#recruitment event

[duckymacaroon]

Our loadstone page >> https://na.finalfantasyxiv.com/lodestone/community_finder/103fdc55226482b83be7859827d685a43d1a0b34/ Hopalong Hospitality is hosting a Recruitment Open House Event on August 8th at 5-9 PM CST at our FC house in the Mist W6, P8! We will have free food, and raffle drawings, and our resident crafter will craft a weapon of your choice! For more information check out our event page: https://stardustdragon93.wixsite.com/hh-recruit-event ! Mark those calendars!

[nightmareonpeachstreet]

Paimon: why are you three here?

Lynette: Father asked us to stalk Miss Furina--

Lyney: *covers Lynette's mouth* --ehm, she means to say that Father asked us to go on vacation! haha;;

Paimon: stalking Fur-- Paimon thought that would be over after everything that happened!

Freminet: well, not exactly stalking...she asked us to make sure Miss Furina didn't get hurt...

Lyney: Exactly, thank you Freminet. that's a much nicer way of putting it.

Lynette: we were also supposed to make sure she didn't know we were following her.

Lyney: ahem, anyway, we're on vacation now since Clorinde and Navia ended up taking over that task...

Paimon: uh, are they in on it too...?

Freminet: no, when he says "taking over," he moreso means they decided to protect her on their own, so there was no longer any need for us to follow...

Lyney: Right, well--

Lynette: also Clorinde would've caught us for sure if we kept stalking her--

Lyney: Guarding. let's call it guarding

Lynette: usually people know if they have a guard. or three.

Lyney: covert guarding.

[buttercupshands]

New MHUI LoV event stuff

first of all - if you follow the news on the new characters even a little - a new UR Shigaraki Tomura came out today (16th of June) he came with a LoV event as they usually do and this one is basically a filler for the time before Star and Stripe arc happened but after Tomura got his mix-match outfit of his own and AFO's choices

and while it is Tomura-centric event it's heavy on stuff with Spinner. He's basically like a second main character of this short thing

The filler answers question on what was LoV doing while Izuku left UA and it uses manga side material as help, because it was stated that Skeptic helped LoV to get new clothes for the Final arc as well as weapons.

A story of event is basically "someone tries to rob us we neew to stop them" while Spinner is questioning if they are really dealing with Tomura anymore, with some interesting localization choises Spinner noticed the Ore vs. Boku thing while Tomura was talking

As it is a turn for a short event we get like 3 parts with Tomura easily defeating the guys who tried to rob that one place

And it's nothing really if you don't count the way Tomura speaks which is really creepy to hear his gaming words while he's also clearly doesn't understand anything anymore what made Tomura Tomura

It's basically what if those chapters before Star and Stripe made Tomura lose it were a story on their own with Tomura still unsure on who he is, but LoV is literally there and they talk about it more than we ever saw them in the manga for... reasons that manga doesn't have filler. At all.

At least not with LoV involved

At the end of it while Spinner is still concerned it all ends with AFOmura or whatever this guy should be called at that point of the story stops questioning it and just agrees with Spinner's question

If you're a manga reader it's worse than just a talk

It also has an interesting point, but sadly as it's a pre-Star and Stripe arc Tomura anything he says doesn't really matter as much

Everything else are basically details, I recommend this event tho, it's not that hard to get all of the story, it's worth having in the MHUI archives

As for other things, more or less harmless - there's an event SR Memory with Toga and Machia and a cards set, the same one Tomura had mostly in the anime

Recruit is standart with a UR Memory for the new character and a SR Memory which is helpful in the event

As for the less neutral stuff I got into the event as soon as I noticed it began and the first thing was to go into the recruit for the new Tomura

got him right away so it was fun and with this my Tomura collection is once again is one off, his first UR is still absent on my account, but 5 characters make a team

Didn't have a motivation to play the event with SR Tomura as my game had an error with dialogue, but I got him at least

Tried playing with him while clearing the event, he has a new battle star animation, battle end animation and of course his own ult animation

