#looked and felt like yarf

[xxs0d4p0pxx]

‼️DAILY DRINK⁉️

Blended pizza....

I forgot to take a picture of the pizza after I blended it

2/10

+1 for the taste of pizza

I added too much water on accident

Worst consistency I've ever had the misfortune of consuming.

[ladyswillmart]

Arlen Facts: Week 2

These were taken from an Alphabet meme that was making the rounds a while back, where one has to come up with some character backstory related to each word, starting with a different letter of the alphabet. I actually did finish all 26 entries on a Discord server by posting one roughly every day, and for brevity’s sake, I’ve decided to post them in more conveniently-sized chunks here.

So without further ado, here’s Week 2: H (Hobby) through M (Magic).

Today's Meme (8/8) Hobby :: What’s something they do for fun that might be surprising?

Most people who know Arlen know that he has some musical talent, he's a fair dancer and he enjoys home gardening. However, one thing very few people know about Arlen is that he is a licensed small craft airship pilot. Earning the license was part of his apprenticeship tenure for the Ironworks; simply put, to service an airship (even if said service mostly entails refurbishing its trivial metal fixings), it's helpful to understand how the blasted thing's supposed to work.

While he enjoys the occasional flight over peaceful scenery in a reliable and well-tested vehicle, the fact that he even has a license at all, coupled with his agreeable nature, makes him a prime test dummy candidate for the various brainchildren (to put it politely) of his friends Biggs and Wedge.

"I'm usually quite alright with whatever keen new deathtrap they've designed," Arlen quips, pleasantly. "Put on a helmet. Cocoon yourself in cotton wool. Flap arms really hard while airborne. Hum. Try not to look down. Try not to look up neither. And it's alright, yeah?"

Today's Meme (8/9) Insomnia :: What’s their sleeping schedule like? Snorer? Sound sleeper?

As of late, Arlen's sleeping schedule has been highly irregular. All-nighters are usually well within the realm of possibility on any given night, especially if he's helping the Ironworks with whatever important/improbable project. As such, the lad finds it difficult to adhere to a set time and even a set place to sleep. While he now has a cosy apartment of his own, his attempts to cobble up something resembling a circadian cycle have been fruitless, and he's had far more success simply crashing out atop his bed whenever the spirit moves him--whether it's immediately after breakfast or shortly before dinner.

However, he has become a dab hand at the power nap and can sometimes be found dozing at his workbench, ilms away from the gently steaming cup of coffee that awaits the end of his ten-minute break. Otherwise, he may catch a few Z's while softly nestled on the back of Eulalie, his beloved (and generously proportioned) chocobo companion, whether she's roosting or on the flap.

Once asleep, he stills to a stone-like silence, and while Arlen obviously cannot attest to this himself, his friends report that he can be extremely difficult to wake. As such, his friend Cid felt compelled to engineer an "catastrophically loud" alarm clock/timer as a nameday gift.

Today's Meme (8/10) Jaded :: Do they buy into the “happily ever after” ideal? What’s their standard?

Surprisingly, while ever-optimistic, Arlen remains something of a realist in matters like these. He follows the Stephen Stills method of finding and maintaining happiness:

If you can't be with the one you love, (honey), love the one you're with. (Doo doo doot doot doot doot doo-doot, etc.)

Arlen believes that chasing a carrot as impossible as perfection--not just in re the perfect love, but perfect fame, fortune, appearance, hair, social status,or simply winning a luxury yacht via a mail-in contest/magazine subscription scam--can end up derailing the train of actual happiness. After all, he has witnessed firsthand (several times) how seething ambition can utterly destroy one's life. "I do think it may be better to just let it go, sometimes," he says. "I mean just let it go, yeah? Oh, absolutely, sure, sure, keep reaching for that rainbow, dream on, never give up. But if that rainbow ever becomes a leaden weight and the tide starts getting high, you've got to cut the chain before you drown, you know?"

As far as finding a love of his own, Arlen believes he's "doing fine", whatever that may imply.

Today's Meme (8/11) Kin :: What’s their role among their relations? Do they consider others family?

