#wait how many sides are in a hexagon

[duck-jamm]

bill ciper/stanford pines to stanford pines/fiddleford mcgucket to fiddleford mcgucket/stanley pines....... they're de-toxicing the yaoi

[fanaticsnail]

Mommy: Charlotte Cracker

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word count: 2,200+

Themes: Cracker x f!reader, gendered terms used, mdni, NSFW, 18+, smut, kink, Mommy x Baby (not related, just a kink), breast sucking, male masturbation, pre-established relationship, not much plot, feelings if you squint.

Notes: Just a 40+yo man needing some TLC from his partner.

Thump, thump, thump.

Heavy were the footfalls of the brass-buckled boots that stomped throughout the lengthy corridor. Each rhythmic clunk impacting the floor began to arrive all the nearer to your office door, prompting you to lull your head back on your shoulders and draw up your thumb and index fingers to massage your temples.

The energy radiating from beyond the door was already chock full of anxiety and agitation, hints of rage and anger simmering within their giant body. Fumes would be seeping from his ears if it could, that you were sure of. As soon as your door swung wide, you were greeted to the sight you had come to expect at least once a week within your office: an office not suited for the purpose you utilized it for.

Anger and rage weeped from his every pore, his face contorted in a gruff grimace and curling his scar up to a tight coil. Immediately as you made eye contact with him, he slammed the office door shut behind him with his lips curled back to bare his teeth at you.

Waiting in that thick silence, fury radiating from the crown of his purple hair and almost weeping smoke from his ears as he continued to bear his eyes into your own. All was halted at the extension of your arms stretched either side of your body and a single word spoken from your lips.

“Baby.”

His shoulders immediately dropped, head hung low as he dredged over to you like a man in mourning. Meeting your smaller frame with his thick thighs, he slunk to the ground on his knees and curled inwards of himself while burying his head against your stomach.

“Mommy.”

As your hand drew up to card through his purple locks, you reflected on how this relationship truly occurred between you and the larger man. Unsure of whether it truly began while you brought him an itinerary from your office regarding where his persons was to be required, or the way he sought out your touch while you served the Charlotte generals and children their evening meals, or some fantasy come to life when he whispered that name while expressing his gratitude for you aiding him in removing his armor and laying down his arms: that was your title to him.

No longer an au pair or an aid for Charlotte Linlin in caring for her many children in this situation, you were Charlotte Cracker’s mommy. Not mother, not mom, simply a larger man feeling comfortable enough in himself to need your nurture and care to shepherd him through his rage.

“What happened, baby?” you ask him softly, soothing his larger head as he nestled himself further into your embrace. “Want to tell mommy about it?” He shook his head, sniffling against your waist and whimpering into your touch. You clicked your tongue, backing away towards the corner of the room closest to the hexagonal bay window.

Several large pillows littered this space, often a corner of the room you made available for you to peer over the edge of the grounds while working away at scheduling education. As you slumped back onto the ground, Cracker draped himself over your body and buried his head in the chasms of your breasts.

“Alright, baby. Why don’t you just put your head in my lap, hm?” you cooed down at the ten foot giant. He nodded his head and leaned into your touch as you turned him to face upwards on your lap. As he turned, the large belt of biscuits rolled with several crumbs falling onto the plush pillows below him. This had you click your tongue in disappointment, which prompted Cracker’s eyes to follow your gaze.

“Sorry, mommy,” he whispered hurriedly, sheepishly removing his belt and brushing down the pillows to scatter the crumbs beside the pillows. You hummed at him, slowly sitting back with your legs flat in front of you. Patting your thighs once more, you couldn’t help as Cracker eagerly placed his head and the tops of his shoulders within your lap.

Your hands immediately went back to soothe over his purple hair, rolling it back to reveal his forehead. Gently soothing over his scar, you felt him wince at your touch. His oversensitivity upon receiving such a gentle expression never ceased to amaze you, no matter how often you and he would enjoy time together.

“Want me to stop, baby?” Your question caused his eyes to round innocently up at you while tilting his head back to meet your gaze further. His pouty protest had you purse your lips in empathetic sorrow.

Leaning down and pressing your lips to his forehead, you felt him whimper and shudder beneath your touch. Humming down at him, you remove your lips and un-arch yourself while gazing down at him.

“C-Can I-...? Can we-...?” Cracker stuttered, attempting to catch himself as he hoped you would fill in the rest of his statement. You smile down at him, nodding as you raised your hands and reached for your shirt.

As your hands began to unclasp each of the front buttons on your shirt, he unbuttoned the waistband of his pants and began shimmying them down to reveal his half-mast cock. As soon as you popped the remaining clasp, you reached into your shirt and cupped your breasts, rolling them over the front of the uniform to spill out in front of him.

With a small bounce to the mounds of flesh, you chuckled as Cracker’s cock immediately sprung completely to life. Shimmying up a little further, he looked up through his lengthy eyelashes and asked permission with his gaze to touch your breasts. With no more than a soft smile and a nod, he slowly reached with one hand towards your breast as the other reached down to stroke his cock.

Starting at the tip, he rolled the velvety skin back and forth while applying more pressure as he raised it back to his tip. His cock twitched and pulsed in his hand, the pink tip leaking with precum as he molded the flesh of your breasts beneath his palm.

“So pretty, baby,” you coo down at him, moving down to cradle his head on your lap and draw him closer to your chest. “Doing so good for me. Open your mouth?”

Cracker maintained eye contact and parted his lips, lulling out his tongue and moving his lips closer to your areola. Giving a tentative flick of his tongue over your pebbled bud, he moved to fully latch his lips against your breast while molding the other in his hand.

“Oh, good boy,” you praised him, holding his head firmer against your chest and pushing more of your breast into his mouth. “I didn't even have to ask, and you just knew what to do. So good, baby.”

He whimpered into your embrace, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows while bucking up into his hand. Moving from long and languid strokes to heavier pumps, he whined and groaned into your breasts while swirling his tongue over your nipple.

Your breath caught in your throat as he flattened his tongue and ground the porous surface against the center of your nipple. He released your nipple from his firm latch with a pop, spreading his saliva over your bud by flicking and kissing the pert bud.

“Oh, so good, baby,” you whine at him as you feel the pleasure electrify from your nipple straight to your abdomen. “Doing so good for Mommy. Keep stroking that cock for me?”

“Yes, Mommy,” Cracker whined, thumbing over the cock head and collecting his precum on the pad of his digit. You reached down, clasping his forearm and aiding him in setting the pace to pump his shaft.

“Little bit slower, baby. We don't want you to make a mess too quickly, do we?” Your warm voice poured from your lips like honey, Cracker whining into your chest before relatching against your nipple while rolling the other in your nipple in his thumb and forefingers.

His voice choked out a groan, feeling closer to the edge than he truly wanted to be in your arms presently. He always wanted to make you proud. He couldn't truly put a reason as to why.

Charlotte Cracker always felt in control. He used his ability to make his sweet biscuits fight for him, wore armor to protect his body from harm, and learned battle prowess from his older siblings. With you, the au pair for his younger siblings and the aid in daily routine for him and the others, he felt safe enough to relinquish that control over to you.

He felt safe with you.

He felt secure with you.

He felt loved with you.

Each time he spoke his woes onto you, your ear and smile would always be warm and welcoming for him. You were that nurture he never felt from his mother, his father, his step parents, and his advisors. You were that security blanket engulfing him in a secure embrace of ultimate care.

Your love is what had him fucking his fist to your memory. Your love was what had him muffling his moans with the back of his hand while he reached that pinnacle of abandon and threw himself off of it. Your love was what had him sheepishly approach you for the first time and had him seek out this arrangement, should you find yourself willing.

Your love is what had him beginning to hone in on that precipice of pleasure as you guided his fist up and down on his cock. The first bubbles of cum began falling from the slit at the tip of his cock. Everything was so warm, so caring, and so extremely filled with love, Cracker couldn't hold himself back from that edge any longer.

Moaning freely on your breast, he choked back a hefty mewl as his belly tensed in a clenched ball. His heavy balls sucked up into his abdomen as he began to feel the first waves of his bliss crash over him.

“M-Mommy-!” he shouted out as he fully succumbed to that edge.

“-I’m right here, baby,” you reassured him, aiding him in continuing the tempo he set as he pushed past that edge and toppled over. “You're safe, you're good, and you're doing so well, baby. Cum for me?”

“Mgnhmnm-! F-fuck-... Aaah-, cumming-!” Cracker whimpered out. Hot bursts of his release sprouted from his slit and coated his stomach with his bliss. His muscles tensed and his fist clenched around his cock, but his lips were only always soft and gentle against your breasts.

Hot coils of bliss shot over his dewy skin, staining his bare abs and the top of his shirt with his seed. His back arched as he rode through that high to the end, almost forcing himself through that painted overstimulation if not to do you proud. He moaned out each soft moan to coincide with his release, unclenching his eyes to seek out your own as he championed his way through it.

Stilling his hips and his motions, he flopped his body lazily within your cradle and panted up at you. You smiled down, leaning over and pressing your lips to his brow in a sweet gesture of acceptance and support.

“Baby,” you whisper down at him, prompting him to whimper in response, “Let's get you cleaned up, and I'll brush your hair for you while you tell me about your day.”

In his vulnerable state, Cracker felt like he could cry at that thought. Stiffing his upper lip, he forced back that sob that bubbled in his throat while nodding his head.

“That sounds good, right, baby?” you reaffirmed down at him, gently moving your hand from his forearm to cup his cheek. He furrowed his brows and leaned into your touch, closing his eyes as his lip quivered.

“You…” he began, his words catching behind his lips as he struggled with the boiling emotions ever growing, “...You’d do that for me?”

“Baby, of course I will,” you hummed at him with all of the emotion you could muster for him, “Consider my schedule clear, and my entire attention yours. Whatever you need of me, from me, or with me,” you raise his head up to you and cradle his face within your palms.

“I'm yours,” you affirm him, pressing your head against his and closing your eyes, “You can use me for anything you need.”

“Even if I just want to sit with you?” Cracker asked, turning to lean on his side and searching your eyes with his own. “Even to just hear about your day and listen to your voice.”

“Of course, baby,” you hum towards Cracker and gently brush your nose against his. “Anything you need, I'm yours.”

After cleaning up his former release and redressing yourselves, Cracker continued to sit and half doze off the longer you spoke. He was so comfortable with you, he could barely tolerate the prospect of fleeing from your side and returning to his duties.

For now, he could hear the hum in your tone, the warmth in your fable, and your heart carved in the corner of the universe meant just for him.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel @ane5e

🎶Happy Birthday to Me 🎶

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[katzy88]

My attempt to solve the lore of Sonic Lost World:

Sonic Lost World is a game that has confused me for years now, and since the prequel comic didn’t answer many of my questions I decided to pull a MatPat and solve the lore for myself.

Now just to be clear, I have not read the Archie or all of the IDW Sonic comics mainly bc that would cost a lot, also not everything about my theories is 100% accurate and not all questions will be answered so plz go easy on me, I did my best.

Theory #1: The Lost Hex is a planet made up of parts of the Earth

The Lost Hex, a very “original” world that I have loved as a kid just because of its simplistic beauty. However the way this world is built never made any sense to me. How was this world even made in the first place? Well, here’s what I have gathered:

First, a lot of the locations in the Lost Hex are very similar to Sonic’s world. I mean I thought the Zeti were sucking the life out of Windy Hill Zone when they were actually doing it from Sonic’s world, and yes you can call me dumb for believing this for 10 years when the main characters literally say “Our World”, but could you really blame me when both locations look incredibly similar? Hell, even Orbot and Cubot comment on Windy Hill Zone being similar to Green Hill Zone in the Prequel comic:

And yes, Sonic games are no stranger on having Green Hill Zone clones or levels similar to Sonic’s, but I find it particularly interesting how this is the one time someone actually said something about it.