He's fun to play with, and that actually got me back into MHA as I was slowly losing my will to still do anything connected to it aside from this game

A small thing that I found interesting was that his recruit voiceline is Tomura's speech from back in 222

Interesting choice as none of old ones had something connected to this chapter

Other than that his Base talks are the same and his reactions in Trust menu are the same too

As usual MHUI LoV events are the best in delivering events with stories that belong in canon and it's easy to imagine them there

[tiredela]

pirate girlfriends!! 😚

[unironicallytes]

i am once again thinking about Dark Brotherhood bureaucracy

[cephalog0d]

Okay, but like. There's the whole joke about Bruce recruiting children to be his sidekicks, but honestly there's only really one that fits that.

And it's Jason. And the whole story there is, frankly, unhinged. Aaaaand then he died.

(I'm specifically talking about "first post-crisis origin stories" here because Jason and Dick, in particular, have both had multiple major retcons and revisions over the years, and some of them dramatically change how things happened.)

Like okay. Going backwards, you've got Duke who joined/led a whole Robin-based gang at a time when Bruce wasn't even Batman. You've got Damian and Cass, who were both literally born into the world of masks and capes and heroes and villains, so they weren't ever really not going to be part of it. Steph might have taken inspiration from previous heroes but she made her own identity and repeatedly refused to stop involving herself in the vigilante lifestyle. Tim, obviously, basically strong-armed Batman into letting him be Robin, despite Batman's protests.

Dick's a little more complicated just because there's so many versions, because that's what 80 years of comics and multiple universe reboots will do, and there's kind of a general trend that earlier pre-crisis versions were more of Batman being like "hello, child, would you like to be my sidekick" and later versions have leaned harder and harder into the idea that Dick was absolutely going to do this anyway, regardless of what Batman had to say about it. But even in the first post-crisis version, the flashback in Batman Year 3, Dick says he wants to find a way to keep people like that from hurting others again. When Alfred questions Bruce's offer to train him, Bruce says that Dick should learn to do things the right way if he's going to do it. It's not hard to extrapolate that, much like later versions of the origin story, Dick was going to get himself into this one way or another. (Batman (1940) #437)

And then there's Jason. Whose backstory has also had a lot of (sometimes major) revisions over the years (remember when his adoption was, like, some kind of Joker-originated long con? Fucken Nu52, man). But the original post-crisis version is pretty straightforward. Steals Batman's tires, gets caught and sent to Ma Gunn's Secret Criminal School, intervenes when Batman goes to investigate, immediately gets offered the chance to be Robin based entirely on that.

Which is itself kind of unhinged. That Bruce saw this kid who was living on his own stealing tires and went "Hey you would make a good Robin" as his very first instinct.

But if you've never read Jason's post-crisis origin, or it's been a while, it's honestly even more unhinged than that because that arc starts with Dick getting "fired" as Robin specifically for the reason that he got shot by Joker and Bruce freaked out about how the Robin identity has too many enemies and therefore Dick, a legal adult with approximately a decade of training and experience, should not use the identity anymore.

(And it's specifically about the Robin identity, in this version, because when Dick says he's not going to stop the crime fighting thing Bruce's response is basically "I know and I didn't expect you to". Honestly I could also say a lot about this version of the Robin/Nightwing transition vs. later ones and how this one definitely feels like the Heavy Hand of DC Editorial in the fact that they had no contact for so long afterwards, because the interaction really doesn't feel like it warrants that in this case compared to some later versions, but that's a whole other too-long ramble.) (Batman (1940) #408)

And then a few weeks later Bruce turns around and picks up a random kid, a literal child, and goes "Hey you would make a good Robin!"

