#I decided to swap out the dark blue color with a light blue color to look a bit more in-line with a usual sky themed RM

[stardestroyer81]

The eight robot masters of Mega Man Ultimate are my pride and joy. As evident by their intro posts, plenty of thought went into the conceptualization of each bot, and it was very fun to revisit their initial 2018 designs and sprite them while making a few design tweaks for their big tumblr debut!

However, while I was taking a good look at the sprites I had made of the octet of renegades, I noticed something... I was fairly satisfied with every sprite I had drawn, though I felt as though I could do a lot better with one in particular, both in terms of his sprite and his design as a whole...

Strafe Man, the overconfident high-flyer.

Unlike the other seven members of the Synth Legion, Strafe Man's design had hardly been altered since I first settled on a design for him back in 2018— the most he had ever really gotten was a color change here or there, and I've also found that he's the single most underrated robot master of the eight in spite of proclaiming to be the coolest.

Let's fix that, shall we?

With a flashier winged helmet, bigger wings and a much more arduous arsenal, Strafe Man has officially been done justice! My goal was to give him a more detailed and streamlined design compared to his 2018 counterpart (Which there wasn't inherently anything wrong with, he just looked plain alongside the other SLN units), and I'm certain I succeeded in achieving just that!

If you'd like a bit more insight on Strafe Man's redesign... you know just where to look to find them (Here's a hint; it's just below)! ✨

[californ1asnow]

Call Me Up Again - pt. 2 Mike Schmidt x Reader

Part two of All Too Well Angst!!! So much angst everyone I've decided to turn this into a miniseries, this post being the second part. I'll continue to link chapters as I post them This is also being updated on ao3 (cough cough) No warnings this time 1.9k words

Snowflakes fall silently, coating everything around them in a white dust. The wind blows with a crisp chill, nipping at all the rose-pink noses. It sends shivers down the backs of those who dare be out in this weather. The pumpkins and fake graveyard decor that had once littered every home’s front yard has long since been swapped for tinsel garlands and pine wreaths. 

The Schmidt residence beams with colored string lights and holiday music. A tall, sturdy evergreen sits patiently by the window. Its branches are decorated with years worth of homemade ornaments, ranging in all size and age from both Mike and Abby. The red skirt beneath it falls relatively empty of presents, only donning the few small ones Mike could afford to buy this year. They’re wrapped pathetically in an old birthday paper, the only wrapping Mike could find to reuse. 

Usually, the tree is so full that he’s had to store things in his closet, but that was when you were still a part of their Christmas. Stockings hung happily above the fireplace and a love so innocent it wraps the house in a warm glow. However, it’s void of that feeling now, instead Mike is left to pick up the pieces that you once fit together. Abby doesn’t understand why you don’t come over anymore, or why Mike has been so quiet lately. All she knows is that something went wrong, and now everyone is upset. She’s stopped bringing up your name in conversation when talking to Mike, because it always ends with him withdrawn and retreating to the solidarity of his room. 

That didn’t stop her from drawing you, though. Sometimes she’d sit at her desk, tears collecting in the well of her eyes, and doodle old memories of the three of you. She remembers them being happy, but by the time the crayons were set aside and the picture was finished, it was a glum mess of dark blues and frowning faces. 

After a drawing is finished she’d slip past Mike’s room, quietly tiptoeing out the front door, and make a break for the house across the street. Your house. She’d work fast, her feet carrying her quickly to and fro. It was unclear from her perspective whether you paid attention to what she’d give you, but by the time she slipped a new piece of paper underneath your door, the old one she had gifted you was gone. 

Mike was unaware of it all. 

He had found a new job in town where he could bury all his thoughts. It was working construction for a local contractor, a job that certainly wasn’t ideal but it paid better than what he’d been used to. Unfortunately, it required longer hours and ate up all his free time, meaning Abby needed a new babysitter. A job that was once happily filled by your company, now replaced with an afterschool program suggested to him from a flyer he found at work. He hated the thought of her sitting in essentially another classroom, surrounded by strangers and snotty kids, but it was his only option left. 

With a third of his paycheck dedicated to it, Abby now spends her weekdays at the nearby YMCA. 

The first time he told her about the new program didn’t go over very well. He remembers it clearly.  

“Abby please,” his irritated voice interrupts her incessant protesting, “listen, it’s the only place that can watch you.” 

“No it’s not!” She yelled at him, her finger pointing to your house across the street, “I want her back!”  

A pang of guilt struck his chest at her words. The lack of your presence has clearly been taking a toll on the both of them, but it’s the first time Abby’s ever been so vocal about it. He crossed his arms with a sigh, watching his little sister stare up at him with solemn eyes. Her lip quivering ever so slightly, evident that she’s holding back tears. 

He crouches down to her level, just like he had done to you so many nights ago, “I’m sorry,” he pleaded with her, “but she’s not coming back right now.” 

Her head shook with disbelief, stubbornly stuck in her spot, “Then make her come back.” 

–

You’re not sure when the Mike shaped hole in your heart stopped aching, but it’s significantly less sore compared to a fresh wound. That’s not to say the constant reminder of him and Abby living across the street from you doesn’t sting. It’s hard enough to ignore all his calls, but trying to get to your car while avoiding his gaze is even worse. Eventually, he gave up on contacting you by the third month of radio silence. It hurt both of you, but you knew deep down neither of you could continue functioning like how you were. 

The back and forth pull of his affection took too big of a toll on your mental well being. You can remember every moment down to the exact detail of how much you craved for him to just do something, anything. 

All those times you held him in your soft embrace whispering sweet nothings in his ear, reassuring him everything will be okay, just for him to turn around the next day and never bring it up again. Or when you’d run your warm fingers through his hair to calm him down after a panic attack, and he’d let his head rest in your lap. Words of affection dripping off his lips like a rich honey, warming you up from the inside out. Then he’d disappear for a while, claiming he needed some space to figure stuff out, all the while you’d beg and plead for him to tell you what’s on his mind, only for him to give you nothing back.You stood by him regardless though, keeping a silent promise that you’d always be there for him when he needed it, a love that was never reciprocated back. 

A long sigh escapes from you, eying the new delivery that just appeared by your door. You shuffle towards it weakly, unsure if you really wanted to torture yourself by looking at it. It’s one of those things that curiosity will drive you to do, unable to ignore it like a pedestrian passing by a car crash. The paper crinkles under your touch, unfolding it reveals the familiar childlike style of Abby’s drawings. A man drawn in green crayon frowns up at you, holding hands with an equally sad looking child. Your gaze drifts over to the other side of the paper, highlighting a person relatively similar to you standing alone with their arms crossed, angry. Your heart hurts at the sight of it, knowing that Abby is implying that you’re angry at the two of them. You shake your head quickly, trying to evade any tears that threaten to spill. It’s not fair for Abby to be caught in the middle of whatever is going on between you and Mike, and you realize that. 

The sound of your phone ringing breaks your train of thought, and when you check the caller ID your breath hitches. Standing in the middle of your living room frozen with indecisiveness, you stare at the screen while chewing on the bottom of your lip. Without thinking, you accept the call.

“Hello?” 

There’s a sound on the other end of the line, somewhere in between a choke and a gasp, and then your name is mumbled out in disbelief. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually pick up…” Mike’s voice is still a little startled, mimicking the internal panic in your chest. 

You suck in a deep, steady breath before answering, “Yeah, I didn’t think so either.” There’s a slight pause from both of you, unsure how to continue the conversation. It’s felt like years since you last heard his voice. 

“Are you…doing okay?” 

“...Yeah.” Your answer is unconvincing, but Mike doesn’t have any ground to be able to question it. So it’s left like that, timidly dangling in the air between you both. 

You hear shuffling in the background, and a smaller voice asking a question before he dismisses it. Your heart lurches thinking about how Abby is there, trying to figure out who her older brother might be on the phone with. It almost makes your cool demeanor crack, urging you back into your savior complex. 

“Uh, sorry about that,” your phone crackles back to life, “anyways, I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Oh okay.” 

“Can you,” he stops, leaving you on edge, “meet me somewhere?” 

The lack of response from you causes him to start rambling, going on about how it would be better to talk in person, and how it would be easier if you could see each other’s expressions. Soon afterwards, a string of apologies ensue, and you pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. 

“Okay Mike. Promise me this will be worth it.”

“I promise.”

–

A young waitress stares nervously at your booth. Orders continually piling up, hungry customers giving her rude looks whenever she ignores their impatient huffs. It’s been a good thirty minutes since you first showed, and she’s checked up on you at least a handful of times by now. Mike had suggested this little diner down the street from your house, and you agreed to meet here. 

However, it seems like you’re the only one who showed up. 

Your back is pressed against the uncomfortable foam board of your seat, a leg bobbing rapidly out of habit. You pick at the pills on your sweatshirt sleeve, trying to avert your gaze from the sympathetic waitress. Prior to your predicament, she had asked if you were dining alone, and you told her no. However, It’s starting to look like you just might be. With anger bubbling inside of you, a voice in the back of your head is saying you should have seen this coming. It’s so typical of Mike to make promises that he’s unwilling to keep. 

The air smells like grease, mostly from the old fryers sitting in the back of the kitchen. Oil bubbling and brooding in their tanks, waiting for someone to drop a morsel of food so it could shrivel in the scalding lard. Stomach stirring with disgust, a wave of nausea washes over you. It’s unclear exactly what’s causing it, you’d like to give credit to the sleazy restaurant, but something deep down points to the lack of a certain person’s company. 

You keep your attention trained on the dwindling heat of your coffee. Both corners of your mouth scrunch downwards at the smooth ceramic now held in your cold hands. When did watching a cup of coffee become so interesting? 

“Would you like some more?” The sweet but timid waitress asks you, now back at her spot beside your table.  

A joyless smile flashes across your face, a futile attempt at masking your dejection. Pushing the cup forward, silently accepting a fresh refill from her kettle. 

“He’s not worth it.” She adds, tipping off your mug. Her eyes refuse to meet yours as she does so, and you are thankful for that fact. 

“No,” you respond back, “he never is, I guess.” Your voice is shaky, as are the hands that are folded in your lap. 

Mike is not worth the years of being hurt and pushed away. Not worth the tears that fall after coming home from a night spent at his house, inconsolably sobbing because you know no matter what you do it leads back to the same thing. To give up all your time, love, and patience just to receive nothing in exchange. 

It’s not worth the unrequited love. 

“Can I have the check please?” You ask quietly, still avoiding the gaze of the girl next you. 

Her head shakes with pity, fingers wrapping around the arm of the kettle, “it’s on the house.”

TAGLIST - @wriothesleysbimbo @psbc @victimsofadownn @that1lxnlybxch @callsignwidow

[raydays-swap-au]

Rayday's Swap AU ~ Anita Rosie

This design took a bit to grow on me tbh. Didn't mean for her to end up looking sort of like a business mom, but I actually kinda like it. Maybe that's just me though. Either way, if the clothes I designed for her are shit, then yeah, I know I suck at designing. But I did my best, okay? :'(

More information about the design + "sprites" under the cut

Why I decided to add on "Anita" to her name - Anita is a name I got from a rose species(?) called Anita's Rose. I wanted her name to start with an A too to fit into the entire gimmick the regular Vees have, and I'd personally say my solution is pretty decent!

Why her eyes aren't blacked-out - This is a trait all the cannibals has, and since Velvette is taking over as the overlord/leader of cannibal town, I decided it'd be best to give her that trait instead when I eventually design her. I also did think of making one of Rosie's irises a button, though thought that looked a little too out-of-place for her "well-put-together" outfit, so it didn't make it into the finished prodcut.

Added color to Rosie's hair - Rosie's hair is all white in canon, which is broken up mainly by her hat. This isn't something she has in my swap design though ( as she has to be more modern and all ) so adding some color to it similar to Velvette's helped a lot. Do note I thought about using the dark blue, but that turned out to be too intense imo.

Blood jewelry - This is something I've seen on Pinterest a few times, and I thought it'd fit her well enough. Not only does it link her back to her original design, but it also plays into 1) being pricked by thorns, and 2) being dismembered and being able to be taken apart like a doll. The jewelry is just red beads on a string, but imo it gives off those visuals idk.

The skull earring - I decided to keep this detail from Velvette's outfit as they both have skulls in their designs. If you're wondering where Rosie's is: It's on her hat.

