#like. the lore i have in my head for them is fairly heavy or AT LEAST not like.. slice of life.

[jupiterswasphouse]

WASP REVIEW - THE HIVE (and more) (HOLLOW KNIGHT)

[Image ID: The official artwork for the Hiveling, Hive Soldier, and Hive Knight, followed by a second image for the Hive Guardian, from Hollow Knight /End ID.]

Now this is one of my favorite bug games! I'm sure almost all of you are familiar with it, being the lore-heavy indie hit and highly prevalent, much deserved bugblr fan art fodder that Hollow Knight was. This is a very good one, and takes inspiration from many different species of terrestrial arthropods as well as other invertebrates and fungi. However, many of them are much, much different from their real world counterparts, in part due to their design style as well as the infection which has taken hold in Hallownest, which certainly calls into question how The Hive and its honey bee inhabitants fare.

First, as always, let's take a look at them visually! All the bees that you fight generally seem to share many of the same features. Black and yellow stripes, a generally darker upper half, and fuzzy bodies, as found in real honey bees (although you tend to be able to see more of the exoskeleton through the setae of a real bee), but they also are all missing the middle pair of legs (Which I've noticed is shockingly common in fictionalized depictions of bugs). Most of them also have somewhat accurate antennae that bend forward with an 'elbow' (the pedicel, which sits between the flagellum and scape, allowing greater movement control of the antennae) in the middle, the antennae not present in the Hiveling, and a pair of wings, as opposed to a real bee, which has two pairs, the wings not present in Hive Knight. Another thing I find notable about these guys is, they all have a fairly round body, fatter than the average honey bee, with no discernable waist nor separating point between the head and mesosoma.

[Image Sources: Jupiter's Wasp House, ie Myself, and Wikimedia Commons, Tanner Smida | Image IDs: Two photos of different, black and yellow honey bees, one on a light-skinned human hand and the other on a wooden surface /End IDs.]

Another two things that these bees lack, which real bees have, are ocelli (the three simple eyes on top of their heads), and a pair of mandibles (and seemingly other typical mouthparts). It is, at the very least, shown that the Hive Soldiers and Hive Knight do have mouths, although they're more like mammalian mouths but with a sort of sharp, angular outer edge. Also, strangely, the Hive Knight is also shown to be capable of spitting out Hivelings, which raises a few questions.

[Image IDs: Two in-game screenshots that show both the Hive Soldier and Hive Knight opening their mouths, the Hive Knight spitting out Hivelings rapidly /End IDs.]

The Hive Soldier specifically also has one big difference, as its metasoma splits apart into seven stingers. One in the middle, and six that spread out radially, seemingly partially retractable into the mesosoma. Whether or not the others have stingers is entirely unclear, as the Hivelings and Hive Guardians attack with their bodies, and Hive Knight (Already predisposed to lacking a stinger, being a male honey bee) attacks using some form of blade or lance.

[Image ID: An attack sprite of the Hive Soldier /End IDs.]

There is one more bee in this kingdom, which you have already seen in a previous screenshot, that being the Hive Queen, Vespa. She looks very different from the rest of the bees, having a more realistically (although far from perfect) segmented body, which sort of resembles that of a paper wasp's body moreso than that of a honey bee queen, although she maintains the fuzz, specifically around her neck in a way that is reminiscent of a fur coat or a rabbit's dewlap. She also has a teardrop-shaped head, an extra pair of (presumably compound, although they could be simple) eyes, and a notable lack of wings.

[Image Source: Wikimedia Commons, Scott Bauer, USDA Agricultural Research Service | Image ID: The artwork of Hive Queen Vespa as viewed as a spirit, followed by a honey bee queen, artificially marked with pink paint, surrounded by other honey bees /End IDs.]

When she appears as a spirit, she's not too much taller than the Hive Knight, however, her carcass lays just in the background of the room in which you fight her dear protector, who does not yet seem to realize she's gone. In this form, her final physical self, she had grown too large to leave the hive, easily 5 times her original size or more. Again, honey bees do not get this big in real life, but it is true that queens are generally larger than their "subjects" by way of their longer abdomen.

[Image Source: Carolina Honeybees | Image IDs: An in-game screenshot of Hive Queen Vespa in the background of the room in which you fight the Hive Knight, followed by an illustration that shows the difference between a drone, queen, and worker honey bee /End IDs.]

Now, I've posted about this before, so I won't go on about it for too long, but I do have to call into question, out of curiosity, the naming of Vespa, given her name is not one that is entomologically associated with honey bees, but instead, their distantly eusocial relatives of the family Vespidae, genus Vespa, the hornets. Something tells me I have an idea as to why she was named this way, but we'll get to that later! It certainly doesn't make the species discrepancy any less confusing.

Finally, there is one more resident of The Hive, although this one is not a bee, but instead, a Hive-specific variation of an enemy that reoccurs all throughout the game. The Husk Hive shambles through the halls of The Hive, surrounded by and/or fused with a structure that is, itself, a miniature hive. The Hunter's Journal describes this enemy as follows: "Cowardly husk, its body colonised by hivelings | Did the hivelings build their nest around this sorry bug, or did the bug squeeze its body into their nest? Either way, they seem happy enough together."

The relationship between the Husk Hive and the Hivelings seems less parasitic and more symbiotic, as the Hivelings protect the Husk Hive and the Husk Hive flees from danger, attempting to remove the Hiveling's living space from locations which may prove to be dangerous.

[Image ID: The artwork of the Husk Hive /End IDs.]

With all the residents of The Hive out of the way, let's discuss The Hive itself.

Now, of course, being part of Hallownest, The Hive resembles something that's less like an actual hive and more like a human community, or, perhaps more accurately, a town or village built of one continuous building, containing mostly wide open areas, but also including areas of rest, with tables and chairs, and a locale or two that resemble the shelved rooms of a library.

[Image ID: An in-game screenshot of an area of The Hive which contains a table, chairs, lights, and shelves that contain tablets /End IDs.]

One thing you'll notice, passing through, however, is that the hexagonal structure that makes up The Hive, outside of the shelves pictured above, doesn't seem to resemble the cells of the prototypical honey bee hive. Not only are they elongated in a way that resembles the Rupees of The Legend Of Zelda series, they appear filled in and crystalline. Some of this unusual material glows, which appears to be what the lights of The Hive are filled with, as opposed to the lumaflies used in other areas of Hallownest.

It's possible that a lot of this is built of crystalized honey, as it is shown that the honey of The Hive can become very hard, very quickly. This is perhaps showcased best in the room, in which you find a bench encased inside of a large, already cracked glob of honey, hanging from the ceiling, which The Knight has to smash open as if it were made of glass. Several other objects in The Hive act the same way.

[Image ID: An in-game screenshot of the bench room of The Hive, in which the bench hangs up /End IDs.]

One thing that's completely unclear, is how brood spawning occurs in The Hive, with seemingly no cells that contain eggs or larvae. Furthermore, it's unclear how long it has been since the queen died, so depending on the time past, it may be implied that it's not just Vespa who held sole responsibility over populating the hive.

Perhaps, as is the case with a few Hollow Knight characters species as they mature in this universe, they don't follow the same lifecycle as a real honey bee, emerging as something close to their final form and molting into later stages should the hive need Soldiers, Guardians, or Knights. It can also be inferred that, maybe, the cells in which the young live in their initial stages are themselves living creatures, such as the Husk Hives and the Hive Knight.

Finally, I find it interesting that The Hive is walled off the way it is, in a similar way to how the nest of a colony of hornets would be, as opposed to the open, tree-hanging slab nests of real world honey bees, seemingly with multiple entrances apart from the ones entered in the game, and also partially subterranean, as evidenced by one of the lower entrances of The Hive.

[Image Sources: Wikimedia Commons, Michael Apel, and wildalongtheway | Image IDs: A photo of an empty paper European hornet, Vespa crabro, nest on the inner part of a human-built structure of some sort, another photo of an empty honey bee hive hanging from a tree branch, and two in-game screenshots showing the upper and lower entrances of The Hive /End IDs.]

With all that said, it's safe to say that Team Cherry really respects their bees, but doesn't mind making them too inaccurate in the name of cool lore! It also provides a lot to think about. I know I've gone on a bit long, though, so I'll get to the point and give these g-

HERE COMES A NEW CHALLENGER! - MANTIS YOUTH

[Image ID: The artwork for the Mantis Youth /End IDs.]

Ok, this one's outside The Hive, and by its name, not even a wasp, but I wanted to give these guys a quick mention. I always found these guys confusing, but it wasn't until it was brought up in conversation by Rev that I truly thought to question what they had going on.

For one, Mantis Youth? Mantises rarely fly in the first place, but their young don't even have wings in the real world. On top of that, they have a stinger, being literally described in the Hunter's Journal as delivering "stinging attacks", a stinger being a modified reproductive organ only found in wasps (if you haven't gotten the memo by the rest of this post, bees and ants are included in that). Plus, they don't have the same almost scythe-shaped forelimbs as the adult mantises, as well as all stages of real mantises, do.

If anything, minus the specialized forelimbs, with that sort of neck, they moreso resemble Neuropteran mantidflies. But otherwise, I'd say they're the closest thing to non-bee wasps we have in Hollow Knight!

[Image Source: Michigan Nature Guy | Image ID: A photo of a wasp mantidfly, Climaciella brunnea, on a green leaf /End ID.]

My only guess for why this happened, considering the mantises are unaffected by the infection, would be interspecies mating, but the mantises are, in lore, known to detest outsiders, as evidenced by the fact they completely disapproved of the love between the Traitor Lord's daughter and the Grey Mourner for the very reason of the Grey Mourner being an outsider.

But maybe this happened a long, long time ago, before they became their own long-standing and wholely independent tribe. I mean, having interspecies children with varied features isn't unheard of in Hallownest, the Pale King and Herrah The Beast had a child together, that being-

HERE COMES A NEW CHALLENGER! (... AGAIN) - HORNET

[Image ID: The artwork for Hornet /End ID.]

Yeah, remember when I said earlier that the whole weird naming thing would come up again? This is it. The sibling of all the vessels, the half-Wyrm half-Spider, the gendered child (The White Lady's words, not mine), and the probably-still-canon-but-it's-unclear trainee of Vespa after she was thrown by the wayside by the Pale King in his neverending quest to win a Worst Father Ever Award.

Now does this explain why Vespa is called that? Honestly, not really? It's still confusing as to why they decided to name the bee hive queen after a very distant relative and our dear hopefully eventual Silksong protagonist after an insect genus that isn't on either side of her family. But one, certainly, at least, explains the other, as stated by a Team Cherry member here, Hornet and Vespa share a related name on purpose! So one of the two was named first, and they gave a related name to the other.

Now that THAT'S out of the way, though, it's safe to say I can't give either Hornet or Mantis Youth a proper rating due to the fact neither are true wasps, but I can absolutely give a rating to those this review was about in the first place, the bees of The Hive!

... Also please let there be actual non-bee wasps in Silksong.

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Overall: 5.5/10

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Leave your wasp review suggestion in the replies, tags, or askbox!

Next week's wasp has not been chosen yet!

[shalomniscient]

Acheron angst is like unrealistically spicy food. It hurts so bad but it’s just so good…

Anyways: I hope this will be this 🤏 much engaging for you.

You vaguely thought it was ironic, a little memory teased at your mind through the agony. You’d switched tags at the perfect (or worst, depending on your point of view) time. Despite the pain, and the fact you were the one dying— not she. All that you could see in your mind’s eye was her. That horrified look on her face as she watched you fall- She’d never been one for such exaggerated expressions, usually opting for that flat look. That stare you’d grown oh so fond of. That’s when the weight of the situation seemed to settle itself on you. Seemed like such a heavy weighted blanket, oddly comforting—however suffocating at the same time. She was right there. A hand stretch away, but you couldn’t seem to muster up the strength to lift your head. The blanket got to your limbs first, that comforting feeling slowly pushing that horrible pain away. It moved up your legs, up your fingertips- Spreading to every fiber of your being. Black. You’d closed your eyes. You felt a numb vibration shaking you, suddenly she was there— Right above you. Something felt vaguely wet, and with a little bit of focus you began to realize her tears painted your face, a beautiful canvas for her to paint her misery. You had a thought far off in the distance, Idrila would be pleased.. You forced a smile on your face, despite all the effort it demanded. You could hear her voice, whispering.. Murky through the blanket that whose weight was working its way to your chest.

Seconds later, you’d close your eyes— Feeling the calm arms of Death herself wrap themselves around you. Her darkness closing in.

Now she who stood alone, hovered above the still warm body of the one she’d once held in her arms, kissed with all the love she could give— felt herself go cold as if she too had become one of those many corpses that scattered this Aeon forsaken planet. Acheron. In that moment when Death claimed you for herself, she had claimed this widowed woman as well.

DUDE when i tell you i have something cooking up for acheron involving her having to watch you die.......................... BUT IT'S WORSE 😈😈😈 there's a sprinkle of hi3 lore in it but i'm keeping it mostly vague so non hi3 players/lore enthusiasts can still fairly keep up with it :) N E WAY this is so fucking good, my liege, LOVE angst w acheron sm. the way u wrote this and the gradual progression of reader's thoughts leading up to the eventual cessation of them is SO yummy YOU COOKED frfr

[gerudoevernight]

Arctic Fox Was Abducted (By Doc)

Lots of lore in this one, compared to anything else I've said about Do Not Call! This snippet stars Doc and Arctic Fox in a plot point I have had planned from nearly the beginning of the planning process. So yeah. Enjoy!

Oh and for anyone who found this randomly scrolling through Tumblr, this is part of my story currently still being mostly planned, Do Not Call Any That You Cannot Put Down, which is a (very AU) fic written in the universe of @watcheraurora's Even Ice Walls Fall Down!

The blackness stirs. It is heavy, pulling him back inside. Fluorescent lights peek through the blackness, fading away as he's pulled back again.

Light?

An ache in his head forms. Or maybe he only just became aware of it. With pain though, comes awareness of his body. Cuts and scrapes ache, but…duller. Heavier.