And I think a lot about how fucking wild that is. And it's not like the people writing just didn't notice. Dick's big argument with Bruce when he finally comes back to Gotham and meets Jason isn't about the fact that Bruce took in another kid, or even necessarily about Dick feeling proprietary over the Robin identity, the thing he's angry about is that Bruce said it was too dangerous for him, an adult, someone who has trained with Batman for a decade and was already highly physically trained before that for his whole life, to be Robin, and now Bruce has turned around and painted that target onto some random new kid. He pushes, repeatedly, trying to get Bruce to justify himself and this absolutely irresponsible decision, and Bruce gives a lot of answers about how Jason was on a bad path and needed this outlet and eventually just admits that he missed having a partner. (Batman (1940) #416)

And like. Dick's right, is the thing. He is 1000% in the right in this argument. If he can't be Robin anymore because of the danger, how in the hell is it anything like a good idea to hand it over to someone way younger, way less trained, way less experienced, and expect that that wouldn't end in tragedy?

And then it did.

And yeah, Bruce, it is kinda a lot of your fault.

[dimensionzero]

more atsv things that haunt me: pav doesn't originally have a watch.

[randomnameless]

I really want to get into Unicorn Overlord because that prologue slaps and it sounds like an interesting gameplay experience

but

the designs are just...

Camel toes, battle thongs and bouncing boobies that would straight up be from some of the worst FEH alts, furry baits (forget the sniddies, we have foxtits and... owl boobs...) and leg art that would make Duo!Doro look tame in comparaison.

What to do...

[viktoriakomova]

I have a confession and it is that, with a handful of exceptions, when people talk about “where i see a L10/elite going to college” I have no goddamn clue what they’re talking about.

[ehlnofay]

Pax should have said no.

Damn it all, they should have said no. Should have said go to hell and fucked off back – stop contacting me, sort out your own shit – but they didn’t, fuck knows why, and now they’re stuck here.

(They know why. They know exactly why; absolutely anything would be better than fucking off back to Cyrodiil. What’s for them there?)

But there’s nothing worth staying for here either, and now she’s crammed in between strangers on a long table, everyone dressed in fabrics she’s never seen with dyes so saturated they seem almost gory, eating stuff that isn’t food and talking loud enough to make her want to hurl a glass into the wall. It’s bizarre. The woman next to her, ruddy-faced and bald, wears a headpiece that shines like the sun the Isles doesn’t have; the other side is taken up by a stranger in a bone-white porcelain mask who has not moved but to swill the wine around in their glass. There’s scarcely room for Pax’s chair. It all feels like such a baffling pantomime of aristocracy (she's known the real thing well enough – feasts and toasts and luxurious gifts she had no use for, and if she doesn’t stop thinking about it she actually will throw a glass), bright colours and rich settings and a god taking offerings at the head of the table.

At least, Pax thinks, no-one tries to talk to him; they’re too busy fawning over their lord. Which is probably to be expected; but it all feels so strange, so unsettling, the way they all lean in towards it like flowers turning to face the sun, like seaweed dragged at by the inescapable pull of the tides. They grow towards it through the cracks in the air, matter moving toward the inevitable centre, as if they can imagine nothing more than this.

(Even more unsettling is the way it responds in kind, listening attentively to anyone who speaks to it, leaning in as though to kiss them, as though to swallow them whole. All hell, why did Pax agree to this? Why did they come?)

(They should have told it to fuck off. Should have said no way, I don’t want to help you, don’t want to get involved in anything you’d need my help for. I don’t owe you anything. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’m done.)

(Pax is done. Pax is sick to death of all this shit; doesn’t want to deal with this, the vaguely described problems of a god that picks people apart like it’s unravelling a thick yarn shawl. Doesn’t want to deal with anything like this. He’s had his fill of gods.)

(Why is he still fucking here? Why did he agree to this? This is no better than eating in that weird fucking inn in town. This is no better than –)

(That’s a lie. It’s a bit better than Cyrodiil. Just as much a shithole, but it pulls the rug out from under him often enough that he doesn’t have time to think too much.)

“Not hungry?” says a prowling voice, coiling catlike into the plaits in their hair, and Pax jumps enough to jostle the masked bastard sitting ramrod straight next to him.

He looks up.