As for his birth family--Agwick Askew, his wife (and Arlen's mother) Flotilla Flounce, and twin brother Auden--Arlen mostly kept his distance. For one thing, they were seafaring folk (to put it politely), who had determined from his birth that a "milk-toast" (sic) such as Arlen would have no place on their ship. Yes, from birth. Instead of yo-ho-ho-ing it up with his parents and twin brother, the poor boy would remain aground in the Askew clan's partially vacated estate, to be raised by the household staff.

While Arlen grew up surrounded by caring and impeccably mannered adults, his relationship with his family was devoid of positive attention. As thus, there was little love lost when Agwick, in a flare of irritation during a rare visit to the household, informed the lad that he was a complete bastard. Arlen did not realize that he meant this literally until some time later, but that's another story...

Of course, in the same story, Arlen discovers his true family line, plus a Rich Uncle™ to match. Fortunately, the Mandervilles have been most welcoming and the "lost cousin" role seems to fit Arlen like... Say, not so much a kid glove, but more like a mitten with hearts all over it. His friends will also attest that the discovery of living family members seemed to lift a weight from the lad's shoulders.

Beyond that, while he is no longer cradled within the warm, forgiving bosom of his Garlond Ironworks’ apprenticeship (“And the relationship between a journeyman and his deputy president can be cold, unforgiving and more complicated than a Garlean brassiere, with lots of very annoying timetables and forms and bloody buggery receipts to lose in the bloody buggery inbox,” notes Jessie Jaye), Arlen thinks of his coworkers as second family. Likewise, his friends at the 'works know they can turn to him whenever they need a precision clock or tool, optical device, toilet seat hinge or maybe just a field medic if things come to that.

Hopefully they don't, but technology these days...

Today's Meme (8/12) Law :: What do they think about abiding rules? Are they selective about it?

In most situations, Arlen tends to be a bit of a stickler for the rules. In part, this may be due to his upbringing; while his parents cavorted in their seabound haven of dubious legality and perilously little oversight, Arlen was raised on land and under the impression that "pirate"--or "privateer", for that matter, even with all the delusions of legitimacy imparted by that extra syllable--is simply not a career choice that befits a gentleman.

So sure, being raised by a team of white-glove butlers, valets, maids, cooks and gardeners may make one a bit of a goody-goody. Moreover, Arlen's tenure with Garlond Ironworks has been teaching him that some rules have far better justification for their existence than simply to "be followed" (said justification usually involving one's innate desire to not die a horrific and comically avoidable death).

"To put it wise, if you don't want to yarf up iron filings for a fortnight, wear a mask while you work," he quips, cheerfully. "Goggles too. I think about that one every time the eighteenth bell rings and I finally get to take 'em off and wipe all the crud off the lenses. Think about it."

However, Arlen (as stated on Day One) is not Lawful Good, and so he has few qualms about bending--or outright demolishing--certain rules, particularly if they are bad rules...

Today's Meme (8/15) Magic :: In a magic series or not, are they accepting, or is each instance a shock?

Arlen's universe is one where magic--or at the very least, the manipulation of aether in one form or another--is fairly commonplace. While certain arts and disciplines are much rarer than others, the fact that magical ability exists at all is accepted at face value. Arlen himself is a scholar of one branch--a Nymian form of tactical magic, dating to the fifth Astral era. Thought to be lost to the ages, the form has experienced something of a revival among Limsa Lominsa's student Arcanists (read: the local Nerds).

In a nutshell, the Nymian Scholarly Art utilizes a summoned fairy to assist with healing, allowing one to focus on the overall strategy of battle. Its casters serve primarily as tacticians and field medics, though the former role suits the squeamish (read: Arlen) slightly more than the latter. Though as we have brought up the topic of shock, Arlen has been employed as a field medic many times and the outcome is usually some variation of:

"He faints," notes noted veteran Lucia goe Junius. "I watched it with my own eyes once. Poor boy hit the bricks after one of my soldiers came to him needing some stitches on her hand. But he came around, dusted himself off, unraveled a spool of thread and damn near did it blind. Looking away, right, as if he could not bear the mere sight of the wound. He was white as a newborn diaper afterwards, but I suppose one must appreciate such tenacity.”