Sound emerge from the blackness. Whirring and humming. A steady clank-clank-clank beating a rhythm into the air. Footsteps. He tried to force his eyes open, tried to see where he was, but all that did was expose more of the bright - too bright - lights. Pain flared in his skull, and he let out a yelp before he could stifle it. A new sound emerged - a voice? "…open? No…gave…-point." He tried to shake his head, clear his hearing. He had to listen. But he could barely move. Oh. His wrists were shackled far above his head, and now that he was noticing, his ankles were shackled as well, barely touching the ground. The shackles on his ankles had no chains between them, basically preventing him from being able to effectively fight (or get away) at all.

Time passed, and slowly, the blackness lifted. Hearing came first. He didn't have to move to do that. The footsteps clearer, the constant clank-clank-clank now more aggravating than grounding.

Then he could just barely get his eyes cracked open, past the initial flare of the bright fluorescent lights. The room was…darker than he expected with the lights, filled with various machines that had lights of their own. Finally, he fully opened his eyes, and tensed when he could now see the creator of those machines.

White lab coat. Goat-like horns. Doc.

Oh right, that was how he ended up here. Etho remembered now. Searching a building, eerily empty in the way of things that aren't truly empty. The click of a lock behind him. Blackness blotted the rest out like ink stains.

He lightly shook his head. No. Focus. Any situation with Doc was a dangerous one.

…How long had he been out? Etho swiped his tongue around his mouth. He was fairly dehydrated, so it had to have been at least several hours. His wrists and shoulders were sore, and the lack of bloodflow to his hands would make it difficult to do much fine motor movement with his fingers for a while even if he managed to get free.

"Back to the land of the living, eh?"

The low rumble of a voice like the eerie hum of unremembered wilderness shook something in Etho's core. He didn't say anything.

…His mask had been removed. For that matter, he was only in his undershirt, pants, and socks. Of course.

"Feel free to attempt escape," Doc continued. He had yet to even look at Etho. "It does not concern me." Etho had never liked Doc's voice, though he wasn't as determined as Lore to get the man to shut up. Or whatever Doc was, anyways. So he stayed silent.

Instead of pulling on the chains or kicking (though Etho noticed he might have enough leverage on the ground and enough pull on the chains to vault himself up), he looked around. His eyes adjusted to the flourescent lights more and more, the shadows no longer seeming as deep - though the edges were still blurred, like someone took their finger and smudged the charcoal. But the room was fairly well-lit - if one could even call it a room. It was more of a space, hollowed out of…something. Etho couldn't even see the walls, now that he realized it. The space simply vanished into blackness beyond the reach of the lights. But within this space were several machines undoubtedly of Doc's creation. The whirring sound they made was smooth, each piece working in perfect tandem with every other to complete…whatever task these machines had.

Something flashed with light on the floor, and Etho looked down just in time to see some sort of circular design vanish before he caught any details. Still, the outline of the circle seemed to burn itself onto the back of his eyelids when he blinked, squeezing his eyes shut to wipe it away. He opened his eyes -

Doc was right in front of him. Staring Etho dead in the eye. Watching him. Observing. Like a mad scientist observing his subject - except this is Doc, and if one called him insane, it was in the way that is as awed and terrified as it is desperate for something to name this thing no name is worthy of.

Doc hummed, the sound rattling around Etho's skull, and he was grateful then for whatever made him resistant to…whatever it was about Doc's voice. "Suitable," Doc decided. Etho remained silent. Something clinked above Etho's head, and whatever held his wrists suspended released - just in time for Doc to snatch the few chains between his wrists. Etho stumbled as his feet hit the ground, Doc yanking him off-balance and dragging him across the space. Just fast enough that Etho couldn't get his feet under him, and his muscles still did not want to obey him. Trying to move even slightly felt like being a parachute in water, the very air resisting him. Doc swiftly dragged him across the room with no such issues, and the shackles were reattached - wrist and ankle - in a more center location, surrounded by the machines.

Except…now that Etho was closer, and more in the middle, he realized that these weren't many machines. It looked that way from where he'd been before, but now seeing the ways they connected, fueling each other, feeding to and from tubes of…something that made a tingle deep inside him scream and laugh. No, this was all one great machine…and Etho still couldn't see what it was doing. Not that he expected to, really. This was Doc. Whatever he was…he was secretive.

The floor flared with light again, and this time, the light stayed. Etho could see it better now, lines weaving across each other, down, up, left, right, occasionally ending in a circle, all inside one larger circle - and many of them intersecting at the spot he was chained to. The tingle inside him changed, from screams and laughter to an eerie hum. Etho shivered. Doc chuckled.

The villain stood just inside the circle, hands folded behind him. Watching Etho. Always watching, always observing. Always analyzing, always planning. Always scheming. Etho only hoped Doc hadn't gotten his hands on Lore, too. Who even knows what Doc would do to him in the secrecy and territory of a lab. Or whatever this place was.

With a simple, decisive nod, Doc left the circle - and the small little circles at the ends of lines flared again, and the light began to drain away from the circles and across the lines…and up Etho's shackles and onto his skin, reweaving the pattern.

It did not burn. It did not hurt at all. In fact…it felt numb. Cold, even.

"Normally, I do not bother with circles such as these," Doc hummed. "But sometimes they are simply more efficient." At what, of course he did not say.

The light vanished from the floor, from the shackles, and flared even brighter, Etho winced against the harsh white light. What was before only a hint of a cold numb where the light touched him now was a blizzard whipping around him yet not stirring the air at all. He clenched his teeth against screaming, against asking what this was even for, the purpose.

Another flare of light. But this one not from the lines on Etho's skin at all. On part of the machine, a large flat section of metal, the same circle was inscribed. It flared, and flared again. One more flare - this one matched by the lines on Etho's skin, painfully cold. Spots of blackness danced in his eyes.

"Suitable indeed."

And Etho sank back into the blackness.

[sentimental-bottlesnake]

A Leap In Magic 5/5

Christ I meant to have this finished like 4 months ago. Anyway. This is the end and I'm giving away two of the babies specifically to LORE CLANS who want some inter-clan interaction. I'm specifically giving away the Jaguar (girl) and the Python (boy). If you're interested please hit up my messages or you can PM me on FR (xaz). These are Leap Year dragons (so they are adults) and their parents will never breed again. So they're quite special. This is not first come first serve and I'm not above just keeping all three.

-------------

There weren’t many maren left who called the lagoon around the Windsinger’s Tale home. Only those most loyal to the clan or their dragon friends stayed. They’d kept the bottom of the ship in fairly good repair still. But today was not an inspection.

Nadalin sat on the edge of the dock, her hatchlings under her wing. They were sleeping in the shadow of her protective wing. Ars was talking to the elder of the small group of maren. It was a heavy day today. These hatchlings couldn’t stay here. They’d grow Silenced too and Ars knew nothing would break Nadalin’s heart like watching her children go Silent. She didn’t love sending her children away but it was one heartbreak over another. Ars was confirming with the elder about the plan.

A skiff was brought forward made of native Labyrinth hardwood and bamboo that grew along the banks of the lagoon. Three large thresher tailed maren pulled it and brought it up to the dock. The skiff was lined with some pillows and blankets, baskets of food, for the journey away from the lagoon and out into the Gladeveins and beyond.

Swallowing Ars turned to his sister. “Nadalin,” he said. “It’s time.”

She looked over at him, her wind-full eyes sad. “Already?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” he couldn’t help but say even though they’d both agreed. It had even been Nadalin’s idea to call upon their maren friends.

“Alright,” she said softly and got to her feet. She picked up one of the hatchlings and brought them to the skiff. Ars took the second and third as Nadalin bundled them in a blanket and pillow. She stepped out of the skiff looked at them and then left, walking away quickly, back through the docks into the ship.

“Is she alright?” the elder asked.

“She knows what she’s doing is right but it pains her,” Ars said.

“Ah. We know that feeling well. We will look out for these children and find them new homes,” he promised.

“I know,” Ars said looking at his nieces and nephews. They wouldn’t wake for some time. He knew that. He knew because he’d put a sleep spell on them. It wouldn’t be until they were out of range of the Windsinger’s Tale that they’d start to wake. Hopefully the maren would find homes for them quickly and this Silenced clan would just be a bad dream from a time when they were small. He sniffed. “Please, go now,” he said, voice thick.

“We will return home once our task is complete,” the elder said. Ars nodded solemnly. The elder sank beneath the water, mustered the three thresher tailed maren, and with great speed pulled the skiff towards the edge of the lagoon. Ars waited until the skiff was swallowed up by the Gladevein’s growth before following after his sister and heading back into the ship.

It was better this way.

It was better this way.

[blood-orange-juice]

Tumblr doesn't let users send asks with side blogs that are attached to user's main blog account so this is user bitchin-witchin up in your ask box. I saw you reblog on a post about childe liking the aranara with the reply that if he could see them it would be too spoilery. I'm curious what you think would be spoliery about it. theories are difficult for me to follow with how heavy genshin lore can be and when I think about childe and the aranara I have a difficult time rationalizing in my head that he would be able to see them. I want him to be able to see them and I can think of reasons he could but I can also think of counter arguments. Though I suppose if you don't pick a direction with theories you could go in loops like that forever xD Anyways, all this to say: would be very interested to hear your thoughts behind that comment :3

(necroreplies are my forte)

I'm not sure if I'm right, but wasn't the inability to see Aranara a byproduct of Sumeru's people inability to see dreams? So now that Akasha terminal has been shut down they should go back to to seeing them.

Also Childe is not from Sumeru to begin with and he's fairly open-mided, so he at least stands a chance.

As for spoilers... I think there's something wrong with how his mind functions, he's a bit too comfortable with holding mutually exclusive ideas in his head at the same time, and his personality structure doesn't fit any personality structure that I know of (even split personality disorder), even if I make adjustments for anime logic. Anyone with an ability to walk through dreams or read minds would notice that.

Also after Narcissenkreuz and Aranara quests I have an impression that the importance of childhood dreams that he talks about in his personal quest doesn't simply stem from trauma ("I want others to have the things I never got for myself") but rather happens to be some important worldbuilding detail.

Childhood games are too similar to ancient creation magic in this game. This seems like endgame lore to me and I think that's exactly what he'd like to talk about with Aranara if he met them.

So... no Aranara-Childe interactions for us. *sad Rinn noises*

art by HAZE

[eriisaam]

It's that time again, time for "I spam multiple polls on you and then run off to do errands". Yay~

So. Summoner OCs. As you know, we're nearly done wrapping up all of the six in sprite form at least, with the only odd one out currently being Eclair (and his alt as Magni) before they've all collectively graduated to 'actually has an up-to-date visual on them for once' status.

The original plan after this was to then go and make ref sheets based on the visuals given by the sprites.

But then the art meme invasion happened, and now I'm stumped. So, that brings me to this latest bout of questionaires with the gist being: "Shit. What now?"

So first question (this'll be rapid-fire-repeated for the sake of slotting the polls in proper, sorry in advance, I hate it too): What should I prioritize first? It's for-sure related to the summoners at least (other OCs exists, but they're still baking in the oven at the moment, give them a bit more time), but the question comes in what's next and what now for them.

Of the possible choices, we have:

A) Ref sheets (like initially planned).

Pros:

Tries to document as much as possible of certain details to the summoners from multiple angles.

Has a more finalized and uniform documentation and idea on things from drawn details to color palettes and such.

Get a more closer-up view of what the FEH sprites originally conveyed, including details simplified, too tiny to see in detail, or straight up skipped due to either the angle or the simplification of the sprites.

Cons:

It's a LOT of details to unpack. Including certain alt details, including details that might not fit in a single sheet, and so on. It's a pretty big project that'll take a bit of time per summoner I feel.

In terms of immediate reference, you now already have the FEH sprites to have a more immediate general idea of what each summoner looks like in their 'default' state, so this is a more detailed walk-back of much of what you already know by now.

Worth noting:

That's not to say I also might not have other drawings on the side that escape containment (especially if I get stumped on specific parts and try to visualize it mid-work, like what happened with Magni-Eclair), but for the most part, there'll be quite the ref sheet flood.

I'm also torn likewise on whether to do the ref sheet with minimal (thin) lineart (neater than sketch but around the same idea) or to go all-in on the usual stronger lineart (mostly out of concerns whether or not it conveys properly or the line thickness might get mistaken as overdetails).

B) This big-ass compilation of OC meme prompts hmrg brought to my attention (thanks~)

Pros:

Conveys a lot of prompt ideas and alts that I've been sitting on that a quick cautionary glance at the prompts hit the nail on the head of giving it a good platform to bring certain prompts up.

Silly times for silly moments in a lot of these. It's a lighthearted break from being either informative or dark-heavy-handed lately. (Well, some of them anyways...), and since a lot of these memes are based around capturing moments or pointed context, less word vomit this time.

They're fairly small, straightforward, and isolated, compared to a lot of these being bigger or fuller spreads (especially the ref sheets).

Cons:

Certain prompts might be about things I already just did and reiterating what you already know very recently even. Not all of them, but some of them (ex: the sudden spike of attention to Ephrel/Spectailis and again likewise with Eclair/Magni).

Derails reference based prompts and collections compared to a lot of these. This gives visuals to key moments of their lore, but is a lot less referential compared to the other two options here.

Many, MANY parts to the meme as a whole, so Summoner OC tag is gonna have quite A Time...

Worth noting:

I'm also torn on whether or not to do this sketch style (again, quicker, but somewhat messier), proper art style (fully rendered) or the aforementioned compromise (lineart, flatter colors, simpler shades) so that's a whole other discussion about how to approach it too.

I'm also going to properly break this down into individual parts, rather than dump the entire compilation on everyone's heads, and more than likely, it'll rotate across the six summoners, rather than be uniformly on one each.

C) This other big-ass meme quite a bit of you had been chipping away at for a good while before that I've been watching other people work on for a time (Henlo buds, nice to see your summoner alts 💖)

Pros:

Much more detailed and pointed look at the summoners and their specific alts (compared to the haphazardness of the other two, especially the other OC prompt meme) and even pokes at a lot of the rarer alts the other two options might gloss over.