General rose/thorn motif - this comes mainly from her name being "Rosie" tbh. Nothing much else there. Also, I know it'd be awkward as hell to to walk with those torns around her pants, but I thought it'd be a neat detail.

The light heart motif - This is a motif both Valentino and Velvette has, so I decided to give swap Rosie the theme too so she can match with Angel Dust in that regard.

Ball joints - Velvette in canon is supposed to be a doll, though personally I find that a pretty easy detail to miss. And while I usually won't switch character's species(?) or whatever else like this, Rosie and Velvette are more of a special case considering Velvette would fit more to be Rosie's species(?) to fit in with the other cannibals.

Blazer - Velvette ( in the outfit I referenced ) has a coat that has fur on it, though I found I didn't really think that fit the style of Rosie. Instead I thought it would fit more for her to wear a blazer over her shoulders ( at least when doing business and the sort. )

Balzer's hear sleeves - I added the hearts being asymmetric like that because, to me, it just looks best. Having 3 hearts on each sleeve looked off, having one felt empty, and 2 symmetric hearts just felt a little boring to me.

Balzer sleeve button things - They're tiny little blood drops cuz I felt that'd be a good theme to have more than in just her jewelry.

Hair style - The hairstyle may or may not have been slightly inspired by the messy buns from I think was around the 2010s. I have shit memory, so I'm not sure if that's the correct time period, but based off some quick Google searches I should be right.

And as what I am making the usual, the "sprite" without the background:

[thesith]

— Chapter Three: Favorite Clones

Bedtime Story Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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“I asked Echo to swap shifts so I could tell you this part of the story - it… means a lot to me.” Hunter started, ready to reminisce about his beloved Commander.

“Where’d ya end up getting your tat anyway?” Wrecker asked while once again scavenging your kitchen for food. His brothers also looked at you for an answer, scanning your figure for any sign of the ink.

“Tats,” You corrected before sighing, pulling down the collar of the shirt you’d been wearing, revealing the insignia over your heart. You could sense the room fill to the brim with emotions, even from Crosshair. A groan of joy escaped Wrecker’s mouth as he brought you into a tight hug - one containing so much love.

“I think it’s perfect,” slipped from Hunter’s lips, who decided to join in on the hug - subsequently the other two brothers followed. “Good choice, Commander.”

You smiled and removed your hand from Wrecker’s back, placing a hand over the new 99. You hadn’t expected to form such a strong attachment to the group, but looking back on everything, it was inevitable. “Okay, okay - guys let’s not get sappy now!”

Wrecker wiped his tear-stained cheeks, “It- It’s just that…”

“We know, Wrecker. They’re one of us,” Hunter cut in in an attempt to console his brother, “They will always be part of our squad.”

With a new-found freedom from Wrecker’s arms, you remembered, “Hey, Wrecker? Remember how you wanted to try my lightsaber and we forgot?”

As if on cue his eyes brightened and he held out his hands, squeezing his fingers to his palm in a ‘gimme’ motion. The sight made you laugh while you used the Force to bring your lightsaber to your hand.

You went over the basics with the larger clone, his brothers watching in awe as you ignited the lightsaber on a lower setting so no real damage would be dealt to your living room. The green light shone on Wrecker’s face as you handed it to him, which ended with him waving it around in an attempt to imitate the few Jedi he’s seen.

“So,” Hunter started while watching his brother swing the lightsaber at non-existent enemies, “Tech told us that you helped him feel the Force.”

“Aw, are you jealous?” Crosshair teased with a smirk on his face.

Hunter immediately shook his head (which looked suspicious, but you let it slide), “No, just wondering how you did that. Could you do it with us, too?”

“I honestly had no idea that it was possible until I tried with Tech - I’ve always been more in tune with the Force than many of my peers, save for Anakin Skywalker, and been able to wield it in ways many cannot.” You started, hoping to give Hunter a satisfactory answer, “I could most likely do the same for the rest of you, if you’d like to feel it.”

“A consular, then?” Tech questioned your reply, “I’ve been studying articles on the Jedi since your arrival with us - if I’m not mistaken, Jedi Consulars tend to not use their lightsabers unless it’s a last resort, which I have observed in your combative style. They also use a green blade most frequently, rather than the blue and yellow of guardians and sentinels, respectively.”

You nodded, “You’re correct, though I wouldn’t expect otherwise from you. My green blade reflects my status, but the crystal chooses the Jedi - not the other way around. Honestly if I had my choice of color it’d be purple.”

“Like Master Windu’s, then? I have never understood why he wields such a color.”

You laughed, “Honestly, I’m not sure either. I think it’s because of the form he developed and uses - it’s close to using the dark side of the Force.”

”Ah, I see. You believe it to be a combination of the Sith’s red and Jedi’s blue?”

You nodded, turning your attention back to the faux-Jedi Wrecker, who’s having the time of his life with your saber. You had to stifle a laugh at him running around the room, attempting to twirl his lightsaber behind his back.

“Okay, Wrecker - that’s enough. Give the Commander back their lightsaber - we have work to do.”

Wrecker huffed, not wanting his fun to end. Eventually, he flipped the ignition switch and returned your hilt, which you hooked back onto your belt.

Hunter spoke your name from beside you, causing you to meet his gaze. “Are we your favorite clones?”

“I’ve been living with you for half a year and you’re asking me that?” A rhetorical question, “Yes, you are my favorite clones. Though, there was one clone I was very close to from General Skywalker’s legion, the 501st.”

“Just haven’t seen him in awhile?” Hunter pushed, wanting to know more about this clone.

You averted your eyes and looked everywhere but at him, “Yes, I haven’t seen him in awhile. He… died. A couple years ago. It was a mission to retrieve information from a Jedi Master, who was locked in the Citadel on Lola Sayu.” You rubbed the fabric of your robes between your pointer finger and thumb, “He was so brave and kind, always eager to learn - his batchmates named him Echo.”

Hunter placed a caring hand on your shoulder, “I’m sorry for your loss, Commander. He sounds like a great guy.”

You could only nod, accepting Hunter’s comforting touch. You lifted up the hem of your robes and traced your fingers over the new ink that laid on your ribcage - 1409. The gaze on your tattoo was heavy, yet no words were spoken by anyone in the room.

Your short-lived vacation on Coruscant had finally come to an end, and it was time for your squad to set back out into the galaxy - part of you was grateful to be leaving the bustling ecumenopolis, but you would definitely miss the downtime. You had a feeling that the next time you returned to Coruscant would be your last time with the Bad Batch, and you weren’t ready for that day to come.

“Wait a minute,” A sleepy Omega asked her brother, not knowing whether the tiredness made her hear things, “Echo died?”

“He’s here with us, so no,” Hunter neglected to explain what really happened, “That is why he hasn’t told any of the story yet, though. He was… away during this time period.”

By the time Hunter finished his sentence, Omega was fast asleep with soft snores leaving her slightly-open mouth.

[neopronouns]

alderstarpil | alderspirapil | alderpowpil

alderstarpil: an aldernic identity in which one has, or wishes to have, star-shaped pupils

alderspirapil: an aldernic identity in which one has, or wishes to have, spiral-shaped pupils

alderpowpil: an aldernic identity in which one has, or wishes to have, power on/off button-shaped pupils

[pt: alderstarpil: an aldernic identity in which one has, or wishes to have, star-shaped pupils

alderspirapil: an aldernic identity in which one has, or wishes to have, spiral-shaped pupils

alderpowpil: an aldernic identity in which one has, or wishes to have, power on/off button-shaped pupils. end pt]

for anon! each flag uses white to represent the whites of the eyes, the first uses dark blue for the night sky and yellow for stars, the second uses colors i associate with spirals, and the third uses green for power on, red for power off, and black for a power button that doesn't glow. i also decided to swap out the aldernic diamond for symbols in the shape of the pupils.

the terms are 'alder' from 'aldernic', 'star'/'spira' from 'spiral'/'pow' from 'power', + 'pil' from 'pupil'!

tags: @radiomogai

flag id: three flags with 7 stripes.

the left flag's stripes, in order, are white, light golden yellow, bright golden yellow, dark dull blue, bright golden yellow, light golden yellow, and white. in the center of the flag is a large dark dull blue star with a bright golden yellow outline.

the middle flag's stripes, in order, are white, golden yellow, bright orange, dark purple-pink, bright blue, soft green, and white. in the center of the flag is a large dark purple-pink circle with a spiral over it, with the top half of the spiral being bright orange and the bottom half bright blue.

the right flag's stripes, in order, are white, green, darker green, near-black, red, soft red, and white. in the center of the flag is a near-black power button symbol with a thin outline, with the top half of the outline being darker green and the bottom half red. end id.

banner id: a 1600x200 teal banner with the words ‘please read my dni before interacting. those on my / dni may still use my terms, so do not recoin them.’ in large white text in the center. the text takes up two lines, split at the slash. end id.

dni link

[agbpaints]

Getting back into the swing of doing paint tutorials- I pulled a Spider out of a salvage box and I figured I'd do a quick and dirty davion scheme! This is the parade paint job for the First Davion Guards, AKA quintessential battletech 'good' guy mechs.

Paints you will need:

Black primer

Dark grey (citadel mechanicus standard grey)

Light grey (citadel dawnstone)

Off white (army painter spaceship armor)

Red (citadel mephiston red)

Light blue (citadel baharroth blue)

Green (citadel warpstone glow)

Gun metal (citadel leadbelcher)

Silver (citadel rune fang steel)

Dark wash (citadel drakenhof nightshade)

Citadel akhelian green cintrast

Citadel blood angels red contrast

Things you might want

Khaki (citadel zandri dust)

Fleshy orange (citadel ratskin flesh)

White (army painter matt white)

Dark green (citadel Caribana green)

Light red (citadel evil sunz scarlet)

Yellow (citadel averland sunset)

Black (army painter matt black)

Citadel aggaros dunes contrast

I started by basing my mini with my normal desert badlands basing scheme (paint base in glue, sprinkle on basing sand and let cure. Paint on more glue and stick down some aquarium gravel) and then priming the whole thing black with brush-on primer.

Once the primer is finished drying, load some of your dark grey up on a fat drybrush, wipe off slightly less than most of the paint, and then apply the remainder to the model in long up and down strokes. All of the panels should be grey, with some black showing in crevices and hard to reach recesses of the model. Next, repeat this process with your light grey paint, but wipe off more and apply less liberally- you want the darker grey color to remain in most places with the edges and raised details highlighted in grey. Finally, drybrush the model one last time with your off-white color only in the areas that will catch the light most like the head, torso, shoulders, the vectoring fins on the mech's back, and the outstretched left knee.

Now that the mech has been presented in greyscale, we can make it blue. Akhelian green is going to be doing the majority of the heavy lifting in this paint scheme- I find it to be a pretty easy contrast paint to work with. Apply it undiluted to the model, looking to spread it in a single coat like a thick wash, and then leave it to dry for 20 minutes. Afterwards, you might want to brighten the blue up in places as I did- drybrush on some light blue in the same areas you used off-white earlier.

At this point, I got a little excited and decided to do the Davion stripes. Start with your red, pretty well thinned on your palet, and a thin detail brush. To make this easy on ourselves, we're going to look for vertical panels on the left side of the mech's torso and leg and basically connect all of those with a straight line. In the case of the Spider, the easy ones are the shoulder and that panel that runs down the upper thigh. Apply a thin edge highlight of red along those panels and then carefully continue the line down the rest of the leg, terminating at the ankle. If your hand is steady enough, run a thin line of red around the mech's ankle where the vertical line ends. Then, go back with your off-white and using the red line you made already as a guide, run a parallel stripe down the outside edge of the red (if you swap these battletech nerds will dunk on you online).

At this point, I also striped the ridge running down the Spider's helmet, but it's not super necessary.

Now that we've got our blue sorted out, we've got a bit of a 'draw the rest of the owl' step. First, you're going to want to go back over any of the parts of the model that you want to be exposed mechanical elements with your dark grey. I painted the joints in the legs, the shoulders, the lasers and the big vent on the chest, the 'chin strap' under the spider's canopy glass, and the jump jets in this color. Then, wash the grey with your favorite dark wash- I really like the deep blue of drakenhof nightshade but something like nuln oil will also work well for this. Finally, apply a light drybrush of your light grey to the shaded grey. If a part is too recessed to easily drybrush, you can leave it as is or do use a small brush to carefully highlight it. You should also add a small dot of green to the inside of each of the laser barrels at this point.