At the empty placemat across from him sits a figure veiled in gossamer, glittering in the glow of the lit-up lichen on the distant throne; the fabric of its endless shawls pulls apart at the ends, peeling away from itself, shedding patches like iridescent insect wings every time it shifts. If Pax squints, they can see through it to the grand marbled wall behind.

She glances back at the chair at the head of the table, where something lounges, eyes dripping gold, intricately carved cane laid across its knees; its too-many fingers are laced with the hand of a man whose gown blooms floral. Flatly, she says, “What the fuck?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Sheogorath asks, pouting; she can hear it laughing down the other end of the table. “It’s a proper feast. We pulled out all the stops.”

Pax shifts their eyes away to peer down at their plate. “You have served me worms,” she says. She flicks the dish with a fingernail. “In jelly. With flowers.”

“Larva, actually,” Sheogorath replies. It’s still at the other end of the table. It doesn’t seem eager to explain this. When it smiles, the gossamer falls away; its whole face splits in half.

It’s all so fucking stupid. Pax takes a deep breath – in through the nose, ignore all the odd spiced smells, and out – and does not yell at it, or try to hit it, because she’s gotten herself into a situation where that’s not really an option, because she’s a fucking idiot. Why didn’t she just say no?

(She knows why.)

The Mad God’s teeth flash bright as the ornate silver cutlery. Its chair scrapes back from the table. “It melts in your mouth,” it tells her, eyes glittering, “but I won’t make you try it. Walk with me?”

The figure still sits at the head of the table, snatching something from someone’s plate, always, always laughing. Its limbs sprawl like tentacles, like the silken threads of a tapestry, to encompass the whole room. The dinner guests stare as though bewitched, bedevilled, beguiled. Not one of them is looking at Pax. If he were to drop dead with his face in the food his corpse would not be discovered until sunrise.

Pax sniffs and shoves his chair back from the table. He lets Sheogorath (the second Sheogorath – but it must be, what else could it be?) lead him through a narrow door into some winding hallway, the walls lined and rimed with ornate coloured-glass windows. (It’s so much quieter. Still as garishly bright, but Pax is getting the sense that that is inescapable, here; the clothes they wear, as crumpled and covered in travelling-grime as ever and startlingly out of place against the odd jagged finery of the dinner party, seem unimaginably dull in comparison. Everything seems unimaginably dull in comparison.) Outside the windows, they can catch glimpses of the city – its winding, lamp-lit streets, the jumbled mess of its architecture, the sky arcing above it like a child’s attempt at watercolours. Pax wants to smash it, tear it down.

There’s no sun here, but still it’s night. The sky has shifted to purple and black.

“Isn’t it nice?” says their companion; when they look back, it’s nothing more than a shifting impression in the stained-glass window, a series of hairline cracks. It still manages, somehow, to smile at them.

It’s not. The sky is a shadow and the flamboyance of the palace is scraping at their spine. “Sure,” Pax says flatly. When she flexes her fingers, the bruising staining the base knuckle of her thumb aches.

Sheogorath looks at her – an ancient man leaning on a stick, a flickering painting, a bloody corpse, a little girl in velvet-red skirts, a breath. In its mercurial shifting she catches the flowery blossom of the man at the table’s collar, an unpleasant glimpse of her own braided hair, the smell of sulphur. It tips its head. She can’t focus on it anywhere but for the eyes.

“You don’t like my dinner parties,” it announces, as though it’s a revelation, a tragedy; its body crumbles like sea cliffs slowly eroded by the ways. It’s annoying – bloody obnoxious, and incomprehensible, and kind of weird that it noticed, that it would even care. (She’s never liked dinner parties. Nobody ever commented on it before.)

I’ve had well enough of them, Pax could say, or no, I don’t like you, but it’s the fucking Mad God, Daedric Prince of – Pax doesn’t even know what, he’s never known much about this shit, only that it’s well worth avoiding. Prince of the mad and the missing and the foolish, of breaking and breaking and putting yourself back together backwards. She should have said no, but she didn’t, and who knows what would happen if she went back on that now?