Lore for alts not necessarily plot-centric compared to the others which tend to focus on alts or the moments that inspired them. It gives a chance to see or hear about seldom-seen or seldom-discussed alts.

Cons:

Basically the same as the second option where they'll be broken up into a LOT of parts, a lot of tag spam, and a lot of word vomit to go with. Not to mention it might single out a summoner, rather than rotate among them, so you're gonna be especially spammed multiple times over by one summoner in particular out of the rest.

There's also a lot of lore attached to the fleshed out alts too... which people might be a lot less patient of the essay floods to go with. hrm...

Worth noting:

I'm also only going to focus on one summoner at a time, which leaves it up in the air of which summoner even goes through these gauntlet of alts in the first place.

Whether or not the five who DIDN'T get picked right away also go through it is up in the air, but in the hypothetical scenario all six of them got a go on Summoner Alt's Wild Ride, that means you take all the concerns of this and multiply it by six.

-

Which brings us to the second half of this questionaire: What's a good bare minimum here?

As you saw recently, I tried to experiment around with a good grasp on what is the bare minimum to aim for before something's presentable enough to share. The last two things that flew by were sketches I felt were my new bare minimum (cleaned up sketchy lines with enough cleaning to fix details, overlap, or early-sketch jank to convey the main idea, but no attention otherwise to being neat and tidy, adding weight like cleaned up lineart, and either no color and shading or doing it more sloppy style in the future).

In the past, my previous bare-minimum used to be to at least get them to lineart level, give or take a much more emphasis on color-flats or much simpler cel-shade if even that. The former was way quicker and I had an easier time getting more art out (especially "give general ideas of what I'm trying to convey" pieces rather than fully-realized pieces) while the latter is tidier and at least more presentable, short of going all-in from start to finish with rendering and the whole nine yards.

There WILL be a return to art-that's-fully-realized, but how do you guys feel so far about the sketchy-lines (quicker but little to no line-weight and less stress on tidiness) versus the inked-lines (as close to final lineart as possible with lines, but takes a bit longer)? A good comparison of what I mean is compare for instance the last bit I did with Magni-Eclair versus pretty much all of Sharena Week.

-

So for poll 1 or 2...

[markerofthemidnight]

Chonny Jash Design Details And Other Headcanons (Until I’m Comfortable Enough Sharing My Designs)

So funny story: I’m only now thinking about the fact that I’ve never shown you guys my HMS designs. I’ve turned them into bugs- twice- and incomprehensible abominations, but I’ve not shown you my normal designs for how they look.

So until I feel confident enough to show you all the designs, here’s some visualisation!

Also, today marks the first anniversary for me coming up with these designs (although I’ve polished them since)! So… yeah!

Heart

Basic Design

My Heart design is honestly pretty simple

Mainly because the first “lore-heavy” CCCC video I watched (and continued to watch for like a day) was The Mind Electric, and Heart was the one we saw the most of

He’s got all the things people think of when they think “Heart design”: the blindfold, the white sweater, the wings with purple tips, etc

However, the sweater is covered in noticeable purple patches that tend to get brighter in certain places

This is because, when he’s injured in battle and it gets torn, the sweater starts repairing itself, but the scarred places always come back in a light shade of purple

The brighter the colour, the more times it’s been scarred

Speaking of which, there are long, thin purple marks running down his cheeks, starting where his eyes would be

Are they scars? Are they tear marks? Who knows?

Oh, and underneath his blindfold, his face is heavily covered in purple scars

And as for the eyes themselves… they’re just not there. Just giant black holes in his face

He also has tail feathers. and his neck works off of owl logic

His wings change depending on his emotions: they shimmer and start glowing when he’s happy, lose their colours when he’s sad, and when he’s angry they light on FIRE (PURPLE fire) and become big enough for him to actually fly

Extra Details + Headcanons

Stims by flapping his wings!!!

Is actually a whole lot more capable than the others seem to act like he is… but honestly, I didn’t need to tell you that

For example, him being blind means he needs to focus more on hearing to get around: memorising audial cues in his friends’ voices and such

With this in mind, it’s possible he’s actually the most perceptive of the three

Also: despite how much he cares about being treated fairly by the other two, he loves self-depreciating humour

In fact, the only reason why Mind and Soul are so comfortable making blind jokes around him is because he’s the one who does it the most

Also likes warmth. His room has little sources of light- and therefore also heat- so he needs all the warmth he can get

Mind

Basic Design

Mind is an android. I feel like I have to get this out of the way first

He wears a skinsuit which conceals this mostly, but it’s removed around his hands and upper head, revealing the mechanical features beneath

He wears a wig since his actual fake hair was torn off by Heart in a particularly nasty fight, as well as most of his forehead area

(the wig was actually a very recent addition on my half: without it I felt like he stood out too much, him having a wig fit the lore I have for him, and also if I showed you guys a design of him without hair you’d probably just call him a boiled egg)

He wears a suit, and generally his dress sense has a pretty “sophisticated yet casual” vibe

He has four-fingered claws and an electric watch permanently fused to his right wrist

Well, he calls it a watch, but really it’s more like a phone

It has a whole variety of functions, though it’s mostly used for note-taking, and also contains his charge plug

Extra Details + Headcanons

HOO BOY DO I HAVE A LOT OF THOSE FOR THIS MAN.

First of all, I feel like I need to go more into the charging thing: Heart and Soul can sleep, although they don’t necessarily need to, but he charges instead

He can go for a whole week without needing to recharge, and low battery only starts to affect him at 5%

He acts tired for a little while whilst basically forcing himself to go as long as possible without charging, only deciding to go back and recharge at 1%

Whilst doing so, he basically acts surprisingly nice and polite and almost kinda drunk for a few minutes before passing out, only waking up when he hits EXACTLY 100%

He’s well aware of how “submissive” he is when he’s charging, so that’s why he avoids it like the plague

Anyways, he is- as we all know- an absolute jackass, but he’s immediately impressed by you if you can tell him things even he doesn’t know

The man hoards trivia like a dragon. The more practical uses the information has, the more valuable it is to him

This means he’s a very good hacker, because what information would a robot find more valuable than coding?

He also likes gaming in what little spare time he allows himself to have, but he does NOT let Heart and Soul find out

He inwardly panics at the presence of all genuine emotion, especially big overpowering ones

And now for my favourite headcanon about Mind: he doesn’t let it show, but he is incredibly self-conscious about being a robot

He’s pretty much incapable of interacting with strangers, since he only exists in Soul’s head, but if he was, he would go to all lengths necessary to conceal his face and hands

The reasoning behind this? Well, when he and Heart were first born, they had no identities besides Soul’s and had to figure out who they were for themselves

In other words: it took Mind weeks of existing in the Headspace to even figure out that he was a robot.

He had his suspicions that something was wrong the second he mysteriously passed out whilst charging his “watch” and woke up just as it hit 100%, but he didn’t really figure it out until a particularly bad fight with Heart revealed one of his eyes was actually mechanical

As for the not needing to eat or sleep, or the four fingers, or the fact that he couldn’t take off his watch no matter how hard he tried? He just blamed that on the Headspace being weird. It’s surprising how many leaps in logic the brain is willing to take in order to ignore the truth.

It’s been long enough since then that he’s been able to mostly fight off the existential dread, but he’s still uncomfortable with it

After all, he used to be human. He knows that- he has memories of being human, even if those memories are rightfully Soul/Whole’s.

He knows he’s not a robot, yet his body tells a different story. Wouldn’t you feel the same about that?

Soul

Basic Design

For the most part, his design’s pretty simple

Hypnotic, pure red eyes with white pupils (as seen on the right side of my Abstracted Soul design)

He wears a light brown cloak complete with a hood that, when pulled over his face, obscures his whole face except for his eyes

He also has fangs, pointy ears and a snake tongue >:3

His fingers become red and start glowing near the tips: he also has claws

he has chicken slippers. this is the most important piece of information.

If he was REALLY being serious on that particular day though he’d probably change to something more threatening…

imagine like armour or something? Idk I need to polish that part of the design out more

OH AND ALSO. The trident has a sheath: his head. It literally phases into his hair when he’s not using it and you can see its tips poking out like a little crown.

Extra Details + Headcanons

He’s the only one who (usually) takes control of the real body, only coming to the Headspace while asleep: hence why Heart and Mind are able to fight so often

Actually doesn’t like Monster as much as people think.

He only drinks it so much because he needs a good source of caffeine and he doesn’t like coffee

After all, this man has absolutely NO internal clock, especially inside the headspace

There are certain moments where he’ll just… pass out, for no reason… so most of the time Heart and Mind can tell when he’s asleep because like:

*CRASH. CLATTER. BANG.*

”Oh, Soul’s asleep again.”

However: he does like chickens. He has no Darrel in my version but he’s still a big fan of birds, flightless ones specifically

He thinks flightless birds are the coolest things ever: because honestly, who doesn’t?

Favourite song from CCCC, assuming he’s aware of it in this universe or whatever, is Mucka Blucka because it combines his two favourite things: music and chickens

(though he likes the OG Mucka Blucka better, because that’s just the same song except he doesn’t also have to deal with Heart and Mind)

His power stems from all the raw magic inside the Headspace. With the Trident, he can harness this magic (although he can’t do EVERYTHING)

He likes to refer to himself as a warlock, because that really suits his style

He’s pretty bad at hiding how love-hate his relationship with those two is. It’s like 15% love and 85% hate, though.

As I discussed in an earlier post, his problem- at core- is the fact that he’s so obsessed with trying to bring back the past that he doesn’t realise the problems he’s causing

HE is actually the reason why the three can’t stay Whole: and he’s so focused on his goals that this possibility hasn’t even crossed his mind

(or the other’s minds, for that matter. Which says a lot about Heart’s confidence, and Mind’s resentment towards his emotional half).

At the end of the day, I fully believe that the story will only be resolved once he finally figures out that, after all the heartbreak they’ve been through trying to become Whole… maybe it’d be easier for all of them to just stay split.

And that’s all!

[auxxrat]

It's sooner than later that I'll be six feet under/sooner than later that you'll be alone

• one shot • Jango/Shaak

Tags - Angst, Jango's past (comic based) Other Tags - Boba Fett(mention), Clone Troopers + Omega, once again based on my own lore because I'm predictable

Summary :

“I love you, Jedi Master Shaak Ti." The declaration took Shaak’s ability to think, but Jango had more to say; he couldn't leave just yet. “Whatever I do, please forgive me. Whatever I leave behind, promise me you’ll finish it.”  “Jango…” Shaak, utterly and truly, was at a loss for words. Jango had been set on living, especially for his son, but it sounded to her as if this was his deathbed confession.   “Listen to me, Shaak; promise me you’ll forgive me, and that when it’s all over, you’ll understand. You're the only one who understands; we’ve always been on each other’s sides. Shaak, promise me you’ll love them. Promise me you won’t let them suffer because of my sins.” 

The only notice Shaak ever got of his arrival was how loud he could be.  

Jango had never been quiet; his feet were heavy, and his voice was loud. His armor was even more deafening. He wasn't one to waste time either, which didn't help his cause. But Coruscant was even louder than his laugh or arrival at places he had no business in. The city made for a perfect hiding spot for such a noisy man.

The soft clinking of armored boots against marble excited Shaak more than anything; it made her heart race and her chest feel tight. It was a nauseous feeling. The sight of him standing in the balcony doorway felt too unreal—like a living myth was standing in front of her, years of searching finally at an end. He returned ever so often, like an anxious animal coming home with a bird in its mouth. No amount of gifts could make up for his leaving, but it was never worth mentioning—Shaak knew he’d only do it again. 

Every year he came back to her, he looked different. The soft eyes of a boy turned into the tired ones of an overworked man, and the slender arms of a teenage boy turned into muscles with scars to last a lifetime. The curly hair was long forgotten, forced into a military-type cut. It was unnatural for a man whose hair was just as unruly as he was. Jango once had a bright smile, Shaak remembered, so wide that it stretched across his face and made his eyes almost invisible. That charming smile was never present, only saved for times like this. but even then, it wasn't as it was. 

“Welcome home, Jango,” Shaak said, as he’d only gone out for the day, just coming home from a long day at work.  

There had been a time, in Shaak’s youth, when she would have run to him. He jumped into his arms and exclaimed how much he was missed, complaining about his leaving. But she was older now, having grown into a woman Jango had not yet seen.  

If Jango was changing with age, Shaak was even more so. Her head-tails had gotten longer and taller, and her face had morphed into a woman. Her youth was all but left behind; there was no sign of the young girl she once was. She felt no more of that childlike confusion or anger, but her feelings for Jango always remained. It was an emotion that Shaak did fairly well at suppressing, hiding it easily from the Jedi Order. 

But then he comes back and messes it all up again.  

“I can’t be long” is the talk of a man who never stays in one place.  

"You have never been here long; maybe that’s why this place gathers so many shadows.”  

Shaak was a Jedi; she wasn't here in this apartment often, hidden at the very peaks of Coruscant, but Jango had gotten this place for them. Slowly, it became a place for her. It was true that Jango never stayed put in one place for long; he only found good hiding places for his most precious items, so he could come and go as he pleased.  

Maybe there was a time when they would have embraced each other, but they only moved to the front living room in silence. It was a quiet home, where the love never really died but was beaten into a corner. Jango never talked anymore, never sought out her touch, and right now he looked like there was something serious on his tail.  

There was nothing to speak of, not when their lives had grown so far apart, so they sat there saying nothing. But there was so much to be said by the both of them that Jango simply didn't have enough time.  

He was going to speak, but Shaak beat him to it.  

“You never reach out.”  

“What?’, The confusion was pitiful; even he knew what Shaak was talking about.  

“Even when you’re gone, you never send anything, not even a letter. And this time, you were gone longer than the last,” Shaak knew. Jango was a criminal, completely fallen from honor; she made it her business to never know his.  

“You don’t want to know, Ti,"  Jango stated. And she didn't want to know, because she knew it was only something terrible.  