Next, paint the mech's canopy glass silver. Once that's dry, paint over the silver with blood angels red or any other colorful contrast paint for a vibrant metallic color.

If you're following along with my desert basing, paint the sand on the base khaki and the larger pebbles with your fleshy orange. Then paint over everything with agarros dunes contrast or a dark brown wash like agrax earthshade.

And with that you have a Spider that's fully ready for tabletop with 3 colors, shading, and a textured base. There's still a couple more things we can do if you have more time and patience that I'll detail below.

To apply some quick and dirty jeweling to the lasers, start by painting a half circle of light green on each barrel, focused on one of the bottom corners. Paint the recess of the barrel with a dot of dark green and put a tiny little dot of white opposite the half circle of green, which should now be more of a crescent shape with with dark spot in the center.

While the white is still in your pallet, you can also highlight the parts of the off white stripes on the mech most exposed to overhead light like the lower thigh, knee, and shoulder. Do the same thing with the red stripe using a light red as well.

At this point I also added unit numbering to the mech's shoulder. Basic numbers are a really good way to practice your fine control and I try to consistently add a couple to each of my projects. Use your off-white well thinned and a fine detail brush, lock your hand holding the model against your hand holding the brush just below the wrists, and then draw the paintbrush 'downwards' with a pulling motion. This should keep you your line relatively straight and fine.

While you can keep the jump jets on your mech dark I prefer to paint mine with some orange in them. Using the fleshy orange from earlier, paint most of the interior of each jump jet, then add a dot of yellow at the very deepest recess of each one.

Finally, let's add some hazard stripes to the mech. Pick out a few areas near joints or vents that seem like a bad place for an Astech's hand to go and paint in a thick 'edge highlight' of black. Then, going back to yellow find the center of the line and add a diagonal tickmark there. You may need to go over this more than twice to get a strong color depending on your yellow. Once your centerline is marked, work out towards the edges, painting another ticmark at regular intervals until you hit the ends of the Black.

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

@fallenlondonficswap @alexis-royce I had a lot of fun writing up this fic for your secret swap!! I also had to trim it for the word limit

Mr Pages takes the Ex-Disgraced Academic out for a night at the theatre. Something is being planned.

Rating: Teen

No Warnings

Word count: 2,016(fic) + 398(oc credits) AO3 Link

It was later than typical when the letter arrived at the door. Mr. Cards had just changed out of its robe, and back into the Ex-Disgraced Academic. They were preparing to work on their Correspondence when it had slid through their mail slot. 

If neither the distinctive seal, nor name, had not indicated the sender, the address would. It was sent from the tower apartments directly above their own. Those which belonged to Mr Pages, Cards' greatest rival. The Academic broke the seal on the overstuffed envelope eagerly. Their good eye flew over the dense verbage contained therein. It posed no challenge to them, and they quickly deciphered the meaning of the letter. It was an invitation to a play. And yet, did the Academic not recall Mahogany Hall being closed that evening? Oh, something clicked. Rumors had been circulating in Bohemian circles for many years about a forbidden play, performed only with explicit permission from Mr. Wines, against direct order from the Ministry of Public Decency. So why would the Master of censorship, the very one who, if rumors were to be believed, tried to stamp this play out at every possibility, decide to take them along?

The best way to find out was to go. They would send confirmation in the morning, but through the night they would prepare for any likely schemes.

~

They agreed to arrive seperatly to avoid being seen together in public. A theatre box far above most was... still public, yes, but easier to mistake features in, or to not notice at all. So when the Academic arrived at their reserved box, Pages was already waiting. At least, they recognized it as Pages as soon as it opened its mouth to wish them an "Enjoyluminating" evening. The loquacious master was not wearing its usual ink-stained robes. It seemed to have even ditched its bandolier of pens and inks. Or, judging on the suspicious way the oversized robe fell, perhaps it was simple under the cloak. The cloak which, based on style and size alone, clearly did not belong to it. In fact, it looked as though it had stolen a spare robe from Mr Apples. It was ill-fitting on the current Master. Pages looked about to burst when the Academic did not immediately ask why it had shunned its typical robe. They took a seat to one side, and then took the bait.

"So, my eloquent acommpanyment, why the change in attire?"

Pages arranged its own chair. "You are possilikely aware of my disgustred for this... play. Thus, you are also aware of my multinumerous attemps to blot it from the history books. As such, the only actors that would perform in it at those with ireverice towards me."

"Ah, so if it were known that is was you... you would be rather unpopular for the night.

"Precisorrectly."

The red curtains raised up, and the audience turned their attentions towards the stage. 

An actor strutted onto the stage. Their costume was composed of deep blue and black feathers, contrasting nicely with hair the color of dark cinnamon. Flickering candles lit the stage. The light danced along the costume's wings to bring the iridescence to life. This was the role of the Raven.

Pages leaned over to whisper to its companion. "Jamie Awnings, a Poet-Laureate who writes the most horrendful poetry. How they were chosen I do not know, but I have had to step in many times to keep their work from the public."

The academic raised an eyebrow. One did not typically become Poet-Laureate while being horredful at the art. 

The actor's talent with words and meter became evident quickly however. The round Raven began to sing an aria, but the words had not matched entirely with the Academic's research. If it weren't for the research, they wouldn't know that any of the words had been changed. They had, however, but it was well keeping with the original intent, and far better suited to the rhythm and rhyme of the piece. 

Pages' attention was rapt and fixated. Pages was also clearly becoming inebriated by the music. Even the Academic was being affected. Still, now was the perfect opportunity to enact their plan. From a hidden pocket of a sleeve, they carefully slipped out a notepad, and a fountain pen preloaded with violant ink. The Academic has chosen their seat strategically, putting their writing side as far from Pages as they could, to hide their work. It was known for forbidding this play, and it was likely to try something tonight. Naturally, they could not be blamed for taking a transcript in shorthand.

The Raven continued their aria, setting the scene to fill in the minimal scenery. Something, however, caught the Academic's notice. Their box provided a good view of the stage, and importantly, the lightest of views into the wings to the side of the stage. The absence of visible stage crew told the steward that there was either a stage crew composed of only the actors, or that what crew there was knew well enough where to avoid walking to be seen. Perhaps both. So when someone in the Ministry uniform nearly stumbled onto stage partway through the song, it was an immediate tip off. Something was indeed going on behind scenes, something Pages had been planning. The rest of the song was performed without a hitch however. In fact, the Official seemed to be avoiding messing anything up as much as possible. Shouldn't he be trying to stop things? Still, perhaps the Academic's plans were compatible with Pages'. The music was working in their favor. It would addle the Curator's thinking, making it less likely to notice the gentle, soft scratching of pen on paper. They were a minute or so behind, but the Raven's personality had imprinted the details onto their mind quite nicely. It would make reconstruction easier later. A new character enters, their costume black and ragged. Tattered strips of cloth are woven into the spokes of their chair, and a shredded train follows behind them. Their stubble and bun were both intentionally left messy and unkempt. The overall effect was reminiscent of a wedding dress that has been dashed upon the zhoreline. A sense of love-sick duty weighed them down. The Messenger's sadness laid like Lacre on the stage. The Raven had been bragging about their singing not a moment ago, but as the raggedy Messenger approached, Raven deferred to the song of the Messenger. Pages scoffed. "That one has never been fond of me, always mooning for another. They have... circumvented my plans on multiple occasions." ~ The scene changed, with no sign of interference. ~ The play progressed, with no one noticing what had transpired, save one. Pages continued to interject comments at odd moments. The Academic continued to respond as well as they could while paying attention to the play and writing it all down. Suffice to say that it was rather difficult, and there were many unfortunate moments lost to Pages’ chattering. They wondered if it was deliberate, but that would require it to know what the Academic was hiding.

The Messenger, now played by a tall actress with manicured facial hair and a tattered groom’s suit, was holding council with the Owls. The Principal Owl had pale, tawny feathers that stood out from his dark brown skin. His head covering had baubles and trinkets that made a light sound as he trembled with fear.

Pages seemed particularly incensed by this scene.

“What do you do among my spires?” questioned the Messenger.

“Why, great master, we watch, we wait, we consume” he responded. “You watch, and wait, and consume, you say. And yet, is there not one who will consume you as prey?” On cue, another Owl stalks out from the shadows.Their hair is stark as fresh blood, the beak of the mask sharp. Their cane makes little noise as it lurks around the others. Their large feather tufts reveal their true nature. They are a Great Horned Owl Hunter. “Great Master, protect us so we will be free from their shrieks always, and we will serve you loyally the rest of our days!” She adjusts uncomfortably. There are many beats of conflicted silence, until she speaks again with a sigh “oh, were it only my unfettered choice. But alas, I owe them their hunts and the joys of their voice.” She left, and the Owls were left alone with the Hunter, who grinned behind their mask. Most of the actors were on stage at this point, distracted by the hunt. Another enforcer! Behind the curtains, nearly tripping on something, and carrying a large stack of papers. The Academic could not get a closer look however, for when they tried to shift closer, an ink-stained talon came to rest on their thigh. The intermission began, the curtain smothering any other chance. With its other hand, the Master made a sweeping gesture to the stage. Ice blue eyes turned towards their box from across the auditorium. Wines, who had bribed the Ministry to allow the play for the night. Their attention snapped back to Pages. “-these actors perform this play as an act of rebellion against me. They revel in this illegalbidden display. It is done to spite me, and undermine my authority”. It spat the sentence with less-than-figurative venom. “I will ensure they acknowledge my position as Paramost Poet and Auteur. And you” it turned towards them with luminescent eyes. They slid their writing out of sight. “You shall bow as well, Mr. Cards”. Was the blood rising to their face from anger? Or from the darker, more intense emotions that often defined the two of them. Those emotions had become so entangled of late. The Academic had been thinking of a clever retort when the brief intermission ended. With a personality that filled the stage and beyond, the Phoenix would not permit distraction from their soliloquy. The reflection of candle flames danced across their round lenses. Instead of the Phoenix's typical dress, this one opted for a tuxedo with the train of a peacock and the color of their fiery hair. “I am so very tired of flames, I will drown myself in snow and emerge in perfect serenity. Or not at all”. “What’s that? You have no more use for flame?” the Messenger reappeared and rolled towards the Phoenix. The scene went without hindrance. Even the final ‘immolation’ of the Phoenix in ice went as planned. It aroused the Academic’s suspicions. ~ When his cane made contact with the stage, it cracked like thunder, and reverberated against the proscenium arch. The gray streaks of his bright hair conjured to mind the storm clouds of the surface. His expression held little pity for the Messenger. Though she was taller by far, her presence was miniscule next to the Dragon. “You again,” she whimpered. “Yes. I remain the servant of you Master, as must you. He awaits the delivery.” “Do not! I beg you, do not! He cannot hear the message yet, he cannot hear what i have to say!” her voice turned frantic, fervent. The Dragon’s voice had little care. “You have a little time yet. Should this place fall, two will remain”. The booming of his cane grew distant as he left. She fell to her knees with a wail. ~

The play ended as it always must, message undelivered, crimes judged, and with Time devoured. The curtain fell, and then rose again for the final applause. “So, why did you invite me to see this play? Should you not have stopped it?” Pages stood to loom over them. It swayed slightly. “Have I not already stopped it? It would be rather difficult to perform without a script!” “The cast could perform-” “Oh certainly! Alone in their cells of New Newgate!” With gritted teeth, the academic stormed off. ~ They found Mr. Wines, and with pulled string, favours, and promises, convinced it to stop the Neddy Men from making arrests. The scripts however, were still missing. ~ Weeks later, new scripts of the Seventh Letter entered circulation. Lines and music had to be reconstructed from memory and missing gaps, but it was rather accurate. Most importantly though, Mr. Pages had not managed a score over Mr. Cards. ~~~~ OC CREDITS.

CURTAIN RISES. The last to ENTER is the PRINCIPAL OWL, with the MINOR OWLS FLOCKING behind him. He has dark brown skin, and near-black hair. He is still wearing his head covering. He is short and slight. He is The Theological Caregiver, created by @moonstruck-stormy. He bows with pride, then MOVES STAGE RIGHT.