[chocolatepistol]

📸ᎪᏚᏆᏟᏚ ᏞᎾᎾKᏴᎾᎾK📘

Lowkey serving to save my life.

Thank God that I was shooting with a team that was such a breeze to work with.

I was quite sick when I was doing the shoot so I was very worried about looking terrible for the lookbook. I actually felt really bad that I couldn’t give my 100%. Sigh.

The make up artist kept complimenting my complexion and said I’m one of those guys that could do photo shoots with zero make up. He was too kind.

But I told him to put make up for the shoot anw cos I was feeling unwell n I was afraid of looking pale n sickly. I’m ok with zero make up on normal days but not for Asics lookbook.

HE IS HONESTLY TOO NICE ! Cos my skin is terrible imo. I’m effing lazy with skincare n I have super sensitive skin that flushes easily... and it’s either always too dry or oily.

But I gusss it’s always nice to have ppl like him at work. They kinda help ppl like me with huge insecurities to have more confidence. Such an angel. 😇

Anws I’m glad I managed to pull thru the entire shoot without yarfing.

So stop sleeping on this people😩. Show more likes/reblogs on my asics Lookbook in my next post k ?

[smonksthemuse]

life, death, dog (chapter six)

here on my AO3

“A kyber crystal?” Leia stepped forward and knelt in front of him, beside her brother. Anakin’s breath caught; this was the closest he had ever been to both of his children at the same time.

They were both so perfect…

“Yes, look.” Luke showed Leia the crystal, and she traced a finger over it reverently.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. Anakin couldn’t help feeling a bit flattered at that, even though he knew it wasn’t meant as a compliment toward him. The crystal was an exact copy of the one inside his lightsaber, after all, and his lightsaber was an extension of himself… so, in a way, Leia was calling him beautiful.

Obi-Wan snorted. Anakin happily ignored him.

Solo came to join them, leaning around the twins to get a look. “Who would put a kyber crystal on a dog?”

“I don’t know,” Luke said. “But I don’t think he belongs to one of the Ewoks. Kyber crystals are rare; the Jedi got them from the planet Ilum.”

“A dog from Alderaan, wearing a rare crystal from Ilum, on one of Endor’s moons.” Solo sat back. “Where’s that protocol droid when you need him to tell you the odds?” he muttered wryly.

“You know what’s unlikely?” one of the Rebels called out. “He managed to walk straight through the village, past all of us, and no one noticed a thing until he barked.” The rest of the group nodded and murmured in agreement.

“I didn’t notice him either,” Luke admitted. “And he was sitting right in front of us.” He turned back to Anakin, scratching under his chin now, which felt even better than the ear-scratches. “How’d you do that, boy?”

All too soon, the scratching stopped, and Anakin had to stop himself from whining at the loss. Luke looked at him, head tilted. “Are you a boy?” he asked.

A profound feeling of awkwardness came over Anakin, and he could tell Obi-Wan shared in it. There was really only one way answer that question, and it was unfortunately through showing rather than telling.

Solo laughed unhelpfully. “Look at him!” he chuckled. “He looks embarrassed! Like he knows what you’re asking.”

Luke and Leia giggled, and Anakin dearly wished he could bite Solo.

Anakin! Obi-Wan scolded.

Not a real bite, Anakin huffed. Just a little nip. To set boundaries.

Hmm, Obi-Wan said. Then, mischievously, Boundaries? Well, I suppose it’s never too early to start obedience training.

Anakin guffawed, and it came out as a series of short arfs that made the trio laugh even harder. Even the half-dozen or so Rebels laughed, and Anakin couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed.

Deciding he might as well get it over with, he closed his eyes and rolled over onto his side. Luke gently put a hand on Anakin’s stomach, rubbing carefully, and Anakin wagged his tail to encourage it. This felt even better than the chin-scratches.

“He’s a boy,” Luke proclaimed. Anakin got to his feet and shook the dirt from his fur with as much dignity as he could muster. Indeed, he sniffed.