She felt it in the Force. She felt it between them now; she could feel it in her heart that there was something vastly bigger than the Jedi could even comprehend. She could feel the many lives and the many hearts beating, but the question was where they were coming from. There was this other feeling—the feeling of fear—on the horizon of something. Shaak couldn't bring herself to think of it. She knew that whatever this was, Jango had a hand in it.  

She knew it, yet at the sight of him and everything she’d missed, it was easy to deny. Even after all the heartache,  

And that was only the beginning of her many regrets.  

“It’ll all be done soon." He didn’t sound too reassuring. “Then I won’t leave you.” 

It only took those little words to finally make Shaak soft and formable, like putty in his work-beaten hands. She sighed, turning her head to the side so that the soft blush that did appear would dissipate quickly. Her face was brighter when she turned back, inching closer to Jango. When they were younger, she used to be so curious about the stories he had to tell, about the things he saw and places he’d been. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to wonder now.  

“So? What has the infamous Jango Fett done this time? What adventure did you seek this time around?”  

“I have a son.”  

Shaak stumbled, feeling nauseous as if all the unfairness in the world had fallen upon her. She, a Jedi, and he, a Mandalorian, were too far apart. Even in a normal world, Jango would have been a Mandalorian prince, and Shaak would be just a girl back on Shili. Regardless of the universe, timeline, or the will of the Force, Shaak and Jango would never be able to be together. Yet she couldn't help but think that he still held onto that fantasy—to be with her.  

It was the highest number of betrayals.  

“What is his name?” Shaak swallowed the bile.  

Jango hesitantly moved to the armor surrounding his wrist, messing with the gauntlet buttons until a picture lit up. It was of Jango and a small boy, no more than ten or nine years old.  

“His name is Boba.”  

The boy was quite the spitting image of his father, so much so that it scared Shaak. He had the same nose, eyes, and smile with the sharp side tooth. Even down to the very curls on his head. Shaak felt bad for whoever the mother was. Mostly because Boba showed no sign of having any of her genes, but also because Jango’s heart still so painfully belonged to Shaak. 

“An heir for the Fett line, the exact image of his father. What you wanted, right?” There was an obvious attitude behind Shaak’s words, but Jango was blinded by love—love only a father could experience.  

“He’s perfect… He’s nothing like me." The statement was full of relief.  

“He likes to read." Jango added, pressing a button that consumed the photo back into his gauntlet, “He doesn't know fear; he doesn't need to. He learns so fast, quicker than I ever could. He’ll survive in this universe. I won’t bind him to Mandalore as I was; he doesn't need to win back anything; he’s already so special.”  

Shaak’s heart wanted to scream; it wanted to grow its own pair of arms and throttle Jango right where he sat. She felt cheated, and her stomach couldn't stop turning. Tears must have slipped because, in the next moment, Shaak felt the tip of his thumb at her waterline—he wasn't giving her the chance to cry. 

“I got you something," Jango whispered, her thumb leaving her waterline and tracing the line of her cheek. “But you can’t open it until the time is right.”

Shaak wanted to spit at him; his face was close enough, but she wouldn't. She knew she could never hurt him, even if it was life or death. She wouldn't be the one to do it. Through anger, confusion, and sadness, Shaak spoke 

“And how will I know when the time is right, Jango Fett?” 

“If I know, then you’ll know soon enough.” 

Jango slid a small metal case into her hand. She looked down and ran her fingers along the skillfully crafted box. The design was Mandalorian, but it wasn't native to this box; it was carved on. By the time she was able to pay attention to the world around her once more, Jango was already up and leaving, causing that old panic reflex that came whenever she saw and knew he was going to disappear again. The box was forgotten on the plush cushions of the couch where they once sat, and Shaak was up chasing Jango once more.  

She found herself ensnared in his tight grip, her heart aching to plead with him to linger and explain these cryptic messages that left her feeling scared and uneasy. However, before she could utter a word, her voice was stifled by a tender and longing kiss—a kiss that would ultimately be their first and last. This kiss was the only true, solid evidence of his love. One she could be sure of.  

“I love you, Jedi Master Shaak Ti." The declaration took Shaak’s ability to think, but Jango had more to say; he couldn't leave just yet. “Whatever I do, please forgive me. Whatever I leave behind, promise me you’ll finish it.” 

“Jango…” Shaak, utterly and truly, was at a loss for words. Jango had been set on living, especially for his son, but it sounded to her as if this was his deathbed confession.  

“Listen to me, Shaak; promise me you’ll forgive me, and that when it’s all over, you’ll understand. You're the only one who understands; we’ve always been on each other’s sides. Shaak, promise me you’ll love them. Promise me you won’t let them suffer because of my sins.”  

Shaak’s breathing was labored, and her eyes shot so wide that one might think she turned to stone. There was always an underlying method to what Jango was doing; was the kiss a distraction? Was this all for a confession of guilt?  

“Remember that I love you, if nothing else.”  

And like that, he was gone. 

—

“It’s a transmission from Master Kenobi.”  

Shaak’s heart dropped to her stomach the moment Obi-Wan’s static image came through; he looked like a cold, soaked rat standing out on Kamino. He came bearing information that she had been dreading.  

It was all too coincidental—Jango showing up and then the news of Padme’s failed assassination the next morning. There was no direct link to Jango until now, but Shaak still knew it was all him. She knew him too well, and it made her sick. Shaak was also assigned to look into whoever this bounty hunter might be, at the same time as Obi-Wan; the difference between them is that he tried. Shaak would have covered up his tracks so that it was harder to find him, had she been crazy enough, but even if, all records of him were wiped clean. Whether it was the Mandalorian’s shaming him or it was the Republic forgetting his existence, all of it was gone.  

It seemed the only person who knew Jango was Shaak. But even Obi-Wan found him quicker than she did. Maybe she knew nothing about him at all.  

Time seemed to have stopped the moment Kenobi unveiled the secret of Jango. Shaak was given little time to prepare herself for the war ahead. Kenbobi was going after him in the hopes of catching him and bringing him to the Jedi Temple for questioning. If he could be brought here, she could keep him safe and close. 

Before leaving, the silver box caught her eye, tucked away on a desk in her room, practically calling her name. Shaak figured this was what Jango meant by “right time." She ran her hand down the front of the carved box one last time, recalling every sweet memory of Jango. When she opened it, she was greeted with a Togruta-Mandalorian-styled headdress. It was a beautifully carved piece of gold that was adorned with beads and different wrapped metals, with two strings that hung down on either side. The circle sat in the middle of her forehead, circled with small blue crystals. The top was lined with teeth from a beast she killed long ago, keeping its teeth as a trophy as per Togruta tradition, but... she had thought she lost those teeth a long time ago.  

The blue was to represent Jango; she knew that much about the cocky man that he was.  

It was beautiful. A true piece of art. A mix of both their cultures. 

Maybe it was a symbol of what could have been, but Shaak didn't dwell on it now; she left the contents of the note he left behind in the box—far far in the back of her mind. For now, she had to forget about him and focus on going with Master Yoda to assess the mess he left behind. 

—

Kamino was filled with thousands upon thousands of boys and men who looked exactly like Jango. Suddenly, Shaak understood why Boba looked the way he did.  

They all looked like him, save for some DNA mutations, but even then, they were still noticeable. It was a horrific scene. The past years all made sense now; Jango must have gone crazy here. Shaak could only imagine the mental perils it put him through. Her poor boy...  

The Prime Minister, Lama Su, told Master Yoda that they were an army. Specially made, bred for combat, and more docile and gentle than Jango could ever be after all the horrors he’d seen. But they weren't spared from that. They weren't men; they were children being bred for a battlefield; they were all the possibilities that could have been... Now Jango had put their heads on the chopping block—the same way he had been. Shaak’s lower stomach began to hurt. She looked at all their faces, looking straight back at her. Every version of Jango was staring her dead in the face, searching for some sort of kind hand. Searching for a father or a mother.  

This is what mothers felt when they watched their sons be sent off to war. She understood why parents were so fearful and sad about giving up their children to be raised by the Jedi. She understood what Jango had felt at that moment, looking at the picture of Boba.  

It wasn't fair. None of it. From the moment Jango’s life was ripped apart to the moment he sentenced his children to die, Children will always die in war, and Jango chose not to break that cycle. Instead, he left the responsibility of thousands of children—children that could have been theirs—and cursed her to watch them file out and die. To never come home. For their bodies to be littered around the galaxy. 

Shaak’s body cramped, her hand gripping her stomach, but still she stood tall. 

“Hello!” A small voice piped up behind her, causing her to turn away from the balcony that overlooked the clones. Now starting to file in at Master Yoda’s order.  

She turned only to see a small girl with a mass of blond, curly hair. Now Shaak understood why Jango looked so tormented. Arla had come back to haunt him.  

“My name’s Omega,” she waved awkwardly, giving a small wave. “I heard you're a Jedi and that you’ve come to start working with my brothers.”

Shaak’s throat clenched, and she choked back a sob. The girl, Omega, brought Shaak to her knees, her eyes and heart growing softer and more forgiving. She must have been the same age as Boba, perhaps a twin. Shaak could only sigh and try not to cry. 

“My name is Jedi Master Shaak Ti, and you are the correct little one. The Jedi have arrived.” Shaak tried her best to sound calm and noble, but there was nothing noble about the act to follow.  

She turned around to face the large crowd of sons; there had to be at least millions in this facility alone, and more being made.  This was her responsibility; this is what Jango had meant; it was why he had to be cryptic. He’s created an army, and he’s made sure that his face haunts the galaxy long after his death. A curse she also shares now. Shaak watched as they marched, saluted, gathered their armor, and filed away for war. There was an ominous feeling in the air—something heavy and evil, but just on the outside of it all. Either way, these are her children now. They shared a common sadness as well; Jango abandoned her too. 

Now it was time to confront him. 

—

Shaak landed as soon as the fighting started. They hadn’t even touched the sandy ground, and her squad of clones were already fiercely loyal, maybe... It was just something in their blood.  

From the moment she stepped out of the gunship, Shaak was closed off from her feelings. There was only the force. This was the first battle, and the clones were bred for this battle. Not only by the Kaminoans, but she made it known to them that they were Mandalorians, humans, and warriors. Not science experiments, not clones. 

“You have the blood of conquerors in your veins; even if you can’t be proud of Jango, be proud of the Fett name.”  

War speech couldn’t stop the first son from falling or the second, but they continued to move. Like true Mandalorians. They deserved every title and every ownership of their culture; Shaak would make sure of it. It inspired Shaak enough to move through the battle droids like they were nothing, but even zoning in on battle could not stop her eyes from locking in on Mace Windu’s lightsaber. The purple was visa versa from across the battlefield.  

It was obvious that Mace Windu should be the one to do it; Shaak couldn’t. She would not be able to even raise her lightsaber to him, never mind strike him down. Mace would be the one to do it; that way, Jango would die for good.  

Shaak heard his jetpack over his head; the roar of it was loud and sent a shiver down Shaak’s back. She knew what was to come. Mace is going to kill him. Mace is going to kill Jango, and Shaak can do nothing about it.

‘I know he deserves it, but please, save the boy that was... please give him a break.’ Shaak lay on her knees, her forehead pressed against the floor, tears pooling on the marble below her. She’s been praying to the Force for so long that she doesn't even know if it's worth it anymore.  

‘He’s not lost yet; I know it; he’s just confused... He’s fought for too long; he’s seen too much to forgive... Just give him to me; I will keep him in one place, please.”

She watched one blaster bullet go, then the next. He always thought he could face Jedi head-on alone. 

“Shaak, 

I don’t write letters. I thought you knew that. But I know physical means more to you, and after this, maybe you would want a copy of my writing. One last keepsake. 

I know you’ll be mad at me about the clones, but you’ll understand. Soon. You’re the only one who will, and you are the only one who can justify my actions. That is, if you can forgive me. When the end nears, remember how I taught you to survive. 

I know what you thought when I told you about Boba. But, in truth, I don’t think I could have done it with anyone else. Not anyone but you. I’d make a joke about weird alien children, but you never liked those. You never liked a lot of my jokes, but I guess I was a jackass back then. Please watch over Boba. If he’s anything like me, he’s going to be so angry that you won’t be able to get through to him. Please don’t hold it against them; he’s a sweet boy. 

The clones are yours now. I expect you adopted them the moment you saw them. I’m sorry. 

I love you. In my own twisted way, I wanted to. I was scared. I’ve never been scared. I don’t know if we’ll be in the same afterlife, but I will find you. Over and over again, I will show up. 

You always talked about a normal world. Where you would be, there would be no one, and I’d still be a prince. I still would have found you.

You would have made a fair queen.

With Love,

Jango”

He died quickly.  

Shaak watched Mace raise his saber and slice his head right off. 

Jango always thought he could defeat them head-on.  

“You’re so stupid... you stupid kid.”  

Shaak buried his body with Boba. She held his strong hand one last time, laid her head on his chest, and listened for a heartbeat that wasn't there. She still denied the fact that his head was no longer attached to his body.  

She couldn't look at his face.  

His once handsome face, now stone cold, has been sunken in with death. It didn't look good on him, Shaak cried. He was meant to be in the sun; he was meant to be back on his farm—a King of Mandalore—anything but this. Everything he was, every experience he fought so hard to love through, ended with a quick lightsaber to the neck. Everything Shaak had loved was gone in mere seconds.  

Their time together flashed through her eyes as she lay there with her head on his still chest, crying. He had saved her, and she had done everything in her power to always be there to save him—but not this time. She knew he was up for the slaughter this time and did nothing. She watched. Shaak could feel her heart dying. If this is what love was, if this is what the Jedi meant, then she did not want it. The man who had cursed her to forever watch her sons die in war has died himself.  

The two buried him, an unofficial mother and son, burying the father. It was over. The storm has calmed, and his rage is over. 

“Boba–” Shaak tried to embrace the boy, but he only smacked her hands away.  

He ran. Angry, tears in his eyes, Boba ran. Just like his father.

[kyndaris]

Memoirs of a Blogger

After the rain-heavy day that was Tuesday, the 12th of March, the sun was quick to come out on Wednesday, the 13th. And what a glorious day it was! Bleachpanda and I enjoyed another breakfast of grilled cheese toasties at the bakery at our hotel before venturing to Shinjuku station in order to take the train to Skytree. Though we had to transfer once, the ride was fairly smooth and we arrived at Oshiage station shortly after 10 AM.