The HUNTER ENTERS next. A step forward, ready to extend and ki- a pause. They had forgotten to leave character. A shift, and it is once more Harper Faraday. Light-olive skinned, with spectacles, and hazelnut shell hair. Their cane is light and practical. They were created by @the-insouciant-scientist. They bow, sheepish, MOVE STAGE LEFT. The PRINCIPAL DRAGON ENTERS with the presence of a rumbling Storm. His cane clicks are distinct and pronounced. He hais fair skin, large round glasses, and hair like a cloud rimmed sunset. The PRINCIPAL DRAGON is played by Orsinio Elderwood. He was created by @house-of-mirrors. The MINOR DRAGONS EMERGE from the WINGS to FLANK him. They bow together, then MOVE STAGE RIGHT.

The PHOENIX ENTERS from the East. At first look, they are similar to Orsinio. They share glasses and skin tone and hair color. On second look, they are different. The Partial Performer is taller, and has no cane. They were created by @thedandy-detective. Their bow has been practiced, with calculated flair. They MOVE STAGE LEFT. ENTER the RAVEN. Tonight, he is a stocky actor with russet hair and many freckles. They are short and fair-skinned. This is Poet-Laureate Jamie Awnings, created by @thedeafprophet. He makes a grand, sweeping bow, and MOVES STAGE RIGHT. The two halves of the MESSENGER STEP and ROLL to CENTER STAGE. They clasp hands. The MASCULINE HALF is tall, thin, and pale, with a well maintained mustache and goatee. Her hair is dark and short, and she wears glasses. She is Irving Merritt, created by @the-insouciant-scientist. The FEMININE HALF uses an elegant wheelchair. They have long hair, dark but greying, in a bun. They have stubble, and small glasses. They have fair skin, and are plump. They are Elias Leroux, created by @the-dye-stained-socialite. They bow with much drama. The CAST MOVES towards CENTER STAGE and form a solid line. They JOIN HANDS where possible, and raise them together. They swing forward into a final bow, then slowly raise back up to applause. CURTAIN FALLS.

[keepswingin]

Lee Know + Get Lit

The building is loud, and his head throbs louder as he stumbles down the hall and into the first room he can open, vision blurring. One outstretched hand grazes something soft, and he collapses on top of the bed sideways before his brain can fathom catching up, the ceiling fan above him spinning madly.

Colors weave in and out from the far window, and the bass of a new song shakes the floor, again and again and again, but he is the one lost in rhythm, disjointed. 

Someone must've spiked the punch, and he must've been the unlucky lottery winner. If only he could win the actual lottery, then maybe college wouldn't feel so pointless, or endless or...who was he kidding? It would always feel pointless when he was so lost already - 

Something buzzes, obnioxus and iccessant against his side.

He spends an awful amount of time searching around him before realizing that it's coming from nowhere else but his jeans pocket. His phone, the only thing sober within a mile. He nearly drops it twice before bringing the screen close enough to see, a few messages glaring back at him. 

chris: i didn't mean it chris: i'm sorry chris: come back

bin: i'm outside waiting bin: unless you've already apologized for something that wasn't your fault 

hannie: where are you?

"Obviously not with you," Minho mutters as he tosses the phone and throws his head back against the blanket.

It was all his fault, wasn't it?

He thought he did a good job setting boundaries this time, not crossing wires, staying in tact. But now it was all messed up, because he couldn't keep his mouth shut, or learn his lesson from last time. He was dumb to think this time would be different anyway, with someone like him, with a group like them. People like them would discover who he was before he had a chance to hide behind a cigarette or alcohol. 

"Fuck," he grumbles, hands reaching up to press against his eyes. 

He keeps them there until he sees spots, pretending that maybe it'll take this horrible feeling of messing everything up once again away, but all it does it make him more dizzy when he stares up at the ceiling again.

The fan attached hangs off-center to the rest of the room, and the popcorn ceiling flashes with the different colors that leak from the window.

It's too dark to see what color the walls are, or whose room this could possibly be, when all he needed was a moment to breathe, away from the party, away from the crowd, away from Chan's pitiful looks and the tug of Han's mouth every time he laughed at something Minho said when anyone else would've found it stupid.

Everything was fine, until Minho had gotten too comfortable, alcohol settling deep in his belly, the couch soft against his back, Han's knee pressing against his thigh. 

He slipped, and Chan hadn't helped, and he was calling Changbin for a ride before things could get worse, and then Changbin had said he was on his way and had reminded him that he should've just gone to the bowling alley with him but Minho didn't want to fucking bowl with the guy he's known since he was a child when Han would be here and -

He was so hopeless. His phone buzzes again, and again. He decides to focus on the multicolored lights instead, watching as they swap every few seconds. 

Red. Blue. Yellow. 

Red. Blue. Green.

Red. Blue -

Would it kill them to use more than one different color?

He groans, stomach twisting.

Maybe watching the colors wasn't such a good idea when his stomach felt like a barrel full of rocks rolling around. He drank too much, allowed his words to grow too loose, and now he was holed up in somebody's bedroom.

It would probably only take Changbin another two text messages before he stormed into the party and found Minho himself, and a part of him can't help but chuckle aloud at the look he was sure would be on the shorter's face, cheeks pinched and lips twisted. Or maybe Chan would stumble his way in here, apologizes crisp on the tip of his tongue. Or Han, clueless and hopeful about somebody who was...him. 

His stomach tosses again, and he exhales, struggling to quell the feeling. Getting sick in somebody's bedroom at a college party was not on his bucket list in life.

He's so focused on the prospect of not doing so that he doesn't hear the sound of the door opening, or the drunken laughter that grows louder and closer to him as the door shuts again. 

He groans as he feels someone get close to him, and hears the crumble of a can as it's tossed to the ground. "Room's occupied," he grumbles, loud enough so that he's sure he's heard. 

"Looks like it," a voice he doesn't recongize replies with a haughty laugh. 

Minho grimaces at the deep tone. He'd roll his eyes if it wouldn't make him dizzier. Instead he lifts himself the best he can and perches on his elbows, debating if punching a random guy would be seen as too aggressive or not.

He decides words would be better than physical violence after a good minute or so of considering his chances. 

"Get out," he deadpans, attempting to steady the closest guy with a meancing glare. There's three of them, ranging in different heights, but all sporting the same glazed eyes and drunken grins.

Minho hates himself all over again for drinking far too much. He could probably take them if he really wanted to, but between the way the room spins periodically and the chruning of his stomach, he's not fit to do much else but stare at them impatiently.

"I said get out," he repeats, slower this time, louder. 

The one closest to him reaches a hand down, fingers sliding around his wrist. Minho immediately recoils, attempting to pull his arm away, but the other man doesn't let go. 

"Get off of me," he spits, the lights outside filling the room with an ugly shade of red once more. "I'm not interested, get out." The grip on his wrist doesn't falter, and a different one snickers, growing closer. 

"We didn't ask," the farthest man voices, Minho's head snapping to the left just in time to see the way he looks at him, shivers shooting down his spine at the empty expression that stares back at him. 

Turning too fast makes him sick, but the horrible thought that enters his head shortly after is worse, someone else's fingers pinching at the skin of his hip in his daze.

Another hand is on his other wrist, and the room is bathed in a deep blue as he tries to move, kicking one leg out and catching someone in the stomach. They grunt, stunned, but before he can do any other damage, someone is grabbing at his legs, and someone else is climbing on top of him. 

"Looks like we got a fighter," they say, pushing him down against the mattress. He can't move, he can't breathe, he feels sick, he's scared, he's terrified - "The best kind, hm?" 

Minho tries to scream, but it's smothered under a stranger's palm. He thinks of Chan, Han. Changbin telling him to stay away from them all, because he knows him best. He thinks of himself, constantly self-destructing because it's easier than dealing with anything serious.

He tries to scream again. He sees a new flash of light from the window before the world around him finally fades away.

...

"Minho?" Chan calls, pushing his way through troves of drunken people still lingering on the first floor of the house, even with things finally starting to die down. 

There was no sign of him outside, and Han had taken the front, nervous and wringing his hands as he had headed that way, tucking his phone away in his pocket, void of any new messages from Minho. Chan tried calling him, but the call was quickly sent to voicemail, which meant the other was still mad. Chan was fine with that if it was true, but he would feel better knowing where he went. He had drank more than he usually did, and there was already a steady line of people finding their way home. 

"Chan!" 

Han's shout is easily heard, and he follows the sound to the bottom of the stairs, where he stands awkwardly next to someone he's never seen before. His eyebrows knit in confusion as he turns to Han, questions brimming on the tip of his tongue. 

"Are you Chris?" the short man immediately asks, though the pull of his mouth is far from anything friendly. Chan steals a glance at Han, who looks even more worried than he did before he had disappeared into the crowd. 

"Yeah. Call me Chan," he offers, eyeing the man in distrust. "Who are - "

"Changbin," he interrupts curtly, eyes scanning the room behind him, before he glances up the stairs. "Minho's friend. He called me a half hour ago to pick him up, and then he never walked out." He looks back to Han. "Your friend here said you guys already checked the house?" 

"Upstairs is the only thing left," Chan replies, and before anything else can be said, Changbin is pushing his way past and shouting Minho's name loud enough that it bounces off the walls.

Chan and Han share a quick look before hurrying to follow.

When Changbin doesn't receive any answer he starts pushing his way into rooms, slamming his fist hard on locked doors. 

Han ducks into a room on their right as Chan checks the bathroom with a flick of the light, before going into the room beside it, Changbin busy down the hall. The door pushes open when he presses his palm against it, about to say Minho's name as he enters, squinting against the bright lights still flashing in from the window. 

Another step in, and he sees him, crumpled against the side of the bed, curled around his knees. 

"Minho?" he asks quietly, gut churning as he approaches. 

Something isn't right. 

Minho flinches at the sound of his name, and doesn't dare turn his head. Chan gets close enough to touch him, fingers ghosting over the curve of his shoulder, and he reacts like he's been burned, shoving himself backwards, spine slamming against the nightstand that sits in wait behind him, lamp rattling at the force. 

Chan quickly scans over him, panic rising in the back of his throat when he sees blood on the corner of his lip, and a bruise on the side of his neck. His hands are shaking from where they rest curled around his knees, and he won't look at Chan, tears smeared beneath his eyes. 

"Minho," he whispers, trying to get closer, to make sure he's okay. "What happened?" 

He shakes his head and sinks further into himself, and the shift reveals bruised wrists, Chan's breath catching in his throat. 

"Minho," Chan tries, inching closer. "Something happened." 

"I'm fine," Minho says, though his voice shakes, and his tone wavers. "Nothing happened." 

It's silent for a long moment, and then Changbin is in the doorway, and rushing his way into the room, Han at his heels. Chan catches Minho's eye for a moment, and then he watches as Minho glances at Han, standing a step behind Chan, mouth curved in growing shock as Changbin drops to the ground beside him. Minho watches Han for a long moment, and Chan's chest squeezes painfully as Minho turns his gaze to the carpet in front of him. 

"I'm fine," he repeats quietly, to Changbin, to all of them, to the room around them. To himself. "I'm fine." 

Chan tries to reach for him again.

Minho doesn't look up.

[mudhamster]

CHWHWN: 09. December "something spicy"

Kacchan: found something already *image attached* Deku: o_o Kacchan: wasn't even that good Deku: you've been to my cupboard? Kacchan: the kitchen is a public room Deku: but the cupboards labeled with names are not Kacchan: what you gonna do? Deku: I guess I'll throw this away then. Or give it to someone else *image attached* Kacchan: what's that supposed to be Deku: kimichi Something spicy Kacchan. … your mother's recipe? Deku: sure Kacchan: let's swap your shitty ick soup for the kimichi Deku: So you haven't eaten the noodles at all? Kacchan: of course not Deku: and how do you know they don't taste good? Kacchan: I read through the ingredients Deku: you're being ridiculous Kacchan: and you're eating shit Deku: Oh boy ჴ˘ര‸രჴ

He put down his cell phone and rubbed his eyes, feeling exhausted. Laying his head on his knees, he turned slowly in his desk chair and pondered.

Ever since that night, the day before yesterday, when the other had decided out of the blue to break yet another unwritten rule and enter Izuku's room, it felt like they were getting closer.

Somehow. ... ... ?

But then again, somehow not.

It wasn't as if Izuku could take a piece of paper and write down exactly what had changed little by little over the past week. His heart beat just as fast when Kacchan entered the room and stopped just as often when he did nothing but look at him.

