, hands on his gaunt stomach, Mortarion lets his head roll back. It's hard enough for them to straddle him (despite his malnourishment, he's still so big) that they're only able to raise themself a few inches before letting themself fall back down. A steady, subtle beat of skin-on-skin begins, as the scent of sex floods Mortarion's existence. He can't help but toss one of his arms up, to cover his flushed face.

It's so good, but it's not enough. He wants to grab them with a hand and take control; move them on his cock as if he was back rubbing himself, furtively, in the shower after they bring him food and smile at him so warmly. His beloved's panting increases—they're angling themself oddly; does it hurt?—to almost a fever pitch. Quirking a brow, Mortarion struggles to find the words; unused to this sort of situation.

"Do you—nghh—need help, little one?" For indeed, all mortals are little, next to Mortarion. And despite how much Mortarion would love hate for that answer to be yes, they surprise him.

"I- ngh- just... feels so good, like this... can't stop, please don't do anything, 'Tari-" and in that moment, Mortarion might have stayed still for a year, if it meant enabling them to feel good.

So as their eyes roll back, reaching their peak with a licentious moan, Mortarion... wasn't entirely sure what to do next. He wanted, desperately, to continue; to grind into them until his beloved's body is pulverized from the depths his only his; only ever his cock can reach. But he didn't want to hurt them, either; mortals are so fragile, and he is rather fond of his lover, despite how he acts in public.

(exhale) "Can I keep going?" (Inhale) "Please, 'Tari- don't stop, please- I came but it's not enough," (exhale) Mortarion braces his hands behind his lover's back; providing them support as he switches to kneeling, joints popping all the way. One hand and forearm grasp his lover's hips, and the other spreads up between their shoulder blades, like a tree, almost, gently grasping their neck to keep them in place.

With a rattling gasp, Mortarion pulls back his hips from theirs, before slowly moving back in. And oh, he understands, in this moment, why mortals do this so much. Why they risk their jobs and families for such things like the tight little body around him; whimpering as the pace of his hips increases. The slapping of skin on skin is now the only readily audible sound in the room; overwhelming his lover's panting and whines, and his own growls are getting so low and predatory that his lover simply keeps their eyes locked on him; fascinated by the animal urges that are almost palpably roiling off the large man, like solar flares from a star.

Pressing his lover into the bed now, Mortarion just takes them by the hips; arching himself awkwardly over them in order to reach as deeply as possible. His lover splays their hands across his scarred chest, tracing each scar with the reverence of a devotee, and for all his inexperience, Mortarion does know what an orgasm, rising like a rogue wave, feels like as it builds. So with a final few thrusts, he does something he's heard Calas speak about, before, while they do their post-battle poison ritual together: he forces his lover's legs against his chest, bending them in half as he presses them into the mattress. As his aching joints threaten to collapse under him, his white hair curtains them away from the world, and his orgasm eases, Mortarion tunes in to the feeling of tiny lips on his chest. Pulling away from his beloved a bit, still hilted within them, they secure their legs around his hips to keep him close, and oh... he could do this forever...

[jpitha]

The Oxygen Breathers: With one hand tied behind my back!

The human sat on the bench in the common area for at least one of their hours before the children worked up the courage to approach.

"You're a human right?" One of the children - an Innari - said as they approached the human. They were taller than the human, and seemed to have barely any bones. They moved and undulated like an octopus that was used to being out of the water.

The human's helmet flashed an cartoon icon of its face and smiled - without their teeth - broadly. "That's right! My name is Harold, but everyone calls me Harry. What's your name?"

"I'm Opian, this is Downward Draft, and standing in the back is Vizxxian." They gestured with their tentacle-like appendage. It had manipulators on the end which could be seen a little like fingers. Good for fine detail work.

Harry put up his gauntleted hand and spread his fingers. A wave. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. What can I help with?"

"Downward Draft says humans are the strongest of the Coalition peoples. Is that true?"

Harry sat up slightly. His icon continued to speak while he did. "Well, I don't rightly know if that's true, Downward Draft. I haven't met everyone. Of the ones I did meet, I have a hunch I might be stronger, but you also have to remember, we come from a heavier world than most of the other Coalition species. Earth's gravitational pull is half again what it is here on this station. There were gasps and noises of surprises from the kids. "That's so heavy!" Downward Draft rustled their feathers they caught the light and sparkled. "This station is already heavy for us; our homeworld's gravity is even less. I bet I couldn't' even walk on your planet!"