As we ascended up to the department store to the Skytree counter, I did get distracted by the Kirby cafe, the Pokemon Centre and a ton of other shops including Doraemon and a pop-up store for Poppy Playtime. Not that I play Poppy Playtime but I've definitely been exposed to some of the lore from watching Game Theory on YouTube (it still feels oh so very raw with Matthew Patrick leaving but I think Tom is a suitable replacement). In fact, there was also Poppy Playtime and other indie mascot horror game merchandise in South Korea too.

Once we secured our tickets to go up, bleachpanda and I waited for our allotted time to head up to the observation deck. Once there, it felt like all of Tokyo was laid out beneath our feet. But what was more amazing was the sight of Mount Fuji in the distance.

I'd originally planned to head out to Kawaguchiko to take some scenic shots of the infamous volcano but given how long it would take to get there, I was happy I could cross out seeing Mount Fuji right in the heart of Tokyo.

Still, I wouldn't be opposed to visiting Kawaguchiko or Hakone if I were to head to Japan again. There's something about being surrounded by nature and snapping a shot of an iconic landmark that calls to me. Of course, Mount Fuji is also known for being notoriously elusive even on good days because of cloud cover or fog. So, it was a rare sight indeed for me to glimpse it. Both at the normal observatory and also up high at the Tembo Galleria.

Heck, we even took a photo too! And got mini versions of the tower through the gacha machine. Mine would turn yellow, which, according to the various descriptions of the lighting for Tokyo Skytree is considered a sign of good luck, with its illumination emphasising liveliness.

To commemorate the event of sighting Mount Fuji from on high, bleachpanda and I enjoyed a parfait each at the Sky Tree cafe as we soaked in the sight. After all, we were here on holiday and we didn't have an intense itinerary to hit every stop. And honestly, it works out well. There isn't too much stress and we can go at our own pace to see what we want without feeling the pressure of missing out on something important.

It helped, too, that bleachpanda and I had already visited Japan in the past and felt that some of the sights didn't need another visit.

After we enjoyed our snack at 345 metres above sea level, we returned back down to Earth and tried some shrimp prawn broth ramen before heading to Asakusa.

Asakusa is a historic neighbourhood located in Tokyo and it's a popular tourist destination because of its unique blend of traditional and modern cultures. This was prevalent with the number of street-food stalls, traditional craft shops and rickshaws in the region. It also, more importantly, had areas to rent a kimono.

Since bleachpanda and I had the good fortune to rent a hanbok while we were in South Korea, I couldn't resist the idea of trying on a kimono while here and taking them out for a spin. I went with a tasteful purple kimono with a yellow/ gold obi while bleachpanda wore a multicoloured one with shades of blue, yellow and pink. Once attired, we headed down to Senso-ji temple, visiting the shops and stalls as we did so.

We even, to my surprise, had someone ask if they could take a photo with us. So, if you ever see two Asian ladies and a Latina woman in the heart of Asakusa on social media, it might be the two of us. Indeed, we later spotted the mother and son duo (the son took the photo) as we headed down Nakamise-dori street towards Senso-ji temple.

So, yes, here's ANOTHER photo of the back of my head:

Unfortunately, we weren't able to stay in our kimonos for long and after almost two hours, we had to return to the shop: Silk in order to return them before 5 PM. Afterwards, we were joined by my two Australian friends, who had just missed out on seeing me and bleachpanda rocking our kimonos (although I did send them photos). They were meant to be our professional photographers for the day but alas had got caught up in their own touristy itinerary they had meticulously planned to get the most out of their trip.

And after another wander around Senso-ji temple, the four of us went for dinner at a local restaurant. Full on Italian pizza and pasta, bleachpanda and I called it a night and returned to our hotel. My other two friends would be heading to Hakone the next day and be continuing on their Japan adventure as bleachpanda and mine's was drawing to a close.

Still, the morrow was full of promises to be just as action-packed. And after nearly three weeks overseas, bleachpanda and I would need to dig deep into our energy reserves to keep the momentum going before our inevitable return back home.

A fact which saddened me as I went to bed for the night.

Yokohama, here we come!

[somehowmags]

i NEED to grip and shake you like a salt and pepper shaker tumblr user somehowmags cause im so insane about rook i need to talk about him I MISS HIM SO MUCH RHAHSHSGSGDYSHSHAHSHH but this cookie hits so im not gonna talk about him now. also im really hyped for the possibility of a book 8 wherein there's a grim overblot and they explore yuu's arc and their role in twisted wonderland, their backstory, mickeys involvement, and what lies ahead for them. i just can't grasp that twisted wonderland might end after book 7 because you can't do that to me. you can't end my mental illness :/ drop more lore like it's a pumpkin in MY enclosure. i intended for my twst mc to be based off alice liddell in American McGee's Alice but canon yuu takes such a big backseat in the overall story i have to think my thunk so much about my own mc's respective role in the lore and ongoing story and it hurts. the curse of needing to have a girlboss mc

WAUBLBLGLGLBLBGLGBL <- me being shaken like a salt and pepper shaker

HONESTLY I DON'T THINK THEY'LL END IT AFTER BOOK 7!!! they've set up rsa and that upcoming tournament between the two schools already, and we still don't know what the monster in the beginning that looks like grim is, and we still don't know what mickey's deal is! (everytime i remember that mickey mouse is in this game i have to sit down and put my head in my hands for a lil bit. what the fuck man. it feels more jarring than him being in kingdom hearts for some reason asdkljhjalsdf) storywise, there's still a lot to get to! also, i get the feeling that they'll want to show the twst versions of the disney princesses as well which i personally would be very excited to see and also maybe even the fourth year students!

and on the cynical side of things...gacha games are really popular right now, and i think disney will milk the cash cow for all its worth for as long as they can. sure, twst isn't as popular as, like, genshin impact, but its still fairly popular in its own right, and im sure theyre making a pretty penny off of it. and what keeps people coming back is story and character. (granted, im sure it would get more popular and therefore more profitable if they'd just fucking release it in more regions but. well. im not being paid to advise disney on shit lmao. if i was we would already be able to buy those 60 dollar jumbo plushies in the us and i would have a gazillion of them) but also story heavy mobile games tend to run for a long time anyways- like, fire emblem heroes came out in 2017 (holy shit that came out in 2017????) and it's STILL releasing its story. basically do not underestimate corporate greed

but in the interest of not being a total hater i also trust in yana toboso's writing here. for the problems that i have with her (and by problems i mean whatever criticisms i had from the last time i read black butler in like 2018 aklsjdffhalksdhldfhk) she is a good writer and black butler has been continually published since. holy shit i just checked wikipedia its literally been published since 2006 LMAO THAT'S WILD so i don't think the story will be running out for a while!

[meonholic]

Forceful Winds

Tartaglia (Childe) & Genshin OC (Not shipping)

A/N:: This is my first time writing any actual fan fiction since I was like— 16 so I apologize already

This is purely self-indulgent and loosely follows the Genshin lore that I barely read— and I wanted to write about my new OC, Ksenia ₊ ⊹

Not proof-read, we die like men (this is copied straight off the Google doc)

Warnings: Mentions of: animal butchering (lightly) and general violence

Fun notes: Forced proximity, Friends to Enemies ✨

Word Count: 5,722

I have a hard time writing endings so apologies for that 😅

Deep in the snow-coated mountains of Snezhnaya resides a humble village, one fortunate enough each summer to host a lodge for wanderers in the winters. Survival depends on everyone contributing to the local economy. Some young men are able to dodge this by fleeing to the capitol to work as low grunts for the Fatui. Though, many had the displeasure of being sent back home to instead redirect revenue to the Zapolyarny Palace. It was a dirty, disgusting trade in the eyes of a local hunter. Years ago a dear friend had been sent off to be a part of the Fatui, and to her dismay her own brother followed soon after. That was all the Snezhnayan authorities did.

Take, take, and take the scraps that were dropped.

Today was no different as the fur-clad hunter marched through the main street of Orenskoy. Head tilted low into her scarf, she was quick to take notice of a fairly ornate carriage sat outside of the two-story lodge. From the carefully crafted gold detailing, the hunter did not need to look at the side to know that some higher ranking Fatui member had taken ahold of the lodge. Anyone could imagine the excitement that radiated from those inside, eager to make good with whoever had “blessed” them with their presence. This personally failed to keep the interest of the hunter as she was far more concerned with the heavy sled she dragged behind her. Two large stags laid awkwardly over one another, wrapped firmly in heavy skins that were becoming stained in red as time continued.

Ksenia wanted to take the time to carve out a few parts of the flanks to keep for herself, but the impending storm forced her into town. Perhaps the butcher would be kind enough to do it for her without charging her. Despite the storm, the main street had grown popular with people flocking around the lodge. Mothers and aunts alike were bundled heavily in their own furs to try and catch a glance at whoever represented the Tsaritsa. One muttered to another about trying to marry her daughter off to one to get her off the mountain. Another hoped that it was her son returning home to flash a new rank. Mutters and whispers ran wild. Even the men had fallen into chatter between taking drags of warmed tobacco. It was a pitiful sight to Ksenia, and one that could be easily ignored.

The local butcher had become a close friend to the archer after she entered the village a few winters ago with fresh rabbit for him to sell. A beneficial relationship formed between the two over a set of grilled legs that same night; Ksenia supplied his shop and he looped in her personal wishes with his large catalogue order that he would make monthly. It kept her ties small and her trail covered. Today was like any other to the two as she pulled her sled around the back of the Butcher’s shack, pushing open the back door to announce her arrival. Inside, the sounds of chopping had been replaced with quiet chatter. “— I swear, I saw a Harbinger!”

It was easy to decipher that it was the wife, Viktoriya. The woman was just as kind and patient as her husband, but what she lacked in butchering skills she made up for in observation. There had been plenty of times that Ksenia had (teasingly) offered to take the older woman along to hunt with how good her innate instincts were. Viktoriya preferred to use these skills for evil, being a proper gossip throughout Orenskoy. The mental reminder of her gossiping nature was shaken off the same way Ksenia shook the loose snow from her boots at the back door. “There you are,” Ariy chuckles, blatantly trying to flee his wife’s exaggerating.

The two made quick work of dragging the stags in, shocking Ariy once again. Outside, the sky had begun to darken and she had begun to worry about getting home. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck sleeping at the lodge. Ariy was quick to skin one patch of the first stag to ensure she had enough to eat after this blizzard rolled through. Ksenia attempted to push some well-worn Mora into Ariy’s hand for the meat, but he was quick to close her hand, curling her gloved fingers over the coin. “You bring me more than enough with a single stag, these two will keep a few families full and warm.”

She would however, never reject the Mora given to her in exchange. With the looming presence of the carriage alone, just outside the shop, Ksenia wondered if this money could save her life tonight. Between the hike, their presence, and the underlying scent of iron she had begun to grow sick. The type of sick that only comes from a burning stomach that carries up and to the throat, introducing a type of dizziness only it could. She must have grown pale due to the visible worry on Viktoriya’s face. A warm hand came to the hunter’s forehead just as a gentle ring of the shop’s front door filled the stagnating air. Ariy went off to greet whoever had come in as his wife escorted Ksenia further to the back of the shop.

Over the stags and closer to the drafty back door. The hints of fresh cold air wafting through the cracks seemed to help straighten her head. “Will you be alright getting home,” the older woman asks, “If you want to wait until we close, Ariy and I can drop you off on our way home.”

“No, no,” the younger woman’s gruff voice comes out insistently, “You need to get home quickly if this storm will be here soon. I’ll be just fine.”

Viktoriya was visibly not convinced as she managed to talk Ksenia into gossiping for “just a moment.” So they stood there in the back, one talking far more than the other. It was apparent that the butcher’s wife had grown giddy over the Fatui coming to their village. It was odd seeing how despised the group was, but as much as no one wished to admit it… they brought wealth with them. Something everyone needed. “— I’m sure you could snag yourself a handsome officer,” Viktoriya hums out, fixing a wild strand of Ksenia’s.

“I’m not interested in an officer, they move around too much,” the hunter plays along.

In all honesty, she would rather meet the end of one of her own arrows than align herself with the Fatui in any manner. Speaking in such a way however was begging for problems that she did not need. Viktoriya was only

able to gossip for a few moments more before her husband rounded the corner. Ariy’s brow was knitted as his expression seemed almost… grim. “The storm is approaching faster than anticipated,” he states, “Whoever our… esteemed guest is at the lodge, the owner is requiring our freshest cuts. Viktoriya, please head home before me and bunker down with the children, I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

His wife was immediately concerned, turning to him fully then. In that moment, Ksenia was practically forgotten about. “I can’t leave you here! Dmitri has plenty of meat from just two days ago, so come home with me now,” she argues, “We can stash Ksenia’s hunts in the shed where they’ll freeze.”

The couple bickers for a moment; Ariy insisting that the meat would still go bad as it was now cut while Viktoriya simply wouldn’t hear of it. If the blizzard was coming in as quickly as it sounded, Ksenia wondered if she would even make it home in time. “I can butcher the stags for you, deliver the meat, and close up your shop,” she hesitantly offers.

She doesn’t have children, or even a pet to fret over. If anyone was qualified to stay in Ariy’s shop to take apart stags, it would be her. The offer halts the bickering then as Ariy seems to instead contemplate the offer. “We have the loft area upstairs,” he mutters, “It’s not the nicest, but it can keep you warm if you have to stay here.”

Suddenly the howls of winds rapidly forcing its way through the town could be heard inside. The subtle creaks of wood combining with the soft thuds of blowing snow hitting glass was enough of a warning of what was to come. “… Are you sure,” Viktoriya asks, brow knitted in worry.