He couldn't understand what was going on, despite his power to analyze things around him. The hug, the note for it, hadn't been drawn yet. And he hadn't even realized how intimate a hand massage could be when he was writing all those notes. Admittedly, he hadn't given much thought to many of the terms because he had basically assumed that he would get the rejection of the century and simply take the jar back with him and they would spend December together like good old friends. The fact that Kacchan had accepted the jar had somehow destabilized his mental foundation. That he had allowed Izuku to kneel in front of him at the beginning of the week, while he had looked past him, leaned back against the bed and watched the news, was still hard for him to accept as reality. Izuku had sweated harder than he had ever experienced before. He hadn't noticed it through the velvety oil between his fingers, but oh boy, this was one of the most intimate evenings he had ever had. And nothing had happened! Nothing at all! They sat facing each other, silent as agreed, and Izuku had massaged the tension out of Kacchan's palms and fingers in slow circles. First the left. Then the right. But he'd been able to listen to his breathing, to count the heartbeats between his fingers, to smell the seeping streams of nitro and detergent. Sometimes it had been harder not to lose himself in the feeling of belonging here than to pretend to be relaxed. Which he absolutely wasn't. Not a muscle. And especially not his mind. When he'd finished the second hand, it had been dark outside and the flickering light of the laptop had reflected in Katsuki's eyes. As Izuku's hands lay there, no longer in use, his fingers had begun to tingle as if they were waiting to ignite. He wanted to hold a fire under them. To see if he would burn. "Deku...?" The moment had burst like a soap bubble and he had leapt to his feet before Kacchan could kick him out of the room. Better to leave on his own than to be thrown out. He wanted to make a good impression: be quiet, smell good, do good. And so far, he had succeeded with flying colors. 10/10 points for Izuku. Yay. "You're welcome!" he had squeaked, already on the other side of the room, although the blond had neither moved nor made a sound. Anyway, no matter. He had reached the door, his fingers trembling enough that he had slipped off the handle twice and almost fallen. He had accidentally turned on the light with his elbow when the lock clicked - had he locked it? - and then he was in the hallway and on the stairs and just gone. He had deliberately not looked back this time.

...

That had been Monday.

And they had both been masters at pretending it was either super normal or had never happened. Yesterday they had been sitting next to each other, doing their homework. On the floor, both with their backs to his bed. Izuku had thought about offering Kacchan his pillow to cushion his back, but the blonde had brushed aside his selfless offer like a fly and asked which pensioners he was used to having over.

Well, and then they sat together again in the evening without it being … strange. Namely at the movie night. Nobody had looked at them, nobody had questioned it or commented on it. That would be normal. That's how it would feel. And Izuku longed for it. Even Kacchan's friends were completely… normal. Denki had made zero effort to change the seating arrangement and Izuku had a slight suspicion that it was because of how comfortable Kyoka had settled in front of the couch between his knees. Momo to his left, Ashido to his right. Kacchan had watched over his nachos like a gremlin in the corner of the couch, watching the movie (horror) as if he saw people running through rice fields with chainsaws every day. He had done nothing more than press his knee against Izuku's at a particularly tense point. But there was no more comfort for the rest of the movie. But that was okay. So okay. ...

A flat hand slammed loudly against his door from outside, then it swung open before he could catch his breath for a response. "Here." The cupnoodle shot across the room and slammed against his cupboard, then landed in the trash can next to his desk. Cackling filled the room. Izuku turned around, desk chair and all, to face Kacchan, who was smirking at him with such childish pride at his misdeed that it just ... filled his heart. "What are you looking at, nerd? Where's my stuff?" Izuku sighed and reached for the kimchi. Once again realising, that he was madly in love.

[magicalrocketships]

i love the cross stitch! could you expand on it and the colors and everything?

Yes!!

So each row is a race, and it shows the grid position from P1 (left) to P20 (right). The bottom, incomplete, row (Spa) shows Max in P1 and I'm just finishing up Checo in P2. Shout out to Kevin for doing that nice little symmetrical arrow in yellow at the right of the grid for the previous few races, v aesthetically pleasing if meaningless, points-wise. Sorry, Kevin.

Before I started I was just going to try and pick an appropriate colour that matched each driver, but it turns out... I'm bad at that and also it was no fun, so what I ended up with was a mixture of a few colours that made me think of a driver (Max had orange, George has a blue that I think was on his helmet, Fernando had a really dark green for reasons I felt were obvious at the time but have subsequently slipped away) and then a pile of random colours for everyone else. These were my almost final choices:

Zero shade at all to my friend who looked at these and went "that is the wrong colour for Carlos and the wrong colour for Pierre" so I swapped them out, when I probably should have kept them distinct. Unfortunately I didn't actually think to mix alllll of them up and see how they looked next to each other, and as you can probably see from the actual cross stitch (if you stare long enough at it like I do) then I've got three very similar pinks (Pierre's new colour, Esteban, and Alex) and two dark wine reds (Zhou and Carlos's new colour) so you can't track them very easily in anything other than good light.

So: next year, I'll get 20 distinct colours that mix up well and then assign them out, rather than trying to think of a driver and a colour that goes with them (I wish I had this skill, but I... do not).

There was also the question of what to do to indicate the cancelled race, and I think I went for too dark a colour. If one's cancelled next year I'd want the row to be there but almost visually invisible, so I'd go for a shade nearer the background colour, I think. As you can see from this older picture, I'd tried marking out the DNFs/DNSs with a little x but I hated how it looked so I took them out again. I've got an idea for how to mark these without annoying myself by stitching onto the squares, but I'll try that when I've run out of races to stitch.

I'm also planning on doing little flags for each row to indicate which country they're racing in (will have to design these if I can't find someone else who's done it already on the internet), and then a key with each team and the driver colour. I might also try and log fastest lap and MAYBE sprint results, but I'm short of fabric space so we'll see.

For team colours (these aren't stitched yet, but they will be), I went with Sky's team colours, and these were a lot easier because someone on Reddit did a list of RGB colour codes for the Sky colour choices, and then I just converted them into the nearest thread colours, and decided which of the closest approximations I liked best. Here's the shortlist before I picked my favourite for each team.

So, there you have it! I was v lazy when it came to thread picking because I've got... a lot of thread (five or six thread boxes full) so didn't want to buy anything new and I also just wanted to get started sewing and colour assignment was stressing me out (lol) but it has been nice to do something that is actually very easy to cross stitch one I'd sorted out the colours.

[comicaurora]

how do you like,,color schemes, or like color pallets? i have ideas for colors but when i put them down it all looks muddled or disjointed or just weird, even when i plan it out, so do you have any advice?

(ik you get a lot of asks so no pressure to answer 😭 also thank you for the advice on dynampic panels! it was rlly helpful and im getting the book you and the commenter reccomended soon.)

That's a tough one. I know a lot of artists really play around with color schemes and color theory, but I never went in for that stuff. All my color palettes were generated initially by drawing the character, coloring them in different ways until I found one I liked (lots of playing with HSB sliders) then saving those colors to the palette for future consistent use.

I think this is a fine way to handle things - some of the pallets have even shifted a little over time as I swap out individual colors for ones I like more. For instance, my pallet for Falst still has a dark brown saved in it from when my design for him had darker hair, before I decided I liked the aesthetic of the lighter, more golden hair.

There's no right or wrong answer here (except the cursed paletteswap) and a lot of alt color schemes would look good, but the trick here is that as far as I'm concerned this matters a whole lot less than your shading and lighting.

If the colors look disjointed and weird, it's entirely possible that this is because the figures aren't matching their environment. If we were doing physical art, this would be a huge pain in the ass to fix. Fortunately, because I do digital art, I don't need to worry about all the complexities of paint mixing and underpainting and all that jazz - I can just use layer combine modes.

Suppose we want to put a character into this lovely unity asset.

If we just slap our figure on top, this isn't going to look good.

He looks like a desktop icon. We can do better. The light source in this shot is high and centralized in the frame, and it appears to be a dusty blue-white. The shadows it's casting are quite dark and stark. For now let's not worry about the color of the shadow layer - let's just draw in how we would shade this figure given this directional light. I'll use a nice light purple to start with, but we can play with this later. Benefits of digital art! Other benefit: when set on a Multiply layer, a light purple shadow immediately makes our figure look like this.

That already looks a lot better! But part of what's making this figure stand out against the environment is that the darkest points on his design are a lot darker than the background he's standing in front of, and at the same time the shadows on him are much lighter than all the shaded areas we see in the background. This is also one of the telltale visual indicators of bad VFX compositing - the light levels and black levels need to match between the different parts of the image. (there's a late episode of columbo where they use this to catch the killer!)

So, for the easiest first step, let's see what happens if we shade the figure with a dark green colorpicked from the image instead.

Immediate improvement! We've got the shadows lined up and the figure looks like he belongs in the environment. And while we could leave it as-is, I find it also helps to address the highlights as well, especially in dark environments. So I take a mid-tone gray from the light part of the image, I select the negative space of our shading layer, I fill that space on a new layer set to the Add (Glow) combine mode, I use a soft eraser to mellow out the really harsh glow that's farthest from the edges of the figure, and I blend the whole thing by 200 pixels.

We could keep playing with this, but at this point we have a character who, regardless of underlying palette, looks like he fits in with his environment. Heck, we can even hit him with our cursed paletteswap and he still looks like he fits in the space.

It'll work even if he's a uniform neutral gray.

So while precisely playing with color palettes is very important for certain styles of art, one huge benefit of digital art is you can just use your own freeform aesthetic sense to lock in a very basic starting palette that defines how your characters look under theoretically perfectly neutral conditions, and then you can do all the other hard work of coloring them and matching them to the space by way of shading and highlighting without ever worrying about the underlying base colors. And if you decide some part of the figure is too saturated or dim or weird or whatever, you can play with that one part until it looks good and then just update your palette with the new shade.

[robinette-green]

I never got around to writing the story but I do have an honest to god fnaf animatronic self insert.

This is Fey. She runs the Star Dome at the top of the Pizza Plex.

5’2”

Glows under black light

Has up to date knowledge of the solar system so she can provide fun facts during the shows.

Has fruity, star shaped hard candies that have pop rocks on the inside for a fizzy burst. (Think Zotz)

The Star Dome is an enormous, round room that is made entirely of screens. (Looks like one big screen but it’s many)

Rides in a UFO shaped control panel above the patrons heads

Some times the screens short circuit and electrocute guests (that’s covered in the waver) 

The star dome has one or two video games programmed into it;’s system because it was originally going to be like VR gaming without the head sets but FazBear scrapped that idea in favor of a planetarium style attraction.

Fey is really good at the shooter game on the Dome’s system. (Uses it to get out frustration) ((this means she’s also killer at Fazer blast))

I had this whole plot line sketched out where Moon and Fey start off on the wrong foot and a prank war ensues. Eventually Fey steals Moon’s head and they end up entangled in the ball pit. Feelings are realized and they start avoiding each other until Sun’s decided enough is enough and locks them in a closet together. ((Sun and Fey have had a little romance going on through this whole thing))

The pranks:

Fey tweaks the fly motor so it goes just slightly to fast (Runs Moon into a play structure)

Moon scare Fey in the dark

Call me mr. Chuckles on a note taped to Moon’s back

Moon paints a face on Fey’s helmet

Fey swaps the Sundrops and Moondrops so the kids are hyperactive through nap time (she regrets this)

Moon restates the volume for the star dome too loud and sticks it there (just a bit too uncomfortable) ((he regrets this))

Stolen hat (chase ensues)

And below the cut is the small snippet that I did write out. I don’t know if I’ll ever actually pick this back up.

The star dome opened around a month ago in The Faz bear pizza plex. They situated it up on the 3rd floor by mazersize. Going through the doors, you enter a new world. The curved walls are all screens, and holograms are projected from several small devices hidden around the room. Everything working together to transport you into the depths of space, with stars and planets at your fingertips.

I was created to run the attraction from a little control deck that hangs from the ceiling disguised as a spaceship. I was humanoid in shape but only stood just over five feet tall. They had given me large, round eyes, short hair that was neon blue, and antennae with a cute little ball at the end of each stock. I was dressed in a purple jumpsuit, bright pink space boots, a neon green, fuzzy half coat, and a bubble space helmet. The helmet I only ever wore for guests, taking it off as soon as the closing announcement sounded.

Once parts and services had finished putting me together and powdered me on, they ran a few tests to ensure all of the data I needed had been properly uploaded and set me to work. The only reason that I had met the main four was because they came to greet me after hours on my first day.