Harry's icon nodded. "You might be right, Downward Draft. But, gravity aside, it's nice here. I like the colors you use to decorate, and I like your plants. Everything back home is just different shades of green."

Vizxxian was working themselves up for something. Harry peered over Opian's head. "How about you? Do you have a question?"

Viz's eye slits squeezed shut and they blurted out "My parent says you're all a bunch of 'rock throwers' and that we should have never let you into the Coalition. They say that outside of your suits and ships, you're not so tough."

Downward Draft nudged Viz. "Don't be mean Viz! Harry is a guest here. You know how to treat guests."

Harry chuckled. "It's all right Downward Draft. We learn things from our parents. Part of growing up is trying to figure out what is true and what isn't. Now, I'm not mad, but you know that 'rock throwers' is a slur, and not a nice thing to say, right?"

Viz's ears wiggled in assent. "Yes, but that's the word father used. I know it's a bad word though."

Harry nodded. "Context is important though. I could say 'I picked up this rock and threw it' and that's not a slur, but if I said 'those rock throwers always go back on their deals' that is a slur. It's all right though, I'm not angry." Harry's helmet cleared. The kids looked across as his face became visible for the first time. Opian's eyes dilated in surprise. "So your dad thinks that we're not so tough outside of our suits? How about we place a little wager? I'll get out of my suit, and if any of you can touch my arm, I'll buy you a snack."

Opian shrinked back. Downward Draft raised their feathered arms in a gesture of dismissial. "You can't breath the atmostphere here! You'll die!"

Harry put up a hand. "It'll be all right. I'll wear a breathing mask, and the pressure and atmosphere difference won't hurt me for the time I'll be out of the suit."

"Oh we couldn't-"

"I'll do it!" Opian and Downward Draft turned in shock to Viz. They had stood to their full height, just a little taller than Harry and bent their legs just a little. "I can touch your arm."

Harry grinned. "Good. Let's see." Harry stood up, and touched the pad on his suit's arm. There was orange light that illuminated his face and he frowned and pressed more buttons on his suit. After a moment, it turned green, and lines appeared all over the suit. Joints. With a hiss of pressure and a whine of servos, his suit unfolded like a flower, and Harry stepped out.

He was much shorter than the kids. Just two meters tall if that. On the top of his head was a dark fur that was closely cropped, and he had fur all over the lower part of his face that was the same color. Under the outer, armored suit he wore a tight body suit that connected to the outer suit with thin wires. Harry reached down and unplugged them and they slid up into the suit he was wearing and disappeared. Opian was impressed. Their suits seemed to be far more advanced than ones of Innari make.

"There." Harry's voice was much lower than his translator made it sound. Maybe it was the difference in breathing gas? It was also a little muffled by his mask. "Okay Viz. Whenever you're ready."

Opian and Draft stood back and watched. Viz stood stock still and seemed like they were trying to decide what to do. Suddenly, Viz howled and ran towards Harry. Their long legs consumed the distance between them relentlessly. At the last half meter, Viz spun and in one fluid motion bend down and lashed out with one of their legs. Opian gasped. He was attacking Harry! That's a lethal kick if it connects.

Before Opian could react any further, Harry... wasn't were he was before. He was standing a meter to the side, and Viz was flying backwards into the bench. Viz jumped up, and roared again. This was a roar of frustration as well as a battle cry, and charged Harry. Once again, Harry stood there watching, and as Viz turned to kick him, he wasn't were Viz expected, and they went skittering across the smooth floor.

Harry stood with his hands on his hips. His eyes flicked to Opian and Draft. "Remember, strength isn't everything. Know your opponent. Know how they attack, watch for signs, paying attention and then you can move out of the way and dodge." Harry was grinning and put his hand out and curled his fingers towards himself. "Come on, Opian, Downward Draft, you try too!"

Downward Draft bent low and leapt towards Harry, using their legs to absorb as much potential energy as possible, releasing it as they sprung towards him with arms outstretched. Quicker than Opian could follow, Harry ducked underneath the Avar, and Draft sailed harmlessly overhead.

Harry, looked at Opian and raised one of the small lines of hair above his eyes. "What about you, Opian? Give it a try?"

"No, thank you Harry. I concede. There's no way I could touch you."

Harry's nodded. "That's all right. Mayb-"

Harry looked over and Downward Draft was standing mere centimeters away, with his arm out, and the barest edge of one of his iridescent feathers brushed against Harry's arm.

"Got you." Draft whispered.