Second, the Lost Hex is literally unfinished. There is no nucleus, it’s hexagonal, and there are parts of it missing:

So with that being said, I believe the Lost Hex was made of parts of the Earth. This would explain the similarities to WHZ AND GHZ and why the planet is unfinished. Also, according to science, it is theorized that the actual earth started out as a small space rock, but eventually combined with other space rocks to become the Earth we have today.

(Side theory here: I kinda suspect that the Lost Hex was made because of Dark and Light Gaia from Sonic Unleashed, since in that game every tens of thousands of years Dark Gaia breaks apart the Earth with Light Gaia being the one to put it back to sleep. While yes, the Earth is eventually repaired, I can’t help but get the feeling that there might’ve been a few chunks of the Earth floating to eventually become the Lost Hex)

Theory #2 The Deadly Six/Zeti are demons from hell (or a realm similar to hell)

The Deadly Six, some of the villains in all of Sonic. These guys have honestly been some of my favorite Sonic characters for years now (bite me), but even with that, I still have no idea of their origins or how they came to be or what they even are. Hell, there really isn’t much evidence regarding their origins, and no, I refuse to believe these guys just spawned into the Lost Hex randomly one day. If nearly every Sonic villain has a reason to exist, then these guys should too.

First, according to Takashi Lizuka, the key producer, director, and designer of Sonic team. The Zeti are based off of Oni, which are demons from Japanese culture. In fact, their race was originally going to be that, but for American audiences they were renamed into Zeti (wooow super creative).

Second, where do demons normally come from? Hell of course! You might be thinking, “Wait, hell actually exists in the Sonic universe?” based off of what I can gather, it seems like a solid yes for me. In Sonic and the Secret Rings, Sonic does theorize about the Seven World Rings opening up the gates of hell:

As well as Zazz even using it as a minor profanity/metaphor multiple times in the lost Sonic mobile game: Sonic Runners in the Zazz raid event:

Hell Zazz himself calls himself, thus his race, demons:

So with all of that evidence, I don’t find it hard to believe that these guys originated from hell or a realm that is similar to Hell.

Theory #3: The Zeti were banished to the Lost Hex

This one is a pretty far-fetched theory, but this was the one that made the most sense to me.

So with the theory that these freaks came from hell (or a realm similar to it), it brings us to our next question: How did they end up in the Lost Hex in the first place?

Well, I do not have much concrete evidence for this sadly, but I do have a little friend to help called: Logic.

So here it goes: I believe these guys were kicked out of hell (or their realm), I say this because this could actually explain why the Deadly Six are so hellbent on world domination, they simply want a place to belong. And villains aren’t born, they’re made (not that these guys must’ve started out as goody two-shoes) and being kicked out of your own home would give a natural response to want to find a place to belong. I also feel like they were being sent to the Lost Hex specifically because it’s a hidden world shielded from humans (or was)

Now I feel like this went one of two ways.

One, only the Deadly Six were kicked out and once they had a whole planet to themselves, they made sure of it by eliminating any who visit the planet. We can tell because Eggman wasn’t the first person to discover the Lost Hex according to Zavok:

Or two, the entire Zeti race was kicked out by their creator and the humans who did visit the planet saw these creatures and immediately tried to kill them so they could take it for themselves, making the Zeti a near extinct species with the only survivors being the Deadly Six themselves, hence why Zavok was so hostile towards Eggman during his first encounter. Especially since us humans are pretty much known to make a lot of animals to go extinct, I mean we’re the reason Mammoths don’t exist, so this wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary.

But hey, that’s just a theory…A LOST WORLD THEORY!!!

Tell me about any evidence to back up or argue against my theories in the comments and again, go easy on me, I did my best.

[csolarstorm]

The Eternal Flower Files: Sacred Geometry

Eternal Flower Floette is the mysterious, special Floette that AZ inherited from his late mother. It wields a strange, ancient red flower that holds terrifying power:

"Terrifying energy is concealed within its ominous flower, but Floette still swings it about innocently." (UltraMoon)

So. What is the Eternal Flower?

We associate flowers with the cycle of life in general - they bloom, they wilt, and then the plant grows again. When it comes to the symbolism around Eternal Flower, we see this theme of "life, death, and rebirth" over and over, likely referring to Floette's resurrection.

Flowers are a prominent symbol in Sacred Geometry. In some New Age beliefs, the ancient Flower of Life pattern symbolizes life, death, and rebirth, as well as the interconnected universe. The pattern maps onto the Eternal Flower pretty well.

Eternal Flower model from The Models Resource.

Certainly Eternal Flower Floette is powerful and significant in the lore, but this connection might suggest that the Eternal Flower itself has broader powers than just destroying things.

Many flower symbols are drawn with overlapping circles, which represent a continuous, eternal cycle. When writing about the Flower of Life, people often compare the progression of each phase of the pattern to cell division. What Pokemon do we know that represents cells?

Source: Flower of Life Construction, image by Tomruen

Another major flower symbol is the triquetra, an ancient trinity symbol that comes from three overlapping circles. (Shown in the third phase of the Flower of Life diagram.) The Eternal Flower is made up of three triquetrae, really emphasizing the number three:

In many Christian denominations, the triquetra symbolizes the Holy Trinity. In Celtic tradition, the triquetra, or the trinity knot, can, again symbolize the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. There is also a stylized triquetra on either side of AZ's Ultimate Weapon:

My approximation of the Ultimate Weapon symbol.

This is yet another connection between the Eternal Flower and the Ultimate Weapon - besides the fact that it blooms into a giant version of the Eternal Flower. Did AZ use the power of the Eternal Flower to build the Ultimate Weapon?

The Flower of Life pattern also seems to point to a strong relationship between Eternal Flower Floette and Zygarde. It's actually an effective symbol for Zygarde, considering how people compare the phases of the Flower of Life to cell division. Also, each individual bloom in the of the Flower of Life pattern is hexagonal.

Zygarde pic from Bulbapedia.

Every inch of Zygarde is a hexagon. Imagine, each of them as a continuing Flower of Life pattern the same way a palace wall is covered with it.

If Xerneas and Yveltal symbolize life and death, then Zygarde fittingly represents rebirth, as a collection of cells that can take a number of forms. This also fits the title "Z-A" which many fans have taken to mean "the end, and a new beginning". That begs the question: what is beginning? What is being reborn?

...

Check out my theory that Zygarde used to be the Tree of Life, as well as my other posts about Pokemon Legends: Z-A here:

Xerneas and Yveltal are Fungi: Let Me Explain

Poll: What Does the Λ in Legends Z-A Symbolize?

Pokemon Legends Z-A: What Is the Λ?

Aaah, it's an A! Is the A in Z-A the Tree of Life?

How much longer am I going to have to wait for a freakin' Unova remake?!

[graylinesspam]

for the ask thing, maul, ahsoka, game night

They were the first that weren't of the lineage of Bane.

The first to remove the name Sith. They were no Darths. Just Maul and Ahsoka.

Her new master asked her "How are the jedi failing" and he didn't mean it as the hate filled monologue opening a join me speech. He wanted to know. That was the game after all. The sith's game.

How are the jedi failing?

Ahsoka had many answers, too many to parse out all at once.

"What are they failing to do Ahsoka? What responsibilities do they neglect, deny, refuse?

There's an answer on the tip of her tongue. Flashes of memories. Of feline smiles and chains. Of the grimace that curls the corners of Yoda's beak when anyone brings it up.

Slaves. The jedi ignore the slaves. Even though they are the most in need. The darkest blight on the galaxy. Even though their own younglings are so often sold.

They aren't heroes. They don't pretend to be. They are the scum of the galaxy, as vile as the crowds they stand in on secret casino floors. Plastichips stacked in palms. Lights low overhead.

Her new master likes pretty things. Ahsoka hadn't the time to decide what was pretty when she was occupied with the war, but Maul lays things out for her now. Sparkly dresses and jewelry and suits that make her look like a naboo noble.

She moves so that they sparkle under the dim lights. The flashes off her wrists obscuring the way her hand moves even from the company surveillance. Dice flying fight into place with a flick of her hand. A stack of plastichips shoved her way with every win. Each hexagonal shape representing a sentient life.

Maul stands at her side playing bodyguard to the "noble lady" she's pretending to be. She claps her hands and leaps at the win. Fingers greedily gripping the chips in front of her. Lethal claws spread to fit as many lives in them as she can.

The bells ring, the machines flash their lights mingling with the smoke in the air. Ahsoka puffs on an herbal smoke, something that smells strong but tastes weak. And leaves her mind as clear and sharp as when she walked in.

She droops her eyes anyway. Leans her weight forward over the table eagerly. Letting the big shiny rock resting on her chest draw the eyes of the other players as she skips the rolling ball, pretending to flick ash off the end of her smoke. It lands on black and two men groan in disappointment, one in lecherous glee as Ahsoka's whole body gives a victorious little wiggle.

"Luck be a friend tonight." she croons drunkenly and swipes at another stack of chips. She turns to Maul, "you think we should cash out?"

The way the dealer is eyeing her lets her know she hasn't won quiet big enough yet. Maul says nothing but there's a gleam in his eye. "You're right, I should go big." She shoves the chips into a bag on his hip before turning back to the emptying table, flashing a wicked grin at the dealer.

"What should I bet on, if I wanted to win big?" The conspiratorial note in her voice is sufficiently whiskey soaked. He glances down, probably awaiting orders from some hidden screen.

She knows she has it when the pinch in his brows evaporates from his otherwise bored expression, glad to be rid of her. "There is a wager being held in the gold lounge. For our more recognized guests." He gestures with one well trained hand toward the gilded staircase to the southwest corner of the floor.

Ahsoka lets teeth bleed into her grin as she straightens from resting on her elbows. It's easy to move through the crowd with Maul clearing the way for her, he waits at the bottom of the staircase, offering her a hand. She gathers her skirt in one and offers the other to him, ascending the steps like some kind of queen.

This floor is sparkly, more well lit. Littered with well dressed monsters. Draped over the furniture various substances spread out around them.

It's a circular room overseeing a dome like structure that spreads below them. There was a marked change in Maul's demeanor when they entered the room.

He set aside the body language of the guard and instead strode over to a lounge seat near the glass. Laying out over it where he could get a good view of the ring.

Ahsoka joined him perching by his knee, letting him rest a hand on her lower back. For show or just for his own need to be possessive, she didn't care to know.

This room demanded a bit of debauchery and if Ahsoka was going to play her part she'd need to stick her hand in the candy jar.

She leaned forward to stare down at the arena too. Watching as the little furry things in the ring were loaded into their individual lanes. It was a track of some sort. Small enough to fit the knee height creatures but long. Full of obstacles and debris. On the opposite end of the arena they were leading out some large tentacled creature. Right to the middle of the track. A living obstacle.

"So it's a racing track." She mused.

Maul nodded, "Much harder game to fix if you aren't on the inside. how do you expect to win, apprentice?"

Ahsoka hummed observing the creatures as they moved about their stalls. Could she contact them from up here? Should she? or perhaps ask the tentacled thing to eat all the others, just not the one she bet on.

There were employees appearing as if from no where handing out cards and explaining how you bet with them. Each person made their bet by punching holes in the card.

A thought struck her.

"They'll collect the cards when the race is over. All i have to do is convince them I've won."

Maul tilts his head in her direction. "And if it doesn't work?"

She shrugged. "Then we wait to see which way the winners go and carve our way through."

He chuckles and shakes his head at her. "You are reckless young one."