Freddy had wanted to know if I was settling in alright and made me promise to come to him if I needed help with anything at all. Chica brought me some vibrantly colored cupcakes, even though I can't eat, and asked if I wanted to have a sleepover with her and Roxie sometime soon. Roxie brought me a signed photo and informed me that she would soon be my favorite. I met Monty last because he was standing at the back of the pack, and he just gave me a head nod when he was introduced, saying nothing.

Every night from that point forward, one or more of the four would come up to the dome once we were closed and ask if I wanted to hang out. I enjoyed chica's maze and racing on the raceway. I could get a few holes-in-one on the mini golf course, but my favorite thing was fazerblast. In every game we played, I was always the winner. No contest. I could even defeat Freddy himself. Being small was a definite advantage, and I was faster than everyone except Roxy. Luckily the others didn't get upset that I always won. They would either team up against me or try to take the number two spot, knowing they couldn't beat me.

I had been active for about a month when I finally asked about the Sun and Moon-themed characters on the walls in the prize hall. Out of sight, out of mind. I had meant to ask when I first saw them, space kinda being my forte, but we were just running through to get to the East arcade at the time, and I quickly forgot.

Chica and I were going through some new prizes that Faz had released. There were some new mermaid Chica plushies and some space toys that we wanted to get our hands on.

"I keep forgetting to ask. Who are these two clowns? I've never seen them around, but their pictures are scattered around the plex." Chica was elbows deep in a box of stuffed toys, sorting through the new merch.

"That's Sun and Moon. They run the daycare. Sun's a sweetie, but he hates leaving the daycare, and Moon's a bit of a grouch. He's around but would rather hang out in dark corners and spy on the goings-on than hang out."

I leaned against the counter, arms folded, and looked at the Yellow character on the far wall. That must be Sun. I scoffed

"Very creative names. We have a daycare?"

"Yeah! It's huge! It's connected to kid's cove, but the main entrance is in the lobby across from Faz pad."

"Ahh. Never been to the lobby… never had a reason to go down there."

"Well, that's why you've never seen them! You should go visit! They love getting visitors! Well, Sun does."

"Yeah… I think I will."

__________

I made my way down to the daycare the next night. Getting to meet two other animatronics that were also space themed? Yes, please!

The sign for the daycare on the lobby landing was small, but I was able to spot it easily. Pushing through the doors, I found myself in a dark hallway with a minor water feature and a much larger advertisement for the daycare painted on the brick wall.

"This is nice." Maybe I would come back here to think. It was quiet, and the water feature cooled the air nicely. Very relaxing atmosphere.

Once the daycare security gate lifted, I was bombarded with a happy preppy song playing over the overhead speaker. Everything was bright and colorful in this upper lobby. Walking further in, I noticed the slide in the far wall. A sign over the top read 'slid into fun!'

"Oh, cute!" The slide went straight into a ball pit in the daycare below. As fun as that looked, I didn't want my first impression to be fumbling around in a ball pit.

Vaulting over the partition, I made my way down the upper hallway, peering into the party rooms as I went. The murals painted on the walls were cute, but the rooms felt small and claustrophobic. Past the palm tree lights and down the stairs, I walked up to the set of massive wooden doors.

"Well… here we go." I pushed open the doors. It was enormous! Three play structures towered in the middle of the room, and colored mats covered the floors.

If my eyes could sparkle with amazement, they would be… maybe they were. I hadn't looked at my own schematics, and no one had bothered to tell me all of my functions. Only the ones that were important to my job had been explained to me, and even then, I still needed to figure out how everything worked on my own.

"Hooo! Hoo! Hoo!" Someone was on the balcony in the far wall. They jumped.

"NO-!" There was a splash of balls as the individual dove into the ball pit below. I sprinted across the playmats to look down into the ball pit for any sign of the animatronic. Were they okay? They have to be damaged from a fall from that height!

"Hello?"

"Heeeellooo!" I fell backward as balls exploded from the pit, a yellow animatronic bursting from the brightly colored balls.

"New friend! You're sure up late!" Coming over the bridge from the ball pit, he towered over me, yellow rays spinning. This guy had to be at least 7 feet tall, definitely taller than the main four.

"…Sun?" I asked timidity from where I was now sitting on the floor.

"Hoo! Ho! You have me at a disadvantage, friend!" Sun grabbed my hand and pulled me upright. There was a second where I was hanging in the air, tiptoes barely brushing the ground before I was set down. He held my hand momentarily to ensure I was steady before letting me go.

"I'm Fey. It's nice to meet you!" This large gangly individual still towered over me even while I was standing. I was used to the band's height, so it wasn't unnerving, but I hadn't expected him to be this tall. Taking a second to look him over, I thought it looked like that fall hadn't hurt him in any visible way.

"Fey. Are you new to the plex?"

[talentlesshuman]

Can I ask how you design your ocs? Your designs are so pretty and show so much of their personality! I would love to know the thoughts behind how you design your ocs if not thats totally ok!

Thanks so much for the love!! I actually talked about this in my server recently even though no one asked for it LOL

I accidentally answered this question as if you asked about adopts instead of my OCs! Things are mostly the same except I decide certain things about the character BEFORE I go forth to design their appearance :P

anyway, under the cut is a big long ramble about how I design my adopts LOL

First thing I do is consider different themes or combinations of themes. These are normally objects (eg: candle, mushroom, bear+honey), but they can also be concepts (eg: lovecore)

In this set of adopts, I used emojis as the themes!

Second is I decide the bodytype and skintone. It's important to me that there are more diversity in the community around me, so I try my best to have an even amount of light-skinned vs dark-skinned designs and light vs heavy set designs. Here's the message I sent to myself when planning the most recent set of adopts :)

I don't consider gender or nationality- my drawings aren't particularly detailed enough to portray meaningful ethnic features, so that is something that writers have the freedom to decide on their own. As for gender, even though I normally draw feminine bodytypes/fashion, appearance doesn't have bearing on gender or sex, so that is also for the writer to determine.

Sometimes I will also pre-plan the fashion style of the design, but more often than not I just make it up as I go along. For inspiration, I may look at google or refer to some tags I keep on my main blog: https://talentlessmainblog.tumblr.com/tagged/fashion, https://talentlessmainblog.tumblr.com/tagged/g .

Inspiration is always always always good! But it's not a good idea to lift an entire outfit from pinterest when you're selling a design. When I find something I really like, I try to add the aspect I like as a part of the design. Instead of taking a whole dress, maybe I will just take the collar, or maybe the style of the folds, changing colors and themes- taking aspects from many different sources to make something new!

The final steps are to draw the designs and color them. I try to make their silhouettes interesting, which is easy to do with feminine designs with long hair and dresses, but more difficult with masculine designs. I may end up swapping around some of the pre-planned details depending on what I feel like is working or not. Often I will reach out to friends for a second opinion when I'm struggling with color palettes. When designing the hair I keep in mind different hair textures, especially for darker skinned designs. Growing up on anime, it's easy to forget about coiled hairstyles!

To me, designs are more successful when you are able to abbreviate them to a very basic form. This is why I choose simple concepts to base my designs off of, and why I try to minimize the number of colors used.

I try to keep a maximum of 3 colors in the palette (omitting skin tone, black/white, and similar values of the same hue). There are different coloring rules, but one that I remember is the 60-30-10 rule and the 70-30 rule. Both of these rules basically say that you should keep this ratio for your main color, supporting color, and accent color in a design. (They're called rules, but they're more like suggestions; you can see me breaking them all the time).

These two designs are good examples, where the main colors (brown/beige) take up a majority of the design and the accent color (blue/gold) take up about 10% of the design.

I normally try to keep a nice variety of colors, but you don't have to :3 For this valentines set from last year, I kept an all-pink bear theme!

And that's how I go about designing characters! Hope this was helpful/interesting! Keep in mind there's no wrong way to do this, and the first rule is to have fun :)

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Tyrion IV (Chapter 14)

I hate this book, and I hate this chapter, and I hate this character.

A full moon floated above the mast. It is following me downriver, watching me like some great eye. Despite the warmth of the musty skins that covered him, a shiver went through the little man.

Don't worry Tyrion, she's blind.

+.+.+

I need a cup of wine. A dozen cups of wine. But the moon would blink before that whoreson Griff let him quench his thirst.

[...]

"I would kill for a cup of wine," muttered Tyrion.

Griff made no reply. You will die before you drink, his pale eyes seemed to say. Tyrion had drunk himself blind his first night on the Shy Maid. The next day he awoke with dragons fighting in his skull. Griff took one look at him retching over the side of the poleboat, and said, "You are done with drink."

Update: Tyrion is still an alcoholic.

+.+.+

"Good morrow, Hugor." Septa Lemore had emerged in her white robes, cinched at the waist with a woven belt of seven colors. Her hair flowed loose about her shoulders. "How did you sleep?"

"Fitfully, good lady. I dreamed of you again." A waking dream. He could not sleep, so he had eased a hand between his legs and imagined the septa atop him, breasts bouncing.

Ugh.

+.+.+

Laughing, the septa walked to the prow of the boat. It was her custom to bathe in the river every morning. "Plainly, this boat was not named for you," Tyrion called as she disrobed.

"The Mother and the Father made us in their image, Hugor. We should glory in our bodies, for they are the work of gods."

The gods must have been drunk when they got to me. The dwarf watched Lemore slip into the water. The sight always made him hard. There was something wonderfully wicked about the thought of peeling the septa out of those chaste white robes and spreading her legs. Innocence despoiled, he thought … though Lemore was not near as innocent as she appeared. She had stretch marks on her belly that could only have come from childbirth.

[...]

When Lemore climbed back onto the deck, Tyrion savored the sight of water trickling between her breasts, her smooth skin glowing golden in the morning light. She was past forty, more handsome than pretty, but still easy on the eye. 

[...]

Like everyone else aboard the Shy Maid, she had her secrets. She was welcome to them. I do not want to know her, I only want to fuck her. She knew it too. As she hung her septa's crystal about her neck, to nestle in the cleft between her breasts, she teased him with a smile.

Tyrion watched her closely. He had sniffed out the truth beneath the dyed blue hair of Griff and Young Griff easily enough, and Yandry and Ysilla seemed to be no more than they claimed to be, whilst Duck was somewhat less. Lemore, though … Who is she, really? Why is she here? Not for gold, I'd judge. What is this prince to her? Was she ever a true septa? - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Welcome to the Septa Lemore Mysteries.

Who is Septa Lemore? Turns out I have to do investigative work every god damn Tyrion chapter.

Once again, I'm going to keep my mouth shut as best I can, and let you decide. Apologies if I missed any evidence.

ASHARA DAYNE

Supporting evidence

Ashara Dayne's body was never found.

She was a lady-in-waiting for Elia Martell, and would be a good candidate to help raise Aegon.

Septa Lemore has had a child. It's rumored Ashara Dayne had a stillborn child. Many have also speculated there was a baby swap, and it was her child that was lost during the sack of King's Landing.

Septa Lemore is comfortable with nudity. You might expect a similar attitude from a Dornish woman.

Ashara Dayne would be a follower of the Faith of the Seven.

Ashara Dayne had dark hair. Septa Lemore has brown hair.

Septa Lemore's hair "flowed loose about her shoulders." We get a similar description about Ashara Dayne's hair.

Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara's smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes. - The Kingbreaker, ADWD

Counterevidence

Jon Connington knew Ashara Dayne. He danced with her at the Tourney of Harrenhal. We have Connington's internal monologue, and there's never any indication that he knows who this woman truly is.

Tyrion, who has commented on the eye colour of Aegon's entire crew, has never remarked on the colour of Lemore's eyes. That's a little strange if this woman has hauntingly violet eyes.

Tyrion states Septa Lemore is more handsome than pretty. Maybe not a description you'd expect for a beautiful woman like Ashara Dayne.

According to Tyrion, Septa Lemore is past forty. That's a little too old for Ashara Dayne. [Counterpoint: He's not great with ages.]

It's not clear why Jon Connington and Ashara Dayne would continue to hide her identity once Aegon arrives in Westeros and declares himself king.

Many people believe Tyrion would be able to deduce it's the rather infamous Lady Dayne, like he did with Jon Connington.

If this is Ashara Dayne, Elia's lady-in-waiting is trying to crown Elia's son. Elia's brothers were trying to crown Viserys, and now Daenerys. It's odd these people aren't on the same page, and are working towards two different goals. If Quentyn or Arianne successfully married Daenerys or Viserys in secret, this could have been a disaster. [Counterpoint: Team Dorne not being on the same page is typical Dorne, lol.]