You handled that very well, Anakin, Obi-Wan said supportively. Anakin could tell he was the tiniest bit amused by all this, but also that his praise was sincere.

“Well,” Solo said. The twins turned to him expectantly. “What should we do with him?”

Leia answered. “We’re keeping him.”

All eyes turned to her; she had the same determined look on her face that he’d seen on Padmé so many times. And it was for him. His chest tightened.

Luke smiled. “I was going to say the same thing.” He looked back at Anakin and began petting him fondly. “He seems… special somehow. I feel like we were meant to find him.”

“He found us,” Leia pointed out. She joined Luke in petting Anakin, running her hands through his thick fur. Anakin closed his eyes blissfully.

Solo huffed a laugh. “Well, he definitely likes you two.” He stood and brushed the dirt off his pants. “Should I inform Chewie that we’re adopting a dog?”

Leia nodded imperiously. “It’s only courteous,” she said, “that we tell him he’s no longer the furriest of the group.”

Luke snickered, and Solo put on a mock-offended expression. “Chewie will always be the furriest,” he scoffed. “This little mini-fuzzball isn’t even a third his size.”

“But his fur is thicker and more lustrous,” Leia said, mussing the ruff of fur around Anakin’s neck. Anakin grinned, tongue hanging out.

“I’m telling him you said that.” Solo turned on his heel and marched off. Leia’s smile stretched across her face, and Anakin suddenly recalled the dramatic declarations of love he had seen the two exchange at Bespin.

So. A smuggler was in love with his daughter, and his daughter was in love with a smuggler, and something told him there wasn’t an end in sight.

He sighed. Ah, well. As long as she was happy, and he treated her with respect, he supposed he could live with it.

He would still keep an eye on Solo, of course.

“So what should we name him?” Luke asked. “Do you have any ideas?”

Leia looked at Anakin consideringly. “You know,”she said, “I feel like you should name him.”

“Me?” Leia nodded, and Luke shrugged. “Alright. Let me think…” He took Anakin’s face in his hands, looking into his eyes. “What should your name be?”

At that moment, the sound of a starfighter drew their attention to the sky. They looked up and saw an X-wing flying overhead, zooming into the atmosphere. Anakin found his tail wagging fiercely at the sight; oh, how he missed flying. The rush of it. The joy, the excitement. The feeling of freedom.

“Ta’yar.”

A shock ran through him at the word. Ta’yar? He looked back at Luke, whose eyes held a strange mix of certainty and wonder as he stared at Anakin.

“Tuh-yar?” Leia said curiously. “What’s that?”

“It’s a word invented by slaves on Tatooine.” Luke said. “I think the closest thing in Basic is ‘wanderlust’… but that doesn’t really match. It’s like…” He struggled to find the words to define it. “Ta’yar is the feeling you get looking up at a ship in the sky. You see it flying away, and you wish it was you. You wish that you were flying away. To freedom.” The expression on Luke’s face said he didn’t think the explanation satisfactory, but Anakin thought he’d done well, and Leia seemed to understand.

“So that’s what you want to name him? Ta’yar?”

Luke nodded. “Yeah. It feels right. I think it’s a good name for him.” He turned to Anakin and smiled. “What do you think, boy?”

It felt right to Anakin, too. In fact the word - his new name, the name his children would know him by - seemed to wrap around his heart and warm him from the inside. Such a name made him feel… well, it made him feel free.

So he barked happily and pressed his face into Luke’s chest; it was the closest he could get to a hug without human arms and a torso.

“Aww,” Luke cooed. “You wanna give me kisses, buddy?”

Yes! he said joyfully. It came out as “YARF!”, but Luke got the idea.

“Okay, give me kisses!”

Anakin did, with enthusiasm.

YOU GUYS!! ‘LIFE, DEATH, DOG’ IS FINALLY FINISHED!! THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

@flaminganakin LOOK! IT’S BEEN MONTHS BUT YOUR FIC YOU REQUESTED IS FINALLY DONE! HERE YOU GO FRIEND THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THE FIRST INSTALLMENT OF AN AU THAT HAS NO END IN SIGHT! :D :D :D