[nicemare]

MARVEL SNAP SHIPS BULLSNIKT!*

*a crack theory or "Reading way too much into a funny coincidence"

Okay, so you all know Marvel Snap

If or if not here's a rough breakdown: It's a digital deck building card battler where you can pay lots of cash money for fancy variants or animated frames where you compete with various Marvel characters against other players.

That's what it looks like - you fight over winning the three sites in the middle, by strategically deploying the bois and gals and anyone inbetween and outside to make the numbers on your side go up Each battle last 6 rounds, and in each round, players get energy points according to the round they are in, which are used to play cards onto one of three sites. One can only hold 7 cards at a time, and not draw more or generate more when that limit is reached. The player who accumulates more strength points on a site, wins the site- and who wins two of three sites- wins the match. How do you get strength points? With the cards. Each card has a blue circle on the top left, with a white number indicating their energy cost, and a orange hexagon on the top right, where their strength is stated.

Bullseye costs 3 energy, and has 3 strength, Daken costs 3 energy, and has 4 strength, for example. Since that alone would be super boring, cards and sites can have various effects that influence energy cost of cards, strength, if they can be played somewhere or not, get destroyed, discarded, moved, create other cards... ... And those card effects can happen on reveal (when played), on discarding / destruction, or be activated manually after they have been played. That's all you need to know ______________________________________________________________

In the usual Marvel fashion, they have (time limited) events, where you can get new cards / variants for a limited amount of time ahead of the peasants that don't sink coins into the game others players, if you are dedicated enough c: In the above splashart for the event, our boys are already nicely arranged close to each other- they are basically married imho

United by red string already- it's love your honor!

Okay, so here are their cards and effects as follows:

DAKEN:

>>On Reveal: Add the Muramasa Shard to your hand.<< Cool beans, you get a new card!

Side note: Wolverine, X23, Deadpool & Sabretooth get revived when destroyed to resemble a healing factor. Daken just dies. They really made him the outcast here >_>

BULLSEYE:

>>Activate: Discard all cards that cost 1 or less from your hand. Afflict that many different enemy cards with -2 Power.<< He sorta uses the cheap cards as projectiles :D

Since the Muramasa Shard costs 1 energy & gets added to your hand, Daken basically gives Bullseye ammo, to attack enemy! Awww, they compliment each other in a fight- how sweet!

But that's not all!

Why should Daken add that card, if it does not have any connection to him? He's way to egocentric to not make everything about himself!

No no, you see: The Muramasa Shard has an effect as well!

MURAMASA SHARD:

>>"When this is discarded or destroyed, double Daken's Power."<<

Number goes up- weee :D

Or in other words: Bullseyes action makes Daken stronger.

BUT THERE IS MORE:

As 3 cost cards, they cannot be played in the same turn (except for turn 6, or other effects apply) which seems to pose a dilemma for the couple... or does it?

Since Bullseyes power needs to be activated, he has to be played first. Or as a sniper, he gets onto the scene, and scopes it out, waiting for the right moment to strike. In the next turn- Daken can follow.

Remember the hand limit?

Even IF you have a hand full of 1 or below cost cards, playing a card would mean you hold a maximum of 6 potential projectiles for Bullseye. But Daken adds the Muramasa shard- to fill the spot he previously vacated. Sure, other there are other cards that can add / put back a 1 or below cost card as well to give Bullseye ammo. But only Daken adding that Muramasa Shard gives Lester, pardon Benjamin a weapon, that not only damages an enemy, but makes his partner stronger. Not only that, but Daken is only the only other card that I know of at least that guarantees Bullseye one projectile. You do not need to have any other 1 cost card in your deck, or retrieve them from the field- but by playing Daken- Bullseye at least gets one good shot. Isn't that complimenting violence beautiful?

Or, as I like to view it:

Since Dakens silly little mortal lover partner in crime & bed just rushed into another battle, Daken follows along for the party! Of course, he makes sure his playmate has enough toys! And since shared violence is the best, seeing his boytoy using the weapon Mr.Snikt-Junior provides, makes the mohawked murderer so happy, he gets even stronger :D

So, either one of the developers is one of us, or I just had way to much fun reading into this :D Take your pick!

[nitewrighter]

I'm new to tumblr and don't really know how to do these ask things but can i request more shippy interactions? i really like how you write them

Oh thanks!! You didn't really specify a ship so I'm just gonna go hodgepodge here :)

----

Zenyatta: Lúcio, I was delighted to hear omnicode on your most EP.

Lúcio: I've been listening to DJ Moog Phatty for a long time, it was an honor to finally collab with her!

Zenyatta: Indeed, and the lyrics leave quite an impression...

Lúcio: *short laugh* Uh, what do you mean? What lyrics?

Zenyatta: ...do you not know what she was saying?

Lúcio: I thought it was just, like... feedback beatboxing?

Zenyatta: *clearly embarrassed now* Oh... oh my....

Lúcio: Wait, what's she saying on the track!?

----

Mei: ...so if we have a liter of water and a liter of ice...

Zarya: *slowly* The water will weigh more... because... it is denser?

Mei: Right! The hydrogen bonds between the H20 molecules in a solid form create a larger space between them in a hexagonal formation! That's why ice floats, and that's also why snowflakes all have six sides or points! *pause* Sorry, I forgot what your original question was.

Zarya: ...I, too, have forgotten.

Mei: Sorry, sometimes I get excited and--uhm...

Zarya: It is fine. I like hearing you talk.

----

[If Symmetra has her Gardener skin equipped]

Pharah: Didn't take you for the type to get her hands dirty~.

Symmetra: You'll find I'm capable of many things.

---

Ana: I shouldn't be nanoboosting you all the time, Reinhardt. I don't know if your heart can take it.

Reinhardt: Ana, the one thing my heart couldn't take, is you nano-boosting another.

Ana: *scoff* Melodramatic old fool...

----

[During setup on Eichenwalde if Genji has his royal guard skin equipped and Mercy has her witch or mage skin equipped]

Genji: Be on the lookout, ma'am. There have been reports of fell witchcraft in the area. Evil sorcerers could be anywhere...

Mercy: Oh my! I'm so glad I have a strapping kingdom guard to protect me!

[seud-luachmhor]

Nice to wake up to see so many red hexagons and so many tories names crossed off the bingo sheet. Even if I'm not sure how well Labour being the majoirty party will go this side of the border, as least the tories have been kept at bay. (I may or may not have cheered when Douglas Ross lost. 🥳 Joanna Cherry losing her seat was the only SNP loss I was happy to see, too)

Still waiting to hear from D&G and whatevers happened with the count that's been called a "shambles". Dumfries & Galloway sitting at 58.5% and Dumfriesshire at 61.7% for turnouts, so wonder if it's been a close call and that's triggered a recount? Exciting times if the tories have lost their grip, though would make sense, would say the demographic in the area has changed in the last few years.

Looking across the water, Sinn Féin taking the majority is another win. Maybe star trek tng was right about the Irish unification of 2024. 🤔

[rjalker]

I don't speak Italian :(

Translation by @el-the-cell:

Yesterday the Great Circle came to inspect the State Prison for his seventh yearly visit, asking me for the seventh time:

"The prisoner insist on supporting his absurd lie?" "You know very well that you are tall, as well as long and wide." "Lie! Measure my height, then, I shall believe you!"

It's been seven years, and I'm still in prison, but I keep existing, in the hope that these memories of mine could let a class of rebels arise, that refuse to live in a limited dimensionality, which for the clarity of you, inhabitants of space, I will call "flatland".

Credits shown:

FLATLAND from the fantasy novel of many dimensions by Edwin A. Abbot Film-making by Michele Emmer

Imagine a vast sheet of paper on the surface of which shadows with luminous contours move without being able to lift or dip. Straight lines, triangles, squares, hexagons and other geometrical shapes. This way you will have a correct enough idea of my country and of my compatriots. However we are not able to see anything of all that. Nothing is visible for us, except straight lines. I shall demonstrate why right away.

Let's take an equilateral triangle. If you, inhabitants of space sink your eye to the level on which it lays, it will, bit by bit, cease to appear as a shape, to appear as a straight line. Well, that is exactly what we see in Flatland when an acquaintance approaches us.

"Good morning, my dear!" "It's a pleasure to see you again!" "Is everyone doing well?" "Please give my regards to your lady!" "Goodbye!"

-How do you recognise each other?- You will ask. I shall take my time to answer you later.

Allow me to talk about the climate and the accommodations in my country. As with you, so with us there are four cardinal points: north, south, east and west. Since there isn't a sun, or other celestial bodies, it is for us impossible to determine which way the north is with the usual method. We od have our own system, though. Here, a natural law dictates that there shall be a constant attraction towards the south. And this attraction constitutes our compass. In the cities we are guided by the houses, of which the roofs are always pointing towards the north, to protect us from rainfall. The rain further helps with orientation, as it alway comes from the north. In the countryside, where there are no houses, the trees can serve as a guide, with the points always facing north. But if you happen, like it happened to me, to walk on a perfectly deserted plain, you'll be forced to stay still for hours, waiting for rain.

But let us go back to the problem of inhabitants. The inhabitants of Flatland. Our women are straight lines. Soldiers and workmen, which are our inferior classes, are isosceles triangles. Our bourgeoisie consists of equilaterals, namely triangles with equal sides. Our professionals and gentlemen are squares (class to which I, myself, belong to), and five sided shapes. Immediately above that comes aristocracy, that begins with six-sided shapes and goes on until the many-sided ones, awarded with the honorary title of "polygonal". When the number of sides becomes so great, and the size of the sides so small, a shape becomes indistinguishable from a circle. That is how you become part of the sacerdotal order, or the order of circulars: the uppermost class. In our social order, a natural law dictates that the male son shall have one more side than the father, thus climbing the ladder of nobility. This way the son of a square is a pentagon, the son of a pentagon is a hexagon, and so on. It is not that way for soldiers and workers. The son of an isosceles will always be an isosceles. I remember one time when two isosceles parents brought an equilateral into the world. It was reason to celebrate for hundreds of metres! But the newborn, recognised as "regular", was immediately taken from the despairing parents. An equilateral without offspring was summoned by the congress of the Great Circles.

"Equilateral bachelor, at your command" "You shall adopt the newborn equilateral!"

Held under oath, the new father pledged to never allow the adopted child to see his parents ever again. He now belonged to a superior class.

(Isosceles triangles gather in a house)

"We no longer accept abuses!" "Let's bring down the unjust laws!" "No one will be able to stop us!"

The acute-angled hoi polloi managed, in some to their seditions, to find leaders capable of making the Wisdom of the Circles their superior strength and numerical advantage.

"Isosceles! United, we will win!"

But the polygons manage almost always manage to stifle the sedition in the bud.

"We need to convince the leaders of the uprising to accept to partake in a discussion." "I'll tell the medics to stand ready."

The isosceles, leader of the rebels, is induced into entering one of the State Hospitals, to undergo an accurate medical examination.

(Hexagonal medic, in a German accent:)

"How is an artificial expansion possible? Thanks to a perfect surgery, the isosceles - made regular and innocuous - is thus allowed to become part of the privileged classes."

This way, the hapless mob of isosceles, deprived of their leadership, will let themselves be stabbed by a small group of their brethren, hired by the Great Circle and kept ready in the State Forts, in case of emergency.

"Soldiers, the fatherland calls!" "Ready for inspection! Present, arms! Attention! Right face! Forward March! Present, arms! Forward March!"

"Fire! Fire!"

"Fire! Fire! Fire! Wipe 'em all out! Exterminate them!"

"Fire! Fire!"

In our annals there are no less than 120 revolutions. And they all ended like this.