It was the least she could do for parents that needed to keep their children and livestock alive. They should never have to decide between their lives or pampering the Fatui. It was the thought that looped around in her mind as she hacked away at one of the stags that Ariy kept inside the shop. It didn’t make sense to go for both now, so they stored it in a secure shed out back before he and the wife rushed home… The sky had been dark for some time and she could only wonder if it was so dark because of the looming authoritative presence across the street or the impending blizzard. Amidst separating hide from flesh, Ksenia had to acknowledge the glaring issue with a potential high ranking officer showing up out of the blue. A small spike of pain came from behind her left eye for a moment; a simple reminder of how tethered she was to problems far outside her comprehension. This all had gone on for so long that it was a pleasant surprise to be somewhere long enough to almost befriend people.

For now, she knew she was stuck in this village until the storm was over. The issue with being this high in the mountains was that these storms could range from hours to weeks at a time with little to know warning. Ksenia’s gaze slides to the pot behind her that had a few different ingredients she had with her simmering with her cut of the stag. Had she put too much in? Would she be forced the eat the whole damn stag before her, herself before the storm was over? These questions were a constant in these mountainous villages. Back home in Morepesok, there was some mercy as it rested in the mountains’ shadows on the coast.

As she wrapped the fresh “steak cuts” of venison, Ksenia’s mind wandered back to her home village. Were they warm? Safe? Did they even miss her or did they believe whatever lies the Fatui conjured up? The twine to secure the paper was pulled and knotted at the thought of the Tsaritsa and her devotees. Twine cut the circulation off to her blood-coated fingers as her nails bit into the skin. For years she skittered throughout Snezhnaya’s smaller villages; doing what she could to stay alive while helping others. Mora for meat that families couldn’t achieve on their own, clothes for cleaning homes; it was all worth the struggle if it meant she could do some good for people. However, as she crossed the street to the lodge, Ksenia made a mental note of which direction Nod-Krai would be in… Though that place was probably no better, at least the Fatui stayed back.

The streets were empty as the winds whipped around violently, lashing at any soft material with the intent to harm. The highest points of her cheeks that were exposed instantly stung and burned as she crossed through the now nearly ankle-deep snow. Being outside for less than a minute had frozen her to the very core as her legs fought the urge to move. Snow latched to her lashes almost instantly, no amount of batting could battle them away as a twenty second walk dragged on for nearly a minute. Each step had to be made with vigor to try and outpace the sub-zero temperatures. Just as her lungs had begun to feel as though they were full of ice, Ksenia pushed open the heavy wooden door of the lodge.

Inside, the crackling of a roaring fireplace almost melted her in an instant. For a moment she wondered if she should settle in the lobby for just a moment to relax and warm up. As the snow on her lashes began to melt away, her answer was then ‘no’. If she began to sweat in her many layers just to return briefly out there, she would be begging for an illness. She needed to be in and out. The manager of the lodge appeared from his office behind the counter, a skittish young man that was following his father’s orders. “You’re not Ariy,” the boy stutters out, flinching as the hunter sets down the wrapped stack of meat on the countertop.

“You know who I am,” she grumbled, pushing the stack a bit for emphasis, “Ariy and Viktoriya have kids to keep warm.”

The manager eyed the stack, brow still furrowed tightly before he hesitantly picked it up. “Thank you,” he mumbles, “We have an extra room if you need—“

Ksenia did not give him a moment to finish his sentence as she turned on her heel. There was no way in hell that she would stay under the same roof as some fatui member. The loft above the storage area of Ariy’s store was drafty, but a few layers of heavy fabric and tanned hides could fix that. The shop had been locked up and secured from any wind or opportunistic lowlifes before she climbed up to the snug location. Finally, her aching muscles could rest as she lay on the flimsy mattress. Outside, the winds whistled and whipped against anything in their way, filling the building with the sound of creaking wood. If she didn’t know better, Ksenia could almost compare the consistent creaking to that of a ship on the ocean.

With a groan, she rolled to her side, pulling the layers of fabrics and furs with her. Perhaps she could make it south that way; on a boat with a small crew of others that never wished to fear the Fatui and their leader again. It was a tantalizing thought, one that lulled her into a restful sleep.

Dreams were a rarity, but that did not particularly mean that nightmares plagued her either. For Ksenia, sleep was simply that. A passing period between days with nothing of substance. Last night hadn’t been much different outside of flashes of memories. They were specifically from when she fell into the abyss. It hadn’t been her intent, she was looking for… Even in her dream, her stomach was in knots as she thought about him. That damned boy whose hat was out on the ice. Everything that followed from her trusting the essentially perma-frosted lake was his fault. Flashes of horrors painted in vibrant hues haunted her. It had all been for nothing which stung worse.

Coming to, that was when Ksenia was forced to wonder how much of that was a dream or her mind attempting to process what was happening. She awoke with a gasp, drenched in cold sweat. It felt as though her eyelashes had laced together to keep her eyes pulled shut for just a moment longer as she greedily took air into her lungs. When she freed herself from the last moments of sleep’s grasp, Ksenia found herself keeping her eyes shut for just a moment longer. There was an odd feeling that came to her full attention.

It was the feeling of a predator’s gaze locked on her, one that was all too familiar from her many hunts throughout her homeland. That chilling feeling paired with… Was someone fiddling with her hair? With some last moments of hesitation, Ksenia’s eyes opened. For a split second, everything was far too bright before her vision began to focus. Gaze wondering, that predatory feeling washed over her completely as a figure sat next to her. With the ends of some of her hair pinched between their fingers, Ksenia started to contemplate her next move. Their posture was relaxed, leaning back on their free arm. “That seemed like a hellish dream,” a masculine voice comments.

The accent was impossible to miss… it was the accent of someone from Morepesok. All of the details of the last twenty four hours rush to her in that moment as the man’s face finally turns to her. A Fatui carriage, the quick gossip of a potential Harbinger… That damned accent. Ksenia sat up then, but was unable to go far as that gentle grasp tightened. The hunter winced as Ajax- No, Tartaglia, held the ends of her hair in a vice grip. She hissed in protest as he maintained his lax position. For a moment, she could feel the tremble of his muscles as he snatched her in place as quickly as he did. “You’re quite slick,” he continues, “For a woman with a broken eye.”

Another hiss rang out as Tartaglia roughly pulled her closer to him by her hair. Ksenia struggled to keep upright for a moment as she begrudgingly came closer to the Harbinger. Head yanked back, she was finally forced to face the man she had once called a friend. His childish sparkle had died so long ago, when they were barely teenagers… And yet it still hurt to see that it had never come back. The woman’s jaw clenched as she quickly closed her eyes. She knew what he was trying to look at and she refused to give him that satisfaction. If she had things her way she would’ve carved that troublesome eye out decades ago. Maybe if she was able to she would be free from whatever hell this was in the moment.

The hunter’s hands balled into fists as Tartaglia’s grip placed more tension on her scalp. It was almost agonizing as she wondered if her hair would go with his hand if she shoved him off at this point. “Who would have thought that two plain children from Morepesok would end up in such a weird situation,” he rambled on, “You always said we were destined to live and die there, right Ksenia?”

Her name sounded like a swear on his tongue. It turned her stomach in pure disgust before she felt herself get pulled back and forced to lie back down on the ground. She instinctively reached for the back of her sore scalp as the floorboards around her creaked. “Don’t you have anything to say to your dearest friend?”

Finally, Ksenia opened her eyes, squinting them mostly to see that Tartaglia’s uncanny gaze was unwavering. There was no recognizable bit of him. Not anymore. Ajax was long dead and this man was just wearing his skin as far as Ksenia was concerned. Freckled skin that had visibly aged overtime, gray hairs littered into his dull orange tufts of hair, and a sickly purpled scar that took over his right cheek. For a moment, she thought of how his scar had come from the same place her “broken eye” had. That abyss had stolen their futures from them… “Don’t tell me you’re still mad at me,” he eggs on, attempting to force any conversation out of her.

She couldn’t bring herself to speak, instead her gaze fell down to where his heart was supposed to be. The abyss worked in the oddest of ways, allowing her to see the thrum of anything’s beating heart. His heart thumped that same sickly hue of purple, it was no longer warm. That was Ksenia’s confirmation that Ajax had truly died the day he had gone missing… Or at least the humane parts of him. “You’re not him,” she croaked out, swallowing hard afterwards.

There were endless rumors of what the Fatui Harbingers were capable of. Rumors that made them all seem stronger than the archons, or even the sovereign dragons that ruled before them. How Celestia ever allowed seemingly mortals to have such powers were beyond her if they were true. Whispers of some type of “Foul Legacy” had floated through the villages that she traversed through. Had that been him it would explain his state. Tartaglia’s head slowly cocks to the side as he pulls her up more, forcing a wince out of the hunter. “I remember when we were kids,” he muttered, “How you would always kick my ass somehow when we would wrestle.”

A pained gasp rang out as he suddenly used his grip on her hair to throw her head back down against the floorboards. Ksenia instinctively grabbed at the back of her throbbing head, curling her knees up in hopes of being able to kick him away when the moment revealed itself. “This is kind of therapeutic, knowing that I could pay you back for all of that.”

Ksenia’s gaze locked onto Tartaglia as he leaned back into his previous relaxed posture. A look of malice in his eye as a small cocky grin formed on his face. She had no idea what he was talking about. There was no way that he was pissed off about things they did as children, right? Slowly, she sat up while attempting to maintain a neutral expression. He was as much of a brat as he was when they were children; doing anything he could to get a reaction. “Why are you here, Harbinger,” she spits out, eyes narrowed.

Her remark seemed to surprise him enough for his smirk to fall. He seemed unenthused by her attitude as he leaned forward to prop his elbow onto his knee. “You know why I’m here, Ksenia,” Tartaglia’s tone shifts to a more serious one, “You’re wanted by the Tsaritsa, even more than those that are openly against here. I won’t lie, I assumed that you were Nod-Krai at least. Staying in Snezhnaya was a risky choice, but it seems to have worked until now.”

She quickly leaned back on one of her hands as Tartaglia attempted to reach out and seize her face again. It wasn’t a secret that she was wanted; posters of her sketched portraits were littered throughout the land with varying bounty prices for years now. He was right, it was a risk to hide in plain sight, but the multiple heavy layers needed to traverse Snezhnaya helped in hiding her identity. The Harbinger’s hand stayed in the air for a moment before dropping. Inside the loft, things had fallen silent as the winds outside screamed and wailed, mercilessly ramming into anything in its way. Ksenia could not bare to look at him for any longer as the weight of everything began to weigh on her.

How long had she been on the run now? It had to have been nearing ten years at this point- no, longer. Ksenia had to force herself to isolate from her family, friends, and the life she was supposed to have. None of it was fair and it was all because of…

Slowly, her head rose as rage began to boil under her skin. It felt like a moment of possession as she lunged at Tartaglia in the low, cramped space. Fists were balled and swinging blindly as she screamed in pure hatred for the man below her now. Her life was in utter shambles because he had to go missing in the ice. From within the abyss and out, Ajax-Tartaglia-Whoever-the-hell-he-was had completely ruined her life. In him constantly wanting a fight, he had dragged her down with him! She wouldn’t have this abyssal curse or the Tsaritsa’s vision latched to her if it wasn’t for him.

The scuffle lasted mere moments as he easily subdued her. Ksenia found her face being pressed into the floor with her arm pinned behind her back as he sat on her to hold her in place. An amused fit of laughter came from above her as she tried to look at Tartaglia through her hair. To her disgust, he spat out the blood from his mouth onto the floorboards next to her. “Shit,” he gasps out, “You still have a mean right hook!”

Was he getting excited over a three second scuffle? Her muscles relaxed slightly then as she was brought back to when they were kids and how he always loved a good fight. Even when he was losing the fight, he enjoyed it. Perhaps there were some parts of Ajax in there somewhere, buried deep down. She began to tense up once again as he leaned down, bringing his face close to hers as he pulled her hair from her face with a surprising amount of tenderness. “Look, we’re stuck in this shack until the storm is over. We’ve been snowed in since maybe three in the morning… So let's just get along until it’s time to leave. I would hate to accidentally get you stuck on a meat hook while squabbling.”

So… She played nice. As nice as one person could be towards a childhood-friend-turned-psychopath. If the weather was on her side, she could be out of here in two or three days. The issue would be to get out without Tartaglia noticing her while also being able to make a run for it in potentially waist deep snow. There were valuables of hers’ to collect as well. It was normal to be on the run, but not when sharing a confined space with a Harbinger. At the very least he had been kind enough to not tie her up. “There’s no where you can run anyway,” he had mocked her.

⋆⁺₊❅。

Days came and went, dragging along painfully as one refused to indulge in any proper conversation. Eventually night would roll around and Ksenia found herself stuck next to him since he only carried limited blankets to stay warm. “Touch me more than you are and I’ll kill you,” was the only thing she had properly stated.

Tartaglia must have anticipated her to crack eventually, but on day three of almost complete silence he felt his sanity slipping. As he ranted late in the afternoon about how bored he was and that she wasn’t helping, Ksenia was more fixated on the outside. Unfortunately, the snow and ice had sealed the doors shut from the relentless blizzard. The positive was that the wind had finally slowed down. There was some hope that soon she could leave him behind, even if she had to crawl through a window. “Can’t we act like normal long time friends that never went out separate ways,” he suddenly asked, causing Ksenia’s grip on the knife she had been using to tighten.

“No.”

“Why not,” he prods, leaning over the butcher counter that separates them, “Neither of us belong up here in the mountains and yet we’re stuck here because you’re as stubborn as you were in Morepesok.”

Her gaze shot up to him as her neutral expression shifted into a glare. It felt as though he was blaming her for their current situation. Though perhaps it was the stillness of their situation pushing her to be more irritable… It didn’t help that she was watching herself carve away mora piece by piece to feed the both of them. “And you’re as gluttonous as a pig going to slaughter,” Ksenia spits out under her breath.

The feeling of a glare stabbing into her was blatantly ignored as Ksenia continued to shave away at one of the steaks she had been eager to sell. They were silent for a time until Tartaglia suddenly pulled the knife from her grasp and set it on the counter. She refused to react, standing still and locking her gaze on the flesh before her. His presence was looming then, radiating irritation that she stood strong against. “All of this would have been settled if you hadn’t pissed off our Archon. Do you seriously think she’ll let you off the hook after you took a vision from her and ran?”

