#Will be edited to my current drone design eventually

[wilbur-the-therian]

I finally finished my MD oc WIP of 7 months.

Other color options that ran through my head at some point that won't be used

[awordbroken]

tumblr won't let me edit my old oc profile post anymore, so this is a remaster i guess

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dedicated character tag

Crow Melusine Kos (that’s two first names, always used together) (...their children call them 'Sine) former Pursued Con-Artist, Star-Struck Scholar, current Politic Laboratory Director or Doting Naturalist light fingers/main they/them

frequently wearing a mask that covers the upper half of their face; often plain colored with some painted details, such as vines, eyes or abstract lines. they paint their own designs - they doodle a lot while taking breaks.

faint lattice of scarring on top of head in memory of being buried alive. otherwise no scars of note.

underneath the mask, looks perpetually tired, with dark circles that never go away. typically very low affect in both expression and voice, speaks with a sort of soft, unwavering drone. not charming in personality, but used to sell ponzi schemes on the surface on the strength of their dead-pan manner making them sound completely and unshakably confident in whatever they’re saying.

casual interest in false-stars, especially a certain one of unusual brightness that was first sighted a few years ago. primarily studies Neathy animals and monsters. a bit scatter-minded and out of it as a professor, but students who thrive on hands-on, low-oversight learning rate them a solid “alright”. no longer spends much time teaching since taking a job as Director of one of Mr Fires' newest laboratories.

considers themself a parent to the moon-miser hybrid, and misses it greatly. may or may not be making preparations to grow a new monster baby in their lab. <3 now parent to a fluffy orange and cosmogone baby bat the size of a toddler of "mysterious" origins.

allergic to smoke and very much almost died when Mr Fires took them into an underground library and set it on fire with them still in it. incidentally has a “rivalry” with Mr Fires that consists of them metaphorically hitting each other with brooms. nowadays, is deeper entwined with Mr Fires than ever before, but don’t worry about it.

ESes that are canon for them: The Deadly Dapperlings, There is the Richest Juice in Poison-Flowers

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Carver The Hushed Crowner bag a legend/alt they/them

once student worker in Crow Melusine’s lab. asked by Crow Melusine to bring them the Vake, and no one was merciful enough to tell them the Professor expresses wanting a new monster to study literally every week and they could just ignore it.

child of a Khaganian mother and a Londoner father; grew up in London. used to work in one of Mr Fires’ factories as a crowner’s assistant, which mostly involved patching up injuries and “investigating” worker deaths/accidents and determining that the factory was not at fault and would not be compensating the family in any way. bit soul crushed about it.

“poached” by Crow Melusine, who helped them get into Benthic on the strength of their knowledge of anatomy and basic medical care mostly to tweak Mr Fires’ wires. Carver feels indebted anyway, because literally anything is better than the factory.

sought the Vake to gather samples for Crow Melusine’s research, but found themself captivated by it after coming briefly face to face with it. eventually got their sample, but gained permanent mobility issues from their wounds and was forced to give up the hunt.

now runs a small clinic in Spite, with an attached morgue for the temporarily dead--for safe storage until their recovery, or, for an extra fee, a guarantee that the deceased will stay dead an extra day or two. also does tattoos on the side. the clinic is guarded by three puppy-sized spiders, which they vehemently deny doting on like pets.

has never forgotten the Vake.

conscientious. arms like tree trunks. periodically non-verbal. nerve damage down left side of body from taking a claw to the shoulder. cane user. missing something. has something strange and bittersweet going on with Ada.

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Ada Durand tbd bag a legend/alt she/her, occasionally it/its in private

has to be the most fuckable person at the Singing Mandrake at all times.

child of a well-to-do industrialist father. never fit in with her peers. left home to become a monster hunter on a whim, but found that the hunt suited her. hedonistic and a bit thoughtless, loves jewelry and cares about her appearance. smug and smirking and sharp of tooth, but never really lets anyone see her innermost self.

the last Vake-hunter. killed the Vake and made it a part of herself.

still, an emptiness is left behind.

met Carver while looking to have an injury treated, and recognized something in their ever-unfulfilled longing for the Vake. can be found coming and going around their clinic at all hours ever since. hates that Carver lets the giant spiders sleep on the bed.

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Broken Tree of Ephemera, Mr Silk heart’s desire/alt they/it/she, depending on the identity they’re using

a Sorrow-Spider council that failed to reach consensus and split apart. many of their members died or scatted, but a core cohort remains, refusing to accept the pain of being apart, even when other sorrow-spiders dismissed the idea of wasting time and resources on trying to fix a failed union.

they co-inhabit a human-like silk puppet, with which they’ve infiltrated the human population of London in pursuit of a way to re-meld. thus, they came into contact with the marvellous.

have they been touched by the lives they came into contact with in the game and in their interactions with humanity? difficult to tell. though lifelike, their blank-faced doll body expresses little.

nevertheless, they won their hearts’ desire. the Masters, however, were none too keen to upset the Neath‘s already strained balance of power by handing the sorrow-spiders a brand new, red science-improved spider-council, and the Tree of Ephemera was obliged to agree to a transformation that might be more... easily controlled, and the duties and title of Mr ____ ...well, it’s a work in progress. the Tree is well aware that the Masters have no intention of ceding any real power to them, so they see little point in arbitrarily choosing an area of trade, despite their new colleagues’ repeated attempts to explain the necessity to their new nature. the only thing that matters is that the change will make them whole again: one body, a joined mind.

so far, to their so-called colleagues’ chagrin, their changes have not been wholly curatorial in nature. their puppet is growing as many flecks of shiny carapace as patches of fur, and has recently grown a glittering array of additional eyes.

less pleasing, they have begun to develop a distracting interest in weaving, silk, and other fabrics. Mr Veils watches them with increasing anticipation of an excuse to swat a gnat.

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Penelope Howard, “Penny”/”Ash” nemesis/alt she/he

when her brother Ashley’s lover was tragically murdered, he left his home and family and ventured to the Neath alone in search of her killer. there, he was killed (permanently), leaving his revenge unfulfilled.

as Ashley’s twin, Penelope has spent her life in his shadow. kind, thoughtful, intelligent, and naturally talented with every paintbrush, instrument or weapon placed in his hands, Ashley was loved by everyone. the ideal son. in contrast, Penny was just... Penny. after her twin’s death, it seemed only natural that she should take on his burden, following him to the Neath and taking on his identity to continue his pursuit. after all, he was the best thing about her.

is "Ash” avenging his brother, or the lover that he hardly knew? does it really matter?

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Woebegone the Captain Sunless Skies captain they/them

former London urchin. older than they appear. carries traces of Storm. sold their reflection to a fingerking. treasured. a doting parent and spouse.

FL ES canon for them: Homecoming

[gavinom123]

undefined

another WIP for the MCYT worm AU trailer! I’ve posted a couple of the shots already, but since it’s slow going i wanted to post another snippet, this time all edited together! I’ll be posting captain sparklez and puffy’s designs once i finish them up some cute ref sheets!

Info for each shot under the cut, and here’s the AU masterpost!

Shot 1: Tommy and Tubbo (Heroes)

Tubbo is a tinker with a drone specialization, going by the name of Network while in costume! His costume is slightly more reasonable than tommy’s, serving to Actually Hide his Face

Tommy, meanwhile, is a cape who automatically empowers capes he cares about within a certain range. This carries over between his civilian and cape identities, and he doesn’t need to know the actual identity of a cape to power them up so long as he cares about them, even if only in their civilian ID. This makes things complicated given Wilbur is a villain

Shot 2: Wilbur, Fundy, and Niki (Villains, L’Manberg Team)

Wilbur with his Spicy L’manberg outfit! Honestly his villain costume is the best at hiding his identity, but it kind of sucks at making him recognizable to people who don’t know the AU LOL.

Fundy, as a changer, doesn’t need a super complex costume! His mask and funky collar??breastplate thing grow with him as he changes, and he can get Pretty Big. The eyes behind him are a hint to his Giant Eldritch Fox form!

Niki, my beloved, mostly hides her identity via dying her hair in costume. she hasn’t been recognized yet, so i guess it works!

Shot 3: Philza and Technoblade (Rogues, Cauldron Escapees)

Technoblade in his full tinker outfit! Most tinkers have a specific specialty, like tubbo and his drones, but technoblade actually doesn’t have anything specific! Instead, chat decides what he can build at any specific moment, and that is the ONLY thing he can build. You can imagine the kind of chaos that comes from this.

Philza doesn’t have a full costume, mostly because he doesn’t consider himself a cape. His powers came from a vial, and mostly express themselves in his wings and a mild sense of air currents allowing him a low thinker power.

Shot 4: Captain Puffy, Foolish, and Captain Sparklez (Heroes)

Puffy has the ability to generate forcefields, and uses them to create horns for herself alongside shields for her companions! She’s a member of the local Protectorate (think heroes sponsored by the government), and has literally adopted every hero younger than her in the department (foolish, cuptoast, and eventually tommy and tubbo)

Captain Sparklez has the ability to summon a variety of weapons based off of his weapons in his Mianite series! The one he has here is the Sword of Light, but he also has access to the sword of balance and the sword of the disgraced wizard, amongst others!

Foolish is a young cape with a powerful changer/breaker ability! Basically he has the power to transform into an invincible giant, the larger the more untouchable. He can limit his size for fighting in tight quarters, but this limits his invincibility proportionally. His largest size is his canonical size in the Dream SMP, 23 feet!

[seasonschange-butpeopledont]

The Best Man

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, a few curse words

Word Count: 2,560

Author’s Note: A fun part about getting older is that all of my friends are married or engaged now, and sometimes weddings bring up some insecurities. A more than a bit of venting going on here. This is my first time writing for the love of my life Marcus Pike and I’m very nervous/excited. 

Summary: When your best friend asks you to be the maid of honor at her wedding, you’re convinced that you’ll never find your own happy ending- until you meet a certain groomsman. 