Some very important figures in Flatland are women. Being straight lines, They are basically invisible for us, inhabitants of the two dimensional world. A law forces them to constantly move their back part, so that we, flat beings, can see them when they arrive. Their character is ever-changing, and they get angry very easily. Since their end part is very sharp, it is not advisable to start a discussion with them in the streets.

"Please, do give way. I am in a hurry. Move aside!" "Actually, I am as well. And I arrived before you." "I'm not in the mood to waste time. Move!" "My lady, you offend me. I don't understand." "My patience has a limit!" line stabs isosceles triangle

As we have well understood, being touched by a furious woman can be very dangerous in Flatland. When we notice a woman passing through the street, we, the men, are all very careful not to cross her, or make her nervous. Our women's changing nature often causes real family tragedies. It's not rare that a woman gone crazy will exterminate her whole family, husband and children first.

"Enough, I'm sick of being at your services! I want to leave, I want my own freedom!"

An insane woman that wanders through the city immediately results in the intervention of soldiers, who are forced to eliminate her.

"Enough, go away! Stop! I'm sick of this!" "Let's get away, quick! She's dangerous." "Halt! That's enough."

Women are not a joke. Despite this, our supreme rulers, the Circles, are profoundly attracted to women. Especially the most beautiful and corrupted ones.

"Did you see that Let's follow them."

Dancing is one of the most beloved activities by circles, and all the people of flatland. And without women, what kind of dancing would it be?

A very delicate geometric problem for us, inhabitants of the flat world, a problem that inhabitants of space don't even imagine, is how to recognise each other in the street. One method consists of going around the other shape, touching gently side against side, in order to understand what shape we have encountered. We must be very careful. A brusque movement - a simple touching of the edge - can cause immediate death. But what I the reason for our problem? It's an issue of plane geometry. If I, a square, encounter another geometric shape, I'll see (as opposed to you, inhabitants of space) nothing but lines. It can be very difficult to distinguish who I have in front of me, based on what I see. I could even fail to recognise a woman.

Another big problem in my country are irregulars: geometrical shapes with unequal sides. They have difficult relationships with everyone. They can't get a job. Nobody wants anything to do with them. Even their parents don't want them.

"Just leave." "We've had enough of the problems you cause us."

Thus, the irregulars vent their anger of excluded and different on whoever first happens to be in range, causing the intervention of soldiers, who are only waiting for an excuse to intervene.

"He's dangerous! Eliminate him! Immediately!"

There is no doubt that the irregulars live very unhappy lives in flatland. But we, on the other hand, must defend our geometric regularity. Does something similar, if I may say so, not happen in your spacial world?

Years ago the fashion of colouring your sides spread in our world. Everyone competed to show off the most dazzling colours. Even the soldiers put on their dress uniforms.

The time has come that I, the square, protagonist of this tale, explain why I am in prison, where I receive the periodic visits of the Great Circle, where he invariably asks me:

"Do you still insist on your absurd lies?" "I cannot do otherwise. You know it well." "Then you shall remain in prison." "I will retain the memory of what I had the occasion to see."

And what I lived through, was the greatest adventure of my life. It began inside my house, where I live with my three sons - pentagons - (According to the law of flatland, children have one side more than their parents) with the servants - triangles of various shapes - with my wife and my son, some of the servants and two grandsons (hexagons, obviously). Then, one night, I was coming home from a tiring day. As usual, I was welcomed by my wife, and by one of my grandsons, who was drawn to geometry.

"Grandpa, you taught me that in our world length and width exist: the directions in which anything expands. Therefore if I want to calculate the surface area of a square, with a side length of, let's say, three, you'll need exactly nine little squares of unitary length. The area is three squared, which equals nine. Then why couldn't you give a meaning to the expression 'three to the power of three'?"

"Oh, nonsense! Go to sleep, I'm tired."

And I retreated to my room. I could not have predicted that I would be so soon and so spectacularly proven wrong. In the middle of the night I was woken, together with my wife, from a loud noise. I ordered my wife to return to her room. The loud noise announced the visit, dream or reality, of a being that I have since then considered sacred: the divine sphere.

The sphere. Only later I understood what it was. It had descended to visit my world. To visit us, beings unworthy and incapable of contemplating it. Obviously, I couldn't understand or see that I had a three-dimensional object in front of me, which showed on the plane of my world, what you would call a section of its shape. I did not understand it until the sphere decided to let me rise with it into space as you know it. Since that moment, I have seen things that I can not even begin to describe, for my word is unsuitable. And taken by the thrill of space, I threw myself into the analogy. But if really three dimensional objects do exist, why not think about not only about three to the third, but also about three to the fourth, why not see the cube - yes, it is divine - but in four dimensions? And seeing the sphere as well, in four dimensions? Even though I am now in prison, where I will remain forever, for trying to convince my too unworthy compatriots of the existence of space, I thank the divine sphere, that allowed me to see, or maybe dream, for a moment, the wonders of infinite space.

[thessalian]

Thess vs The Demos Strike Back

I find myself at liberty tonight and all of a sudden I have downloaded twenty new demos, plus the couple I still had left. Hopefully I'm not boring anybody. Just ... I like celebrating indie games in my own small way. The AAA games with the huge-ass budgets can take care of themselves. I will give the indie stuff the attention I feel they deserve - well, as best as I can, anyway. Sure, a lot of it is puzzle games etc, but c'mon - they're not as exciting as big flashy ARPGs or shooters, but we don't always want that! So here we go (with a break for a trip to the shops and a bath).

Tiny Tales: Hidden Object - Not much to write home about, and honestly more of a "find the difference" puzzle game than hidden object exactly, so it feels a little disingenuous, but it does more or less what it sets out to do. It's definitely worth looking at if you like that sort of thing. I'm personally more straight-up hidden object or messing-with-the-set-dressing puzzle games than find the difference, though.

Blood Bar Tycoon - bar management simulator, but with vampires. Low-priority, but still a little more interesting, particularly considering extra mechanics like ... well, frankly getting your vampire minions to feed on human customers so they don't starve to death.

PrimRows - it's kind of a sudoku thing, with a few extra rules and mechanics, and flowers instead of numbers. Randomised flowers, so it's not so much as getting the board perfect, but getting as many points as possible. Interesting, at least.

Mushroom Picnic Party - if I get sick of cats? Mushroom hidden object! It's cute, and I like it. Honestly, I kind of like those ones that are just "FIND THE THINGS" more than I do the ones that try to have a story. If I want a hidden object game, I really just want to find objects, y'know?

6-Sided Stories - Meh. It's kind of a puzzle game, but a little overly simplistic ... at least in the demo. It'll go lower on the list until I can find out whether there's more than just "flip whatever hexagons need flipping".

Fix This House - Sort of a puzzle game, sort of a house-builder. Like, very simplistic house-builder. You get pieces of a house and have to figure out how they go together. Controls are a little iffy in terms of camera settings, but something that probably belongs in a mid-position "maybe" on my list.

CraftCraft: Fantasy Merchant Simulator - This one's a merchant / crafting sim that really focuses on the crafting element. There's a lot of moving parts and mechanical tweaking, rather than just Click The Thing To Create. Which is a good thing sometimes, but not going to be a Forever Zen game, really. Still makes the list; it's amusing and interestingly, probable-hyperfocus fiddly. Though I might change my mind if they keep hiding the Quit key. (Also the dev has made a few more games and they all have demos, so playing demos is getting me more demos.)

Critter Cafe - Okay, this is another one that when the demo ended, I went, "Wait nooooooooo!" This one is another cafe simulator time management game, with puzzles and exploration and decorating and creature collector with some interesting Zen-platformer mechanics. And the character creator is adorable. I want this one.

That's probably enough for one day / evening. More tomorrow. For now, tidy up the wish list again, and start to wind it down for the night. I feel a little better, but that might have to do with having used my air fryer for the first time. It's a good one, though I will want a larger one when I have more kitchen.

[milkywaygg]

The Cosmas REVAMP (Chapter 2)

After saying goodbye to Nora, desperate to leave her alone to stay on her good side, Linnie left the building as he dug around in his pants pocket, feeling his heart drop slightly as the normally sitting bottle spray was not there. Once he had left the building, Linnie turned and hid in the corner of the building to take his phone out of his bag, shuffling the many textbooks that he had brought with him. Turning it on, he clicked on his twin sister, Daisy’s, contact information and sent her a message, hoping that he wasn’t too late.

Daisy? Are you still awake?

Nah. Just cramming for this stupid history test tomorrow. Why?

You wouldn’t mind picking me up, would you? I really don’t think I should fly home by myself. I left my pepperspray at home.

You don’t have your wand on you? Can’t you teleport home?

I don’t have my license yet. I have to re-take the test remember?

Right right. Yea, gimmie a min to find my wand. I’d take the car but mom and dad are asleep, hence why they didn’t blow up ur phone given how late it is lol.

I know I know. I’m sorry. I just lost track of time and…I met someone.

Oooo you don’t say? I’ll be there in 2 mins, then you’ve got some tea to spill, Mister!

Laughing slightly, Linnie kept himself hidden as he shoved the few books that he had pulled out back in his bag, careful not to let any of them smash his wand. He sighed somewhat disappointedly at his wand as his mind replayed all the failed practical exams he had faced, due to being somewhat magically inferior to most of the student population. While Daisy was able to teleport on her first try on exam day, Linnie hadn’t managed at all, and when given a second chance, he teleported with an arm and a leg missing, literally. He also remembered what happened earlier that day during class, where the baby had shrunk him accidentally, and he was left squealing in the corner until his teacher had helped him. With every lesson, Linnie felt a wave of laughter overwhelm him as he failed every spell and counter spell, despite knowing everything in theory. He knew the wand movements, he knew the correct incantations, but somehow..it never turned out in his favor.

Catching him off guard, a loud POOF suddenly appeared in front of him, forcing Linnie to clutch his chest and fall backwards. Daisy, a tall girl with shoulder-length green hair and hexagon shaped glasses behind her pastel green eyes, smirked slightly as she helped her brother out.

“You just can’t stay outta trouble, can you?”, she said jokingly, “What are you doing back here? I expected you near the front door or something.”

‘I-I-I just didn’t want anyone to see me, and try to rob me. I-I forgot my stuff back at the house.”

“Rob us? Shit, if they robbed us, I would have been like, wait? We got money?”, Daisy laughed, grabbing his wand out as she grabbed Linnie’s arm, “Now come on. Wouldn’t want to keep mom and dad worried.”

Linnie felt as if his body were being crushed as Daisy teleported him and herself back towards their bedrooms, split into two different sides. Both sides had a desk for school stuff against the lime green walls, and Daisy’s laptop illuminated her agricultural studies and history textbooks that were lied around, alongside papers and pens. The twins’ beds stood next to each other in the middle of the room, while a single lamp shined in the corner. Linnie tossed his backpack onto his bed and took a seat on the desk, resting his arm a bit as Daisy smiled at him.

“Sooo…you gonna tell me about this mystery woman?”, Daisy pried, making Linnie squirm slightly.

“Well, it wasn’t a date or anything. She just looked so sad and I thought maybe she wanted someone to talk to.”

“Uh huh…”, Daisy said, urging Linnie to go into more detail. “What’s she look like? She got a name.”

“She had this curly, cyan hair and was wearing a letterman jacket, kind of like how all the football players wear?”, Linnie started to explain, but grew worried as Daisy’s smile started to fade, “What? What’s the matter?”

“Not Nora Cosma.”

“Um…yes..her. Why?”

“Linnie, lemme ask you something.”, Daisy asked, rubbing her temples slightly. Of all the people he could have interacted with tonight, he chose her?! “Do you know her well?”