No. It wouldn’t have been settled. A life being a pet to the Tsaritsa was a date worse than death from Ksenia’s perspective. So many follow her out of pure fear of a hypothetical war she wishes to wage on on all of Teyvat. To be some servant that feeds into the fear opposes all she stands for. Becoming some type of monstrous pawn that no one would ever recognize disgusted her. “Look at what she has turned you into,” was her calm response, “I refused to be anything similar.”

Naturally, Tartaglia had taken offense to her words and things grew physical. That seemed to be the cycle each day they were stuck in the butcher’s shop. Silence, momentary conversations, and ending with some type of brief squabble until someone reluctantly stopped. If Ksenia wasn’t needed alive, she was sure she would’ve just been killed in her sleep nights ago. That was fine though as it meant she had time to plan and flee. Or well, enough time for her to store the shavings of fat from the stag to stick on a small window in the back of the shop where Tartaglia never bothered to venture. With the extra coverage of a curtain, she packed the fat on the edges of the window overtime. Her grandmother had taught her that fat could melt ice if patient enough, and patient she was. After their last altercation that only ended with a knife to her throat, Ksenia knew it was time to move. His patience for the Tsaritsa’s orders was fading faster than the storm would end.

That night, under the blank statement of needing some privacy, she moved out of the lost and abandoned the half asleep Harbinger. It wouldn’t take him too long to realize that she was taking too long to use the restroom before investigating so she needed to move quick. With her coat and boots waiting at the back door already, Ksenia sloppily pulled everything on. She wasn’t as meticulous with her layers as she should have been, but it was now or never. Bag of Mora stitched into her sleeve to reduce the sound of jingling, Ksenia pulled the curtains back to see that the fat was stuck but not frozen. Past the window was white, with a glimmer of the pitched sky. It was time to go; now or never.

With a cringe, the hunter used her strength to force the window open. The wood echoed and clattered in loud protest as whistling winds took over the space. Above her, the sound of skittering in the loft soon followed. With a huff, Ksenia pulled herself through the window, onto the snow, and used her heel to kick the window back shut. She couldn’t hear what was happening inside of the butcher’s shop due to the wind, and she gaze herself no time to watch and wait. Instead, the scrambled through the snow that was far behind a head taller than her. Crawling across it before finding a softer spot. In the midst of desperation, she was quick to bury herself under the snow. Heavily covered hands digging into the forgiving surface until she could be covered. Mentally, she thanked her father for teaching her to do this in case she ever ran into hillichurls as a young girl. They wouldn’t see her, but she was aware of them. Thankfully, the aggressive winds should have been merciful enough to cover up her splayed out tracks…

Suddenly, the shaking earth caught her attention as she could see some type of spectral lights faintly flash through the snow above her. That, and the same oddly thrumming heart by the shop. His heart was beating rapidly, but seemingly dashing about. The sight caused her own heart to stop for a moment. Had he turned into that alleged Foul Legacy? It was a ludacris thought she had convinced herself. And if it was not… then she had tried.

⋆⁺₊❅。

The trek was one she had made plenty of times before; most would do the same as her after the storm was over. After so many feet the snow would grow solid and make a walkable surface. Currently, she felt as though she was walking on gelatin as she traversed through the snow. When it seemed to be somewhere around midday was when she found her home. With the dense tree population around her shack, the impact wasn’t as intense as in town where the trees were long gone. With a last moment of strength, Ksenia shoulders into her frozen door to stumble inside. To her utter relief, her home was beyond empty. The single room home was dark and frozen, but a few logs would aid in that.

It was bittersweet to stumble into this space she had come to call home. Ksenia had even been bold enough to decorate a bit with paintings or bones from varying creatures. Alas, it would all need to be left behind… all of it would have to be. The carrot seeds that were stored away from last year to begin this year’s. The ceramic dish set she had been talked into buying by Viktoriya. All of the memories she had formed here were to be abandoned. For now however, she would have the luxury of enjoying at least one more night in her home before moving on once more.

Perhaps it was time to leave Snezhanya… To use her abilities anywhere else in Teyvat.

[freezerbnuuy]

Act 2:2 - Something to Tell You (Page 4)

LORE | CHARACTERS | ABOUT / CHAPTERS / WARNINGS

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 Clementia

Shepherd Julian has picked the perfect timing to go spreading the Jacoban word…it's freezing outside. Still, it means the cathedral hall is packed, so it works out. He says that things are quiet towards Withernham at the moment, though I tell him doing all that in a predominantly-Peteran town isn't the greatest of ideas.

I don't know if anyone is listening to me. Jacobans are generally still stuck in the past, not to mention I'm not the High Shepherd- but I do what I can. Shepherd Julian's manner is a lot more fearful and, whether he wants to admit it or not, panicked. Every one of his reiterations of the Eve of Retribution is more horrifying than the last, to the point where his last one almost read like a horror story. My general style is moreso encouraging everyone to do good to avoid the wrath of the Watcher- taking Jacobism back to its roots.

After a longer sermon than usual, everyone reluctantly leaves, not wanting to head out into the heavy snow. One woman stays behind, a lady who's fairly new to the Jacoban church, and as far as I'm aware, a recent convert from Peterism. Alice, I think her name is. 

"Shepherdess Clementia? Is Shepherd Julian around?"

"No. He's out at the moment-"

"Good. I don't know where else to turn and, well, you seem less terrifying than Shepherd Julian..." She takes a breath before pouring her heart out. 

"Lord Volpe's witchfinders threatened me the other evening. They accused me of being a witch. They said that a witchfinder hadn't come back from a hunt, and that he was after a woman with black hair and green eyes. I begged and begged that I wasn't a witch, and luckily, he had mercy that time...but I'm not a witch. I don't have magic. I don't know anything about-"

Goodness. Volpe's witchfinders were like wolves; I dread to think how many people were killed...how many women especially. It was a secret to no-one that Eduardo Volpe only valued a woman for one thing, and it certainly wasn't her intellect or wit. For a witchfinder to come for a Jacoban was bad news. As far as most Jacobans were concerned, witches were evil- a punishment from the Watcher, to be destroyed. If word were to get out about Alice...

On top of that- black hair, green eyes...If that was all they needed to secure their target...

"Alice, please, calm yourself-"

Alice breaks down in tears. She drops to the floor, leaning against my leg.

"I don't know what to do. They can't come back for me. I have children. But I know what Jacobism is like about witchcraft. It won't matter that I'm not a-"

"Alice, pull yourself together!"

I drag her up from the floor and grab her by the shoulders. 

"I'm going to tell you something none of the Jacoban men are going to tell you- Jacobism never used to be like this. Jacobism was knowing that the Watcher's wrath would rain down upon you if you weren't the best person you can be. Jacobism even used to have respect for us, but all it takes is the worst kind of man to turn years of progress around in seconds. Now it's all driven by fear- that's what keeps them in power."

"But that's it, isn't it? Fear of the Watcher driving us to be the best we can be has always been-"

For all I know, she could be a test thrown at me by Shepherd Julian or the Great Convincer, but at this point, I don't care. "You know what Jacobans are like about witchcraft-"

"But I'm not a-"

"Even if you're not, you don't need magic to be a witch in their eyes, Alice. All you need to do is be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The witch-hunts have never been a triumph over evil, Alice. They've been a way to silence a 'threat'. Don't let the people at the top tell you who is and isn't at fault." 

In the revised Book of Jacob, there's a chapter about the legendary magpie that stole Jacob's just-as-legendary ornate mask. A young poor woman managed to take a single gemstone from the mask when the magpie had dropped it by mistake, in the hopes of selling it to feed her family. Stood atop its mountain of stolen jewels as tall as the sky, the magpie convinced Jacob that the young woman had stolen from him, and Jacob ran his sword through her.

Alice gives me this bug-eyed look, like she thinks I'm going to hand her in to Shepherd Julian or something.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, Alice. I promise." - and I say that with my hand over the Eye of Jacob, and as such, the Eye of the Watcher. It was what you did as High Shepherdess when you absolutely promised to never tell a soul.

"I know I haven't been here long, Shepherdess Clementia...but I look forward to you becoming Eye of Jacob. I know not everyone thinks that way, but I do. I want you to know that. I think you mean a lot to the other women here too, but it might take some of the older ones some time to come around...They've spent their entire lives thinking less of themselves than their brothers and fathers."

"That means a lot to me, Alice. I hope you will stick around- and may the Watcher spare your kind heart on the Eve of Retribution. If you ever need to talk to me about anything away from Shepherd Julian, let me know. I can always pretend I'm absolving you."

Shepherd Julian was respectful of women- surprisingly so- but I don't know if that respect would change if he were to know that Alice had been suspected of witchcraft. Acceptance seems such a special thing until you realise how conditional it is.

[blackwaxidol]

"after ifinished talking" addendum. for some reason this is just a very very very lengthy diatribe of recalling my day. my head has cleared up. i think i had a weird panic attack and too much medication which i am understanding tends to mess with my head. my body doesn't feel /great/ but it is better than it was.

whatever it is fine. we talked about lore for a while, regarding the Traveler and such. she told me the Witness was running a Pyramid scheme, quite literally. she complains a lot about the gamers on twitter who bemoan the "lack of things to do" when they have ran the game into the dirt without a piss break. we looked around the Veil Containment scenery for a while. she concurs that Neomuna is a fairly deep map, which is true. i did the last two missions for her and we discussed Strand for a while. we have a fairly lengthy discussion about the Cloud Striders. we also discuss the Traveler, the Witness, the fact that the doppelgänger in the Beyond cutscene steepled their fingers in the exact same way the Witness does. we talked about Savathûn and her attempt to contain the Traveler, how it would be "safe". we stared at the strange portal bored into the Traveler and discussed our Guardian's choices for a while. it is obvious why a Guardian would stop Savathûn, but the ambiguous possibility of having sealed the Traveler's fate because of it is interesting to consider.

for a while i make my vendetta against Poukas known, having dubbed them "rip-off merchants" (previously we joked that we were funding Ikora's yacht with her subclass glimmer prices). i congratulate her for her impressive 1,300 Strand Meditations because i know she is about to lose them all. she is introduced to the Pouka's obscene Strand pricetags, i pick out some more "passive" Fragments for her because i know her playstyle (she does not take in global chat—buffs, debuffs, etc—very well, so i choose things that do not rely heavily on that information). we joke about the "suspend" effect of Strand for a while, she is familiar with Valin (i refer to him as "my boy") and correctly suggests that he would enjoy the suspend effect in. other ways. i gripe about the Poukas again and say that Valin would turn them (their fins) into a coat. she also points out that the Warlock's Strand ball in the subclass background looks like a mozzarella ball.

"do you want the bondage grenade?" is a word arrangement i wasn't aware i would say. she did, so it is now part of her Strand loadout. i have given her a Suspend-heavy loadout. i have not tried Suspend myself, but after getting around to reading the fragements and such i imagine i would get more use out of Strand if i trained with it. it's also too in-character for Valin for me to pass up.

she is using some loadouts i suggested for her and she has gotten much better at playing which i am genuinely happy to see. she uses glaive shields properly (today she told me that it saved her from being killed by a Vex deletion wall which. i did not know it could do) so she is dying far less. she rips through bosses with the Xenophage i got for her, it is far superior to pissing about with a rocket launcher. i am encouraging her to be more adventurous with her loadouts and techniques and to pay attention to weapon perks. i often explain what i am doing when i am doing something like using a relic, i explain what enemies are doing and how they function if they are doing some weird shit.

her biggest pitfall is that she has some inability on a a neurological level to map out where she is, in the same way i cannot ever remember a face. i forget the term. i know when something will cause her to get turned around so i often tell her to look in the direction of an exit before she finishes a sentence, so that she does not get lost after she finishes talking. "getting lost" can quite literally be "walking slightly into a corner".

last night i scrawled a message to my clan leader asking him to please accept my mother's request to join because she's been clanless for like a week. (it might as well be a year, utter engramless sinking ship of an old clan).

i always default to matching sociolect (i will never talk "like this" to randoms) so my message to him was informed by me scrolling through clan chat to get an idea of how he talks. a "hey", some abbreviations, a third person they instead of she (because i don't trust gamer men to be normal), an "👁👁👍" at the end... the invite is accepted. whee. what a social butterfly i am.

[cherryrollarts]

Von Kaiser Headcanon Post

Been wanting to share all my Kaiser headcanons and also just kinda wanted a place to put them so I could look at them when needed. However, here is somewhat of a masterpost for all my Kaiser headcanons, and the backstory I wrote for him.

I should explain that my canon for the Punch-Out!! lore is the timeline being in somewhat modern day but with the early 2000s/late 90s aesthetic.

Putting a TW bc there are some heavy topics, as well as I'll be putting everything under a cut because there's a lot, enjoy!

TW: mentions of abuse, war, alcohol, and violence

So, firstly, I'd like to put down that I do have a Punch-Out!! oc who is one of Kaiser's closest friends, however, I will most likely not talk abt him in this post, as this is just pertaining to Kaiser only.

Anyways, lets start with his backstory that I have written up!