Taglist Form - Masterlist

You weren’t proud of the feelings of dread that washed over you as you sat in the parking lot of the wedding venue. You’d been sitting in your car for just a little longer than socially acceptable, given that the rest of the bridal party had likely already gathered inside. You just needed to make it through the next two days, and then you could go back to your apartment, wrap yourself in a blanket, and wallow in your feelings. 

You thought you’d be better at ignoring the green-eyed monster that was currently threatening to ruin what was supposed to be a happy occasion. 

You’d dutifully sat through dress fittings, gave thoughtful opinions on flower arrangements and centerpieces and invitations, and meticulously planned the bridal shower and bachelorette party. It was your job as the maid of honor to make sure that everything went off without a hitch on your best friend’s special day. 

You were happy for her- so happy for her. You’d never seen her like this, and you knew that she and Greg were going to have the perfect lives together. A fairytale wedding, a beautiful home, a loving family with two-point-five kids and a golden retriever in the backyard. A cliche to be sure, but you couldn’t deny the pang of jealousy that Melissa had found her perfect match while you were still decidedly and hopelessly single. You buried those feelings down deep, enduring it all with a smile. 

It would happen for you eventually. 

Probably. 

Well, you could hope, right?

When you finally made your way inside, Melissa had already worked herself into a panic. The best man, Marcus, was nowhere to be found.

Mellissa had told you a little about Greg’s best man. You knew that he worked for the FBI, that he and Greg had been in a band together in his younger days, and that he was flying in from Washington D.C. for the wedding. His flight was supposed to arrive an hour ago, and then he would take a cab from the airport to the venue. 

Clearly, that plan had derailed at some point. 

“Greg, we only have the rehearsal space for another twenty minutes-” Melissa reminded him impatiently. 

“He’ll be here, Mel. I swear, the one time he’s late for anything…” Greg sighed, shaking his head. He pulled his phone from his pocket, presumably dialing the best man’s number again before holding the phone to his ear. The silence seemed to drag on forever as Mellissa glared daggers at her husband-to-be. “Damn it, Marcus, turn your phone on...” 

You tried to deescalate the situation, placing a calming hand on Melissa’s shoulder and quietly reminding her to breathe. With patience wearing thin all around, the last thing you needed was for Bridezilla to make an appearance today. 

“Why don’t we just run through the ceremony without him, and he can follow my lead tomorrow. All he really has to do is stand there and hand you the rings, right? Does that sound okay?” You looked back and forth between the couple hopefully, and they nodded in agreement.

“Good. Happy thoughts, you two. It’s going to be the most magical day of your lives, I promise.” 

You’d woken the next morning with a tension headache from hell, and it had stuck with you all morning. As calm as you’d made yourself out to be earlier, the case of the missing groomsman was still bothering you. 

As you and the other bridesmaids got into your places for the ceremony, you ran through your mental checklist. As long as Greg’s friend was standing up there at the altar when those doors opened, you had everything under control. You’d even managed to wrangle the flower girl, Greg’s rambunctious niece, into a somewhat poised state, promising her an extra piece of cake later if she would just keep it together during the ceremony and pictures.

On the other side of the doors, you heard the music start, and one by one, the bridesmaids shuffled through the doors. When it was finally your turn, you took a deep breath, smoothing your hair to the best of your ability with your bouquet-free hand and hoped for the best as you walked through the doorway. Three thoughts always stuck in your mind during these kinds of things: 

One, you really, really hoped that you wouldn’t trip on the hem of the dress and bust ass in front of all of these people, effectively ruining the ceremony and humiliating yourself in the process. 

Two, Am I taking too long? I’m taking too long. Oh fuck, all of these people are staring at me wondering why I won’t hurry up, aren’t they? This isn’t my wedding, I should just-

Three, you wonder what it might be like if it was. For a split second, your dress is white, your heart is fluttering, and the man of your dreams is waiting for you at the end of the aisle. 

Your eyes go there without really meaning to. Greg is there, of course, sweating bullets. Idly, you wonder if the photographer can fix that in editing. God, you hope so. Poor Melissa. 

Then your gaze moves slightly to the right, and the fluttering in your chest returns. 

Whatever lingering annoyance you had with the best man and his lack of punctuality was out the window now, his warm brown eyes melting your resolve in an instant. He smiled, showing off the dimples in his cheeks and you felt yourself returning it before your brain had time to interfere. Reaching the altar and planting yourself in your designated space, your nervousness has morphed into something you can’t quite identify, but don’t have much time to linger on. The flower girl is already making her way down the aisle, distributing the petals in the way you hand practiced repeatedly last night, much to your relief, and your heart is still racing long after Melissa walks through the doors. 

Time always passes strangely during these types of things. The ceremony begins after you almost miss your cue to take the bouquet from her, and she shoots you a confused look over when it passes into your hands. As the officiant drones on and on about the bigger meaning of what is taking place here today, you find your arms aching as you try to hold both bouquets still. You wonder if you would be sore later from holding your arms this way for so long, and silently hope that everyone remembers not to lock their knees as you all try to remain frozen in place for the better part of an hour. 

Finally, the officiant arrives at the portion of the ceremony you’d all been waiting for, the vows. The words of love and commitment that made your insides all warm and fuzzy. The best part of any wedding, hands down. A guaranteed tear-jerker, and, more importantly, the signal that all of this would soon be over. 

“I, Greg, take you, Melissa, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, 'til death do us part.”

Oh, what you would give to have that... The thought brought a lump to your throat, the tears in your eyes somewhere between happy and sad. Longing. That was the word for it. You forced yourself to look away from the scene, giving yourself a moment of reprieve from your own insecurities. 

You didn’t mean to make eye contact with Marcus at that moment, but you found him looking back at you. The space between his eyebrows creased slightly as he noticed the pain in your eyes. 

Receptions always seemed to drag, especially when you were unlucky enough not to check the plus-one box on the invitation. The bridal party had gathered themselves at one long table for dinner, but the cake had been cut well over an hour ago and all that was left was smalltalk and dancing. Or, in your case, people-watching. 

You sighed, your chin resting on your hand as you watched the couple sway to the music. They looked like they were lost in their own little world, their foreheads touching as they spoke in hushed whispers that no one could hear but them. You couldn’t remember the last time that someone had looked at you like that. Actually, you weren’t sure that anyone had ever looked at you like that. 

“They seem happy, huh?” A voice said from beside you. You hadn’t noticed the chair being pulled out or the tall, tuxedo-clad body dropping into it, but you looked over your shoulder to find Marcus beside you. You hadn’t dared to speak a word after the ceremony or during photos, but you had spent a good portion of the evening mesmerized by the soothing sounds of his voice as he gave the speech for his toast. It was low and raspy and warm, like whiskey and honey, and it gave you goosebumps now that it was finally being directed towards you. 

“I would hope so,” You agreed quietly. “They did just get married two hours ago.” 

“Do you want to dance?” He asked, giving you an inviting, hopeful smile and holding his hand out to you. “No pressure, but I wouldn’t really be fulfilling my best man duties if I didn’t ask the maid of honor to dance.” You nodded gratefully, taking his hand and allowing him to help you up and lead you out towards the dance floor.

“Can I ask you something?” He wondered, his voice quiet at the pair of you swayed to the music. Marcus had, it seemed, become your unofficial dance partner for the evening. He danced like a dork during the fast songs, but the slow songs were where he really shined. 

“Go ahead,” You nodded. 

“Earlier you seemed kind of… down. Anything you want to talk about?”

“Was it that obvious?” You cringed. You hoped that Melissa and Greg hadn’t picked up on your moodiness. 

“I’m pretty good at reading people. Comes with the job, you know? Are you not a big fan of weddings?”

“No, I love weddings,” You shook your head. “Sometimes it just feels like… You know that phrase, ‘always the bridesmaid, never the bride’? Well, that’s the unofficial title of my autobiography.” 

A soft snort escaped his nose, and you narrowed your eyes at him playfully. 

“Excuse me, are you laughing at my misfortune?”

He raised his hands in surrender, temporarily pausing your dancing, and you immediately felt the absence of the warmth from your waist and hand. “Not at all. I’m sort of in the same boat, actually.” 

He took your hand once more, raising it above your head and spinning you before the pair of you returned to your swaying.

“The thing is, I’m happy for Melissa, I really am, but she’s never even wanted to get married. Not until she met Greg. But here she is, getting her fairytale wedding, while I couldn’t even find a date for tonight. I’ve always liked the idea of being married. The whole madly in love, growing old together, building a life with someone kind of thing. I know it’s stupid, but I really, really want it, and sometimes it feels like my life is always just going to be… this,” You explained, gesturing arbitrarily small corner of dance floor the two of you had cut out for yourselves. “Standing on the sidelines, watching everyone else find their soulmate and wondering what the hell is wrong with me.” 

“I know the feeling. I once watched Greg give himself a concussion trying to smash a beer can on his head,” Marcus revealed. “Not exactly a catch, but I guess there’s someone out there for everyone.” 

You laughed at that, the tension easing itself out of your shoulders. “A concussion?”

“I drove him to the hospital and everything,” He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the sound of your soft giggles. He gave your waist an encouraging squeeze, relieved that the sadness in your eyes had finally disappeared. 

“Alright, so we’ve discussed my deepest, darkest secret. Isn’t it your turn to make an embarrassing confession?” You asked teasingly. You were having more fun than you’d expected to have this evening; Marcus’ presence seemed to eclipse everything around you. 

He hummed thoughtfully, nodding. “Does it have to be embarrassing?”

“Maybe not embarrassing, but it can’t be boring,” You decided, your curiosity piqued. 

“Okay,” He agreed. “I told Greg that I was working a case and that’s why I had to catch a red-eye this morning instead of getting in last night.” 

“Mmm, I’ve gotta say. That is a bit boring,”

“Yeah? Well, it was a lie.”