It's slinking closer. All that stay static enough to make out are eyes and teeth.

“Pax, yes?” it says, soft-voiced – a hand lands on his arm, small and dry and shivering, the skin as thing as a mouldering leaf. “You have no obligations here. If you want to be on your own, be on your own. We’ve plenty of space for it.”

Pax’s eyes narrow. He does not jerk away from it.

In the light of the coloured sky, the coloured windows, its face is phantasmagorical. “If you don’t want to be here,” it continues – still so skin-pricklingly gentle – “then your hand will not be forced. I’ll speed your way home if you wish.”

They can’t help but twitch at that. It’s setting their teeth on edge. (It’s lying – has to be. After its ages of coaxing them in, meting out information, not telling them where they were until they were on its doorstep, it would not give them the chance to leave.) Rough, still covered in road-grime, Pax asks, “Why should I believe you?”

(None of them have ever given them the chance to leave.)

Sheogorath, a figure of hollow skin and bone, inclines its head. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Pax,” it says. Its eyes are wide and bulging, whites on full display like a frightened horse; it grins again. “Others might. But we’re not a monolith. We’re not even especially similar.”

Pax bites down on the flat edge of their tongue. “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

The light coming in through the windows flickers. The Mad God turns to meet it.

“I’m the youngest,” it says, its voice glittering like mist on the air. “Did you know that? I don’t remember the world without you in it.” Its form spasms, volatile, wings and limbs and eyes like a snail’s on stalks sprouting and choking and subsiding back into its mass. “I’m closer to you than any. I understand, almost.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Pax repeats. She’s gritting her teeth, tonguing at her gums where two are missing. Are two devil-gods not enough to deal with for a lifetime? Is there really going to be more of this now, too?

Rolling through the air like smoke, the voice says, “It will.”

Pax presses purple-green knuckles to her mouth. Her teeth dig into the soft meat of her lip.

Sheogorath turns to face her, hair moving as though blown by the wind, as though tugged by the tides. It sighs. “You don’t believe me,” it says. Its tongue pokes through its teeth. “That’s perfectly fine. Clever, even. But if you want to leave, all you need to do is tell me so.” It pauses, then; the train of its strange, gnarled crown shifts over its shoulders when it moves its head. “Or just leave. The door is still open.”

“You’d be fine with me just leaving,” Pax rasps around his knuckle, “after weeks of not leaving me alone?”

(Of begging him to come, poorly-hidden agitation giving way to blatant franticness, half-swallowing the fear that choked its face in every mirror it spoke to him through. Of begging him still, after he got here, after he met it – begging in a roundabout manner, casual as anything, its every motion reeking of fear. Its abject terror when he turned to leave. You’ve come this far. Why not hear an old man out? Pax told it that it wasn’t an old man, that he didn’t give a shit either way, and it slid through a child, a monster, a sulphur-burned body coughing blood, his own shuddering form in armour he hasn’t seen in months, and it said please.)

(Regained its composure, its gentleman’s face, immediately afterward. But it – the Mad God, unknowable, inconsolable – said please. Pax still doesn’t know what to do with that.)

The Mad God, now, shrugs. Taps at the hairline cracks in the stained glass windows. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” it says, one pair of hands braiding something intricate into its beard. The hand on the glass slips down. “I told you. I do need a champion.”

“And I told you,” Pax bites, something aching and ugly surging in their gut, “not to call me that again.”

A smile, bloody-mouthed and beaming. “But we will abide,” says Sheogorath, and digs its fingers into the cracks of the stone. One brick slides loose, mortar dug up under its nails. It offers it up.

Pax licks their teeth and takes it.

The brick shivers, momentarily – crumbles, in their hand, like sand slithering through their fingers, and left in their palm is a hardy slip of bone. Spiked and sprawling, carved with intricate patterns; it arranges itself around an oval of empty space, the perfect size for four sharp-knuckled fingers.