-Kaiser was an only child born from a somewhat uneasy marriage. Kaiser was raised fairly strictly by both his father and mother and never really got along too well with others, he has always been a bit rowdy and overly confident which was most likely his way of dealing with the beatings and verbal harassment he received from, primarily, his father. He was taught this was to build character and make him stronger and become a good man in the future. However, this has pretty obviously done the opposite. Von Kaiser was fairly young when his father entered the war and soon after he was forced to do all the jobs his father had done at home. The war lasted about 5 years and by the end of it, his mother and him had received the news that Kaiser's father had died. His mother became incredibly strict and even more aggressive and careless than his father had been. He was trained to become a passionate soldier of a person. To value serving others, to respect authority and be willing to take punishment and pain for the good of the country, for the good of his family. Kaiser was about 17 when he had gotten a job and realized how little his social skills had improved. He had an incredibly hard time completing tasks and talking to others and oftentimes came off as rude, loud, brass and aggressive. No matter how hard he tried he never managed to make many friends. As he began his early 20s Germany had gotten into another war and he was expected to serve. He was proud to be of use to his country and was hungry to be on the battlefield. But as we all know, war isn't playful and is hardly ever fair. Kaiser was returned home, one of the lucky ones, but he was not the same man as before. He struggled more than ever to keep conversations, make connections and complete basic social tasks. His eyes had gone foggy, his body beyond tired and his mind more than clouded. Even so he powered on. He was incredibly grateful to be alive, he shouldn't have been acting so immature and childish, what is this worry that fogged his mind? It’s simply cowardice, it was pathetic for a man like him to be behaving in such a way. Disgusting even. All these horribly damaging ideas rang in his head, he had been told them from strangers, from acquaintances and especially from his mother. A man cannot cope like this, so he turned to alcohol to numb his thoughts. Although it had never grown into addiction, he still drank heavily during this time. 10 years of this pain, of this mental anguish poisoning not only his emotions toward himself but toward his mother. Even so, he could never stand up to that woman. She had the power to make him collapse and beg for forgiveness, cry for hours and endure the beatings she’d give him. This furthered his ptsd, he hadn’t ever been diagnosed until much later but it was clear he was suffering. As years went on, he managed to find work and was fairly well off. A former soldier had pointed him toward the military academy and suggested he work as a boxing instructor for the children at the base. He agreed, eager to help children become as disciplined and well taught as him! He was an encouraging teacher, though fairly strict. He found joy in his work for once, and was happy to do this for years. Soon after, his own skills were noticed by many and he was frequently told to try out for the WVBA. Kaiser was excited and cocky, ready to show off his skills and ride to the top. However, despite his training he only managed to secure a spot as #2 in the Minor Circuit. This initially bothered him, but he soon realized it gave him the ability to continue teaching the boxing course at the academy. He moved to Berlin shortly before joining the WVBA and has grown distant from his mother. -

There it is! I have more headcanons going into this, but I wanna explain a few points in his backstory.

-Kaiser's real name is Hans Braun.

-His mother and father had married fairly early in their lives, early 20s, and had Kaiser a year after that. Although Kaiser is in his 40s, his mother is only in her 60s.

-Kaiser was diagnosed with PTSD far into his life, I'd say when he was in his mid/late 30s. He has learned many healthy coping mechanisms, but sometimes he struggles, of course.

-Really doesn't mind being in the rank he is now. he's happy for doing all he can and is excited that this gives him more time to teach his students. He loves finding purpose in teaching these children about self defense than his professional career.

-Due to his personality and such, it was a bit hard for him to make friends in the WVBA, though Soda and Disco Kid/the rest of the Minor Circuit have always been very kind to him, moreso Soda.

Now onto other headcanons that don't have a place in his backstory.

-Kaiser is autistic. He was diagnosed after his PTSD diagnosis and he struggled at first with learning and coming to terms with it, but now he's relatively okay with it. Still learning.

-Some art illustrating his stimming traits and such, most are based off in-game animations from his Wii appearence. His special interests are wwii russian and german tanks, as well as, combat boots. (reminder to not infantalize him by calling his stimming 'cute' hes a grown man after all)

-Kaiser is Aro/Ace. Uses he/him pronouns. He has never really shown any interest in romantic or sexual relationships with anyone, and prefers to keep it that way. He likes training a fair bit more.

-Genuinely cares for all of his boxing students and will happily pay out of pocket for any supplies or tools needed for classes. He understands students could be dealign with anything and is understanding to all's trials. Is very accomodating.

-He can cook. Barely. Same goes for singing. His cooking ability was stoked by his students, so now he makes them fresh soups in the winter and refreshing salads in the summer. Though he can sing fairly okay in some instances, he doesn't ever really enjoy it.

-Reads a quite a lot, loves literature especially historical nonfiction. Enjoys information based texts rather than personal accounts.

-Isn't good at using the internet, but has a good grasp on using his dinky little phone, isn't too active on social media or anything.

This should be it for now, I will add anything that I find interesting to add or talk about, feel free to ask questions abt all this too!! Thank you for reading I know I wrote a lot, I'm hoping to do something like this for other boxers I love!!

[mythawolf]

My pitch for a Zelda Game - Part 1

A few hours before I wrote this sentence, I read the ‘Legend of Zelda: Clockwork Empire' by Dresden Codak. Now I give you my pitch for a game.

Disclaimer: I have only played Breath of the Wild and a little bit of Ocarina of Time (and OOT was a few years ago, mind). Plus, I’m not the biggest expert on Zelda lore (I know a little bit but that’s it) so bear with me if you please. Also, i don't own BOTW, this is just ideas.

To my knowledge, a Zelda game is always in a mediaeval setting. There’s nothing wrong with that, but why not fast-forward a little? How far, you ask? Not as far as the 21st century. I’m talking about the Early Modern period, something like the late 1700s-early 1800s mixed with the mediaeval vibe and setting we are so used to.

We open with a cutscene. A slow look around Zelda’s room )similar to the start of Spider-man PS4) at Hyrule Castle. Pictures and paintings of her father, her mother and her nerdy interests. Scientific Journals, stuff like that.

Suddenly, King Rhoam is shaking her to wake up. He tells her that the soldiers of the Ganon Empire (who they have been at war with) are inside the walls and that she must leave at once. She protests, but he insists.

The first part of the gameplay tutorial begins. Rhoam gives her a dagger and tells her to run. Zelda is at first accompanied by guards who are immediately cut down by soldiers who look a lot like this but with different colours, no fancy wigs maybe a bit more armour and perhaps a smidge of dark magic empowerment:

If the player tries to fight the highly trained soldiers while playing as a fairly trained (I mean, Zelda is a Princess. She’s got to have had at least a little training, but still) 17 and ½ year-old wearing a nightdress who doesn’t get out much, they will die, because guns. As they run to the stables, they see a soldier ruthlessly shoot a pleading child. This is where the melee fighting tutorial begins.

Yeah, the tone is pretty heavy to start with.

The stable master runs up, saying ‘That poor boy! Princess, you must run!’ then they give brief instructions on how to ride a horse (which is pretty much the same as BOTW). The player can go back for instructions at any time.

As they ride out, the camera shifts to see the rest of the castle on fire and Rhoam fighting for his life.

With little choice, Zelda rides away into the nearby Kokori forest. 

CUTSCENE TIME!!

Zelda gets off her horse and takes a breather to find that some Bokoblins are heading towards her.

She draws her knife and attempts to fight back, but one of them wacks her with its bat and knocks her to the floor. After a quick shot of her seeing double, she puts up her hand to protect herself and suddenly a golden light glows from it, before sputtering and promptly dying. 

She notices some arrows being fried at the creatures before everything turns black and her head hits the ground.

She wakes up in circular, wooden room. She exits the curtain door to finds herself in a Kokori City, a large village of tree-homes, walkways and bridges.

She’s told by a guard waiting outside the hut to go to Elder’s hut, which is basically the largest building. The Village Elders grill her on what happened (perhaps here we have the opportunity to use some elements from a Telltale game in her replies that affect the game later). 

The conversation between the Elders about what to do quickly descends into petty bickering (because politicians).

Suddenly, Link appears behind her, startling Zelda. More telltale-game dialogue choice ensues, to every question Link either doesn’t say much or says nothing at all (I know not speaking is pretty much part of his character but he can canonically talk so let’s just make it so he doesn’t talk that much?) and then says ‘Come’.

Link’s basically like ‘I believe you. Ganondorf’s Army will soon take over the rest of the Kingdom. He must be stopped, but the Elders are mindless fools.’  He says that he will try and sway them, proceeding to refuse to elaborate and leave.

Then in comes Saria, who introduces herself as a childhood friend of link. She apologises for his refusal to elaborate, as he doesn’t talk much. She explains that she and Link rescued Zelda from the bokoblins and that golden light was magic. She advises her to head to the Sheikah to learn magic, as they were the last to be able to use magic. She leads Zelda to the training area and teaches her the basics of combat (more tutorial time) before giving Zelda a map of some of Hyrule (with the location on in the form of an ‘X’. can’t go wrong with the classics), a recipe book, a bow, some arrows and a Kokori sword. She then wishes her on her way, telling her she needs to convince the people of the village.

The player can now take the opportunity to explore the village. It’s shops, training area and stuff like that. 

I’ll leave the story there for now. The gameplay is basically the same as BOTW (like the controls, combat, and living off the land) apart from a few major differences (magic instead of a Sheikah slate, and the ‘Sheikah Slate Ability Select Button’ can later be used to select a spell). Zelda can use weapons, having had some training. 

Guns (flintlock muskets) can be picked up and used. They do massive amounts of damage but they take ages to reload and possibly have a chance to misfire. You can also switch to stabby mode or shooty mode. And different types of handheld bladed weapons like swords have different fighting styles (cutlass, rapier, broadsword, etc). Plus, there is also the idea for leading armies or small platoons of troops (which I may elaborate on in the next one).

A quick note: Guardians are buried all around the kingdom (and in some towns and villages are used as local decorations). Does this mean something?

Finally, I would like to point out the books given to Zelda are in the ‘Books’ section of your inventory. Something that’s in it from the start is ‘Zelda’s journal’. It essentially details the last few months. It goes like: 

‘Father got me some books today. A brand-new thesis on why the Sheikah went into hiding. I heard some of the war Generals say that some far-off Empire has suddenly invaded our neighbours.’ 

A couple days later ‘The Invaders arrived at our borders. Fleeing refugees say they have advanced weaponry, and powerful magicians. Father has sent diplomats and some of the army to try and resolve this, but I worry - most of the army is stretched out across the kingdom, fighting monsters like Bokoblins.’

‘The diplomats have returned - or at least, their heads have. It’s war.’

‘Father’s already greying hair has turned completely white. The Generals say that the troops are terrified of the enemy’s magic, and the weapons they use (which are apparently called ‘guns’). If only the Sheikah hadn’t taken their secrets after the magic purge. Then we might stand a better chance. Still, we’ll beat them… right?’

‘The enemy is already at our gates after only three months. Father would have sent me away sooner, but I have been gravely ill until yesterday. Our castle is protected by ancient enchantments, but many fear that isn’t enough. Even I fear we may lose.’

I hope you all enjoyed this! I plan to do more of these (with more research done and actual planning). This is all just a bunch of ideas mashed together in a few hours. Farewell!

[doodlesfromthebird]

(1/3) Previous question-asker here! Thx for giving such a detailed answer - I’ll refer back to this post when I get stuck. Im a lil baby writer - my art skills r more developed, but when it comes 2 making characters, theyre usually for stories I wanna write. Someday. Writing's hard. & I think it’s cool that one of the tips you gave was to interview your characters - my current fav OC group are all in a band, and when I first came up with them I pretended to interview them for a music magazine X)

(2/3) Plot’s a struggle for me too - tbh, the reason I started developing my OCs/worlds more was bc I tried to write a story plot-first, & ran into a brick wall bc I didn’t know the characters or setting that well. With that in mind, how do u know when ur done? When is a character or setting complete enough to write about? Theoretically you could just keep going forever, but do u have any markers you use 2 figure out when an aspect of character creation or worldbuilding is “finished”?

(3/3) [srry for sending so many asks omg, the character limit is ramble-phobic] but thank you for including those worldbuilding prompts!! They're exactly what I needed. You’ve inspired me to make a little guide for myself on character/design, trope and setting stuff that I think is cool, so that I can go back to it when I need new ideas. Thanks again, happy late birthday and good luck with whatever you decide to do with the Spiral universe! No need to apologize at all! I really enjoy the discussion!

I've always been character first, handwave plot for a few years until it puzzle pieces together into...something. Nothing water tight, but something I can at least give a semi in-depth synopsis of *most* of the things that go on in the story lol

I think its SO COOL that you gave your band-members a little interview for a music magazine -- that's exactly what I'm talkin about! And so fun, too!! And it sounds like it'd be something that would end up in the world itself, which is perfect.

"When is a character complete enough to write about?" I definitely recommend keeping an eye out on advice from your fellow writers, but... I personally think you can go on as much as you'd like to! As long as it hasn't become an excuse to delay in actually sitting down and writing for them in your story. (like ME lmao) Because sometimes smaller details just end up filling themselves in as you go along. I think you're fairly set if you have a good grasp on their personality, how they would react in a varying level of situations, what their goals, wants and fears are (and what have they experienced to have those develop) You may even want to write a character-focused little one-shot separate from the story that would help feel things out, while also establishing a mundane or significant moment in their lives, independently from everything else. This goes for multiple characters who are like a package deal. Like a pairing or a close-knit team that influence each others lives. Maybe even to convince you that the character is who you say they are. Like, it's one thing to say a character's charming, it's another to write about a moment where they're interacting with others in a way you actually find endearing and likable to back that up in your own head. Even while I was writing a rough script for a scene in a potential web-comic idea for Damian and Rio (the merman and vampire) a lot of small things started falling into place about the characters and world-building just started to SPRING FORTH, and I only had a general idea on how the scene would have gone, with key moments. From writing dialogue and character actions on the fly, I discovered: more about both characters body language, vampire lore and more how vampires function, a solid example of what an emotionally heavy conversation looks between the two of them, and more examples that convinced me of the chemistry between the two of them, in ways that I wanted.

Sometimes you get caught up in a creative current and suddenly you've blasted through like 3 pages of ideas. This goes for world-building too because characters are so frequently affected by the world around them in various ways. World-building is often something I overthink and I end up a fretting over about a lot of things that probably would be cumbersome to list in grand detail about anyway, but sometimes its fun to just think about, y'know? and if you're having fun then that's all that really matters. I'd say a general knowledge of what a general day of living in this world would look like, and maybe how it would affect the people living there long-term. What really sets the stage and how does it change over time, if at all. What makes waves and changes what was normal in either the world at large or for your characters.

The thing that personally always stumps me is structures of power and politics, and those are often times the real gear grinders of stories.

BAH I'M RAMBLING, MYSELF. I honestly wish you the best of luck with your characters and worldbuilding and I truly can't wait for you to fall in love with them. More than anything, try to be easy on yourself and the process and start with what brings you the most joy. Everything else will follow. Thank you so much for the birthday wishes!! :3