Harry tipped his head back and laughed. The kids all took a step back in fear. "No, no, it's all right. that's a fair touch. You win, Downward Draft. I'll buy you snacks. Just let me get back into my suit. My skin is starting to itch."

It only took a moment for Harry's suit to climb onto him and fit around him as he stood there. "I have to say Downward Draft, you can move quietly."

They ruffled their feathers in pride. "Thank you Harry. On my world, moving without noise is a prized skill."

Harry darkened his helmet and his icon re-appeared. "Harry?"

He turned, "Yes, Viz?"

"You don't have to darken your helmet. We don't think you're scary anymore."

Harry's helmet cleared. He smiled without showing his teeth. "I'm glad to hear that Vizxxian. I'm glad to hear that."

[subestu]

Round 1: Introduction

[yahoo201027]

Day in Fandom History: December 17…

After the events of “Reunited”, Steven tries to convince both Blue and Yellow Diamond to cure the corrupted gems, but is unable to do so and instead travels to Homeworld and tries to convince a certain someone to complete the task. “Legs From Here to Homeworld” premiered on this day, 5 Years Ago.

[deathworlders-of-e24]

Danny, Security Chief

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, the GAIL asked specifically for a Human security officer for this position. Yours was the first name on the list.”

Admiral Townes had said those exact words to him not 48 hours earlier, and here he was, in a rocket ship filled to the brim with races from 25 different species with different needs and different temperaments. Danny knew this was gonna take up a lot of his time.

Daniel Ducane, or Danny if you were a drinking buddy, liked it when things were quiet. He’d only really joined the service because of his family, both his mom and granddad had done it, and Danny genuinely did enjoy the feeling of helping people. God knows why he said yes to this posting though, an ‘experiment’ to push people to their breaking points. People usually either broke before then or they didn’t. Usually the former, and since the mission was a year long this time, Danny expected he’d get busy sooner or later. Apparently ‘keeping the peace’ aboard the Noah was such a high priority they’d even given him a commander rank the second he took the job. Weird.

Right now Danny was on his way to the Captain’s office for a briefing. Making his way down the halls of the ship, he took note of the many different species aboard. Several of them noticed him as well, some going so far as to stand at attention while he walked by. Danny even noticed how some of the crew took note of him. He wasn’t deaf to the rumors circulating about humans, about how we evolved on a deathworld practically designed to eradicate anything that wasn’t the best of the best. Humans had somehow conquered every other creature on their planet without any natural armor or weapons, by being these strange pursuit predators, apparently just too stubborn to give up the ghost.

When asked, Danny conceded that sure, Earth is kinda rough around the edges compared to other planets, but it was pretty quiet there these days. He liked that. His last posting had been on a security detail at the Doun embassy on earth, and he’d been asked a thousand times how he’d survived in the hellish landscape that had been ‘Arizona’. The Doun homeworld had an exceptionally long rotation period so most of it was frozen a majority of the time, a cool -4 on a hot day. He’d told anyone who asked “you just wear some sunscreen and short pants, you’ll be fine.” The idea of short pants was unheard of on Doun. They didn’t ask a lot of questions after that.

The door to the captain’s office hissed open, and Danny stepped in.

“Sir, security chief Ducane reporting for briefing.” Danny stood at attention, the only thing out of place being the black ball cap he always wore. It clashed with his gray uniform but he didn’t care too much about that. The hat wasn’t negotiable.

Captain Nadh, a Mergal man, stood up to meet him. The Mergal were insectoid, with two main limbs at what would be his shoulders if he were human, and a set of sub arms tucked into his abdomen. His left main arm was missing, replaced with a chrome prosthetic. His legs bent backwards like a grasshopper’s, and his body was sectioned into three different parts like an ant’s. The Mergal standard uniform was a two piece wrap, one around the neck with his rank proudly shown, and another like a skirt or kilt around his waist.

“At ease. Good to meet you, Ducane. My name is Captain *sssccchhht* [Proper Noun: Pronounced; Skitch] You came highly recommended from your last CO, so I’m hoping your brought the same level of commitment to the Noah.”

“Aye aye sir.” The Captain’s base language was a bit hard to understand to human ears, what with the lack of lips in favor of a set of short mandibles, so the translation was a beat slower than normal. Danny didn’t mind too much.

“Allow me to be honest, Chief Ducane. I specifically asked for a human security chief on this mission. I know your people have only been part of the GAIL for a few decades, but human exploits are known across almost every system by now.”

The corner of Danny’s mouth twitched up, and he had to stifle a laugh.

“You hired me…because I’m a Deathworlder, sir?” Danny asked. Skitch laughed, a low pitched chittering sound.