“You can always leave,” the Mad God tells them, and for a moment it does look so very young and strangely, staggeringly hopeful. “But give it a chance. I think you could love the Isles, if you choose to.”

[plangentia]

why am i the person in the office that everyone is asking questions to

[s3lkieboy]

So we had like a club recruitment event at my college today and yesterday and I recently became an officer for the club, so I designed a poster and made little notecards for other info and I put my chonky seal plush on the table (he’s always in my bag) and a sign saying anyone could pet him

And the seal WORKED people would notice him and pet him and then see the poster and be like “omg I’ve been looking for a club like this!” And I’m so happy I could be useful and that people love my chonky guy :D

[queen-of-bad-opsec]

shoutout to cyberpunk 2077 for discouraging me from wanting to become a fighter pilot

i remember going to some air show, and being just so completely enamoured with the fighters. just. wanting that. flying through the skies at entirely zoo high velocities. surrounded by amazing technology. so what if i'd have to kill ppl? might get killed myself?

"They didn't even have to recruit 'em - they just.. showed them the tech."

i'm having a hard time finding an exact source for that quote, and thus a hard time verifying its accuracy - but something along those lines was saved. and fuck, if that didnt resonate with me then...

not gonna bother doing some in-depth analysis for how that quote fits in today's world or whatever, i suck at that shit. but i feel like it is a sentiment worth spreading. to try n avoid being dazzled by the tech. or noticing when you are, and thinking critically about it.

went to the same airshow a year later, with a new, much more critical view of things. was as cool as ever, except i was a lil less enamoured with the idea of actually using the tech this time 'round. saw an f35, so that was cool.

[odiousidiot]

more termina doodles

[shmowder]

every Sherlock Holmes videogame ever made is, in essence, a dating sim where you start already locked in Dr.Watson's route

[triangle-strategy-notes]

Piccoletta Concept Art

Piccoletta's concept art! Translation notes and image id under the cut.

Translation notes:

"Yoshitaka Amano" was literally "Amano-sensei." I wanted to convey the respect of the honorific and just "Amano" felt too casual, so I used his full name to sort of make it more formal.

The note about "sparkle charms in her hair" was a little hard to parse - the really literal translation seems to be something like "hair sparkles in charmies" which could theoretically mean "she has charming sparkles in her hair" or "she has sparkle charmies in her hair" or "her hair is charmed to have sparkles in it." I really wasn't sure either way.

"Face of a little imp" was a line that was kind of difficult to make out (just small handwriting). There was definitely something about a little devil/imp, but I wasn't 100% sure about the rest.

"Snobbish" was literally "she turns up her nose" or "her nose turns up". It might have been literally talking about her nose being upturned/pointy, but given the other bullet points, I'm assuming here that it was more talking about her personality.

Image id:

[id: Two pages from the Triangle Strategy artbook about Piccoletta. The first has two versions of her canon portrait, one colored and one uncolored. There is a note at the bottom that reads, "We gave her a more showy design than the main characters since she's a different sort of class. The tentative alias we gave her was "Item Thrower," so looks like we gave her a ball to hold (laughs). (Tatsuaki Urushihara)". On the second page, there are several illustrations of Piccoletta. One note points out her lacy skirt that goes under her dress, and another piece of text labels her boots as "leather." Next to a few drawings of her face, one of which seems to be pouting or reprimanding, there are the bullet points "Face of a little imp," "Precocious young girl," "Snobbish," "Mischevious," and "Paints face white". There is also a note that reads, "Sparkle charms in her hair." Next to a small drawing of her juggling, it says, "Throws all sorts of things". There is also a note that reads, "Item Thrower Character". On the second half of the page, there are more drawings of Piccoletta with a more typical medieval hairstyle. Her skirt is again labeled, and there's another note about her being "a precocious girl." At the bottom of the page there is another note that reads, "I wasn't conscious of it at the time, but this design might have borrowed from the style of Yoshitaka Amano's Final Fantasy art. (Tatsuaki Urushihara)". /end id]