“Oh? You’ve caught my interest. And what is your excuse for the stress-induced headache your tardiness caused me this morning?”

“I almost decided not to show up at all,” He admitted. “Made it all the way to the airport before I turned around and went home. Turned off my phone, completely unpacked… My fiancé left me for another man about a year ago, and I guess I still have some wedding-related issues of my own to work through. But Greg is one of my best friends, so… here I am.” 

“Oh, I’m…” You fumbled, not quite prepared for the level of honesty that he’d given you in his answer. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know-” 

“No, no,” He shook his head. “It’s okay. I just meant that… I get it. It’s like you said. A life, a home, a family… That’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I thought I did everything right and that clearly wasn’t enough, so I started thinking that maybe there was something wrong with me. But I think the truth is that she just wasn’t the right person.”

“Wow, Marcus… I know there’s an open bar, but I feel like I should buy you a drink after that. That’s horrible…” 

He chuckled, shrugging. “I was pretty relieved when I saw I wasn’t the only one here counting down the hours until I could leave and go home.” 

“So… do you still think the right person is out there, then?” You asked quietly. 

“Oh, definitely,” Marcus said confidently, squeezing the hand that was still clasped in his. His eyes were molten as they looked into yours with an earnestness that set your heart racing.  “Maybe they’re just running a little late.” 

Melissa glanced over her shoulder to look at the maid of honor and best man, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips as she turned back to her new husband. 

“You don’t have your wallet on you, do you?” She asked, the I-told-you-so obvious in her tone. 

“You don’t win the bet unless he asks her out,” Greg reminded her. 

“Greg, get real. You see the way they’re looking at each other. I want my twenty bucks, babe.” 

Greg glanced over at his friend, instantly recognizing Marcus’ lovestruck expression. He had to hand it to Melissa, she’s one of a hell of a matchmaker. 

“Double or nothing,” He countered. “I’m guessing…. A wedding within the next… Two years?” 

Melissa scoffed. “Bring it on. I’ll rig the bouquet toss and we’ll have that invitation taped to the fridge within the year.”

General Taglist: 

@theravenreads @marshmallowtraver @computeringturtle @adikaofmandalore @pascalisthepunkest @supernaturalcat7 @maythxthirstbxwithyou

Pedro Character Taglist: 

@coldlilheart​

[blue-honeycomb]

Quiet Devotion 4 [Hawks x Reader]

I'll edit this at a later date...

Summary: Part 4 of the 'Quiet Devotion' series… Somehow this story's managed to wring yet another part out of me. What am I doing with my life?

Reader Details: Emotional, humble, loyal, introspective, independent.

Quirk: Life Fiber (A.K.A Soul Silk).

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

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---

Six Years Ago

---

Fast doesn't even begin to cover the sheer speed the winged hero is capable of, and coupled with his reaction time and environmental awareness he seems down right inhuman at times. As far as you can tell there are few skills he's incapable of executing mid-combat and you find it all the more admiral that a considerable amount of that talent is focused on support and rescue work. It says much for his character that life takes precedence over the promise of glory

Memories of darkness and pain nip harshly at the back of your mind, the fear that'd overcome you when the car fire had finally died out was printed red on the backs of your eyelids. You can still smell the stench of burning gasoline and the heavy tinge of sweet iron, the feel of sand in your hair.

You dream of it sometimes, even a year later. You don't usually get back to sleep afterwards either, despite the tear inducing exhaustion riping painfully though your body. Instead you pull up the 24/7 Hero News website and hope that you'll catch a glimpse of red feathers flashing across the screen, hear that smooth, masculine voice quipping at his comrades, snarking at his opponents.

Anything to make you feel safe again. Anything to remind yourself that the dark of your room is only temporary, that the blankets tucked tightly (too tightly, always too tightly) around you are soft and pliant under your hands.

The news plays in the background as you finish washing the night's dishes, reporters droning on about Hawk's exploits in a seemingly endless stream of praise and condescension. Rapidly cooling water drips down the front of the kitchen sink and soaks the front of your shirt despite your best efforts, and you take a moment to unstick the cloth from your skin with water-wrinkled fingers.

The fabric is sopping in some places still, heavy and discolored with dish water despite the wringing you give it. The rain outside seems to somehow add to that feeling of dampness despite you having not been outside all day, the pitter-patter of icy droplets battering your window like icecubes caressing your spine.

It's as you lament the condition of your clothes and the weather that the beginnings of a though begins to take root in your mind.

'If only my clothes were made from my quirk.' You thought exasperatedly, not for the first time, while entering the livingroom to watch the rest of the report before you had to do laundry. 'Then I'd never have to worry about wet clothes again.'

On the news Hawks stands before the cameras with his trademark devil-may-care smile on his lips, eyes half-lidded and entire hero persona picture perfect but for the way his clothes seem to sag and darken unevenly from the rain. A more aggressive reporter manages to sneak in a baiting question about the teenager's glaring inexperience in the field and the winged hero quips back in response, water dripping from the tips of his long deflated hair.

He looks miserable standing in the rain, the bright colors so characteristic of him dulled and darkened by the gray overcast, by the rain soaking him to the bone. Even as he's smiling you can tell it doesn't reach his eyes, barely even manages to fully form on his lips as question after intrusive question is hurled at him from the hoard of intent faces. You don't miss the way he glanced to the side occasionally, towards a rail thin man standing quietly beside him, meeting the teen's gaze every time with a narrow-eyed stare.

You don't think you've ever seen Hawks so unhappy before. Not on the battle field with hellfire raining down around him, nor any of his interviews with a panel of venomous snakes breathing down his back. Not even when he'd misstepped during his first solo multi-villian battle and had more than half of his left wing exploded right off his back.

No. You'd never seen him looking so miserable before and more than anything that quiet discontent in his eyes racked your soul with a sad, profound longing. Without conscious thought the tips of your fingers begun to warm and turn black, dark roots creeping up the veins in your fingers and fading at the knuckles. Moments later the beginnings of your silk spilling forth onto your lap and latching onto your pant legs catches your attention.

It did that from time to time when you got overly emotional. Frankly, the lack of control was embarrassing and never failed to remind you of why you were never able to train it past its current potential. Your doctor had said it was nothing to worry about though, and that you could maintain a normal life even with the occasional accident.

You'd thought about going to a quirk specialist shortly after you'd hit your current limit, but ultimately decided against it when you caught sight of the price tag attached to each visit. You reasoned that even if you managed to start producing more silk there'd be little use for it besides having readily available materials on hand if you ever felt the need to sew. So you dropped the matter entirely and carried on with your life.

Until a year ago, that is, when your whole world came crashing down around you.

You quickly shake those thoughts away, instead focusing on detaching the silk from your clothes before they can weave into the fabric they're touching. Yet another oddity you've had to learn the hard way. For the first twenty or so seconds before it cools and solidifies, the silk will try to latch onto any available surface and meld to it. Honestly, it was more annoying than anything and sometimes you regretted not being able to get it checked out by a specialist.

It took a few moments but you eventually managed to get the silk separated into their individual strains. They're each around ten inches long, though some had managed to stick together at the ends to more than double their length.

Exasperated, you pluck up the longest of the bunch with the tips of your darkened fingers, holding it before you with a frown. The black strands remain stuck together and you knew from experience they'd now be impossible to disconnect.

The flash of red on the television catches your attention for a moment and your sight blurs as it attempts to refocus. In that brief second, however, the black of your silk melded seamlessly into the darkened cloth of Hawk's soaked jacket and undershirt. In that exact moment, the quiet thought came to your mind.

'My quirk has never been useful to me. But maybe, with enough patience and effort, it can be of use to someone who deserves it more than anyone.'

And so begun the trials of your labor. The physical manifestation of your unspoken devotion.

---

Present Day

--

Hawks wasn't sure what expression had managed to slip past his usually perfect control, but whatever it was must have been fearsome indeed because the young researcher before him was sweating bullets beside his mentor. Said mentor was glancing disappointedly at his assistant and had yet to step in, instead opting to shake his head and cross his arms with quiet exasperation.

"So." Hawks begun in a slow drawl, still smiling but for the way his eyes narrowed. "We're just throwing civilian names into hero politics now are we?" The assistant lowered his head, but remained silent. "Making sure to break all those confidential clauses, huh? I've got to admire your spirit though. Go big or go home is the name of the game in this industry, after all." The winged hero clapped a hand over the other's shoulder, making sure to look him right in the eye as he finished. "How's it feel to be the uncontested winner?"

The assistant took a deep, fortifying breath before finally speaking. "I got carried away. My actions were a direct violation of Proper Hero Agency Conduct and I understand there will be repercussions. I-" The young man pauses again, almost breaking eye contact but the hand tightening on his shoulder quickly made him reconsider. "I let my pride get in the way of proper procedure and it's potentially put a civilian in danger." The assistant grit his teeth and closed his eyes. "I didn't win anything. I fucked up. Knew it the moment their name came out of my mouth."

There was a tense silence before Hawks himself broke it with a loud, exaggerated sigh. "It can't be helped I guess. Chicks gotta break a few eggs before they can grow after all." Everyone pointedly ignore the fact the Hawks was only a few years older than the assistant. Most of all the assistant.

The winged hero threw his head back, letting his entire posture slump and his face crumple into an irritated frown. "They're probably having a heart attack right now."

--

You were panicking. Inwardly, for the time being, but you weren't too far from having a total breakdown. For three hours your phone has been blowing up with an unknown number of texts and calls, half of them demanding your compliance and the other your service, all of them wanting your attention. None of them were making much sense.

The bit about various hero agencies wanting you to work for them was clear, what wasn't though was the why in this situation? The only thing you could think of was the uniform you'd given Hawks (you were well aware you'd probably been on camera the entire time you'd been near Hawk's agency), but such things were dime a dozen in the hero industry and you didn't believe for a moment Endeavor's agency was hurting for costume designers.