“Not really. I mean, we do have AP Literature together, and occasionally I’ll watch her play before we go perform with the band for half time. Why?”

“Ehhh…I think you should be careful around her, Lin.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Well…she’s not exactly student of the year, if you catch my drift.”, Daisy shrugged, re-counting the last few interactions with Nora. “You know how I was late to first period this morning? That bitch shoved me in the locker in the men’s room, and everyone thought I was some sort of pervert. Thanks to her, I’ve got detention for the next two weeks. Thank the stars I didn’t get suspended.”

“Did mom and dad get upset at you?”

“They did until I told them what happened. Mom’s gonna make a call to the school in the morning about it.”, Daisy sighed, “But anyways, I don’t think Nora’s the type of person you want to be associated with.”

“Oh dear. I wish I would have know all that happened to you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you fault. Just please..”, Daisy pleaded, “If you do get involved with her, please please be careful. I don’t think she’s going to treat you right if you do get with her. I mean, you saw what she did to me, and I’ve overheard her a million times about how weak she thinks men are, so..”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I think she’s taken already.”, Linnie shrugged, “She was on her phone most of the time I was there and looked like she was texting someone, so I’m not sure. I-I wasn’t going to get with her or anything, but I just wanted to make sure she as doing ok.”

“Damn Linnie, you’re a better person than me. If that were me, I’d have let her suffer.”, Daisy said, “Anyways, I gotta get back to my studying. Let me know if the light disturbs you.”

“Really quick, Daisy? Can I ask you a question?”, Linnie asked softly, shuffling in his seat. Daisy nodded. “Do you um…think I’m stupid?”

“What? No! Why would you ask that? Are you crazy?”, Daisy asked, the question sending her into shocked, “Why? Did she call you stupid. Why I outta-“

“No no no! Please! She didn’t say anything to me, I promise!”, Linnie said, his voice getting somewhat high pitched, “No. It’s just…I’ve been thinking about all those practical tests that I keep messing up and today I had a bit of an accident in class.”

“What happened?”

“Well, you know that daycare class I keep asking you to join me in…Dina, that baby that I mentor, accidentally got a hold of Mr. Langston’s wand today and shrunk me with it, and well, you know I’m still struggling to transform correctly, so I had to try not to get eaten by this giant cockroach while the rest of the class searched for the wand.”

“Ooo ouch! Are you ok? Did she hurt you?”

“Not on purpose. The poor dear. She felt so bad and didn’t know what she was doing.”

“Yikes. See, that’s why I prefer pets over babies and children. They can’t use wands like we can.”

“Well I know, but I don’t know. I love cats and dogs but taking care of children just makes me feel extra warm inside. I don’t know. Just…I’m not mad at Dina or anything. It was just an accident after all. It’s just..sometimes I think I’m too dependent on other people to come and send me. I’m just wondering if I’m stupid or weak.”

“Ha! You’re not stupid or weak by any means! Hell, you always make the best grades in history and literature, since you aren’t waving a magic wand or anything. You’re crazy good at theories and stuff, and it takes an incredibly amount of patience to babysit and care for those children they way you do and never ask in return.”, Daisy said, smiling at Linnie, who seemed to perk up a little bit, “Just..the practical part of school just takes time to develop, and everyone develops at a different speed. Some people are born incredibly powerful while others have to wait a while longer. You’re so patient with everyone else, but sometimes, I think you forget to be patient with yourself.”

“I know, but it’s so much easier said that done. I really don’t know how you do it, Daisy.”

“Just takes time. Just know that if you need help, I’ve got your back, and I’m not gonna let anyone mess with you..ever. Now, you should probably get some sleep. We gotta be up bright and early for this stupid test.” Linnie smiled at his sister thankfully as he moved his backpack from the bed to his desk chair, before changing into his pajamas and settling into bed, scrolling mindlessly on his phone before eventually zonking out, tuning out his sister’s typing on her computer. Though he still tossed and turned as he continued to think about everything that had happened at school and the coffee shop, he eventually let his sister’s words soothe him through the night, lucky that he was born a twin.

[ghostfan3]

As I am currently in the process of writing my final exams. So I did have a bit of the time off to relax before them so I finished writing story about sparring sessions between Willow and Tublades. I indicated when the new part of story starts so older part can be skip.

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Here is a link to post that started this:

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Tublades powerful attack was stop at last moment by barrier of blue hexagons. Dispite Arthur using "King's Shield" to block opening attack, Willow was still push a bit back by sheer force of the charge. She quickly recovered to block incoming blitz of slashes. White hair girl keep more defensive stance and block attack with the shield and parry the other attacks with Arthur's blade. She waited for small opening and when it happened, she hit Tublades in the head with the shield. The knight stumbled backwards stunned. Willow used it to put distance between them again as she jump back.

The Pokémon and trainer circle around eachother, each watching the other waiting to saw who takes the initiative.

Willow have to admit Tublades was not only super strong but also astonishingly train. She could feel her hand pulls in pain. Each time the tall knight strike, recoil of the attack would be feel in her arm, mostly her wrist. Aegislash hands start to glow in purple colour that soon transferred to girls hand. Swords eye look at its trainer, as she nodded in gratitude. It was true that Aegislash could suck the live energy from person who hold it, but also share it with one it find worthy. Soon the numbing pain stopped. Ofcourse fighting with pokémon was much different from using normal swords but have many perks if someone know what to do.

Soon Tublades got impatient and charge again. But this time ghost specialist had a plan. She swing Arthur in horizontal line sending a wave of purple energy from night slash under Ceruledge legs, making the hunter stumble. Using this opportunity Willow charges forward and with all her strength rams her shield into Tublades hoping it's enough to push him to the ground.

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This was successful maneuver as Tublades falls to the ground. Before he could shake off the shock from the impact, Willow was already standing there keeping sword to his neck. Unfortunately white hair girl undermine just how strong the tall knight really was. Swiftly Tublades sweep her feet from under her. Purple eye girl fall to the ground with thud. In last moment Willow manage to block incoming blade as she now struggle to shove pokémon off her. A purple glow in her hand return as Arthur share his energy again. With new found strength she manage to push the fiery sword a bit, before she used her shield to block second attack. Tublades was trying to put one of his swords to her neck to make her surrender. He again hit the shield hard hoping that recoil will forced it out of girl's hand. In moment this struggle took place between the two, Willow let go of the Arthur. The Aegislash float unnoticed into a position on the side. Before hunter could noticed this it was too late. As ghostly sword already charge his attack.

-"Flash Cannon now!"- tall knight was knock out of the ghost specialist by powerful beam of light.

Willow used this moment to quickly get up. Arthur quickly return to her hand. She tightly grip the hilt of her pokémon ,as he wrapped his ribbon like arms around her hand. Tublades needed a moment to shake off the effect of "Flash Cannon". He was breathing heavily, so was Willow as they once again assumed battle positions and stared to circle eachother.

The purple eye girl didn't take her eyes off opposite Ceruledge. He was strong, really strong. She will need a good plan to win and she better thing of the one quickly.

She dodge once again Tublades charge. Only this time she was to slow, as pain erupted from her side. She looked down only to see torn up clothes and scarlet red mark inside them. Good thing was that temperature of the knight's blades imidiatly close off the wound. Still it hurt like hell. She was given no time to recover, as using this opportunity Ceruledge attack again. This time slicing her arm. Arthur seeing this turn of events used "King's Shield" to give his trainer time to reclaim her composure.

As the blue barrier faded, ghost specialist was ready to give her all. Her mobility and strength was greatly reduced by the receive wounds. She was also getting noticeable tired. But she could also tell that fiery knight was also stumbling with his steps. With knowledge that neither of them could go much longer, she decided to put everything on the line with this final plan. White hair girl run straight at tall Ceruledge. She throw her arm to the side letting Arthur move freely. Willow ram her opponent with the shield, as Aegislash was attacking with his blade. Now Tublades needed to defend himself against two opponents at one.

-"Shadow claw!"-Arthur's blade got enveloped in dark purple energy before forming sword with sharp claws resembling a hand at the end. The ghostly sword used it to greatly damage Ceruledge. Using this distraction Willow with all her strengt hit the knight in the head. Shield connect whit hearable clank.Tublades stumble back before counterattacking the girl using his flames to push her back. What followed was an exchange of blows. With her shield Willow manage to chip at Tublades Armor leaving few cracks. While Tublades swords slashed, cut and burned the girl. Exploiting her weakened state hunter manage to slash Willow's cheek before pushing her to the ground. Ghost specialist looked at looming figure.

-"Let's end this.... Arthur discharge fully charged Flash Cannon!"- What Tublades didn't know was that while he and Willow exchange the blows, Arthur fly above him and was gathering energy to unleash powerful beam attack.

Rampart as well Willow's other pokémons who watch on the side, needed to look away though to powerful light that was emitted when Flash Canno got unleashed. After few moments everything went back to normal. Tublades was laying on the ground, the heat of the blast left some parts of his armour steaming. Spirals in his eyes show that he fainted. Willow groaned in victory before flipping back to the ground. She giggle uncontrollable as all the adrenaline got drained from her. It was a good match. With help from the Warden she slowly got up. While Rampart was helping his brother to stand back up too. She nodded in thanks to alpha pokémon.

-"It was good match, you are really strong opponent Tublades. I bet if you took this seriously and used all your strength I wouldn't be able to win.... I think I wait up with challenging any of you further....."-she hissed quietly when wound on her side flare up. She held out her hand for a shake. Tublades meet her hand with now retracted sword. Both of them noded in acknowledgement of eachother strength.-"Let's get patch up and eat something...my treat..."

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

Willow definitely wouldn't have won if Tublades was taking this seriously and didn't hold back. But I imagine he wouldn't try to kill his friend in sparring session 😅

Yeah I'm not good at writing fight scenes but I tried my best. I'm also not familiar with MHS game or mechanics in it, so I wrote Tublades attacks as more general ones. Still I hope it was good.

@skylertheminish I hope you content with way I wrote your boy. I tried my best so I hope you liked it.

[grumpygreenwitch]

Machina Ex Machina 25-26

As always, if you enjoy the writing, please like and reblog. There’s no algorithms here; my publicity is you. And if you’d like to buy me a Ko-fi, I certainly won’t complain.

1+2 - 3+3.5 - 4+5 - 6+.6.5 - 7+8 - 8.5+9 - 10+11 - 12+13 - 13.5+14 - 15+16 - 17+17.5 - 18+18.5 - 19+20 - 21+22 - 22.5+23+24 - 25+26 - 27-28 - 29.29.5 - 30+31 - 32+33 - 34+35 - 36+37 - 38+39 - 40+41 - 42+ AO3 Link

TWENTY FIVE

The virus looked up, at the immense black and red doom above it. It hung between its head and the sky like a great bloody blade waiting to come down. It was a threat, and the virus would not abide threats to itself.

And yet…

There was no denying the predatory beauty of it. In looking upon it, back at Parnassus, the virus had felt something new. Until that moment it had known only direction, the single-minded pursuit of its goals: to perfect its body. To safeguard its mind.

To grow.

It had known only anger at being balked, and satisfaction when it was not. But in looking at the immense carrier it had known a sort of potential feeling, something that wasn’t, yet, but could be.

Fear.

Could the carrier destroy it? No. It knew itself nearly indestructible, by its very nature.

Could the vast ship harm it? Yes. Very nearly permanently too. Which made the last point all the more worrisome.

Could it stop it from achieving its goals? Yes. And it could, in theory, do so indefinitely.