SERRA (second wife of Illyrio Mopatis)

Supporting evidence

If this is Serra, the implication is that Aegon is her son. The name Serra is similar to Shiera Seastar, the last of the Great Bastards of Aegon IV, and daughter of Lady Serenei of Lys. It's theorized that Serra, born in Lys, is a descendent of these women.

It's Tyrion who assumed Serra was dead. Illyrio goes along with that assumption. Illyrio is known to be quite the liar, and some believe this exchange is a red flag.

"How did she die?" Tyrion knew that she was dead; no man spoke so fondly of a woman who had abandoned him. - Tyrion II, ADWD

According to Illyrio, Serra died of greyscale. The mortal form of greyscale is said to affect the extremities (hands, feet) first. It's incredibly bizarre that Illyrio would want to own his late wife's stone diseased hands in remembrance.

Serra used to work in a pleasure house. Septa Lemore is comfortable with nudity, and doesn't appear to be disgusted by Tyrion's sexual advances. That's something you might expect from a former sex worker.

Jon Connington doesn't appear to know the real identity of this woman. If Serra was the real mother of Aegon, that would have to be the case.

At one point we're told whores in Lys can pull off the (Rhaegar) Targaryen look.

Aurane did not resemble Prince Rhaegar as much as she had thought. He has the hair, but so do half the whores in Lys, if the tales are true. - Cersei VIII, AFFC

At one point Tyrion remarks that Lemore looks like the wife of a prosperous merchant. Illyrio is a prosperous merchant.

Lemore had changed out of her septa's robes into garb more befitting the wife or daughter of a prosperous merchant. - Tyrion VI, ADWD

There's a passage in Fire & Blood that could be pointing to this situation. Rhaena Targaryen contemplates disguising herself as a septa, but believes she'd be unable to hide her blue dragon Dreamfyre. Disguising herself, Serra could have dyed her hair, garbed herself in robes of a septa, and hid her blue-eyed blue-haired Blackfyre dragon.

No such escape was possible for Rhaena Targaryen herself. Though she could change her name, dye her hair, and garb herself in a tavern wench's roughspun or the robes of a septa, there was no disguising her dragon. Dreamfyre was a slender, pale blue she-dragon with silvery markings who has already produced two cluthces of eggs, and Rhaena had been riding her since the age of twelve. - Fire & Blood

Counterevidence

Tyrion has seen a painted likeness of Serra, and never makes the connection. That is unlike Tyrion.

Illyrio thrust his right hand up his left sleeve and drew out a silver locket. Inside was a painted likeness of a woman with big blue eyes and pale golden hair streaked by silver. - Tyrion II, ADWD

Tyrion could have been correct when he surmised that Serra was dead. Illyrio doesn't have to be lying.

Septa Lemore has brown hair, Serra had pale golden hair streaked with silver. [Counterpoint: dye.]

Serra has blue eyes. If it's fair to say Tyrion should be commenting on Ashara's violet eyes, I don't know why the same wouldn't be applied to Serra's blue eyes.

A girl from Lys, who spent a good chunk of her life in Pentos, might struggle when pretending to be a devout follower of the Faith of the Seven.

It's difficult for me to believe Haldon, Aegon, and Jon Connington haven't observed behaviour that indicates this woman is his mother.

Knowing how DNA works in ASoIaF, it's difficult for me to believe Tyrion wouldn't observe physical similarities between Aegon and Septa Lemore. Most notably their blue eyes.

TYENE SAND'S MOTHER

Supporting evidence

Tyene is the bastard daughter of a septa and Oberyn Martell. Septa Lemore is a septa.

You'd expect Tyene's mother to be past forty.

Despite being pious and appearing innocent, Tyene has a bit of a naughty disposition. The same might be said of Septa Lemore.

Counterevidence

Why?

Why is Tyene Sand's mother with Aegon? Why is Tyene Sand's mother hiding her identity? Why is Tyene Sand's mother not communicating with her daughter or Oberyn or literally anyone in Dorne about Aegon?

It's not like she's missing or anything, Arianne and Tyene have visited her in the Reach.

Arianne Martell had crossed the Mander once, when she had gone with three of the Sand Snakes to visit Tyene's mother. - The Queenmaker, AFFC

LYANNA STARK

No.

WENDA THE WHITE FAWN

I know I said I'd be unbiased, but I'm tired and annoyed. I can't be bothered to seriously consider this. Here's Kelsey L. Hayes's theory.

MALORA HIGHTOWER (THE MAD MAID)

Supporting evidence

The ages might work, and we don't have any description of Malora, so I guess anything goes.

Malora and Lemore are kind of similar words.

Septa Lemore is a septa. Malora was born in Oldtown. The Starry Sept is in Oldtown.

Mad Maid (Malora's nickname) and Shy Maid (the boat they travel on).

Lynesse Hightower looks like Daenerys. Maybe Malora looks like Daenerys, and made a kid that looks like Daenerys. [Counterpoint: She's a maid? The mad maid.]

Leyton Hightower might have a magic candle, and maybe he sent his daughter away to help raise this kid. We can't be sure she's actually in Oldtown.

Counterevidence

Seriously?

I'm so over this. I'm not doing another one.

+.+.+

The early morning was the best time for seeing turtles. During the day they would swim down deep, or hide in cuts along the banks, but when the sun was newly risen they came to the surface. Some liked to swim beside the boat. Tyrion had glimpsed a dozen different sorts: large turtles and small ones, flatbacks and red-ears, softshells and bonesnappers, brown turtles, green turtles, black turtles, clawed turtles and horned turtles, turtles whose ridged and patterned shells were covered with whorls of gold and jade and cream. Some were so large they could have borne a man upon their backs. Yandry swore the Rhoynar princes used to ride them across the river.

Turtles are all over this chapter. If they're meant to symbolize something, I missed it.

+.+.+

"I like to watch the sun come up as well." It was like watching a maiden rising naked from her bath. Some might be prettier than others, but every one was full of promise. "The turtles have their charms, I will allow. Nothing delights me so much as the sight of a nice pair of shapely … shells."

Septa Lemore laughed. 

Ha ha, he's so funny when he's joking about a septa's breasts.

Any time Tyrion has gross maiden thoughts, you feel like Sansa's shadow is clouding the text.

+.+.+

The lad was shorter than Duck, but his lanky build suggested that he had not yet come into his full growth. This beardless boy could have any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms, blue hair or no. Those eyes of his would melt them. Like his sire, Young Griff had blue eyes, but where the father's eyes were pale, the son's were dark. By lamplight they turned black, and in the light of dusk they seemed purple. His eyelashes were as long as any woman's.

Conflicting eye reports. Tyrion believes Young Griff's eyes are blue, Jon Connington thinks they're purple.

His silvery hair was blowing in the wind, and his eyes were a deep purple, darker than this boy's. - The Griffin Reborn, ADWD

Is the author purposely trying to make this confusing? Of course.

I can't tell you which man is correct, but what I can tell you is that Dunk originally thought Egg's (Aegon V) eyes were blue, but later realized they were Valyrian purple.

"Can I have a sword to run them off with?" Egg asked. He had blue eyes, Dunk saw, very dark, almost purple. - The Hedge Knight

↓

A look was all the answer that he got. Egg had big eyes, and somehow his shaven head made them look even larger. In the dimness of the lamplit cellar they looked black, but in better light their true color could be seen: deep and dark and purple. Valyrian eyes, thought Dunk. - The Sworn Sword

+.+.+

"You do not know the river, Yollo. A pirate boat may lurk up any stream, and escaped slaves oft hide amongst the ruins. The slave-catchers seldom come so far north."

See, I told you she won't go further north than the Trident. Lol

+.+.+

"Slave-catchers would be a welcome change from turtles." Not being an escaped slave, Tyrion need not fear being caught. 

You'll never guess who catches Tyrion.

+.+.+

When the bacon was gone, Duck punched Young Griff in the shoulder. "Time to raise some bruises. Swords today, I think."

"Swords?" Young Griff grinned. "Swords will be sweet."

[...]

When they fought with mace or blunted longaxe, Ser Rolly's greater size and strength would quickly overwhelm his charge; with swords the contests were more even. 

I'm including this in case it's foreshadowing.

+.+.+

That night at supper Tyrion surprised his sire by walking the length of the high table on his hands. Lord Tywin was not pleased. "The gods made you a dwarf. Must you be a fool as well? You were born a lion, not a monkey."

If he keeps doing it, I'm going to keep pointing it out.

+.+.+

Dressed as he was, he made a comic sight. His doublet was divided down the middle; the left side was purple velvet with bronze studs; the right, yellow wool embroidered in green floral patterns. His breeches were similarly split; the right leg was solid green, the left leg striped in red and white. One of Illyrio's chests had been packed with a child's clothing, musty but well made. Septa Lemore had slit each garment apart, then sewn them back together, joining half of this to half of that to fashion a crude motley.

This is considered fAegon evidence.

Illyrio has packed a chest full of child's clothing. Many assume he's being sentimental, and that clothing once belonged to Aegon.

+.+.+

His other duty was anything but foolish. Duck has his sword, I my quill and parchment. Griff had commanded him to set down all he knew of dragonlore. 

Tyrion had read much and more of dragons through the years. The greater part of those accounts were idle tales and could not be relied on, and the books that Illyrio had provided them were not the ones he might have wished for. What he really wanted was the complete text of The Fires of the Freehold, Galendro's history of Valyria. No complete copy was known to Westeros, however; even the Citadel's lacked twenty-seven scrolls. They must have a library in Old Volantis, surely. I may find a better copy there, if I can find a way inside the Black Walls to the city's heart.

He was less hopeful concerning Septon Barth's Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History. Barth had been a blacksmith's son who rose to be King's Hand during the reign of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. His enemies always claimed he was more sorcerer than septon. Baelor the Blessed had ordered all Barth's writings destroyed when he came to the Iron Throne. Ten years ago, Tyrion had read a fragment of Unnatural History that had eluded the Blessed Baelor, but he doubted that any of Barth's work had found its way across the narrow sea. And of course there was even less chance of his coming on the fragmentary, anonymous, blood-soaked tome sometimes called Blood and Fire and sometimes The Death of Dragons, the only surviving copy of which was supposedly hidden away in a locked vault beneath the Citadel.

I think a lot of this is noise. It's the last book that's important, and I'm almost positive it's the same book that Samwell is travelling with, despite the titles not perfectly matching.

The book appeared undamaged. Maester Thomax's Dragonkin, Being a History of House Targaryen from Exile to Apotheosis, with a Consideration of the Life and Death of Dragons had not been so fortunate. - Samwell I, AFFC

Also,

hidden away in a locked vault beneath the Citadel.

Jaqen wanted a key that can open any lock in the Citadel.

+.+.+

"You need a bee up your nose to speak Ghiscari properly," Tyrion complained. Young Griff laughed, but the Halfmaester only said, "Again." The boy obeyed, though he rolled his eyes along with his zzzs this time. He has a better ear than me, Tyrion was forced to admit, though I'll wager my tongue is still more nimble.

Don't start.

+.+.+

By the time they turned to history, Young Griff was growing restive. "We were discussing the history of Volantis," Haldon said to him. "Can you tell Yollo the difference between a tiger and an elephant?"

"Volantis is the oldest of the Nine Free Cities, first daughter of Valyria," the lad replied, in a bored tone. "After the Doom it pleased the Volantenes to consider themselves the heirs of the Freehold and rightful rulers of the world, but they were divided as to how dominion might best be achieved. The Old Blood favored the sword, while the merchants and moneylenders advocated trade. As they contended for rule of the city, the factions became known as the tigers and elephants, respectively.

"The tigers held sway for almost a century after the Doom of Valyria. For a time they were successful. A Volantene fleet took Lys and a Volantene army captured Myr, and for two generations all three cities were ruled from within the Black Walls. That ended when the tigers tried to swallow Tyrosh. Pentos came into the war on the Tyroshi side, along with the Westerosi Storm King. Braavos provided a Lyseni exile with a hundred warships, Aegon Targaryen flew forth from Dragonstone on the Black Dread, and Myr and Lys rose up in rebellion. The war left the Disputed Lands a waste, and freed Lys and Myr from the yoke. The tigers suffered other defeats as well. The fleet they sent to reclaim Valyria vanished in the Smoking Sea. Qohor and Norvos broke their power on the Rhoyne when the fire galleys fought on Dagger Lake. Out of the east came the Dothraki, driving smallfolk from their hovels and nobles from their estates, until only grass and ruins remained from the forest of Qohor to the headwaters of the Selhoru. After a century of war, Volantis found herself broken, bankrupt, and depopulated. It was then that the elephants rose up. They have held sway ever since. Some years the tigers elect a triarch, and some years they do not, but never more than one, so the elephants have ruled the city for three hundred years."