The next thing you could think would prompt this response was that there was something about your quirk you were unaware of. Something, apparently, heros deemed valuable enough to look for. What it was you weren't sure, but you knew enough about yourself to know your quirk, while fairly simplistic, was still an unknown to you in many regards.

Still, the sudden influx of unexpected messages was stressful enough. Add that to the fact most of them were from distinguished hero agencies with members that could literally demolish mountains and you were feeling more than a little pressured. Even a little frightened by some of the more demanding messages you'd managed to glimpse before retreating to the other side of the workshop.

You could barely move your furniture across the room most days, what could you do if the likes of Best Jeanist or Gang Orca decided to pay you an unexpected visit?

Okay, that was the panic talking. Not only was that scenario completely illogical, the jab at Gang Orca for having a stereotypical villian aesthetic was uncalled for. Time to recenter yourself and get some much needed fresh air into your lungs before you start accusing All Might of fraud or some such nonsense.

It takes a few minutes to get the muscles in your back to loosen and your mind to stop spitting out half-coherent worst case scenarios, but you manage with a few intense rounds of breathing exercises. By the end of the ordeal you're exhausted, even a little sore from the lack of air before hand. You're functioning again though, and that's what matters.

Now in better control of your thoughts the most obvious solution to your current predicament comes to you with little prompting. You don't even hesitate. There is not a single doubt in your mind as to what you must do.

This is your chance to finally pay back the man you owe your life too. This may very well be the only chance you'll ever get and you've learned that life is far too short to squander the moments that matter.

Your slip on your coat and gloves, making a few last minute adjustments around the shop before stepping out the door and locking up behind you. With your purse on your shoulder and your eyes lit with hopeful determination you walk out into the world with renewed purpose.

You leave the phone.

Nothing they have to offer matters. It never has and you doubt it ever will. They could offer you jewels and they'd collect dust, the world and it'd keep on spinning. They could grant you eternal life and you'd have given it up in a heartbeat for this one chance.

He's the only one that matters. The only one whose attention means something.

He is your priority. He is your only priority.

[calligraphist-artemisia]

I’ll Take Her Place (Chapter 20)

Summary: AU. When Allura breaks the news that she is to wed Prince Lotor in order to continue the peaceful relationship between Altea and Daibazaal, Pidge knows that she has to do something to change that. And so, with a little help, she comes up with a new plan. A better plan

Pairings: Keith/Pidge (main) ; Shiro/Allura (minor) and Hunk/Lance (minor) ; one-sided Lotor/Allura

Edit 11/18/2018: Since inserting links is currently causing my posts to not appear when you search through the tags, I’m removing them from my most recent chapters until this issue is fixed. To find the rest of the chapters, just check my page and it’ll be under “My Voltron Fanfiction”. I’ll be doing my best to keep the masterpost up-to-date. (For mobile users, every chapter has been tagged with “arranged marriage au”, which may be your best shot at finding the other chapters.)

To find me on AO3 or fanfiction.net, my penname is “kishirokitsune”

Chapter 20

Allura had reached a dead end with her research.

Everything started out so promising! She found a decent stack of books, as well as official documents on the Legend of Oriande, but none of them offered her any insight into what Lotor was searching for. She'd gone through them in careful detail, trying her best to consider every angle, but still there was nothing.

It was starting to look like the Legend of Oriande was just that – a legend.

Allura groaned as she tangled her fingers in her hair, gently tugging at the silky strands. She hated to give up, loathed it, but what choice did she have?

“Darling, is something wrong?”

Allura lifted her head in surprise. “Mother? What are you doing here?”

Alanna smiled back at her daughter, shifting the skirts of her dress as she took a seat at the table. “Shiro mentioned you would be here in the library and asked if I wouldn't mind checking in on you while he's away. He seems to think you will get too lost in your research and forget to take breaks.”

Allura flushed from embarrassment, which prompted a delicate laugh from her mother.

“Just like your father,” she said fondly. “Tell me, what is it that occupies your mind so strongly? I haven't seen you this devoted to your studies in some time.”

“Do you remember the stories you and father used to tell me about Oriande?”

“Of course. You always loved to hear those stories. You requested one every night for a year. Luckily for us, you never minded when we had to repeat one,” Alanna said.

Allura hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. “I... heard about something that led me to believe there was some part of the legend that may be true, but so far... I don't know. I'm starting to think it was all part of an elaborate distraction designed specifically for me, and I fell for it,” she confessed, looking down at her tidy notes and final stack of books.

Alanna hummed in thought. She reached across the table and laid her hands over her daughter's. “I think this is something you should talk to your father about. He may just hold the key you need to understand this mystery of yours.”

“Do you really think so?” Allura sounded unsure. Even if he was the first to tell her about Oriande, he'd always described it as nothing more than a story. She felt a little foolish going to him just to confirm what she already knew.

At the same time, her mother was giving her an encouraging smile, as though there was something she knew about the subject, but was unable to say it.

“Come with me?” Allura asked, making up her mind.

Alanna nodded.

Pidge woke with a start, her heart beating fast, as though she'd just run the invisible maze with Hunk's guidance. She laid in bed and tried to wrap her mind around the most bizarre dream she'd had in a while. (The last one was when she had a fever and involved Lance as a ballerina, tutu and all.)

It started out normally enough:

She and Keithir walked through the seemingly endless halls of the Castle of Lions, talking as they went along, though none of the words really seemed important. He was wearing the red jacket she bought him and she was wearing a dress – nothing strange for the two of them.

The dream shifted.

It was like she blinked and the world changed around them. They were no longer in the halls of the castle, but sitting down at the overlook on Olkarion. There was no one else around. It was just the two of them and the wilderness.

Pidge laughed at something Keithir said and gazed up at him, mesmerized by the intense shade of purple that greeted her. His eyes really were beautiful. They slowly leaned into each other and Keithir lifted a hand to gently cup her face, his skin just as pale as her own.

And that was when Pidge woke up.

She laid there for several long minutes, unsure of what to make of it all. Her dream-self had been so convinced that it was Keithir she was with, but it had clearly been Keith she was talking to. It was Keith who she'd...

Pidge groaned and rubbed her eyes, wishing she could forget all about it, but the image just wouldn't go away. She was sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. Maybe it was because she hadn't seen Keith for a while? Any time not spent working on Rover or with her fellow paladins was spent with Keithir, but she hadn't even seen a glimpse of his servant. Her dream was just her brain's way of telling her she should check in with her new friend.

That had to be it.

But Pidge never got around to seeking out Keith that day.

During breakfast, Shiro made mention that he needed to speak to Kolivan regarding the threat Lotor made while they were on Daibazaal. However subtle it was, it wasn't something that could be ignored. He asked Pidge to recount the encounter one last time, and after that it was all she could think about.

It was strange, to say the least. Why had Lotor approached them at all? Why make a move that would only put them more on edge? Was he bored? Was it all some twisted game to him?

Pidge had no answers to her questions and she absolutely hated it. So she did what she always did and went down to visit the Green Lion and, if she could focus for more than a few seconds at a time, maybe get a little more work done on Rover. She was so close to finishing her drone.

As always, Pidge got lost in her work. Hours flew by without her realizing and it was only when Hunk came to find her that she noticed how much time had gone by.

“Hey, you got Rover working!”

The drone beeped softly and did a quick spin, but hovered steadily by Pidge's side.

Pidge looked up at the sound of his voice. “Well, it's not smashing into walls or floating up to the ceiling anymore, so I'll count that as a win for today.”

Hunk watched the drone move around with her and privately thought it was more than just a simple win, but he also knew she wouldn't be happy until it was exactly how she envisioned. “Okay, well, do you and Rover want to come up for dinner? I made this peanut butter cake for afterwards, and I want to know what you think.”

Pidge perked up at the sound of a new dessert to try. “Yeah, give me a minute to hook Rover up to charge.”

“Sure.”

She gestured for Rover to descend and then grasped it with both hands. She flipped a switch to turn it off before beginning the lengthy process of plugging him in to her computer.

“Diagnostics too?” Hunk asked, moving closer for a better look.

“And uploading a new program. Eventually I'm going to make a charging dock, but I've been so focused on everything else that it slipped my mind,” Pidge explained. She stepped back and nodded in approval, content that things were going according to plan.

“I could help with that,” Hunk volunteered. “I mean, if you want. We could come up with something pretty cool.”

Pidge considered it for a moment. “It's been a while since we worked on anything fun together. We'll have to make two charging stations though, if you're sure about helping me.”

“Two?”

“Well... I may have gathered a few too many pieces while I was building Rover, and it'd be a shame if I didn't do anything with them, so...” Pidge turned and lifted up a sheet on her desk, revealing a half-built drone. “I thought you'd like one too.”

Hunk could already feel the tears beginning to form. “Pidge...”

“Better start thinking of names,” Pidge said, right before Hunk gave up on holding back his emotions and swept her up into his arms.

Pidge laughed and let him hug her for as long as he wanted.

Shiro sighed as he made his way back up to the room Allura practically lived in since she began her research on Oriande. His meeting with Kolivan had gone about as expected; Keithir had already filled him in and they were trying to reach out to their informant on Daibazaal to warn them, but so far they hadn't had luck getting in contact. With that new worry fresh in his mind, Shiro decided his best course of action was to inform Allura as well and get a another opinion on the mystery that was Lotor.

“Allura?”

“Back here.”

Shiro followed the sound of her voice to find her carefully re-shelving a familiar stack of books. “You're putting everything away?”

“I am,” Allura responded, turning to him with a smile. “Shiro, I know what Lotor was looking for. I know why we couldn't find it in any book – because it's never been recorded in the stories! And I know now that Lotor will never be able to find out the truth.”

She spoke with such conviction that Shiro was taken aback.

Allura walked away from the books and over to him, where she took his prosthetic hand with both of her own. “Oriande is real. My father has been there and he gave me the key to find it for myself. Will you go with me?”