“Takes one to know one Ducane. I’m Mergal, everything at home wants to eat me, the plants, the animals, other Mergal.” Skitch laughed again.

“I wanted a human. I hired you because your record, your training, and your personality profile all tell me you’d be the best fit. You’d have full control over your team, train them how you’d like, outfit them with the best gear we have available, I think you’d be very happy here.”

Danny took a beat, then smiled. “Happy to keep things quiet for you sir.”

“Very good. Dismissed.”

Danny turned back to the door.

“Oh, Ducane, before you go. I got your clearance for your…requested gear and personal kit. I’ll trust you, until proven otherwise, but are you certain the equipment you requested is necessary?”

“You were honest with me, boss, so I’ll be honest with you. I like it when things are quiet. But I’d be an idiot if I wasn’t ready for things to go loud.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny put his feet up on his new desk and let his head rest back against the chair. He hadn’t brought a lot of stuff on board, so ‘decorating’ his office hadn’t taken that long. Two photos, one of his parents and siblings with himself, the other of him with the other members in his old unit back in his army days.

Two family photos, he thought to himself, and smiled.

He’d already squared away his duffel and his foot locker in his quarters, so all that was left to do was meet his new team. He’d seen the 3 other humans that’d be on the Noah with him, but none of them were on the security force, so that meant the 10 other crew were all going to be non human.

2 teams of 5, he thought. That way one team can get some sleep while there’s still half on duty at all times.

Danny had never really considered himself a leader before, but never really a follower either. He’d always just been part of the pack, watching someone’s six while someone else watched his. It was going to be different leading the pack this time. But hey, Rangers lead the way, right?

This is gonna be fun, Danny thought as his team came through the doors.

“Everyone fall in! We got work to do.”

[pocket-gems]

Ammonites

After ages, @devidaydreamer and I felt inspired enough to finish an open species called Ammonites! Here's all of their info ^^

These types of Gems are low to medium ranking Gems. They are serve as ornamental guards for high-ranking Gems and for delivering Pearls.

1- Appearance:

Ammonites are very tall Gems with a muscular build. They have small eyes with visible pupils and long eyelashes, a thin slopped nose and big full lips. Their face has notable cheeks and they have rainbow stylized hair that resemble shell-like shapes and freckles that match the colors on their hair. Sometimes they wear make-up such as eye shadow and lipstick.

They have a big strong chest, thick arms and long thick waist. The upper part of their body overall is bigger in comparison to their long thin legs and feet.

Their gemstone is shaped like a shell and its multi colored. While the amount of colors can vary, it always matches with their hair's.

1.1- Customization:

Similarly to Pearls, Ammonites don't have a set uniform or palette.

Instead, their colors, hairstyle, outfit and gemstone position are customizable to resemble the Gem they created to serve for. Fancier Ammonites appear to have transparent clothing.

Their standard Homeworld uniform consists of a white high collar with a white bog tie, a light blue jacket with big shoulder pads and colonial white accents with short white sleeves on top of a medium purple shirt, light blue pants, high medium purple boots with colonial white diamond-shaped accents on the knees and white diamond flats with white bow-like garments.

1.2- Undercooked Ammonites:

Undercooked Ammonites are the result of a formation of an Ammonite being rushed.

While Undercooked Ammonites share similar traits with Ammonites, they have notable differences. They are smaller and have a bigger head, smaller chest, thinner arms, shorter legs and seem to have less colors and details.

2- Personality:

Ammonites are very protective, loyal Gems who wish to protect others at all cost, even if they end up sacrificing themselves. Despite their somewhat masculine appearance, they are feminine in nature. They are submissive and obedient, most of the time awaiting for orders from their owner and wish to provide simple luxuries.

While they can be loving and caring to their owner, they can be quite judgemental of strangers, specially to those their owner doesn't recognize. This makes Ammonites' behavior to change into being more overprotective and intimidating.

3- Creation:

Ammonites are formed in deep oceanic trenches. While they can be cheaper to produce as they come from organic life, they take a longer time to form in comparison to other Gems, making them less reliable as a soldier and more of a commodity. Their shells need time to properly harden, or as a result, Undercooked Ammonites can come out. 

This results on smaller, weaker Ammonites who's shell couldn't harden. While these types of Ammonite can still be used as a bodyguard, they won't be able to properly use their abilities.

4- Abilities:

Ammonites possesses standard Gem abilities: bubbling, shapeshifting, fusion, regeneration, agelessness, gravity shifting, photokinesis, gem storage, and superhuman strength/durability.