But a machine is only as powerful as the mind that moves the hands that drive it. If the virus could get to the carrier, those minds would be within its reach. Reach, however, was a problem. The jets could reach it, but were too small. The largest flying vehicle it had, the engine of a solar sailer, was just barely big enough to survive approach, though it was neither armed nor armored. It was also woefully dependent on its data-line: it could go only where it was taken.

The absolute largest vehicle it had couldn’t fly. It had briefly considered changing its nature, but it had been unable to. That had been an unpleasant surprise; always before, from somewhere inside its many-faceted mind, a source had found ways to shape and reshape the world around it to suit its needs. But that source was growing increasingly unreliable and fractious.

Which left the virus knowing that the sea freighter could be altered to fly, it just didn’t know how. Anger simmered in every voxel of its being – at itself, at the unreal world all around it. If it wasn’t real to begin with, why couldn’t it just do as it was told!

Ilo had, once again, provided a solution. What a lovely place that graveyard was, its gifts neverending.

The virus rose into the night on soundless antigravity equations. All power, all circuitry, was dark. All around it, its creatures carried hexagonal pieces of flickering, flexible material to cover themselves and the telltale glow of their circuitry. The only power currently running through the hulk was beneath, powering the massive antigravity engines that had once been part of so very many to keep the Island afloat.

Its mind remained partially open, listening in, but even though it was learning to sift through many voices all speaking at the same time, the communication traffic coming from the carrier was astonishingly complex. Still, it could hear no alarms going on, no telltale shouts or commands on the lines, nothing out of the ordinary.

The derelict hulk rose closer.

What a beautiful ship the carrier was, the virus thought. How useful it would be. It wanted to touch the smooth black belly of it, to feel it change. To see the red become yellow, to bask in its obedience -

Energy erupted from the belly of the carrier, a hailstorm of shots nearly perfectly synchronized that slammed into the side of the derelict. It staggered sideways and tipped just enough that several simulacra, lining up the edges of the deck, slid right off it and went tumbling into the dark, their perspectives swirling madly into the virus’ awareness.

It dismissed them at once, turning its attention fully to the counter-ambush, which also sent it stumbling. A long, broad opening ran along the bottom of the carrier. The piecemeal knowledge of all the shattered disks within it called it a docking channel – for things to dock with the carrier, not for the carrier itself to dock. Alongside this vast breach in the carrier’s structure there were no weapons, no defenses; normally it was protected by lightjets, but those had to see an enemy coming to deploy, and the virus had been ever so careful not to be seen.

Not careful enough, it realized. Along the lowest deck, flush against the docking channel, a row of tanks had pushed forward as far as they could come. Between their reckless driving and the fact that, like most tanks, they had a massive empty hollow between the front of their treads, they’d been able to drop their guns nearly to the quarter-angle mark. One shot found its range, and several infected programs flew through the air, derezzing as they fell.

The virus hissed in frustration and fury, but it quickly reconsidered its priorities as it nearly fell, the massive antigravity engines shuddering. More tanks were finding their range, aided by that first successful shot. Simulacra and infected programs kept sliding off the jagged edges of the derelict chunk.

The virus spread its lower body over the deck and sent swift mental commands to its creatures. The debris they’d been carrying was rushed to the side under attack and layered against the shots; it was a poor defense, but it only needed to work so long. The immense antigravity engines began to pick up speed. Astonishingly, some of the shots began to rebound from the debris, careening wildly back. The carrier being so close, it actually seemed for a moment as if the virus’ make-shift vessel were returning fire.

If the derelict could get close enough, it would absolutely return fire. After a fashion. But until then, it would sacrifice everything, every last simulacra, every infected program, even the giant sector-chunk from the Island, just to buy time. To buy distance.

To get close enough to touch the ship.

TWENTY SIX

“Is that the fucking Island?!” Gungnir shouted, crouched behind one of the tanks that was firing unceasingly on the approaching, broken behemot the virus had used to almost successfully ambush his flagship.

“One of its sectors, at least,” GAM replied. The Sentry was just ahead of him, one shield deployed and covering them both, as well as the Pevirian behind them.

“Don’t you be calm at me right now,” the SysAdmin snapped, though there was no real heat to his tone. “That thing’s the size of my ship and I would like to know how it got past every sensor and defense we’ve got.”

Adas, up at the command center, activated her comms. Gungnir’s communication information was plastered on every screen and console everywhere, and she already had GAM’s. “Fire, you need fire!”

“What?”

“It’s the Island!” she all but yelled at them. “The solar sails from the Island! That’s why energy’s bouncing back, they’re surge-protected! You need fire to melt them or, or something -!”

Gungnir and GAM traded a look. “SysAdmin to Armored Company Three,” Pevir’s SysAdmin commanded. “Switch to cryo shot. SysAdmin to Valravn. Amps, anything?”

“Nothing, sir,” a male voice replied.

Two of the tanks that had already found their range opened fire once again, the energy coming off their main guns dark blue. The shots slammed over the piecemeal armor the infected programs were using as defense, and spread over it in dark blue fractals, crackling along the way. The freezing effect even affected some of the programs, coating their hands and arms in ice.

“Well, this feels just like old times,” Gungnir told GAM with a wry, ferocious little grin as the Pevirian behind him put a small round device in his hand.

“I did not enjoy the old times.” They stood up simultaneously, the Sentry shielding the SysAdmin as Gungnir activated the grenade, wound up, and threw it as hard as he could.

The grenade slammed hard onto the frozen solar sail cells and shattered them. It even shattered a few hands and arms on the way; it bounced a few times, rolled along a bit, and then the magnetics activated and it clamped down onto the broken deck of the virus’ improvised battleship.

The virus turned. Its eyes widened.

The explosion sent waves of infected programs and simulacra flying everywhere, voxels spraying thick through the air, followed by a massive splash of primal matter. The hulking derelict staggered; one end tumbled for a picocycle but the antigravity protocols reengaged after a few stutters.

“You like doing that way too much,” GAM accused him mildly.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Gungnir agreed cheerfully.

The virus screamed, a hundred voices full of wordless fury, most of them coming out of its own throat, the rest from the massed infected programs all around it. It stared up at them and its fury flashed like a wave of energy through the yellow, jagged circuitry of the infected programs, the vast hulk, the virus itself.

Security.

GAM stared down at this relentless, alien enemy and tried to think. How to even tell if he was right? How to find the User that might be buried under all that rage and chaos?

He’d have been derezzed on the spot if Gungnir hadn’t yanked him down to the ground as the SysAdmin flattened himself behind the tank. A construction grappler flew past the spot where GAM had been standing, its five claws open. It rocked one of the tanks, sent another careening back with an immense gouge taken out of its side, and crashed with brutal finality through the deck above them, where its teeth twisted and locked in place.

“Over my derezzed body you do,” Gungnir snarled. A baton was immediately in his hands and he was running for the energy umbilical connecting the grappler to the virus’ make-shift vessel. He leapt; mid-air, he activated the baton into a lightblade, and brought it down onto the cord with all his strength, shattering it. The energy between the grappler and the broken contact point vanished in a burst of sparks; the one between his strike and the derelict lashed about like a whip, but before Gungnir even landed GAM was there, and rather than strike the Pevirian the wild cable crashed against the Sentry’s shield, leaving a huge black welt on it before it lost its momentum and slithered down toward the derelict.

“Very much like old times,” the Sentry told the SysAdmin, entirely unamused.

Gungnir grinned. “Drakkar CommCon,” he called out, “prepare to repel boarders -!”

A simulacra came flying through the space between the two vast ships, and slammed into GAM’s shield, snapping and clawing. The Sentry rocked back half a step, but no further. Before he could counterattack, Gungnir cut the thing in half lengthwise with his blade.

“Literally, I guess,” the SysAdmin declared in disbelief.

A hundred lines began to fly from the derelict; they were utterly random, grappling cables, chains, chunks of tension lines, anything and everything, anchored with whatever had been handy, pointy and heavy. A few had grapplers, and one tank took a direct hit. Its two-program crew leapt out just before the deck under the heavy vehicle completely disintegrated, and it fell through the air and onto the deck of the derelict, crushing programs and simulacra alike.

“No!” GAM shouted. Below them, actinic yellow began to creep over the battered tank almost at once, overwhelming the brilliant crimson lines of it.

A Pevirian program stood up from behind its cover and threw a grenade down. It latched onto the fallen tank – three simulacra lunged for it to try and remove it, but before they could it detonated, taking the tank and all three of them with it, as well as a dozen of the virus’ creatures all around them.

Gunfire derezzed the program the next moment, and a biliously yellow lightjet cut by, shots slamming into the decking, actively trying to send more tanks crashing down. Behind it, two more were banking around, light ribbons trailing behind them to act as shields between the tanks and the virus’ horde.

“There they are! Valravn!”

“We see them, sir.” Nine programs were suddenly revealed from their ambush spots, stuck to the underside of the Drakkar with gloves designed specially for that purpose. They leapt even as their cloaking dropped and the brilliant crimson of their circuitry was revealed, and a moment later activated their batons. Their lightjets were heavily customized, curves sharpened to lethal edges, angles to deadly points; before the virus’ lightjet had even finished its first pass it was taking fire from three different angles, and derezzed spectacularly. The Valravn twisted around and set off in pursuit even as their two remaining prey struggled to escape.

The fighting in the lower deck, however, was growing chaotic. It wasn’t just that some of the boarding cables were nigh-impossible to cut, like the tension cables, but that the virus has quickly realized that with them anchored it already had reach; it wasn’t reach it itself could use, but nothing kept the simulacra from swarming along those slender, fragile tethers and launching themselves at the Pevirian defenders. In ones and twos they were easy enough to fend off, but when five, seven, ten leapt at one program, they became nigh impossible to stop.

“Fort!” Gungnir yelled over the commline.

The Gridborn dropped down from the mid-deck, crushing a simulacra under himself. He was shifting so quickly that it looked like a sheet of liquid metal dancing in mid-air, uninhibited by things like gravity or density. He became impossibly thin and rolled abruptly to one side, and two chains snapped with claps of thunder, the cut links white-hot as they derezzed. He peeled three simulacra off one program and left them behind in twitching pieces before they caught up to the fact that they’d been derezzed and collapsed into piles of slush. “Ancilia forward!” the Gridborn shouted, turning into a spiral and snatching away two badly wounded programs among the endlessly spinning coils.

Immense shields began to advance, covering the retreat of the Pevirians. They were, in fact, not a single shield but three programs armed with interlocking shields. They moved implacably forward, forcing the simulacra back, giving them no room to attack; from behind the shelter of those shields, disks went flying into the creatures whenever they tried to leap over, or to use the tanks as springboards. Simulacra began to fall over the edge of the docking lane and back onto the derelict.

“Valravn to SysAdmin,” the CO of Pevir’s ambush flight suddenly called out. “They’re down. No further flight forces detected.”

“Good,” Gungnir split his baton. Between the halves, a long handle took shape, half again as long as the SysAdmin was tall, tipped by a gleaming red blade. His voice dropped to a dark, lethal tone. “Amps, I don’t like sharing my airspace.”

“Noted, sir,” the program replied with deep satisfaction. The nine Pevirian lightjets, on approach to the upper deck, banked and dropped instead, falling into a slow aileron roll. In a moment they were below both the Drakkar and the virus’ derelict.

And well within range of the unprotected antigravity engines of the latter.

“PEVIR!” Gungnir shouted, swinging down the spear to point it at the virus and its creatures. “There is GARBAGE on my decks!”

A roar of gleeful fury answered him. Extra hands helped the Ancilia shove the shields forward as if they were so many brooms, sweeping and shoving the simulacra off the deck, back onto the derelict or, in some cases, right out into thin air. The tanks, having realized that their own people were too close for them to risk firing, began to roll back, presenting their sides instead, an abrupt and impregnable blockade. Disks were doing deadly damage to the awkward, misshapen creatures, and their numbers began to dwindle.