“I...” Shiro hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't want to go. To be honest, he'd follow her wherever she asked him to. But there was something important that he had to tell her first. Something that had been lurking in the back of his mind since his conversation with Lance.

Allura's smile slipped. “Shiro, is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine,” he assured her. “There's jut... There's something I need to tell you. It's hard for me to talk about, but you deserve to know.”

Allura squeezed his hand.

Shiro took a deep breath and began to tell her everything. How quickly and strongly he'd fallen for Adam. The pleasant times they'd shared as flight partners. The way it hurt to not have his support for the Kerberos Mission. How all of the fighting tore him apart. How when he chose to go to Kerberos anyway, knowing that it meant losing Adam, he felt as though his heart had shattered in a way that would never heal.

“And then I met you. It wasn't immediate, but over time I realized that there is no place I'd rather be than standing by your side. Wherever you need to go, I'll go with you, and if that isn't possible, then I'll support you in whatever way I'm able to. I love you, Allura.”

Tears glimmered in her eyes as he finished talking. Shiro barely had time to prepare himself before she launched herself into his arms and held onto him tightly.

“I love you too, Shiro,” Allura said, her voice thick with restrained emotion. She pulled back after a moment, reaching up to brush away her tears. “This isn't quite how I imagined it going. I- I had a plan to sweep you off your feet... It's silly, really.”

“I don't know, getting romanced by a beautiful princess sounds nice to me,” Shiro said. “Though I guess that will have to wait until after we get back from Oriande.”

Allura looked delighted. “Then we've no time to waste.”

It was Blaytz who brought him the information he'd been waiting for. The Nalquodian had been unusually somber as he spoke, his eyes never once leaving the figure of the Galra servant he'd brought back with him. He slept peacefully in the healing pod, the machine doing everything it could to heal the injuries he'd obtained.

“I'm sorry I didn't try to get him out while we were there,” Keithir apologized. “If I'd known what Lotor was going to do to him...”

“Your return and attention to detail is what saved him, Prince Keithir. If you'd tried then, things could have been worse than they were,” Blaytz said. He reached into one of his pockets and withdrew a small device. “He managed to save this. He asked me to give it to you.”

Keithir took the object, which turned out to be an encrypted drive commonly used by the Blade to store and pass along information. “Is this...?”

Blaytz managed the tiniest of smiles. “If I'm right, that's everything you need to find the location of Pidge's missing family. He's been listening in to Lotor's conversations for movements.”

Keithir barely remembered to thank Blaytz before he was rushing off to find Kolivan and see for himself what information the drive contained.

[thesunlounge]

Reviews 245: Visible Cloaks, Yoshio Ojima & Satsuki Shibano

I owe much of my interest in modern Japanese music to the duo of Spencer Doran and Ryan Carlile, otherwise known as Visible Cloaks. Valve / Valve Revisted introduced me to dip in the pool, who have since become a beloved favorite, and the far-out sounds and forward thinking production techniques of Japan have long informed the duo’s approach. As well, Spencer Doran spent years diving into the country’s environmental, new age, fourth-world, and future-pop landscapes and issued a couple of essential mixes for Root Strata in this direction, with his work eventually leading to the breathtaking Kankyō Ongaku collection on Light in the Attic…all of which have had a massive impact on my own musical journey. So it’s entirely fitting, if not fated, that Visible Cloaks’ first contribution to RVNG Intl.’s longstanding FRKWYS series sees Doran and Carlile joining together with Satsuki Shibano and Yoshio Ojima, two masters of innovative sound design and visual art that were highly influential on Japan’s cultural landscape during the 80s and 90s and whose work continues to resonate today: Shibano through her immersive piano dreamscapes inspired by Satie and Debussy and Ojima via his explorations of computerized composition and in scoring artistic and public spaces such as Wacoal’s famous Spiral building. And like all FRKWYS pairings, it completes a circle of influence and inspiration, with elder artists stirring the creativity of younger generations, whose novel approaches then inform and are folded back into the work of the original source…a sort of eternal conversation between past and present about the sonic landscapes of the future.

In the write up for serenitatem, RVNG discuss the group’s interests in aleatoric music, the British avant grade, pre-classical composition, and Lovely Music, Ltd, as well as Ojima’s and Satsuki’s groundbreaking work with the St. Giga radio installation…a free-form and continuously broadcasted collage of field recordings, poetry, and audio experimentation that looms large over the approach and vision of serenitatem. As for the process, Doran and Carlile recorded sketches while on tour and sent them to Ojima, who added his own sounds and edits before returning the recordings to the duo. So it continued for months, with the trio trading ideas and building on each others’ manipulations until a studio session in Tokyo brought all four musicians together, allowing them to further enhance their preliminary experiments and create new compositions on the spot. And the results are truly beguiling…a spellbinding coalescence of futuristic sonic exploration and deeply human emotion that features cloudforms of orchestral gas shattering into crystalline vapor; funereal organs playing ancient hymns to the sun; tropical new age textures surrounded by spectral space foam; mermaid choirs singing through overtone resonances; and marbles vibrating within tunnels of morphing glass. And though the sensibilities of Visible Cloaks and Ojima are almost entirely indistinguishable, the artistic identity of Shibano is uniquely discernible, with her effected voice and majestic piano themes standing out amidst the rainbow energy fields and fractal orchestrations while also feeding generative MIDI software, in turn creating new and ever-evolving paths of exploration.

Visible Cloaks, Yoshio Ojima & Satsuki Shibano - FRKWYS Vol. 15: serenitatem (RVNG Intl., 2019) In “Toi,” liquids drip over aquatic swells while gong drone overtones hover in place before rapidly vaporizing. Vocals awash in a haze of euphoria flow into the mix on layers of aquamarine synthesis, ringing feedback tones weave pastoral melodies, and disjointed piano chords splash through crystalline tide pools while swirling noise clouds move chaotically before being sucked out of existence. The mix is repeatedly intercut by globules of bouncing glass that wash the stereo field clean and after a false ending and a fade to silence, oceanic orchestrations diffuse into the mix with swelling string reveries and long glorious bow strokes calling out to the dawn. Sometimes breathy choirs join in with these etheric chamber incantations while liquiying metals flow throughout the spectrum. And as the track ends, mystical electronics create starry-eyed sound swirls and decaying bodies of spectral mist. “Anata” follows with a shimmering world of tonal mesmerism where voices and machines blur together…like mermaid choirs coalescing with the droning hum of an industrial machine. Bleary-eyed orchestrations intermingle with textures of brass as Shibano delivers a strangely effected spoken work performance, with her voice morphing and modulating discontinuously while fracturing across the spectrum. Then, as futuristic whispers transmute into bleeping static amidst insectoid oscillations, a heavenly streak of soprano calls out from the void.

The MIDI-generated idiophone melodies of “You” are sourced from the words of “Anata” using Intermorphics’s Wotja software and the result is a paradise of gleaming gamelan starlight. Shibano’s piano merges perfectly with the vibraphone dream weavings while heartbeat pulses, blasts of white noise, and plucked string tones fade in from shadowy depths. Amorphous pad hazes swell in strength then dissolve into ether as siren pulses generate machine rhythms at odds with the free form idiophone tapestries. Feminine whispers pan wildly while throbbing bass currents flow in from all directions and there’s a strange moment where the mallet instruments recede, leaving the soul afloat in a delirious landscape of morphing sonic magic. “Atelier” revels in microtonal vibrations, industrial droning, and layers of humid resonance, which all eventually set the stage for a gorgeous melody played out on synthesized woodwinds. The mind is enchanted by longform oboe and bassoon lullabies while the background is painted over by glimmering wavefronts and smoldering vibrations that never rise above a spiritual hum. Tibetan bowls sing over tapped gongs while the lonely ping of a vibratube calls out periodically and deep within the spectral fog, timpani drums can be heard pounding away. The meditative woodwind spells eventually feature several layers intertwining, while chittering lizard fx and slithering psychedelics contrast the beatific mood. And if you listen closely, you can hear Shibano alighting on free jazz cloudbursts and atonal fantasias deep within the radiant miasma.

“Lapis Lazuli” sees mirage drone atmospherics suffused with flute and birdsong tones while waves of some nacreous and opalescent fluid crash against an unfamiliar shore. Shibano moves through the wavering landscape with further spoken spells which are this time bare and unaffected…just pure and expressive vocalisms surround by skittering static washes, glowing ghost melodies, and universal string vibrations divorced from any source of attack. At some point, electrified gemstones start raining down upon the mix…these crystalline structures of every possible color bouncing and vibrating in ways that defy logic, which are perhaps sourced by an electric piano...only one obscured by infinite layers of sonic manipulation. As the song progresses, Shibano’s voice becomes increasingly shrouded in robotic strangeness, eventually leaving humanity behind altogether in favor of cyborg sizzle and free flowing android poetry. Chime tones are stretched and smeared into a feedback haze above the soft pitter-patter of dripping water, heatwave vapors wash across the mix, and chaotic bell alarm oscillations seem to spin at the speed of light before swelling into solar flare sound spirals. All the while, the landscape is increasingly colored by the calls of alien jungle fauna as the flowing water takes on the appearance of a mystical stream surrounded by dense layers of extra-terrestrial vegetation.

The beads of bouncing glass from “Toi” return in “Stratum”, here splattering over ring-modulated steel-drum tones. It’s a tropical lullaby accented by towering piano chords and swirled around by angelic choral hazes and rainbow fog refractions. Starshine modulations cut through the air as the island melodies recede, leaving behind an expanse of new age celestial shimmer. Then comes one of the most breathtaking and hard to describe sonic effects I have ever heard, generated by using Shibano’s piano improvisation to source reactive idiophone and voice cascades in Ableton. Imagine a choir of angels and the bars of a marimba as if transformed into a field of colorful flowers, such that each time an oceanic piano chord cluster or radiant ivory lead drops, it’s like a cyclonic wind disturbs the field, causing the individual flowers to sway drunkenly out of phase. But eventually, the harmonious drone currents and pastoral sonic breezes cause the marimbas and voices to lock together into a loose rhythm….as if all the flowers of the field are flowing in unison beneath a bright shining sun. And going further, Shibano’s spontaneous melodies are discernible amidst the synthetic mallet and dreamworld voice motions, leading to an ever-evolving and deeply moving interplay between improvised human beauty and aleatoric computer magic.