4.1- Natural Skillset:

Immense Strength: Ammonites are extremely strong.

Immense Durability: Ammonites are incredibly durable Gems.

Immense Reflexes: Ammonites are gracefully elegant and able to execute acrobatic reflexes.

4.2- Unique Abilities:

Harden: Ammonites are able to harden their gemstone and create a layered shell-like armor around their body.

Self-Repair: Ammonites' gemstone is able to detect when they need to self repair itself and segregate calcium to solidify and harden its new shell.

5- Corrupted Ammonites

5.1- Corrupted

When corrupted, Ammonites take the form of a snail like beast. It has no eyes, a jagged mouth and it has three pairs of tentacles. Its body comes from its gemstone and the underside of its body seems to be of a paler shade, including the tentacles' palms.

5.2- Uncorrupted:

Ammonites that have been uncorrupted keep the paler underside where its corrupted form had it and a hardened shell-like hair.

Other Ammonite examples:

[aqua-the-smiter]

Ferrus is feeling a bit cranky over Candlemass, so Sanguinius takes it upon himself to cheer his brother up.

Just some wholesome Christmas writing Divider by @squishyowl

“Hurry Ferrus, hurry!” Sanguinius called cheerfully to his brother,  laughing as he dragged him by the wrist through the streets of Macragge.

“Four bloody hells where are we hurrying?” He snapped testily half running and half sliding. “Why are we hurrying, we’re ghosts, why are we running at all?”

“Sorry! Still haven’t figured out the whole ‘manifest in the Materium thing’ yet. But we are not missing this! Especially not you. C’mon, you have got three feet over me. Use those long legs of yours and move!” He replied, his wings flaring as he leapt to avoid a knot of Ultramarine neophytes.

Technically with them both being dead obstacles weren’t a problem, a fact the duo proved later by blowing through an intersection and phasing through the vehicles as if they weren’t there at all, briefly leaving the occupants with either a very warm feeling or a very grouchy one.

Although even in his fugue state Ferrus had to admit that winter on Macragge was something to behold. The sky was overcast and mottled with clouds. Huge, fluffy snowflakes whirled through the air on the icy wind, blanketing the city of Macragge Civitas in a pure shroud of white (except on the roads where salt and slush turned it a dirty gray). She looked regal, in her pale veil. Elegant. As the evening had crept in the streetlamps flickered to life, bathing everything in a festive golden-amber glow. The citizens were all bundled up warmly in coats and cold weather gear, walking and laughing together or celebrating in the streets and squares with family and friends. Even a few of the Ultramarines themselves were out enjoying themselves, battle brothers rubbing shoulders with everyone from senators to starport workers. It was here he found himself being ferried along by his much more enthusiastic sibling, who ran with the grace of a deer to get to…somewhere. He hadn’t elaborated beyond ‘we’re going to cheer you up’. 

He ran with much less grace but no less speed. Not really a deer. A draft horse maybe, one of those big ancient Terran breeds with hooves the size of dinner plates. 

A candle glowed in nearly every window (no matter how many windows that building had). It was Candlemass, you see. Humanity had never lost its love for celebrating the end of the year, bringing festivities and good cheer to the darkest, coldest months. Saturnalia, Christmas, Yule, and now in the 42nd millenia, Candlemass.  It was, by and large, a joyous time, but Ferrus Manus was feeling far from festive.

For you see, while Candlemass is a time of celebration, it is also a time of remembrance. Honoring those lost in the last year and beyond, remembering the good times and the sacrifices made for loved ones. The Imperial Guard, the Astartes, the Sororitas. A few candles were even lit for the men of the Custodes and the women of the Sisters of Silence. Even Primarchs were remembered this time of year.

Or, most of them, anyway.

Ferrus never wanted to be worshipped like a god. As Roboute and now Lion did, he found the whole idea unpleasant. But while he didn’t want worship, he did want to be remembered, and therein lay the problem. He usually never was. His idiot gene sons were decrying him left and right. Of all his loyalist brothers, he had the least amount of shrines, icons, windows, etc.  Most of them were on Medusa, his homeworld anyway, which hardly counted. The ones that weren’t were all included in a group of shrines. It stung, and he was man enough to admit it. Being forgotten about when he had died in the manner he did. A few hymns and a little thanks wouldn’t be too disagreeable. 

He felt a fresh surge of hatred for Fulgrim, making the fiery halo above his head flare white with hot rage. 