Is Daenerys a tiger?

That's my only comment. I'm done.

+.+.+

"Illyrio does not play cyvasse."

No, thought the dwarf, he plays the game of thrones, and you and Griff and Duck are only pieces, to be moved where he will and sacrificed at need, just as he sacrificed Viserys. "The blame must fall on you, then. If I play badly, it is your doing."

The brains of Aegon's operation is about to play a game of cyvasse against the brains of Daenerys's operation.

I'm sure you can guess who wins. Try to keep your eyes from rolling too far back.

+.+.+

Haldon removed the screen. Each of them contemplated the other's opening array. "You are learning," the Halfmaester said.

Tyrion almost grabbed his dragon but thought better of it. Last game he had brought her out too soon and lost her to a trebuchet.

That would perfectly match what was depicted on the show. Daenerys wanted to use the dragons early on, while Tyrion constantly advised against it.

The trebuchets are interesting. Trebuchets are currently being used in Meereen against Daenerys, but I can't see her arriving in Westeros with any less than three dragons. Perhaps we'll get more trebuchets in the future.

+.+.+

He moved his light horse toward Haldon's mountains. Haldon answered with an elephant.

[...]

Tyrion moved up his heavy horse to support the light.

The Dornish Red Mountains? Wouldn't be the Vale, I don't think.

Of course this could also be nothing.

+.+.+

"Perhaps you would care to wager on the outcome?"

The Halfmaester arched an eyebrow. "How much?"

"I have no coin. We'll play for secrets."

"Griff would cut my tongue out."

+.+.+

"The day you defeat me at cyvasse will be the day turtles crawl out my arse." The Halfmaester moved his spears. "You have your wager, little man."

Tyrion stretched a hand out for his dragon.

I mean. . .

What's the point o' having some magic sword if you don't bloody well use it?"

"Honor," she said. "The point is honor." - Brienne IV, AFFC

+.+.+

"Yollo," Duck called. "Where's Haldon?"

"He's taken to his bed, in some discomfort. There are turtles crawling out his arse." 

Shut up. Try winning a battle without fire.

+.+.+

Off to the east, there was darkness gathering behind a rocky island.

Septa Lemore found him there. "Can you feel the storms in the air, Hugor Hill? Dagger Lake is ahead of us, where pirates prowl. And beyond that lie the Sorrows."

[...]

The island fell away behind them. Tyrion saw ruins rising along the eastern bank: crooked walls and fallen towers, broken domes and rows of rotted wooden pillars, streets choked by mud and overgrown with purple moss. Another dead city, ten times as large as Ghoyan Drohe. Turtles lived there now, big bonesnappers.

How funny is Dagger Lake?

+.+.+

The ruins grew taller as the land grew narrower, until the city ended on a point of land where stood the remains of a colossal palace of pink and green marble, its collapsed domes and broken spires looming large above a row of covered archways. Tyrion saw more 'snappers sleeping in the slips where half a hundred ships might once have docked. He knew where he was then. That was Nymeria's palace, and this is all that remains of Ny Sar, her city.

I laughed.

+.+.+

"This is Ny Sar, where the Mother gathers in her Wild Daughter, Noyne," said Yandry, "but she will not reach her widest point until she meets her other daughters. At Dagger Lake the Qhoyne comes rushing in, the Darkling Daughter, full of gold and amber from the Axe and pine-cones from the Forest of Qohor. South of there the Mother meets Lhorulu, the Smiling Daughter from the Golden Fields. Where they join once stood Chroyane, the festival city, where the streets were made of water and the houses made of gold. Then south and east again for long leagues, until at last comes creeping in Selhoru, the Shy Daughter who hides her course in reeds and writhes. There Mother Rhoyne waxes so wide that a man upon a boat in the center of the stream cannot see a shore to either side. You shall see, my little friend."

Am I supposed to be thinking about Catelyn and her daughters?

+.+.+

It was another turtle, a horned turtle of enormous size, its dark green shell mottled with brown and overgrown with water moss and crusty black river molluscs. It raised its head and bellowed, a deep-throated thrumming roar louder than any warhorn that Tyrion had ever heard. "We are blessed," Ysilla was crying loudly, as tears streamed down her face. "We are blessed, we are blessed."

Duck was hooting, and Young Griff too. Haldon came out on deck to learn the cause of the commotion … but too late. The giant turtle had vanished below the water once again. "What was the cause of all that noise?" the Halfmaester asked.

"A turtle," said Tyrion. "A turtle bigger than this boat."

"It was him," cried Yandry. "The Old Man of the River."

I don't get it.

I'm going to move on.

+.+.+

And why not? Tyrion grinned. Gods and wonders always appear, to attend the birth of kings.

I can't believe I let this clown fool me. He unreliable narrator'd me!

He had sniffed out the truth beneath the dyed blue hair of Griff and Young Griff easily enough - Tyrion VI, ADWD

You sniffed out the truth? You didn't sniff out shit! You won a game of cyvasse and a secret from the Halfmaester! Haldon told him who Aegon was! How did I not realize that?

Final thoughts:

I can't keep spending this much time on Tyrion chapters. It's not good for my mental health.

39 down, 10 to go. :(

How is it still 10? How is that possible??

-> return to menu <-

[yourdeepestfathoms]

thinking about the OXENFREE II concept where Riley saves Alex from the loop

it would take a crowbar to pry Alex away from Riley because i feel like Alex would hold on So Tight the moment she makes contact with her. with someone real for the first time in five years. Alex refuses to let go because she’s terrified that, if she does, she’ll be forced back into the loop. Riley lets herself be an anchor for the terrified girl, just to make her feel safer, more stable in reality.

also you can’t tell me that all of Alex’s senses wouldn’t be absolutely assaulted by Everything once she gets back to the real world. i mean, she’s been stuck reliving the same night over and over and over again for five years—she’s probably used to the darkness. and even when on the ferry during her false escape, that light is nowhere near as bright as the light in reality. also, there’s so much new stimulation. forgetting about the light, there’s the sounds, the smells, the sensations. the clamor of other people is deafening to someone who has interacted with the same voices for so long, the smell of gasoline would probably choke her, and the sensation of hot sun on her skin would be like throwing her directly into an open fire. the poor kid is absolutely overwhelmed, and probably starts to teeter into a full-blown sensory overload.

Jacob then proposes an idea: they wrap her eyes with something! since eyelids can only do so much, they wrap her eyes with some cloth to block off as much light as possible. if they have something to plug her ears, they use those, too. anything to make her more comfortable.

and then Riley and Jacob come to one big problem: Alex’s identity. this girl probably had missing posters or at least missing reports about her. it’s been five years, but surely people would have remembered a kid who disappeared under such mysterious circumstances. if they want to get her off Edwards Island, they need a way to hide her appearance, at least until they can get some hair dye to change her hair color from its very distinct shade of blue (“technically, it’s teal,” Riley says over and over again) (Jacob keeps saying orange, which Riley shuts down right away because orange is a hideous color and they shouldn’t subject the poor girl to that torture; “she’s already gone through enough!”).

so, to solve this issue, they have Alex swap her jacket with Riley’s. Alex seems extremely distressed to part with the piece of clothing that has quite literally gone through hell and back with her, but Riley swears up and down that she’ll return it to her once they’re somewhere out of eyesight of other people (and once she washes the thing. it reeks of sweat and saltwater and blood).

they also have Alex wear Jacob’s hat. they tie her hair up into a messy bun and tuck it underneath the hat, thinking that’ll be good enough to hide it from people.

Jacob carries Alex to the ferry, then to the car. she keeps her face buried in his neck the entire time, which is good. if her face matching the face of a missing teenager from five years ago doesn’t draw stares, then the fact that she’s essentially blindfolded certainly would. but she keeps her head down the whole time. she also has her nails dug into Jacob’s shoulders for grounding, and if this hurts him, he doesn’t say anything.

in the car, Alex falls asleep in the backseat while Riley and Jacob discuss what they’re going to do. they decide the best course of action is taking Alex to Riley’s house and waiting for her to recover enough to explain everything thoroughly to them. she can then tell them what she wants to do. if she wants to return to her actual family, then they’ll help her find them (though, Riley mentions that she’ll take Alex under her wing if Alex doesn’t want to go back to her home) (Jacob is curious about this, but he doesn’t say anything about it).

Jacob then asks the big question: “do you think Alex would rather have tacos or McDonald’s for breakfast?”

[beesandwasps]

A Bookmarklet (Javascript Bookmark)

Light text on a dark background quickly gets hard for me to read, so I have a Javascript bookmark that replaces the color settings of the page and forces every piece of text to be black on a white background, with boring old-fashioned blue/purple colors for links. It’s not aesthetically pleasing, but it’s more or less guaranteed to be readable. (An example and the text of the bookmark below the fold.)

As a demonstration, here’s a screen capture of a randomly-selected Tumblr blog with color as it appears normally:

After running the script, it looks like this:

(If you have other color preferences, you can just swap out “black” and “white” in the script with your choices.)

To make this work, add a bookmark in your browser, then use whatever mechanism your browser has for editing bookmarks to rename it something appropriate and replace the URL with the red text below:

javascript:(function(){var%20newSS,%20styles='%20{%20background:%20white%20!%20important;%20color:%20black%20!important%20}%20:link,%20:link%20%20{%20color:%20#0000EE%20!important%20}%20:visited,%20:visited%20*%20{%20color:%20%23551A8B%20!important%20}';%20if(document.createStyleSheet)%20{%20document.createStyleSheet(%22javascript:'%22+styles+%22'%22);%20}%20else%20{%20newSS=document.createElement('link');%20newSS.rel='stylesheet';%20newSS.href='data:text/css,'+escape(styles);%20document.getElementsByTagName(%22head%22)[0].appendChild(newSS);%20}%20})();

(That should be one single line with no spaces or line breaks, in case either Tumblr or your browser decides to play games with it.)

…as long as I’m at it, here’s a second very specialized utility script bookmark. Years ago, there was an epidemic of sites which would hijack your browser window and refuse to let you close the window or quit the browser, and the only way to get out of it was to force-quit your browser — and then make sure it wouldn’t auto-reload the content from the previous session when you opened it back up. I believe there are technical fixes in place now which prevent that form of attack, but just in case I still have my script bookmark which breaks out of that deadlock. Without changing the URL (which lets the page know you’re trying to get away) it uses the “document.write” function… which, notoriously, if used when the page has finished loading, replaces the entire page. This breaks any scripts the page may have in place to monitor your behavior, and the window/tab can then be closed. (But the URL in the location bar remains the same, and the browser thinks you’re still on the page, so the reload button will restore whatever was there before.) It is possible that this might be useful in other contexts, so here it is. The result looks like this:

To make it work, do the same as for the previous script, but replace the URL with this instead:

javascript:%20void(function(){document.write('%3Chtml%3E%3Chead%3E%3Ctitle%3E%2D%2D%20Page%20has%20been%20erased%20%2D%2D%3C%2Ftitle%3E%3C%2Fhead%3E%3Cbody%20style%3D%22margin%3A0in%3Bpadding%3A25%25%3B%22%3E%3Ch1%20style%3D%22size%3Axx%2Dlarge%3Btext%2Dalign%3Acenter%3Bcolor%3Ared%3Bmargin%3A25%25%3Bfont%2Dweight%3Abold%3B%22%3EThis%20page%20was%20erased%20using%20a%20bookmarklet%2E%3C%2Fh1%3E%3Cp%20style%3D%22text%2Dalign%3Acenter%3B%22%3EThis%20page%20has%20had%20its%20content%20replaced%20with%20this%20message%2E%20If%20you%20want%20the%20content%20back%2C%20you%20will%20need%20to%20reload%20the%20page%2E%3C%2Fp%3E%3C%2Fbody%3E%3C%2Fhtml%3E');}())

(Once again, that should be one long line with no spaces or line breaks.)