Though most of the album explores cutting edge spaces and forward thinking sonic languages, Doran, Carlile, Shibano, and Ojima reserve the final track on each side for immersive excursions into the musics of the distant past. The A-side houses “S’amours ne fait par sa grace adoucir (Ballade 1),” originally written in the 12th century by the ars nova poet and composer Guillaume de Machaut. Ecclesiastical organs reach across centuries with polyphonic wonderment, first flying solo, then joined by bell tones and chiming vibrations of medieval metal. And at some point, the organ fades away and is replaced by effervescent fluids and wispy string synthesis…like a chamber orchestra playing through gentle distortions of space and time. Closing the album is “Canzona per sonare no. 4” by famed sacred music composer and organist Giovanni Gabrieli (1557-1612). Sonar tones revolve in long arcs before giving way to spacious stretches of silence while morphing bass pulsations underly Shibano’s baroque piano incantations. It’s a repeated refrain…childlike, naive, beautiful…backed by swelling pads, dreamworld atmospheres, and subtle hints of choral majesty. All the while, shards of ivory are caught up in fractal webs and reflected across the spectrum as overlapping feedback currents generate calming seascape motions that float the soul away.

(images from my personal copy)

[tgcnews]

Benjamin Farahmand Inducted Into TGC Hall of Fame

Benjamin was inducted into The Game Crafter Hall of Fame because his game, FAZA, won the Big Box Challenge. Congratulations Benjamin! His designer interview is below.

Tell us about yourself and how long you've been designing games.

My wife and I live in a small town near Philadelphia, called Media. I’ve been designing digital learning experiences for the past 8 years, started designing board games in the last 2 years, and have been playing board games and video games since I was young child. 

In the past few years, I started designing board games because I was looking for a new challenge, which would get me away from looking at my computer screen  and pull me out of the house to meet new people. Professionally, I work as a product manager and user experience designer for an education company called Tuva. As a means to building critical thinking and analytical skills for K-12 students, we create digital learning tools and curriculum content focused on data literacy and statistics. I also have a background in aerospace engineering, philosophy, and industrial design, which essentially means I love to design and make things, whether it’s physical or digital.

Please tell us about FAZA.

FAZA is a cooperative science fiction board game for 2-4 players, making their last stand to save humanity. In order to win the game, the players need to destroy the FAZA’s three motherships.

There are eight character roles, each possessing different skills within one of four areas of focus: tactical, medical, technological, and political. Players will utilize the unique skills of each member to fight for final victory over the alien Faza. As players move across the board, they will be combating enemy drones and recruiting Rebel Faza to attack each mothership. Naturally, over the course of the game, the Faza will fight back: dropping off more troops in attempts to overwhelm, transforming the entire city to only be habitable to their kind, killing off the traitorous Rebel Faza to prevent players from attacking their motherships, and of course trying to kill each player.

Where did the idea for this game come from?

The inception for working on FAZA developed from two major frustrations. The first frustration is that many existing cooperative games feel too much like a puzzle, eventually making subsequent playthroughs not as interesting once the optimal strategy is discovered.

The second frustration that motivated me to start working on a cooperative game was my one issue with competitive games. I’m referring to the kinds of competitive board games that leave players so far behind that the game becomes boring. Players in last place are essentially waiting for the game to end and it’s no longer fun. 

With that in mind, I started with game mechanics I enjoyed from other board games and used them as a jumping off point for FAZA. The metaphor and story for FAZA stems from my love of science fiction, and began to emerge immediately after I picked a few game mechanics I wanted to test. The story and game mechanics then began to evolve together and inform one another.

What makes this game special/unique?

Multiple ideas and mechanics when brought together make FAZA special and unique. The variety and diversity of characters represented in the game makes for the empowerment of different ethnicities, ages, sexes, and species. 

The player’s all share a communal turn, which means actions can be used in any order that is advantageous to the group’s strategy. As a result of the communal turn, the game facilitates strategic group discussions, creating the feeling that everyone is a tactician preparing for skirmishes and war.

The algorithm that defines how the FAZA motherships move across the board creates a challenging game where the enemy dynamically adapts to the actions players take against them. As the FAZA retaliate, players will feel overwhelmed as if all hope is lost, but by working together they can overcome the challenges ahead. 

Finally, there’s a high degree of replayability, which stems from the number of characters players can choose from, the board that is setup differently every game, and the way the motherships adapt to player actions.

Did you create a design journal for your game? If so, did you publish it somewhere we can link to?

My notes for designing FAZA are strewn across my computer and notebook, which I take with me to playtest sessions to write down observations and feedback. I’ve also written a long blog post highlighting my major take-aways throughout the game design process (http://www.thefaza.com/designing-for-fun/). I hope the post will be helpful to other game designers.

Did you already have the idea for FAZA in your head before the Big Box Challenge was announced?

Yes, I had been working on various iterations of FAZA for about a year prior to the Big Box Challenge. Progress was slow since making time to work on it while balancing other parts of my life was challenging.

What made you decide to enter your game into the contest?

I wanted a deadline that was just far enough to light the fire and motivate me to refine and polish FAZA.

Would you have been motivated to work on the game as much as you did without the contest?

I definitely would have continued refining FAZA without the Big Box Challenge, but it would have taken me far longer if I were not motivated by the deadline of the competition.

Has winning inspired you to enter more contests or design more games?

I have several more ideas for games and hope to enter future competitions, but for the time being my focus is on marketing FAZA and giving it the best chance for it to succeed. I am also currently looking for other contests to enter FAZA so I can build greater awareness for the game.

Could you describe any influence The Game Crafter has had on your success as a game designer?

Creating a polished prototype goes a long way in communicating the experience you’re designing for people, which in turn influences the critical feedback you’re going to receive. A polished prototype also helps in gathering people’s attention as they’re walking by your demo table at a convention. The Game Crafter has been essential for giving a physical form to my ideas and creating an avenue for progression of the game mechanics.

What’s next for you?

If I’m able to find enough early interest in FAZA, my current plan is to kickstart FAZA in 2018. After that, if FAZA funds successfully, I’d like to continue exploring the FAZA storyline and release some of the expansion ideas I’ve been working on.

Any last words of encouragement or advice to all of the designers reading this?

Playtesting is the most important aspect of the design process and it’s also the most time intensive. To speed up that process, I highly recommend finding a local board game design group. In Philly, there’s the Game Makers Guild of Philadelphia. We’re game designers who get together twice a month to playtest each others board games and give each other feedback. 

If it were not for the continued playtesting and feedback from friends, family, and the Game Makers Guild of Philadelphia, I don’t think I would have been able to polish the game mechanics in a timely fashion.

After playtesting, persistence is paramount. Working through the challenges and problems uncovered through feedback takes time, dedication, and a patient and loving partner. Speaking of partners, marry one that’ll review and edit your rulebook. But in all seriousness, it’s vital to the success of your game to have a clear rulebook. So if your spouse won’t edit your rulebook or if you don’t have one, find a spouse that will or invest the money and have a professional editor revise your rules. ;)

[ledlightbulbs34-blog]

Do you want Background Music for Appearance Video clips?

Do you want Background Music for Appearance Video clips?

sneaky comedy background music I always like to have a great choice of background music regarding introduction videos, especially whenever I'm carrying out slideshow powerpoint presentations. Having a free music library to go to be able to as well as download some great instrumental music makes our video production a good deal easier. A nice a key component piece in the history just tends to make a more professional video, for me. Exactly what Type of Music Records Scenario Use? sneaky comedy background music It definitely depends on the kind of video clip presentation you're developing. When you're doing a definitely brief video, less as compared to two moments for example of this, you can download a number of royalty free music clips that are just the few seconds each, splice them together and affect the music every couple connected with photo slides. Or you could download longer new music files and edit them to your preferred length. What Design or Genre Music is better? Again, it depends with the kind of video occur to be creating. Listed here are a couple of examples: I have a number of videos about funerals as well as memorial services, consequently I observed a several of Easy Listening vocals selections for those. I decided not to want the music to be and so slower and droning it would likely make people cry, yet I didn't want that for being really upbeat or pleased either. When I produced our slideshow video tutorials about wedding ceremonies, I utilized pieces which were upbeat yet not funny-type fasteners. Precisely how to Know What's Finest? The best thing for you to do is research. When you're using software such as Windows Live Movie Machine or an equivalent, put your current slides and record music into the program as well as see how the substance and music fit jointly. Oftentimes you may want a couple of distinct videos depending on typically the length and matter regarding your presentations. Here's a new word of advice: Watch some tv ads or even videos on Vimeo that use background audio to have an idea of how the music makes the presentation better. Once you've received a feel with regard to how to use songs to enhance your videos, you should be able to find anything that fits perfectly with your video. When to Use Background Music for Presentation Videos In my opinion, I rarely fit new music to instructional video, as though I'm doing the screencast article. And I rarely add tunes to help videos where is actually only me on the video camera talking about a issue. PowerPoint video videos are generally the best types of presentations to add crucial background music for you to. And also you should stay away from pieces including words because voices vocal skills in the background may conflict or maybe disrupt the movie itself. But pure instrumentals enhance your presentations along with give them a far more professional quality. Be Careful With Background Music Amount In the event you're using voice liaison, or voiceovers, in your own personal presentation, you don't want the music to help overwhelm the vocals. You can use tools like Audacity in order to reduce the particular volume of the instrumentals therefore they're behind the actual noisy narration and certainly not drowning it out. I've viewed several video clips where typically the music almost drowned out and about the person who has been conversing, and believe my family, really pretty annoying. Throughout fact, many visitors eventually left comments under the video telling the music ended up being far too loud. Where to Get Movie stars Free Background New music My all-time favorite trusted site will be Kevin MacLeod's site in incompetech. com. I've for ages been able for you to find everything I will need in this article, from any type, any kind of mood, any device to slip every video display We have done. If anyone use Kevin's movie stars no cost background music, be positive to credit score the part either within the video information box or even preferably, with a closing trip therefore it's visible regardless of who else may download it or embed this in their own blogs.