At least his men and women in the Legion of the Damned remembered him. Contrary to popular myth, the legion didn’t just have space marine. Guard, Custodians, Sisters of Battle. If you were a soldier of the Imperium in any capacity, you came to him. He cared for them, truly, and he could see that reciprocated in admiration. And it was nice to have them around to keep him company on the other side. He enjoyed the stories he got from the guardsmen, the technical chatter with the Skitarii, even the theological debates with some of the more fanatic branches of Imperial military strength. 

But still. Some kudos from the land of the living would be appreciated.

Sanguinius of course had no such problems. He was beloved by all in the Imperium great and small. He even had his own holiday, Sanguinala. Even on Candlemass though, the good folk of the Imperium took time to light a candle for the Angel. He always loved this time of year, unlike his dour black armored counterpart. Thus, when he’d noticed Ferrus’s equally dark mood, he had taken it upon himself to lift his spirits in the name of Candlemass cheer. And he seemingly had the perfect way to do it.

The two were pounding up the stairs of the Fortress of Hera now. Through doors, through the corridors and courtyards to a grand cathedral near the center of the Fortress Monastery. 

“Here we are!” Sanguinius said with a broad grin. “Let’s go.”

Before Ferrus could get a word in he was dragged through the ornate double doors.

Inside was lit with thousands upon thousands of candles. It was beautiful, ornate but tastefully so. The light inside was a mix of warm amber from the flame and blue from the stained glass windows. Between all the Ultramarine iconography were the chapter banners of the loyalist legions. Astartes and baseliners alike sat in pews, and the music of a pipe organ soaked into the atmosphere. 

“I thought Roboute hated the Imperial Cult.” Ferrus said.

Sanguinius nodded. “Oh he does. But this is not a Father-bothering service in the least.” He replied, finally letting go of Ferrus’s wrist. The two stood in the aisle, watching as said service unfolded. “Watch.”

Ferrus looked around, noticing that the candles were all being put out. As the music faded, the sanctuary went dark. The only light coming from augmetic eyes and the duos’ halos which nobody could see anyway. 

“What’s going on? Come on Sanguinius, why did you drag me all the way here?”

“Shh.” He pointed. “Shoosh. Just watch.”

As he said it a light flared to life at the sanctuary. Roboute stood there, not resplendent in his armor but dressed in a simple white toga and a blue cloak, the Emperor’s sword belted at his hip.. Ferrus had to bite back a gasp of shock.

He looked so tired and haggard. His hair was longer and thinner. His eyes were sunken and had dark circles under them. His face was lined. But for all that he seemed to be in a good mood, and it was clear why. Next to him, also holding a candle lighter was none other than the Lion, dressed in a forest green doublet and a black sable cloak. His shield was slung over his back. He looked older too, his hair much paled in color and longer, his beard fuller. 

“As we bid this year farewell in its final few weeks and prepare to greet the new one, whatever trials and triumphs it may bring, I would like to take one last moment of your time this evening to remember those that are no longer with us. Ceremony such as this ensures those we have lost are always honored and never forgotten, even if their names have been lost.”

He walked to the side of the sanctuary and lit several candles as he spoke. “For the Imperial Guard, the brave men and women of the Navy and the Aeronautica. We are all grateful for your continued bravery and courage in the face of horrors. You are the strongest of us all.”

There was a round of applause then. Several members of the congregation stood, and were seated again when it died down.

Next Lion walked to the other side and copied Roboute’s actions. “For the Adeptus Astartes. My sons and my brother’s sons. All our nephews without their gene-sires to guide their blades and guns. We thank you for your unwavering spirits and loyalty in the face of hellish odds. I am proud to call you my kin.”

More ovations, and this time the space marines in the crowd stood up. Ultramarines, Dark Angels, and a few scattered successors of each. But the middle was still dark. Roboute moved inward a bit, and then Ferrus saw it.

Shrines. There were shrines. One for each of the loyalists. A beautiful crafted statue of each rested on a small altar, surrounded by candles, although the features were obscured in the dark. Roboute began lighting them once again. These were colored either a dark forest green or an antique gold. The Primarch himself had taken his seat, leaving Guilliman alone up front.

“For my brother Lion. You are a pompous, stuck up, trigger happy, smug bastard, and I missed you more than I can say. I am glad to have you back. You wear your age gracefully, which is more than I can say for your armor.” 

The Lion laughed aloud at that, grinning, and after a moment the Dark Angels decided it was ok to find it funny as well. Guilliman moved on to the next altar. The candles were white and red.