[destinysbounty]

HELLO i am in your inbox because your post about ninjago cycles made me drop my phone, ive literally been thinking about this idea forever!

around when i watched s8, i literally started reading the entire show as one big time loop because of all the repetition and cycles in the show. i dont know if that phrasing holds true, but i think the idea itself holds up

i think what really drives the entire cycle of the show is the need for balance. i interpret ninjago the place as created by fsm to be a reflection of his worldviews: dragon vs oni; good vs evil; light vs dark. the fact that the overlord keeps coming back, and his descendants will have to keep fighting him is a part of a larger system put in place (accidentally or purposefully) by fsm. when one person is defeated, a power vaccuum appears that HAS to be filled, usually by a new villain

basically, balance is the mechanism by which all these cycles come to pass. its kind of a law of physics in ninjago, good will always win, but evil can never really lose. everyone has to keep repeating history, personal and global because the world literally will bend itself in order to achieve that balance.

(i hope this makes sense i wrote it very quickly lmao) thank you sooooo much for bringing up cycle symbolism in the show,,,, once you start looking for it its everywhere!

(Here's the cycle post in reference)

Thank you for sending this ask! I apologize for the belated response, but I wanted to wait to respond until I had the chance to get ahold of some screenshots that would be relevant to this discussion. With that out of the way, let's get into the meat of the issue!

First off, you are absolutely right! I think the circle motif represents a few key themes: balance, as you mentioned; recursion; and inheritance. And all of those things, in a way, tie back into the show's interpretation of destiny and the way fate is baked into almost every aspect of the story.

Balance is the most obvious interpretation, of course, and perhaps the most compelling. Like, not just because the circle is by design an incredibly balanced shape, simultaneously having infinite sides yet at the same time only one. But also because there are so many instances of circles appearing in the way in which the balance between light and dark is visually represented within the series - especially with regard to the creation mythology.

(On an unrelated note, I think it's actually kind of a cool detail how the FSM is represented as a grey being - not Oni of darkness, not dragon of light, but something in between. The child of both worlds.)

The world was created by the FSM, and while I can't remember if it was ever outright stated, I think there's enough evidence to at least assume spinjitzu was used alongside the Golden Weapons to create Ninjago (I'm happy to elaborate on this if asked!)

On this note of balance, I also think it's worth noting the attention drawn to the splitting of circles. As seen above, with the creation of the Dark Island, but also with the Battle Between Brothers! Now, I'm definitely overthinking this, but bear with me for a sec.

The Monastery of Spinjitzu is, quite iconically, arguably circular in shape. Well, it's really more of a hexagon, but you get my drift. And the sons of the FSM, each representing light and dark, were friends for a long time. But when Garmadon finally succumbed to the venom's influence and was banished to the Underworld, a crevice was torn into the ground, splitting that circle - and likewise splitting the two brothers in the process.

And again! The Lloyd v Garmadon fight in sesaon 8! Despite loving each other very deeply, they have both been forced into conflict by the forces of destiny time and again. Lloyd knows the drill at this point. "I've saved you once, I'll save you again." The fight itself takes place in a circular structure - the Kryptarium Prison panopticon. Lloyd enters this fight assuming the established cycle of fighting and redeeming his father will be reinforced. But when Lloyd is thrown through the wall, thereby breaking through the prison's circular structure, so too is this cycle broken as well (and with it like half the bones in Lloyd's body as well as his heart).

And of course, we can't forget the most iconic example - when the FSM created the Dark Island, banishing the Overlord and his Stone Army for the protection of the world he created, the circular continent was split in two. The destruction of the circle.

The destruction of the circle is also how the Oni are introduced in Mystake's story - the dragon creates a circle, and the Oni destroys it.

So to recap: a circle is balance, balance is stability and unity, and the dissolution of the circle is the loss of stability.

That in itself is a cycle - creating something, destroying it, creating it again.

Kinda like the show itself, in a constant loop of the world facing ruin and building itself back up again and again. Like how the Overlord can never truly be defeated, dying and coming back like the ebb and flow of the tide. Like the snake eating its own tail, a cycle feeding itself endlessly. Like how a circle has infinite sides.

That's interesting enough as it is, right? Just wait! It goes deeper!

As mentioned before, the FSM arguably created Ninjago to some extent using spinjitzu. Spinjitzu, which is both a martial art and a lifestyle that utilizes circular motion to create a tornado around the user. The quintessential example of the circle motif. Spinjitzu is quite literally the foundation of the show's identity and worldbuilding. This show is, on both a narrative and a meta level, built on the concept of circles. And according to the Core shorts, one of its principle values includes balance.

Which, in the end, boils back to what you were saying about how cycles are a law of reality in Ninjago. I agree!

If I have my lore right and Ninjago was created through spinjitzu in some degree or another, then that means it was created through circular motion. The world was made spinning. The world was made as one big cycle. So to some extent, I do definitely think that good and evil must constantly fight. If the world isn't constantly repeating itself, if this cycle of recursion ever stops, then the world will stop spinning. And what happens when the world stops spinning?

Chaos, as I'm sure you can imagine.

Although, we also have to consider that the Overlord said "there will be peace in the dark". Now, since he is a villain and also the embodiment of darkness itself we should take his words with a grain of salt, but it definitely raises the question of what it would look like if darkness or light truly did prevail over the other, or if such a thing is even possible in the first place. Will there be peace in the dark? Or does the Overlord have an arguably more compelling motivation - that is, as an immortal being incapable of death, locked in an eternal limbo between victory and defeat, he knows that the only way this deathless hell will end is if the balance is destroyed and the universe falls to pieces. Maybe that's what the Overlord means by 'peace in the dark'. That theory has a lot of holes in it, of course, but I'm certainly intrigued by what that would mean for the Overlord's character. This might also hint at the origins of Darkley's, but that's a weird little tinfoil-hat tangent that we're not gonna worry about right now.

Now, I mentioned earlier that there are three main themes that the circle motif draws on: balance, recursion, and inheritance. And those three themes all tie into destiny somehow. So far, we've talked about balance and recursion - how history must keep repeating itself, how the whole world must remain in eternal conflict between light and dark or else the circle will dissolve and chaos will reign. But what about inheritance?

This is the fun part, but also a bit obvious. First, inheritance comes through elemental powers - not only because powers are passed on from person to person, as well as the legacies of those powers, but also because the elements of creation all tie back to the Green Ninja. They all manifest in him, and while the other ninja are capable of wielding those powers independently they all tie back to Lloyd in the end. Like convection cells but instead of circulating wind currents it's magical powers.

And, of course, I'm not the first person to comment on how elemental powers can be seen as a metaphor for generational trauma, and how each character inherits the legacy and loss of prior generations vicariously through their powers. Other people have elaborated on this idea far more eloquently than I ever could. But it's still worth mentioning in this discussion, so here we are.

And!! Then you've got things like the Yin-Yang Eclipse (which, imo, didn't look much like the Yin-Yang symbol at all. It looked more like a funky Z if you ask me). With Yang telling Cole to "close the circle" - the curse of the Airjitzu Temple requires that someone always remain behind as the master of the house. Yang needed Cole to take his place as the temple's new prisoner. He needed Cole to complete the cycle of inheritance. He needed Cole to close the circle.

And that right there is the base essence of this show, isn't it? Closing the circle. Completing the cycle. The sins of the father laid upon the son. History repeating itself. Repetition and recursion.

This all pertains to destiny in ways I hope are quite apparent at this point. The scholars in the Cloud Kingdom write destiny. They choose what happens. They designed the Prophecy of the Green Ninja. Perhaps they're doing all this, perhaps they're putting the ninja through all this trauma and suffering, perhaps they're creating this history and this world to be endlessly recursive, in an effort to maintain the balance and protect the universe from spiraling out of control. Or maybe they're just doing it to get their sick kicks. Who knows? We've only seen the Cloud Kingdom for like one whole episode so at this point who's to say.

But a bit more blatantly to the point, according to Lloyd in 2.12 "Return of the Overlord" the below images show the symbol for destiny. And what do you see??? Circles!!!!!!!! Circles as unity! Circles as balance! And in the latter image, circles represented through colors, which denote their roles in destiny and likewise the powers they inherited from their ancestors! It's circles all the way down!!!!

Oh and before I go, here's some food for thought. The Overlord once said that "destruction comes from the eternal struggle between light and dark." And Oni have the power of destruction. Garmadon, once he's reached his true potential, is powered by conflict. "It's the fight that fuels him." Which does seem to corroborate with what we know about the Overlord himself - as Misako said, "where there is light, there must also be darkness." Conflict creates darkness, and darkness creates conflict, just as light creates shadow.

God, I'm losing my mind over this. Balance is the struggle between light and dark. Destruction is a byproduct of this struggle. Destruction causes darkness. Darkness plays a pivotal role in the existence of the balance. The balance is creating itself. The cycle ultimately cycles back in on its own self. We've come full circle. It's the freakin' ouroboros! The snake eating its own tail! Endless consumption with infinite return! Circular motion causing its own endless perpetuity!! It's a fight you can never truly win but also can't lose, because the existence of conflict creates conflict, and without conflict there cannot be peace! You cannot escape from the cycle because you are the cycle!

So, to conclude:

Thanks again for the ask! <3 God I sure hope this rant made at least a teensy bit of sense.

[insomniamamma]

Ribbons & Wings: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

A/n: I started this on a night of heavy snow followed by blistering cold. I have seen the northern lights, once in Alaska and once in in western New York state. Set between after "Rain" around the same time as "Clean Dirt." I may revise the timeline as I see fit. As with everything else in this AU, this can stand alone. Reader is nicknamed "Artichoke" and "Prickle." Ships and Kings is a game that persists through my Prospect fics,. Cross DND with chess played on a hexagonal board.  As with any game there are house rules that vary. Kevva’s Flick is a highly contested (and some claim illegal) move in Ships and Kings.

Warnings: Language. Anxiety. Food mentions. Mentions of old injuries. Snowball fights?

          "--all ships in northern quadrant be advised boost is not recommended at this time. Hold tight if you are able--next pickup is in 10.25 cycles--"

         "What does that mean?" asks Cee,          "Understood, drop-com, we'll see you on the other side--"          "Ezra, what does that mean?" You hear the rising panic in Cee's voice and reach for the thrower you keep stashed under your bunk.          "There's a storm coming," says Ezra, "Might close our take-off window."          "So we're stranded." Says Cee. She stands and gets in Ezra's face, "You told me this wouldn't happen."          "I can't control the weather, Birdie," says Ezra, "We launch into a blizzard and there's a chance we break up."          "Fuck--"          "How long?" You ask and they both snap their heads around as if they've forgotten you're there, "If we get grounded how long are we here?"          "You heard the man," says Ezra, "10.25 cycles."          "That's two hands," you say, "We can make that. We'll be fucking sick of Bitz-bars  but we've got enough margin."          "What if we boost now? Minimum checks--"          "C'mere," says Ezra, he sits on the edge of his crash couch and Cee takes her place beside him, "You too. Let me show you something." Ezra plops his battered data pad into Cee's waiting hands, she holds it so he can manipulate the touch screen. You hunker behind Cee, peering over her shoulder, hunched in the confines of the pod.          "I'm getting the same info yon freighter's getting from the weather sat, about a sixteenth delayed," says Ezra. He zooms into the northern quadrant where the pod rests near a large, frozen over lake.          "Ooo-oooh," says Cee, face pinched with worry, "That's bad. If that's from a sixteenth ago--"          "Conditions are likely worse by now."          "What are we looking at, Ez?" You ask.          "The lines are wind direction, the color scale is speed. We take off now, our boost curve takes us through the worst of it, right at the point of maximum dynamic pressure."          "That could tumble us."          "Could do worse than that," says Ezra, "Big gust could crumple us like a beer can."          "But if we miss the sling--"          "Artichoke's right," says Ezra, "We've got rations for at least 15. More if we stretch it."          "If worse comes to worse we can do some ice fishing," you say.          "Bleee-arrgh," Cee makes a wretching sound. You were harvesting the spiker fish for their odd, metal-rich navigation organs and you'd cooked one over the camp fire just to see what the meat tasted like. "That was like licking a battery terminal."          "Lick many battery terminals, Little Bird?" Cee laughs.          "Spend enough time in a pod and you'll do just about anything for fun."          "The spiker wasn't that bad," you say. Ezra and Cee look at you with mixed horror and fascination, "I've had worse things in my mouth."          "Didn't need to know that," says Cee.