[clubofinfo]

Expert: The US submarine captain says: “We’ve all got to die one day, some sooner and some later. The trouble always has been that you’re never ready, because you don’t know when it’s coming. Well, now we do know and there’s nothing to be done about it.” He says he will be dead by September. It will take about a week to die, though no one can be sure. Animals live the longest. The war was over in a month. The United States, Russia and China were the protagonists. It is not clear if it was started by accident or mistake. There was no victor. The northern hemisphere is contaminated and lifeless now. A curtain of radioactivity is moving south towards Australia and New Zealand, southern Africa and South America. By September, the last cities, towns and villages will succumb. As in the north, most buildings will remain untouched, some illuminated by the last flickers of electric light. This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper These lines from T.S. Eliot’s poem “The Hollow Men” appear at the beginning of Nevil Shute’s novel On the Beach, which left me close to tears. The endorsements on the cover said the same. Published in 1957 at the height of the Cold War when too many writers were silent or cowed, it is a masterpiece. At first the language suggests a genteel relic; yet nothing I have read on nuclear war is as unyielding in its warning. No book is more urgent. Some readers will remember the black and white Hollywood film starring Gregory Peck as the US Navy commander who takes his submarine to Australia to await the silent, formless spectre descending on the last of the living world. I read On the Beach for the first time the other day, finishing it as the US Congress passed a law to wage economic war on Russia, the world’s second most lethal nuclear power.  There was no justification for this insane vote, except the promise of plunder. The “sanctions” are aimed at Europe, too, mainly Germany, which depends on Russian natural gas and on European companies that do legitimate business with Russia. In what passed for debate on Capitol Hill, the more garrulous senators left no doubt that the embargo was designed to force Europe to import expensive American gas. Their main aim seems to be war – real war. No provocation as extreme can suggest anything else. They seem to crave it, even though Americans have little idea what war is. The Civil War of 1861-5 was the last on their mainland. War is what the United States does to others. The only nation to have used nuclear weapons against human beings, they have since destroyed scores of governments, many of them democracies, and laid to waste whole societies – the million deaths in Iraq were a fraction of the carnage in Indo-China, which President Reagan called “a noble cause” and President Obama revised as the tragedy of an “exceptional people”. He was not referring to the Vietnamese. Filming last year at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, I overheard a National Parks Service guide lecturing a school party of young teenagers. “Listen up,” he said. “We lost 58,000 young soldiers in Vietnam, and they died defending your freedom.” At a stroke, the truth was inverted. No freedom was defended. Freedom was destroyed. A peasant country was invaded and millions of its people were killed, maimed, dispossessed, poisoned; 60,000 of the invaders took their own lives. Listen up, indeed. A lobotomy is performed on each generation. Facts are removed. History is excised and replaced by what Time magazine calls “an eternal present”. Harold Pinter described this as “manipulation of power worldwide, while masquerading as a force for universal good, a brilliant, even witty, highly successful act of hypnosis [which meant] that it never happened. Nothing ever happened. Even while it was happening it wasn’t happening. It didn’t matter. It was of no interest.” Those who call themselves liberals or tendentiously “the left” are eager participants in this manipulation, and its brainwashing, which today revert to one name: Trump. Trump is mad, a fascist, a dupe of Russia. He is also a gift for “liberal brains pickled in the formaldehyde of identity politics”, wrote Luciana Bohne memorably. The obsession with Trump the man – not Trump as a symptom and caricature of an enduring system – beckons great danger for all of us. While they pursue their fossilised anti-Russia agendas, narcissistic media such as the Washington Post, the BBC and the Guardian suppress the essence of the most important political story of our time as they warmonger on a scale I cannot remember in my lifetime. On 3 August, in contrast to the acreage the Guardian has given to drivel that the Russians conspired with Trump (reminiscent of the far-right smearing of John Kennedy as a “Soviet agent”), the paper buried, on page 16, news that the President of the United States was forced to sign a Congressional bill declaring economic war on Russia. Unlike every other Trump signing, this was conducted in virtual secrecy and attached with a caveat from Trump himself that it was “clearly unconstitutional”. A coup against the man in the White House is under way. This is not because he is an odious human being, but because he has consistently made clear he does not want war with Russia. This glimpse of sanity, or simple pragmatism, is anathema to the “national security” managers who guard a system based on war, surveillance, armaments, threats and extreme capitalism. Martin Luther King called them “the greatest purveyors of violence in the world today”. They have encircled Russia and China with missiles and a nuclear arsenal. They have used neo-Nazis to install an unstable, aggressive regime on Russia’s “borderland” – the way through which Hitler invaded, causing the deaths of 27 million people.  Their goal is to dismember the modern Russian Federation. In response, “partnership” is a word used incessantly by Vladimir Putin – anything, it seems, that might halt an evangelical drive to war in the United States. Incredulity in Russia may have now turned to fear and perhaps a certain resolution. The Russians almost certainly have war-gamed nuclear counter strikes. Air-raid drills are not uncommon. Their history tells them to get ready. The threat is simultaneous. Russia is first, China is next. The US has just completed a huge military exercise with Australia known as Talisman Sabre. They rehearsed a blockade of the Malacca Straits and the South China Sea, through which pass China’s economic lifelines. The admiral commanding the US Pacific fleet said that, “if required”, he would nuke China. That he would say such a thing publicly in the current perfidious atmosphere begins to make fact of Nevil Shute’s fiction. None of this is considered news. No connection is made as the bloodfest of Passchendaele a century ago is remembered. Honest reporting is no longer welcome in much of the media. Windbags, known as pundits, dominate: editors are infotainment or party line managers. Where there was once sub-editing, there is the liberation of axe-grinding clichés. Those journalists who do not comply are defenestrated. The urgency has plenty of precedents. In my film, The Coming War on China, John Bordne, a member of a US Air Force missile combat crew based in Okinawa, Japan, describes how in 1962 – during the Cuban missile crisis – he and his colleagues were “told to launch all the missiles” from their silos. Nuclear armed, the missiles were aimed at both China and Russia. A junior officer questioned this, and the order was eventually rescinded – but only after they were issued with service revolvers and ordered to shoot at others in a missile crew if they did not “stand down”. At the height of the Cold War, the anti-communist hysteria in the United States was such that US officials who were on official business in China were accused of treason and sacked. In 1957 – the year Shute wrote On the Beach – no official in the State Department could speak the language of the world’s most populous nation. Mandarin speakers were purged under strictures now echoed in the Congressional bill that has just passed, aimed at Russia. The bill was bipartisan. There is no fundamental difference between Democrats and Republicans. The terms “left” and “right” are meaningless. Most of America’s modern wars were started not by conservatives, but by liberal Democrats. When Obama left office, he presided over a record seven wars, including America’s longest war and an unprecedented campaign of extrajudicial killings – murder – by drones. In his last year, according to a Council on Foreign Relations study, Obama, the “reluctant liberal warrior”, dropped 26,171 bombs – three bombs every hour, 24 hours a day.  Having pledged to help “rid the world” of nuclear weapons, the Nobel Peace Laureate built more nuclear warheads than any president since the Cold War. Trump is a wimp by comparison. It was Obama – with his secretary of state Hillary Clinton at his side – who destroyed Libya as a modern state and launched the human stampede to Europe. At home, immigration groups knew him as the “deporter-in-chief”. One of Obama’s last acts as president was to sign a bill that handed a record $618billion to the Pentagon, reflecting the soaring ascendancy of fascist militarism in the governance of the United States. Trump has endorsed this. Buried in the detail was the establishment of a “Center for Information Analysis and Response”. This is a ministry of truth. It is tasked with providing an “official narrative of facts” that will prepare us for the real possibility of nuclear war – if we allow it. http://clubof.info/

[imintoanimerightnow]

[Afterthoughts] Boruto, Episode 1: “Boruto Uzumaki!”

Lord help me, I despise Naruto’s son and I feel bad about it.

(side note, Grammarly keeps trying to correct Boruto to Naruto, and honestly I agree with it.  Give me back my sweet but very troubled Naruto-kun.)

The anime itself looks good, but I really, really, really hate Naruto and Hinata’s kid right now.  I don’t want to hate him.  I desperately want to enjoy the adventures of the son of the Gutsy Ninja and his Stalker Bride, but this is tough.   I watched the Boruto movie twice in theaters, and I own it on DVD, and I’ve read the manga every month when it comes out, just hoping that eventually things would change and I’d find something in my heart that would make me care at all about Naruto’s very gifted, very whiny, and very annoying son.

Do you remember the episode of Naruto: Shippuden when Naruto goes into the Waterfall of Truth to confront his angry, petulant and eternally hurt inner-child?  

It’s as if that’s the part of Naruto that was given to Boruto, along with the hair, whiskers, and blue eyes.  I’m not sure any part of Hinata’s personality resides in the boy, but then - Kishi’s lack of development for female characters means that Hinata could secretly be an awful brat and we’d never know it (but I strongly doubt it).

That said- I will keep watching this show out of concern for all other characters, and because I like Konohamaru’s adult design.  I hope the story gets beyond Boruto’s daddy issues very soon though.  I’m not sure exactly where we are canon-wise in relation to the events that happened in the movie (the Chunin exams) but I’m happy to believe there might be an end to the pouty daddy-blaming times fairly soon.

So now that this episode is up (Crunchyroll link), let’s talk it out:

-What is Boruto’s eye ability?  It didn’t look like the Hyuga’s byakugan, and it doesn’t look like any other inherited ocular abilities that we’ve seen so far in this universe.  Edit: Naruto Reddit says it may be the tensigan, or something close to another of the Ōtsutsuki eye abilities.  If so, Boruto is probably going to very quickly become a god.

-Who the hell is Kawaki and where did he send Naruto?  I don’t think he actually killed him, since it is damn near impossible to kill Naruto at this point without being an actual god, AND that guy would absolutely have to get through Sasuke + the Konoha 10 (RIP Neji) first - which wouldn’t happen.  I’m thinking he sent him to another dimension (that happened a lot toward the end of the Shippuden battle arcs).

-Why and how did the village get destroyed *again*?

-War is just going to keep happening, but there is an emphasis on the village getting more and more modern technology.  Will ninjas be replaced with drone strikes?  I really hope not, for a lot of dark and sad real-world reasons.

-Who is Denki’s dad?  We see him in this episode, and I don’t recognize him at all but he apparently did great things during the 4th ninja war.  Unless he was part of the Konoha 11, he was likely fodder nin who somehow survived and then made a business on the back of some war stories.  Good for him (seriously).

-Is Denki actually an important character?  His character design looks like a filler-creation, but he’s in the OP, so I guess he’s part of the gang now?  I don’t really remember him from the manga.  Who is controlling him with the seriously terrifying chakra or a seal of some kind?  It would seem like Orochimaru’s kind of thing, but it seems more likely that Deki’s pops implanted something in him to make him physically stronger, but it has really terrifying homicidal side effects.

-They really did just make Shikadai a straight up clone of Shikamaru, huh.  I honestly have no problem with that, since his parents’ personalities are so alike.  I would have liked to have seen Shikamaru and Temari trying to raise and relate to a really upbeat, loud, cheerful, go-getter of a child though.  I do like that they’re establishing at the start that Shikadai is Team Uzumaki, just as Shikamaru was the first of the Konoha 12 to recognize Naruto’s talents and compliment him publicly (I don’t count Sasuke’s grudging recognition because it was coming from a crazy place).

Overall, I liked the art and the anime has potential once we get past the events of the Boruto movie.  The opening scene gave me hope for Boruto, given that his teen(?) design looks pretty cool.  I wish the manga had a more frequent publishing schedule (currently once a month) so that we don’t have to endure loads of filler episodes while waiting for story resolution.

Just... don’t actually kill off Naruto and leave his kid in charge.  My heart can’t take that.

NO.

[viralhottopics]

The Warbot Builders of the Middle East Spill Their Secrets

The face of homebrew, remote-controlled military robotics in Iraq is a man named Ali Hashem al-Daraji, better known by the nickname Abu Ali. In 2014 he was a policeman for Iraqs interior ministry, but in June of that year, when the Iraqi Security Forces collapsed as ISIS took over Mosul, Abu Ali hooked up with the Hashd al Shaabi, or Popular Mobilization Units, an umbrella organization of anti-ISIS militias, some of which had also fought against US forces during the Iraq War.

Before eventually returning to the Iraqi Federal Police last November, Abu Ali fought with a couple of militia organizations across Iraq, was injured by an improvised explosive device in Fallujah, and took a selfie with Qasem Soleimani, the head of Irans covert-action Qods Force, in charge of Tehran’s wars in Iraq and Syria and a sworn enemy of the US.

“My purpose was to help the Hashd with minimal casualties,” he says. Abu Ali produces little wheeled robots designed to allow troops to fire from behind cover. The bots, controlled with a joystick and adorned with pictures of revered Shia clerics, use cameras for direction and aiming. Some run on Android, and use Wi-Fi and Bluetooth to operate hydraulic controls and a gearbox. Others are drive-by-wire.

Armored Tiger, equipped with rocket-propelled grenades and decorated with a picture of Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani.Ali Hashem al-Daraji

War is hell, as the old clich goes. But it’s also a catalyst for innovation in weapons and tactics. Nothing stimulates creativity quite like having someone trying to kill you. In Iraq and Syria, militant groups spanning the ideological (and theological) spectrum are responding to threats in part by adding remote controls to sniper rifles, machine guns, and rocket-propelled grenades—and attaching them to unmanned ground vehicles.

So far, the weapons seem like more a niche project than a prelude to mass production. They’re not autonomous, and they don’t add much in the way of new offensive capabilities to the sniper rifles and machine guns they’re based on. They do, however, allow snipers and gunners to fire on their enemies from relatively safer positions, potentially saving lives. And that’s been enough to justify some tinkering in the field, as militants look to available technologies to cobble together homemade robotic arsenals.

The Botmakers

Abu Ali says PMU groups told him “to keep them secret and not explain their role,” but he and a few friends shared pictures of four of the homebrew weapons.

Each has a name. The Ashura and the Launch of the Greatest Prophet sport PK-variant machine guns, the latter elevated on a shoulder-high pole to allow firing over a parapet or from inside a trench. The Karar Sniping Base, a larger, tracked vehicle, has a hydraulically operated claw arm that Abu Ali says can pull injured troops off the battlefield. And the Armored Tiger, the most unusual of the bunch, carries three rocket-propelled grenade launchers. (To be clear, Abu Ali’s claims for how these things work may not match their actual battlefield performance.)

Abu Ali inspects his Launch of the Greatest Prophet remotely-operated machine gun while under construction.Sari Abu Hussein Zaidi

The parts for the various weapons are commercially available. Abu Ali combs through markets and scrapyards for some, and acquires others through friends working in industrial sectors. Altogether, the weapons cost $1,000 to $4,000 to build, but Abu Ali doesn’t sell them. He says theyre a gift to the PMU groups.

Across the border in Syria, Sunni rebel groups have also been developing robotic weapons as part of their fight against the Assad regime. One group, the Aleppo-based Shaba Media, has released edited, high production value propaganda videos of its Sham series of remote-controlled Dushka 14.5 mm machine guns.

The most recent incarnation of the weapon is the Sham R3, teased in a video with commentary from Mohammed Imran, described as director of the “Sham Foundation,” and Abu Atta, an R3 operator.

Operated by wire and a Playstation-style controller, the R3 is a gun mounted on a metal base, and can raise, lower, and rotate through a 180-degree field of fire. A camera mounted to the guns barrel lets users zoom in on targets more precisely. In the video, Omran and Abu Atta praise the accuracy of the weapon and its ability to expend less ammunition and require fewer spotters to find and hit targets, as well as letting operators stay safe. Well, safer than usual.

That the rebels who built the Sham were based in Aleppo is no accident. In August of 2016, the US Army Training and Doctrine Command’s Foreign Military Studies Office released a study of 21 different remotely operated weapons from across the Middle East. Tradoc says that Aleppo has become an “incubator of experimentation” for remote weaponry.

Abu Ali, at right, takes a picture with Qasem Soleimani, the head of Iran’s covert action arm, the Qods Force.Ali Hashem al-Daraji

But Aleppo isn’t the only place Syrian rebels are making their own warbots. In 2014, a group based in the eastern suburbs of Damascus mounted a PKC machine gun onto a rotating platform operated with a control panel and television monitor. Sliman al Sanded, a spokesperson for the militant Rahman Corps, which has merged with the makers of the remote-controlled PKC, says the device is fairly simple—reflecting rebels’ more limited resources.

“If we had enough money we could make a lot of new inventions,” al-Sanded says. It’s not clear whether Rahman Corps has developed any weapons since 2014, much less used them in combat.

Slow Roll Out

Don’t expect a fleet of artisanal deathbots to conquer the Middle East, Terminator-style. Videos of operators swiveling remotely operated guns with a gamepad or plinking targets in a sterile, non-combat setting are easy enough to come by but the official record of battlefield use is slim. Still, there’s some evidence that a few bots have gotten more realistic trials.

Iraq’s PMU militias brought an armed unmanned ground vehicle built by two brothers from Baghdad (strapped with a .50-caliber machine gun and 70 mm rockets) to the fight in Mosul. Iraqi militias also appear to have used robotic weapons in and around Tikrit. Abu Rashida al-Assadi, an Iraqi Counter-Terrorism Service commando, says that he’s seen small armed unmanned ground vehicles used in the fight against ISIS there, and Abu Ali says one of his armed unmanned ground vehicles was used successfully in the nearby town of Ishaqi.

The capabilities they bring to that fight, however, are pretty basic. “On their current technological trajectory, I don’t think we’re going to see these systems act as a decisive differentiator in combat,” says Ben FitzGerald, a senior fellow at the Center for a New American Security who studies emerging technologies. Right now, he says, they’re likely best at helping militant machine gunners do what they normally do—lay down suppressing fire against enemy troops in the open.

Workers wash down Ashura, an unmanned ground vehicle capable of firing a PK machine gun.Sari Abu Hussein Zaidi

That might come as a relief to countries like the US, which frequently engage in ground combat in the Middle East and are wary of insurgents getting their hands on more advanced weaponry. American adversaries like ISIS and al-Qaeda’s Syrian affiliate, as well as frenemies like Iraqi militia groups with ties to Iran, have all made their own forays into the cottage warbot industry. But the impact of these weapons against an adversary like the US is likely marginal. “They could serve to raise the costs and risk associated with nation-states’ military operations, requiring greater resources for operations to be successful,” says FitzGerald.

In the meantime, the wars in Syria, Iraq, and elsewhere in the region grind on, as do the imaginations of militant bot-makers like Abu Ali. In a Facebook conversation, he says he’s working on an armed aerial drone, but wont say what kind of weapon it will pack. “I just have the skeleton of the helicopter now,” Abu Ali writes. “I havent been able to work a lot because Im only part-time, but I will be able to work on it soon, God willing.”

Read more: http://bit.ly/2kp8mB1

from The Warbot Builders of the Middle East Spill Their Secrets