“For my brother Jaghatai. Your speed and skill are sorely missed, as is your dry wit. Dustier than the deserts of Tallarn, and as sharp as any power sword. May your battles in the Warp be victorious and your return home as swift as the hawks and horses of Chogoris.”

And the next. The candles here were storm gray and yellow. 

“For my brother Leman. As loyal a brother and faithful a friend as anyone could ask for. I miss your ferocity, your brooding, and your joviality alike. You were one of my Dauntless Few, and I feel your absence sorely and sharply. You who so masterfully pretended to be a beast to disguise the razor blade of a mind underneath the wolf’s pelt. One day I pray we may drink and share stories again, and that I may hear of your great victories and tall tales. Come home soon, and come home safe.”

The next candles were yellow and black. “For my brother Rogal. Stalwart, unbending, unbreakable. You couldn’t understand a joke if it wrote an after-action report to explain itself to you, and you were as blunt as an old knife. But you were my good brother. You were my friend, a man of my Dauntless Few, and we are lesser without you. May you rest peacefully, and know that the Imperial Palace still stands. Know that nobody has forgotten your immoveable soul or your determination. Rest knowing you did your duty to the utmost and that we are all grateful.”

He paused as he reached the next shrine. These candles were crimson and gold. When he spoke again there was a barely perceptible quiver in his voice.

“For my brother Sanguinius. Everyone knew you as the Great Angel. Refined, graceful, powerful. One of my Dauntless Few. I knew you as that and as a mischievous jerk more often than not. You are missed and beloved by all. I miss your kindness and good counsel. May you also rest in peace, and know that you are regarded as a hero, and rightfully so.

There was more laughter at that. Guilliman wiped his eyes and moved onto the next one. The candles were gold and emerald green here instead of forest.

“For my brother Vulkan. You were a much needed voice of kindness among my brothers. You who always remembered baseline humanity and encouraged us to do the same. Your hands made us all many wonders in your forge, and your sons carry that flame with them. May you return safely and swiftly to them and to us, and rekindle your forgefire once more.”

“A kind gesture, if nothing else.” Ferrus said dismissively.

Sanguinius raised an eyebrow. “What, are you jealous? Do you really think Roboute would forget you?”

“Everybody else has forgotten me except you.” His tone was bitter now. “Maybe because I died so ingloriously. Why wouldn’t he?”

“I know you’re jaded, and trust me I understand. But just keep watching.”

The shrine in the middle was still unlit.

Black and white candles flared to life. “For my brother Corvus. A liberator. May that spirit live on, because there are so many worlds that need liberation. May you return home and take up your mantle of freedom-fighter once more, because so many worlds need freedom. And may you have good luck in your hunt. When you come home, I hope your bring Lorgar’s head as a trophy. Throne knows it couldn’t happen to someone more deserving.”

A few hoots and shouts of agreement. 

Finally, Roboute made his way to the last shrine. He lit the candles here slowly, taking his time for each. They were a dark, inky black and a metallic, shimmering silver that glittered beautifully under the candlelight.

And it was then that Ferrus noticed that the middle shrine had the most candles out of all of them.

“And finally. Last but far from the least. To my brother Ferrus Manus, Lord of the Iron Tenth. You were one of the greatest among us. Not because of your metal hands but in spite of them. The greatest of my Dauntless Few. We remember your death not because it was dishonorable or tragic but because you were courageous and defiant to your dying breath. Your soul burned bright and beautiful and it does so even now as you shepherd the Imperium's loyal soldiers. We remember your skill in the forge and the might you granted the rest of us. We remember your strength and power in combat, your iron will and steel tenacity. We are lesser without you, my brother Ferrus. Know that I have not forgotten you. We have not forgotten you, and we never will. Not as long as I still draw breath. I remember you often liked to say that nobody knew you, and I believe that to be true. Nobody really did know you, and I regret not remedying that when I had the chance. Of all of us, I should have known you. May you find peace, and know that as with all my brothers, I love you.”

Ferrus felt a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down no matter how hard he tried and his eyes prickled. He noticed a few wet trails on Guilliman's face as well, shining in the firelight before he scrubbed his face with an arm.

The rest of the service passed in a blur for him. Many of the baseliners and Astartes went up to light a candle themselves. Many more tiny lights flared to life by his shrine. But eventually the room emptied, and the four brothers were alone with each other.

Roboute turned to the two of them at the end of the aisle with a small smile. “Are the two of you planning on saying hello, or just lurking?”

The two finally faded fully into the Materium.

"You could see us the whole time?" Ferrus asked, incredulous.

"Not really see you per say." Lion said, coming to stand with Roboute. He'd been helping his brother extinguish the remaining candles. "But we felt the two of you there. I figured you didn't want to cause a scene. It…it's good to see you again. Both of you."

"Yes, it is." Roboute echoed. "Unexpected but it's wonderful to see the both of you."

Ferrus opened his mouth but found himself choked up. Sanguinius stepped forward, wrapping his arms and wings around his brothers wordlessly.

When they pulled apart, Lion had misty eyes, Roboute was openly weeping again and Sanguinius was beaming at them both like the sun. He grabbed Ferrus and yanked him forward.

“I came for this grump.” He explained. “He was in such a bad mood because he thought everyone had forgotten about him. Maybe he’s not as well loved as he deserves, but you two wouldn’t forget. I knew you wouldn’t. Your speech was lovely by the way. You always had an ability to talk perfectly. Not too simple, not too eloquent, always genuine.”

It was more than that. It had taken all of Ferrus’s considerable willpower not to cry like a child. He was touched. And a little ashamed of his earlier dismissiveness. Maybe not many still cared, but the ones who mattered did. His family remembered him.

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Ferrus huffed, but before he could continue Roboute had wrapped him in a rib-crushing hug. He stiffened, but after a moment returned it.

“Throne but it’s good to see you again, Ferrus.” And damn him if it didn’t sound genuine. 

He blinked hard, trying to contain his own tears to no avail. “It’s good to see you as well, Roboute. I’m glad Fulgrim couldn’t take you down too. The bastard.”

“He nearly did. I got lucky.”

When they pulled apart Lion surprised all three of them by wrapping Ferrus in an equally strong embrace.

“You idiot. You bloody idiot. You really thought we’d forget about you? Give us some credit, Manus. Maybe we could have done a better job of showing it but your absence was sorely felt. I wish I had noticed something. Gotten the Laer Blade away from Fulgrim, I don’t know. I’m sorry Ferrus.”

“Don’t-” he swallowed. “There’s nothing you could have done, in the end. I made my own choices, foolish as they were.”

“He made worse ones.” El’Jonson said fiercely. “You are deeply missed.”

“More than you realize, you big lump.” Sanguinius smacked his shoulder with a wing. “See? What did I tell you? Cheer up, it’s Candlemass.” 

“I wonder if your xenos…friend could help…?”

Roboute shook his head. “With the state he’s in? I don’t know. I was a different case.”

“I appreciate the thought, but it could be much worse. And someone needs to look after the Legion of the Damned. Aeonid Thiel says hello, by the way.”

“I-well. It’s good to hear from him too.”  He paused. “I must ask, how are the two of you here? This isn’t something you can do regularly, is it?”

Sanginius shook his head. “I wish. I would have come far more often, but it’s really only doable, even for powerful ghosts like us, during certain times. Or when the energy is right and the veil is thin.”

“Trust me, if we could do this regularly my idiot gene sons would have already gotten an earful they wouldn’t soon forget.”

“How much time do you have left?” Lion asked. 

“More than enough.” Sanguinius flashed another one of his brilliant smiles. “That's the thing about ceremonies like this. Remembrance. It helps to thin the veil, draw power. All that raw emotion. It’ll linger for a while. We can stay and talk.”

“I like the sound of that. We have much to catch up on, don’t we?”

Lion nodded. “ We do. And I’m sure you’ve got a bottle of Macraggian red you can dig up from somewhere.”

“And there’s his real motivation.”

“Hardly. It’s tradition to have long talks over alcohol, you know that.”

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that. What about you, Ferrus?”

He shrugged. “I have nothing pressing at the moment. I’m sure my men and women can go a night without me around.” 

And he smiled in spite of himself. It was nice to be remembered.

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

Did you intentionally draw Earl off-model in the early chapters of SU and her appearance start to look on-model the more Steven know about her?

Well uh.

Legs from Here to Homeworld, the first episode where Pink Pearl appeared for any length of time, aired in December.

Ask White Pearl and Steven began in.... September.

A full three months before the episode aired officially.

Because I started drawing it based on early previews and sneak peeks for the episode. So the model was off because. The model was not... on. As it were.

Also. I was still not quite settled into the style for the comic! Steven was severely 'off model' as well. Because I was figuring out how to draw him in my style without making him unrecognizable! He still is, in many ways.

Though to be completely honest, being on-model is not really something I..........aim for. I enjoy drawing in the SU style but many of the gems are off model because it's. My comic.