         We best power down what we don't need, said Ezra, and the three of you began a systems check. Reading off the things you were each responsible for when getting ready to drop or boost. Proximity radar and chute pyro-batts were obvious. Local comms. External lighting. Scrubbers. You sure about the scrubbers? Air's fine, it's just cold, we can reverse the aft vents and draw heat off the RTG baffles.          "We're only talking two hands," you say, "Between the reserve tanks and the scrubbers we should be fine," and Ezra gives you a flat-eyed look that means you've strayed somewhere you're not supposed to be just yet.          "Two hands have a way of becoming more,"says Ezra, "We take what care we can. Clear?"          "Sure. Clear."

         The pod sounds strange half powered down. You don't notice the faint clicks and chirps of the guidance computer until it's offline. In your head you know it'll boot back up just fine, but it still feels deeply wrong having it off. Same with the Baas converter, all the hardware that does the thinking for you. The wind moans through the trees outside, a low warbling wail that resonates through the pod. You and Cee exchange glances. She's got her music player on, but her eyes are big and dark and scared, and you don't like this any more than she does. There's no snow on Falnost but wind is something you understand, driving sand before it that can etch windows, it never happened to any of your livestock, you and your father and brothers were too careful for that, but you'd hear stories about pink skeletons, stripped of flesh but still fresh enough to ooze from their marrow.          "We'll be fine," says Ezra, "We're stable." Eventually you drift into an uneasy sleep. There's nothing else to do.

          "We've definitely missed the window," says Ezra, confirming what you expected, "But we might as well have fun little while we're here, right?" You are barely awake, sipping fake coffee from a pouch.          "Fun?"          "Snow, stupid!" Says Cee, she's already wriggling her way into her thermal gear, "It snowed like crazy overnight! We can bury ourselves in it! We can make a snow fort! Let's go!" You smile, but you feel it curdle, you know what snow is, you've seen vids, and the way Ezra is looking at you you can tell that he knows, he knows you've never seen snow, never felt it for yourself, and you can't look at him. There is so much you don't know. You start suiting up out of habit, thermal gear for a cold world, outer layers for batt-assisted heating--          "Hey," says Ezra, "You okay, Prickle?"          "Sure."          "I know they didn't--"          "Yeah, yeah, we didn't have snow there. We didn't have RAIN there. We'd get a little bit of hard frost come winter but that doesn't count--"          "Easy," says Ezra, "Easy. Cee's just over excited." He nods towards the open hatch now venting your hard-won warmth. Cee's voice comes faint from outside, you guys coming or what? "She hasn't had much chance to play in the snow."          You exit the pod into a new world. The gravelly shores of yesterday are blanketed in white, the branches of the feather-trees droop in low arcs, burdened with snow. You can feel the snow collapse when you step in it, hear it, a small crumping sound beneath your boots, you turn towards Ezra, smiling and something frigid and granular and wet splatters against the nape of your neck, and you whirl, reaching for the thrower your left on the pod and Cee's laughing, her cheeks pink with the cold.          "Gotcha!" She crows and bends down, sinks her hands into the blanket of white. You smile. This might be your first snow but you know mischief when you see it. You scoop up two handfuls of snow and squish them together, noting the give and push-back as it compresses down even as you aim for your crewmate's head. You miss by an Ephrate mile, and her next shot catches you mid-chest. For every shot you land she gets in at least three, and at last you scoop up and armload of snow and start chasing her round the back of a huge feather-tree, and Cee throws up her arms in defense and splutters laughter when you dump it on her.          The two of you pause, laughing and out of breath, Cee's cheeks and nose flaming pink.          "Cee? Artichoke?" Ezra's voice peals out from the pod , "By your silence I am assuming you are up to no good and I will act accordingly."          "He's so goofy," says Cee, and grins at you, "Allies?"          "Yeah. Let's get him." Cee bends and starts making snowballs. Ammo dump, she whispers and you nod. Right.          "Cee? Prickle?" Cee leans around the tree trunk and yells.          "Come and find us old man!"          "Old man," you hear him mutter and Cee giggles. She knows just where to poke and how much pressure to apply, "You think you're so hard to track leaving boot prints in the snow--" Ezra rounds the tree trunk and you paste him, snowballs exploding all over his suit. You try not to aim for his head. Cee has no such compunctions. One of her snowballs catches him right in the face, and he shakes his head, snow caught in his mustache, wipes the snow out of his eyes--          "--Oh," he looks past you and Cee, his eyes wide, white limned, "Oh Kevva what's that?!" You turn your head to the dark undergrowth and there's the whine of a discharged thrower over your head and you barely register Ezra's laugh before you and Cee are buried in a shower of snow from above.

         You splutter and swipe snow out of your eyes, out of the open neck-hole of your suit. Cee shakes her head, a brief, indignant halo of flakes ringing her flushed face. Ezra howls laughter. He's bent double, face red, eyes squinched shut.          "You shoulda seen your faces--" he wheezes.          "That was cheating!" says Cee, "No fair--"          "That was tactics! That was strateegery--" Ezra takes a bad step and overbalances, flails his arm out and falls on his ass in the snow.          "That was Kevva's Flick!" You say and grin. Kevva's Flick is a marginally legal move in Ships and Kings, the kind of thing that will get you stuffed out an airlock if you try it in the wrong company. A badly missed stealth roll followed by a natural sixteen means that your opponent can flick one of your pieces off the board like dislodging and errant piece of lint. The only reason you even know about it is because Ezra pulled it on Cee and they spent the next eighth arguing and wasting precious bandwidth looking up the legality of the move over the drop-net. Cee throws back her head and laughs, bright and clear. Ez crawfishes in the snow and then manages to heave himself upright.          "Hmmm," says Ezra, narrows his eyes, but his dimpled smile gives him away, "I know where you sleep, little bird."          "I know where you sleep too," says Cee, "Call truce?" A hard gust bends the tops of the feather trees, sending snow down in slow whorls, a low moaning sound that makes the nape of your neck prickle.          "We should get back inside," you say, "Wind's gonna pick up."          "Truce," says Ezra, and flashes you a smile, "Let's get on in before our C5 friend freezes solid." You trace your tracks back to the pod, landing struts buried in white, it's uglier angles and dents covered over.          "Oh hey!" Says Cee, "We can make snow angels!" You and Ezra look at each other, but before you can say anything, Cee is stomping out into the wide expanse of unbroken white.          "It's easy, see?" She flops down on her back in the drifted snow and fans her arms and legs.          "We called 'em phoenixes back home," you say, and pull Cee to her feet, careful not to step in the wing shaped marks she's left behind, "Once things settled after a storm we'd draw pictures in the dust."            You take a few steps so you don't mess up Cee's snow angel and flop down yourself. It feels different. Not like the dust that would puff up in your eyes and stick to your skin but the motion is the same, cloud laden sky instead of the screaming bright stars back home. Cee offers her hand and pulls you up.          "Not bad, dirt-farmer," she says, "You do one, Ez.          "If I must." Ezra takes a few steps and drops into the snow like a felled tree, makes his own pattern beside yours and Cee's.          "I'm somewhat lacking in the wing department," says Ezra, "If I'm to be an angel--"          "Hold up," says Cee. She wanders away from Ezra, back towards the dark of the trees and roots around, finds a fallen limb, some feather-needles still clinging to it.          "My ass is getting awfully cold, little bird,"          "Stay still," says Cee, using the branch like a paint brush. "There." She casts the stick aside and offers her hand. She pulls Ezra up and turns him around so he can see her handiwork, a feathered wing traced in the snow, fanning out from the shortened arc at his right side.          "See?"          "Yeah. I see." Ezra pulls Cee against his chest, she stiffens, then lets herself be hugged, her arms creeping around his middle.          "S'okay, Birdie," he murmurs into her hair and you turn away, embarrassed, feeling like you've seen something you shouldn't. The next gust of wind comes with a raft of blown snow, rough and cold against your cheeks. You bend down and draw your name in the snow with an outstretched finger and think of how very far you are from Falnost, the only one in your family to make it up out of the well and see snow.            "Come on in before you freeze," calls Ezra, he stands at the ramp and waves, "The snow'll be here tomorrow." You smile.          "Yeah. I suppose it will."

         "Hey! Hey wake up!" Cee's voice cuts into your dreams, harsh and breathy and urgent and you are reaching for the thrower beneath your crash-couch before your eyes can unstick themselves.          "Whuzzit birdie--" Ezra's sleep befuddled voice murmurs someplace to your left          "Come on!" says Cee, and she's climbing into her gear, green witch-light shines through the pod's small, rounded windows, "You've got to see!" You pull on your thermal gear and follow her out the door and down the ramp, still half asleep.          "What is this?"          "I don't know," says Cee, her hand finds yours and the sky writhes overhead, shivering bands of green like curtains, like incandescent ribbons, dimming and shifting and brightening, columns that ascend into the dark, stars muted behind them. No sound at all, a silent ignition, silver-green edged in red. You feel Ezra fetch up beside you, his hand finding yours.          "What am I looking at, Ez?" He squeezes your fingers.          "It's an aurora," he says, "I think. I've never seen one before. Just vids."          "It's so quiet," you say, your voice dropping to a whisper without even thinking.          "It is," says Ezra. There is no sound at all associated with the shifting columns, the world gone so still that you can hear your crewmates breathing, hear the soft sussurration of your own pulse. You pull your eyes away from the churning sky to look at your friends’ faces, Cee smiles, wide and open, her pale hair frosted green, eyes alight. Ezra's face is a study in naked wonder, and it's like you’re seeing him for the first time, no spacer's charm, no worldly confidence, just him smiling up at the sky. You squeeze their hands and they squeeze back.

[jangofctts]

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one) 

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to. 

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.    

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you— 

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.           

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible. 

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here. 

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction. 

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.” 

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning. 

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.” 

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either… 

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.  

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.  

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow. 

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.  

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are. 

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?” 

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it. 

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”  

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”        

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you. 

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.   

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air. 

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.  

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter. 

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.     

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more. 

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.     

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.” 

Touching. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…   

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow. 

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“ 

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.” 

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.   

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen. 

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor. 

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.” 

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three. 

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand. 

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop. 

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.  

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.   

You scowl. “It’s fine.” 

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose. 

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums. 

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”  

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel. 

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face. 

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.   

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep. 

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.” 

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.  

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin. 

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.    

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.   

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward. 

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.” 

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you. 

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw. 

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers. 

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”   

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not. 

Whatever.       

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare. 

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.    

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need. 

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp. 

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.  

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”  

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.    

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet. 

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides. 

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away. 

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off. 

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.  

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no. 

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head. 

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat.  Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts. 

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter. 

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise. 

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans. 

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world. 

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull  as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.      

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.  

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch