#but on the flip side i HAVE been sketching a lot more. and also i learned how to draw people! sort of

[lorillee]

always crazy to me that a lot of people make art consistently enough to post their lil art summaries at the end of the year

[kazumiwrites-fanfiction]

Not-So-Secret Drawings

REQUEST: Hi there, so I've been daydreaming about this for awhile but I absolutely suck at writing so, could i request hcs were the reader is really good at drawing and has been secretly drawing random people on campus whenever they get the chance, but one day reader forgets there sketch pad somewhere and a character (of your choosing) finds it and decides to snoop and finds drawingsof them and people on campus. Just as they finish looking through reader comes (after realizing they forgot it). I hope this makes sense to you, have a nice day/night.

SUMMARY: Your carefully hidden secret is out now. WORD COUNT: 1k

WARNINGS: Riddle, Azul, Floyd, and Vil snooping looking through your drawings, reader is a really good artist, Riddle threatens you (out of love I swear), Azul is uncomfortable by your drawings (not in a bad way- I think), mentions of getting lectured by Azul, Floyd is a ball of chaos, Vil gets no warnings because he's perfect/j A/N: When I tell you that as soon as I saw this I immediately rushed to write two parts before having to stop because I needed to do my summer homework - and then procrastinated the last part (Vil)- Also I know you implied one character but since I'm indecisive I did multiple haha (I'm sorry (but also kind of not because this was fun)) I'm sure you don't suck at writing!! You just get sick of your own writing because it all seems predictable (speaking from experience, I read my work and I'm like "ew?? I need better words" haha) Vil's part is definitely weird because I was like "Fashion Designer!Reader" (probably because some of my friends take fashion/design classes) and I don't know how accurate this is I suck at drawing so I know nothing please don't come at me- Also on a side note, I have a lot of requests right now and since I have a lot of schoolwork I have to do right now, my writing will probably be scattered. Hope you guys understand! (Hope you have a nice day/afternoon/night/etc too!!)

© kazumiwrites - All rights reserved; please do not steal, edit, copy, repost (etc) my work without my express permission.

You had always been careful with your drawings. You never wanted another person to look at them. After all, you had been drawing other people - and who knew what they would think?

Sure, they were pretty accurate, but still. It wasn't like the people at Night Raven College knew that you were drawing them. And you didn't want your drawings to get destroyed just because someone in a foul mood found them. Just your luck though, as you had left your sketchbook somewhere. Where did you even misplace it…

Riddle Rosehearts

He had always seen you with your sketchbook, but had assumed it was just for studying.

Likewise, when it popped up during class, he assumed that you were diligently taking notes.

It was almost sad seeing how far from the truth he was in hindsight.

Since he found your sketchbook on the floor (perhaps having fallen from your bag - it was always full, after all), he decided to take it to you. On the way over to Ramshackle Dorm, he flipped through the sketchbook before he paused.

These weren't notes. They were drawings.

And very good ones, at that.

They were so detailed, he thought for an instant that you had magicked them on here somehow (before remembering that you didn't have any magic).

So was this what you could do with some time and diligence?

His mother had never let him draw much so his drawings were mediocore at best (at worst, one would think that a small child had drawn them).

He found himself captivated by the artwork, flipping through the pages, seeing the drawings of various people from the school. Even some of himself…? With more details... It was odd, the small flutter in his chest. Happiness?

He jolted as he heard your voice, asking if that sketchbook in his hands was yours, abruptly slamming the sketchbook shut as if he had been looking at something completely inappropriate. Which, in a way, he might have been?

"Sorry for looking at these without your permission." He got out after a moment, handing it back to you. "You're a really good artist." He paused. "But you shouldn't be drawing in class. If I catch you with this sketchbook out during Trein-sensei's lectures, I'll have your head!"

Azul Ashengrotto

Of course Azul had noticed your drawings. He needed to in order to make sure he knew as much as possible about others so he could scam help them whenever they needed it.

Still, he found it intriguing, so he couldn't help but skim through your drawings. And my, were they amazing.

Until he got to the section where you had drawn him.

Sure, there were drawings of him in regular uniform, some of him in his P.E. uniform (he thought that they weren't really flattering on him, but you made it look good).

But then there were the sections where you had drawn him in mer form.

Of course, you had no idea what his mer form actually looked like (without all the overblotting, which you never got the chance to see clearly anyway) so it was mostly guesswork and using your imagination.

There were ones with long, large tentacles swarming around him.

Some with tentacles that were slender.

Some of them popped out of weird angles, which he was puzzled about, but okay.

My tentacles can't move like that - or can they?

They definitely shouldn't be popping out of his ribs. Wherever did you get that particular idea? It made him uncomfortable just by looking at it.

He was so caught up in examining your drawings and he didn't notice you until you literally snatched the sketchbook from his hands, saying something about how they were private.

"Sorry, [Y/N]-san... But these drawings aren't too accurate, you know."

And that was how you got roped into a three-hour long discussion about the anatomy of octopuses as well as the anatomy of merfolk and how your drawings were terribly inaccurate. (You were just guessing, how were you supposed to know any of this?)

Floyd Leech

Floyd wouldn't even wait until the sketchbook was unattended.

He'd pop out of nowhere, eyes bright, asking what you were doing.

Never mind if it was in the middle of class or not.

You've both gotten scolded about this, he should know better.

Still, one day he caught you by surprise, and the book slipped from your hands.

You muttered a small curse before trying to grab it, but whoops, too late. Floyd had already gotten it and was flipping through the pages.

"Aww, Koebi-chan, you drew me?" His gaze met yours, a wide grin on his face (showing his extremely sharp teeth). "You should've just asked, I would've modeled and stuff for you."

You shook your head slightly. You had wanted to keep this a secret if possible... At least Floyd seemed to be in a fairly good mood. You told him that you wanted to draw people in their natural state, without them posing for the "camera," so to speak.

He looked disappointed, but then immediately asked if you could come to a basketball practice or match or something. Perhaps you'd find it more interesting to draw him there. Or maybe in the ocean?

Vil Schoenheit

He was no stranger to people drawing him. He was famous after all.

He did sometimes get… odd pieces of artwork, but that was to be expected.

Still, he didn't expect to find a sketchbook with him in it, abandoned at an empty seat. Only drawings of him.

It had so happened that you were trying to figure out a good design for clothing. You always wanted to have a face to your designs, and he was the perfect subject.

Maybe your drawings didn't do him justice, but it was interesting to see how you could tweak your designs to fit him better.

Still, Vil was plenty impressed.

These designs... He could definitely see himself wearing them.

Maybe he could show them to one of the people he knew... They could help make something like that. With your permission, of course.

He closed the book as he heard you come up.

"These designs really are fascinating. Would you mind showing me more details? I'm certain that we can turn these drawings into reality if you'd like it."

As always, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ♡ Send your thoughts grr

Feel free to send requests! Check out this post for info ^^

[bearhugsandshrugs]

Prompts you say? Don't mind if I do!

Post game Tav and Gortash have a stable if very tentative partnership in ruling Baldur's gate.

Gortash is an inventor, he's got to be good at drawing/draftsmanship. Would love to see a Tav finding one of his many personal workbooks after a meeting. Full of meeting notes, but also lots of personal project ideas when clearly he's been bored during a meeting. Maybe there are rough schematics of the steel watch improvements, maybe drafts for other sorts of useful inventions.

Through all the snooping Tav has to admit that Gortash is a(n evil) genius.

But as they keep looking there's rough sketches made of Tav quickly in the heat of an argument, smiling during a party, trying not to fall asleep during a meeting. Maybe there's MORE than just one sketch that spans all the way back to that first encounter... Or even before through the first glimpses of the steel watch/scrying eyes (read someone headcanon that all they were controlled or provided by Gortash?)

Catching Enver's growing fascination with them...

Bonus points if they get caught snooping 👀💦

ughhhhh i am such a sucker for this side of him. honestly. i love it. i love this prompt. thank you.

It was a heat of the moment decision. After a particularly long meeting about employing the Steel Watch outside of Baldur's Gate, Tav and Gortash had, quite literally, run into each other. Tav's cup of by then cold coffee had spilled all over Gortash's clothes, and the Archduke had dropped his bundle of documents, paper flying down to the floor mixing with Tav's own notes. When she reached down to sort between his and her notebooks and letters and files, she accidentally grabbed his personal notebook, buried between her docs. She decided to keep it. For now.

Back at the guest room he'd provided her for the prolonged negotiations (this was day two of the expected six), Tav set down the stack of papers and poured herself a glass of wine, then settled at her desk to snoop through his personal affairs. The notebook dated years back, and it was extensively filled; the many many pages brimming with orderly, clean handwriting and meticulous sketches. It gave her a rare insight into his mind: Machinery manuals, engineering instructions, weight calculations, and various use cases for specific parts of (what she recognized as) the Steel Watch, the Iron Throne, and even the Scrying Eyes. There were some notes scribbled in between the margins ("Overload? Recalculate max. magical proximity" – "Visual specs tbd" – "input variables formula needed"), hinting at the genius behind the notes. Tav swallowed as she flipped pages upon pages, fascinated by the man she still couldn't quite place.

There were different sketches two thirds into the notebook: Minthara, hunched over a table in the goblin camp. Moonrise Towers. And then. Her.

Tav recognized herself immediately. He'd captured the moment she had waved into the Scrying Eye at the Goblin camp, a small note below simply reading: "Wiped them out. Sense of humor. Who is she?" What followed were details of the orders given to the Absolute cultists, bargains made with Orin ("Hot but insane. Staying away.") and Ketheric ("He's a fool. A useful fool."). Then, after their first real life meeting, it started.

An entire page, filled with sketches of her face, her body, her movements. One drawing was of her furrowing her brow ("Won't back down, annoying"). One was of her crossing her arms ("Will consider offer – good"). Others were of Tav walking out of the coronation, rolling her eyes, waving him off, and then, the last one, was of her, pouting.

More meeting notes followed that page, and once she got to the meetings they attended together, there were yet again more drawings of her. A meeting about taxation featured a study of her eyes and mouth. A meeting about refugees was adorned with sketches of her smile. A meeting about guard rotations included... Tav gasped.

Behind her, an all too familiar chuckle made her jump in her chair.

"Good book?", Gortash asked, walking over to lean against her desk. Tav's face burned red. She shouldn't have snooped. But that last – "They're probably not as realistic as the rest", he nodded towards the page that had left her speechless. "It's difficult without the real life comparison." His gaze trailed down to her breasts, and Tav pushed herself away from the desk, then stood up to create space between them, not wanting to give into the tension that had started to build.

"You can't sketch... this", she gestured at the page, "during work. What if anyone sees?" Gortash shrugged. "Accidents happen." It was quite clear what he meant by that. "Stop", she shook her head. "What if I don't want to?" He asked her, voice low and dangerous. "Besides... looks like I'm not the only one taking liberties. Or why is my personal notebook on your desk in the first place?"

There wasn't a good answer to that. And the drawings she had seen, of her, of her body, of her with him, had left her mouth dry and her focus hazy. As vulgar as those sketches were, there were also parts of him he had sketched, parts she now couldn't get out of her head. Everything else had been sketched realistically, down to the last detail. Did he.... look like–

"I can tell you have lots on your mind", Gortash chuckled, following her eyes that had subconsciously settled back onto the open page. "Best I'll leave you to it." Tav wanted to object, but she also wanted him to leave, lock her door, and maybe take an ice cold bath. The words only found her once he closed the notebook in his hands. "They're slightly off", she said, and she wished she could sketch, because the way his eyes widened was worth documenting. "Plus I doubt that's the face I make when–" "Oh?" "I just thought you should know." They stared into each other's eyes, sizing each other up. "I'll make sure to run the next draft by you for approval", he pulled back after a moment, unwilling to move beyond the current state between them. "Thank you." And with that, he walked out of her room so swiftly she couldn't even reply. This was bad.

A heat of the moment decision indeed. Otherwise Tav couldn't explain why she felt like her body was on fire.

Fuck.

[bonefall]

If you flip the spade upside down and put it on Gorseclaw’s neck, it could kind of look like a tie

Hello anon with the most convenient ask in my inbox, you have been selected to receive a FLOOD OF SKETCHES

I had only drawn Gorseclaw and Ripplestar before, and I'm about to do a redesign of Larkstripe so that she has the "hearts" motif that her son gets. I did a bunch of sketches just to try and figure stuff out so, messy post

Glossary:

Ripplestar

Gorseclaw and Spottedpelt

Larkstripe

Birdflight, Marshscar

After I post this I'm gonna jump back into Clip to play with Cloudstar next

RIPPLESTAR

[ID: A sketch of BB!Ripplestar. The text points out his major features and reads, "Heterochromia: Amber + Brown." Smooth scruff, with an arrow that points out the shape. Ginger on 1 side. Deer-eared. 3 layers with an arrow that points out the three stacks of fur on his chest. Wooly, kinda like a half-shorn sheep.]

I've actually drawn Ripplestar a lot in the margins of my notes and such, so this design's pretty solid.

I change the side the hearts are on, plus the number of hearts, literally every single time I've ever drawn him lmao. It dozen madder.

What DOES matter though is that there's a HEART over his BRIGHTER eye. I use it as a bit of a visual metaphor, if he's trying to size you up or negotiate with you, he keeps you in the bright eye. When he trusts you or becomes comfortable with you in some way, he turns the brown eye on you.

So in most scenes where he's not talking to family I imagine he's not fully looking at his conversational partner. Especially on the Highrock as leader of ShadowClan, because the layout makes the leaders sit side-by-side. Might as well play with that simple logistic fact, y'know?

He does this because I imagine this marking kind of intimidates people. It's like the ginger of his eye socket has set his iris ablaze with fire, while the other is as cold as rain-soaked peat.

The ear on the "colorful" side is also orange. All of his orange is on one side, except for his tail-tip.

He's actually distantly related to Nightcloud-- his Honor Sire (who was known but not involved) went on to have a mate. So he's the half-brother of one of her ancestors, and Nightcloud has inherited this thick, wooly fur texture.

Again, I draw him a lot so this was the easiest one. I didn't have to decide anything besides that I made his nose into a cute lil carebear heart.

The drawing I did for this synopsis of Ripplestar's Rot was actually the first time I drew him, for comparison! It's fun to see what's been streamlined.

GORSECLAW AND SPOTTEDPELT

FIRST sketches didn't feel right.

[ID: BB!Gorseclaw and BB!Spottedpelt. They have long, curly tails, long claws, and bell-shaped heads. Gorseclaw has a sharp 'tie' on his chest, and Spottedpelt has a heart]

I feel like Gorseclaw's spades look too much like diamonds in this one, but I was really going for a tie.

I've been giving him those sideburns for months, so, they don't really fit the "shape theory" but I'm having a hard time removing them lmao.

And this is the first time I drew Spots which is a shame. I love a bad bitch.

If you look at my designs, you can notice that I have a few traits that cats from each Clan "tend" to have. They're all pretty genetically similar actually and there's a lot of crossings between the groups, secret or otherwise, but some traits just get selected for more than others, and StarClan is likely to toss them into kits. SkyClan has saggy skin (like a bear) and really bendy tails.

Don't think it's come through well here, though. In future drafts I'm going to try and make them saggier.

(Why? It actually helps them against insect stings and impact damage, like falling from trees and being hit by branches)

Then I went on to draft 2,

[ID: Second draft of the characters above. Spottedpelt is fatter, with "dapples" on her back which are actually spades, and a distinctive spade-shaped mask. The ears of both siblings are now spade-shaped, and Gorseclaw's tie is different, along with Spottedpelt's heart with is now more of a medal.]

I like Spottedpelt a LOT more in this draft. That's probably going to be close to the final design I do, I'm really vibing with the dapple-spades.

I DON'T like Gorseclaw in this one though, the face shape reminds me waaay too much of Dustpelt's familial face-plate. Absolutely going to revise that, probably making it more mask-like akin to Spots'.

Also very proud of myself for the spade-shaped ears.

Hate Gorse's tie here though, that's not a tie that is a stinkhorn mushroom.

But Spots' medal is excellent. Absolutely keeping that. She is a distinguished little war crime kitty

Still not fat and saggy enough. Coming back to this. I need to learn how to draw a primordial pouch.

LARKSTRIPE

I'm trying to redesign her and I'm losing :/

[ID: BB!Larkstripe. She's a very plain cat with a string of hearts from her eye down to her leg, with a heart-shaped nose, cutie marks, and a heart-shaped tail tip]

This was the FIRST first draft of the redesign and that heart chain is underwhelming.

It felt like too much of a downgrade from the diamond-pattern Larkstripe I did, and I'm worried that maybe it's because diamonds just look so much nicer in a "chain"

I feel like I see too many perfect hearts on chests in WC designs, so when I do them, I try to do something weird with them like what I did to Heartstar

So I turned hers into a little fur tuft splash. I like the idea tbh, I might repurpose it for another design.

[ID: A version of the above sketch with bigger hearts on the chain and a single heart on the flank, followed by another sketch attempting to make the stripe more "blobbish"]

I'm beginning to think that maybe I don't like the sketches because Larkstripe is sad :( I like when I can draw her angry, before the strikebreaking broke her

And unfortunately she is the absolute most tragic character in BB. They took the fight out of her. I figure it would be symbolically fitting for the heart shape on her chest to "break" after Dalestar's decree.

For those asking questions, no, she never joins Skypelt. She is convinced she did the wrong thing and ended up unleashing an era of suffering on the Clans by having Ripplestar follow in her footsteps, though she had no control over him.

She's a character who would offer her life as an example during trials involving the Cleric's Vow, especially since I've gutted Moth Flight in BB. She argues about how important it is to avoid birthing cats who will claim their conquest is holy in the name of their parents.

She would also have something to say to Mudfur, admonishing him for breaking his Vow so openly, even saying that he's responsible for Leopardstar and all of her choices.

Basically, Larkstripe is beaten. She is a very tired, shameful spirit who repeats exactly what Silverpelt told her, during her own trial. She's so grateful to be here that she acts with devotion towards it.

Hurt people hurt people and all

But anyway, I still feel like it's a bit of a downgrade from the older design for Larkstripe, so I'm probably going to keep playing with it.

BIRDFLIGHT AND MARSHSCAR

[ID: BB!Birdflight. She's a tabby with the spades motif, long bases stretching up into hears on her shoulder, side, and flank.]

I want her to look old and tired. She's got that Leafpoolyness about her.

She's technically the very first member of the Tigerkin family, and has those characteristic long-claws.

I imagine in Clanmew her name is actually Yassgafba, "Raptor preparing to take flight." I have this really sad mental image of a majestic hawk that keeps spreading its wings, as if to take off and fly away, but never does.

Fitting, because she waited her whole life for Cloudstar to send word they'd found a new home, to come and fetch her and their children, but never did.

While I'm at the trivia, yes, Ripplestar and her were very close. Larkstripe argues in StarClan that Ripplestar started his war because of her, but it's not true. It was Birdflight who made him believe that Cloudstar would never abandon his family; if they hadn't heard from him, something was very wrong.

She died before he became leader, probably of a sickness outbreak. She likely didn't take the journey because she's immunocompromised in some way, plus the two newborns.

She was given a place in StarClan, but I'm not sure if she followed Ripplestar and Birdflight into the Dark Forest. She DID vote to accept them though.

I think she's practical about this. Leave for the Dark Forest, and you loose your voting power in StarClan.

She sees that there are very few SkyClan ancestors left here, hears Skystar scoff that the others are fools for leaving, that if more had remained then the rebels would not have been damned... and understands the value in his words.

If there's any reason for the Tigerkin Curse (which I hadn't really been working with until now, tbh, I just chalked it up to Bad Mojo on the night of Ripplestar's last stand), it's probably related to Birdflight in some way. Which is why no one knows what's causing it.

I don't know why, yet, though. Maybe it's an accident on her part. She could be crafting their litters, but every time she finishes a set, she can't help but cry about how much the fresh souls remind her of the newborns that stopped her from joining her mate, and her kits in the Dark Forest.

It's probably why the PROPER curse might stop abruptly after SkyClan's return. She joins Skypelt as soon as it's an option.

[ID: BB!Marshscar. He's a scrawny, battle-scarred old tabby with a diamond motif.]

He doesn't have any markings in-canon so I tried to just make all of his scars diamond-shaped. I don't think it works, I'm going to give him some markings.

I like the ears though, that's staying. I might also borrow from the old Larkstripe design, give him those funky diamond-spikes on his chest.

I have barely talked about him, but he is actually very important to Ripplestar. They've been mates since they were young warriors.

I kinda want to make it so that Spottedpelt was Ripplestar's deputy before being killed that night, but it was always implicit that if something happened to them, Marshscar was next in charge.

This drawing is definitely when he's older and more worn-out, he lives a long life without Ripplestar, ruling ShadowClan reluctantly, half-heartedly doing the bare minimum.

It's a downer story, and I think it really fits the theme here that Clan Culture is about to get a whole lot worse before it gets better... but still I love the fact that Ripplestar's Rot just ends with the entire cast like

[ID: Spongebob sits at a diner with his hands folded, frowning slightly, disquieted and deep in thought]

Like there really isn't a happy camper in this one lmao. Nobody wins. Alexa play 'That's Not How The Story Goes'

[sonichaunt]

Coloured an older AU sketch, when I did a lot of the redesigning for my AU I was really into the sonic movie style so that's why all the eyes are separated in these older sketches xD

This AU was meant to explore my personal headcanon that Sonic is one of the "miracles" created by the 7 chaos emeralds to serve as a guardian. The AU was meant as a SA3, that connected all the lore from the games (+ a little from the movies etc.) prior to forces (which I have still not played xD) with each other into one final story. The character you see here is Zephyr, Shadow and Sonic in this drawing are seeing a vision of the past, because long story short Zephyr and Sonic are sort of the same entity in a long convoluted way, so they don't exist at the same time. Zephyr's design is based on the mural from angel island and Sonic, Shadow & Silver. Zephyr is very chaotic, not necessarily a force of "good", his fur becomes a lighter and a darker colour depending on his emotional state. Zephyr's chaos energy takes the form of wind and lightning. He usually wears a red long skirt around his middle and 2 long white ribbons around his upper arms, but I didn't draw those here. Zephyr is NOT on good therms with the black arms, Black doom found it very ironic and took satisfaction in how Gerald based Shadow on his old foe, seeing as Shadow was gonna help him do what Zephyr and the other chaos guardians prevented. Black doom also absolutely had a heart attack when he first saw Sonic. On the flip side, if Zephyr had met Shadow, it is very likely he would have treated Shadow as a case of: kill on sight.

You can view Zephyr as similar to chaos 0, this AU also had a Solaris 0, which actually became something I used for the 06 rewrite I also did later, Solaris having been a guardian of the sol emeralds, more on that eventually.

[incorrectpizza]

Hah. So. The one-shot I posted the first day of @sabezraweek? It's uh. Not a one-shot anymore. Behold, the sequel, in which Sabine discovers a record of Ezra's time on Peridea:

Story also down below for anyone who wants to read here.

Ezra’s pod is small, but as Sabine explores it, it almost feels cavernous. There’s things everywhere.

A stockpile of dried and cured foods that the Noti taught him to preserve. Weapons he made from whatever he could salvage: stormtrooper blasters and rifles, wood, a strange metal that the Noti used that never grew cold , even on the rare days when the weather grew sour. And there are books. Made from some sort of animal skin, if her hunch is correct. Stitched together with thin, sinewy thread, pages surprisingly sturdy. 

The first one she finds, sitting on a ledge next to the pod’s tiny, Noti-sized second bed, is  a book of Noti bedtime stories. 

“Youongling’s Fables, A Collection of Noti stories as transcribed by Ezra Bridger.”

There’s a total of three charming little tales, each one accompanied by a symbol - some small splash of color signaling the beginning of a new story. Sabine studies them carefully. One is a simple  green circle with uneven splotches throughout - a planet? Another, a silhouette of a Howler, deep navy blue, just a hint brighter and more saturated than Ezra’s hair. The third, though, catches her breath. It’s a Jedi symbol. She reads this story first. 

It’s about the first Jedi to meet the Noti - not Ezra, but some old man in the distant past. The man died protecting the Noti from The Great Mother, a corrupted Force being the Jedi sentenced to ten thousand years of captivity in the mountains. Did this have anything to do with Baylan’s search? His quest for power? Sabine wonders, setting aside the book. She’ll show it to Ahsoka when she gets back from the hunt.

On Ezra’s little workbench, she finds three more books: all blank, waiting for words to fill them. Near the hatch, alongside a few odd “pots” and “pans,” she finds a “cookbook.” It has a dozen recipes, from “Noti Stew DO NOT EAT” to “Peridean Loth-Pie” to “Actually Edible Noti Soup.” She chuckles a bit and makes a mental note to show Ahsoka this one, too. Maybe they can find something that they can stomach once their ration bars are finished. 

And then, as she’s straightening up the other side of the sleeping quarters, she finds two books sitting by Ezra’s bed. The first one she picks up is a “journal.” Each entry is printed in small Aurebesh - so small Sabine puts on her helmet to magnify the words. Ezra must’ve learned quickly that books are harder to make than they look, Sabine muses.

The first page proclaims the book “Jedi Padawan Ezra Bridger’s Journal of A Galaxy Far, Far Away, Volume Five. Noti Nomadic Village, Peridea. Approximately 10 years after the Liberation of Lothal.”

Each page has multiple entries, almost but not quite daily. Most are mundane, ordinary. Sabine reads every single word of every single entry.

“Day 3,547. Jynt and I came up with a new way to attach the ropes to the pods today. Moving them is going to be a lot easier now.” Always ingenious.

“Day 3,574. I discovered a new species today. A little purple and orange caterpillar. I hereby dub it Sabineus Wrennius .” Sabine laughs and flips the page. 

“Day 3,631. I got to scare two night troopers today.” Still a prankster.

“Day 3,650. I really want to go home.” Sabine closes her eyes and sighs. He’s home now, she knows. She should be happy. And yet-

She wishes he were with her. Here. Or home. She misses him deeply, and it’s only been seventeen cycles. She finishes the book, which breaks off mid-entry. 

“Day 3,674. Nothing excitin-”

Was that when he heard my Howler in the distance? Sensed me in the Force? Or was he interrupted on another day and just never bothered to finish?

She closes the book, vowing to ask him one day about that last entry.

Then she opens the second book, the one tucked underneath. It’s tied shut with a thick cord.

She unties it and flips it open. The first page declares in bold orange letters “PROPERTY OF EZRA BRIDGER.”

“Do not look unless you are Ezra.”

Then, underneath, in small scrawl she can hardly read: “Or Sabine.”

Or Sabine? She furrows her brow, wondering what could be so important that Ezra didn’t want anyone reading it, and why she was the exception. Gently, her fingers grasp the edge of the page. 

It’s full of… starbirds?

A dozen of her symbols lie in front of her. Some sketches, others paintings. Their colors vary brilliantly, from blue to purple to green to (yes, of course ) orange. She flips the page again. More starbirds. But not just starbirds. This page also has a Jedi symbol, more crude than the one Sabine had found earlier, and an Imperial crest - crossed out with red, of course. 

As the pages go on, there’s less and less starbirds and more other symbols. Kanan’s Jaig-eyed mask. The patterns from Hera’s lekku. Zeb’s Bo-Rifle. Her helmet.

His drawings grow more detailed, more artistic as the book goes on until, by the middle, he’s got a definite, recognizable style. In the second half, he grows brave enough to try sketching them, their little family, as he remembered them. Hera and Kanan holding hands. Zeb scowling. Sabine flying around Mandalore, broad smile as she shows off her jetpack. Chopper arguing with AP-5. There are a few details off here and there - in one group sketch, her hair is too long and Ezra himself is not wearing orange, an unforgivable creative liberty, especially considering just how shockingly accurate and real the painting looks. 

It’s the very last image of the book, though, that nearly takes Sabine’s breath away. It’s them, hugging, foreheads pressed together in a keldabe kiss. The background - he painted a background? - has some vague, abstract Noti pods. The Ghost hangs in the sky, and Sabine thinks she might even spot Ahsoka’s ship on the ground. In the distance, a white Loth-Wolf looks on. Her fingers hover, desperate to trace the lines, but not wanting to risk damaging the precious painting. Underneath, there’s a title.

Someday Soon .

The next page has no art. Just words. 

Sabine, I hope you never have to read this. I hope I’m here when you come. But just in case, I want to thank you. For always being there for me. For teaching me about life, and art, and how to be a good friend. I couldn’t have made it this long without you. Even more than I ever realized, I love you.

Sabine hurriedly shuts the book before her tears can mar the pages. 

[juszt-a-liddol-guy]

my take on the silly hedgies………

once again i throw a lazy sketch at yall!! oops!

….anyways i guess i should write abt my headcanons here or smth (that would make sense)

in general,

hedgehogs assigned female at birth grow less fur. their tummies/chests are typically bare as well as their arms, but there’s still a thin layer of velvety fur that blends into the thicker fur around the shoulders and the rest of the body. for beauty reasons, some cis afab hedgies will choose to shave the thin fur so it appears neatly styled. afab hedgies also have naturally occurring downwards-pointed quills that are typically shorter than their amab counterparts, ending around the shoulders or upper back. these can be easily styled into upwards-pointed quills should they choose to.

amab hedgehogs grow more fur and have puffy white chests. their arms and tummies are covered in the same type of fur as the rest of their bodies. as for their quills, they are naturally pointed up and are usually long. if styled downwards, their quills can reach the amab hedgie’s lower back or behind.

taking testosterone can make thicker fur grow on the arms and tummy/chest, among many other side effects. similarly, taking estrogen can thin out coarse fur.

moving on!!

for sonic:

-early to mid 20’s

-goes by he/it pronouns, afab, takes testosterone & has had top surgery

-has autism+adhd, and thanks to trauma from years of fighting — probably riddled with depression or ptsd

-he’s a bit of a clown! sonic likes to make its friends smile, and is really good at cheering others up through humor

-honestly, personality wise, i think of him as being the more mature version we see in the IDW comics or in sonic frontiers. super confident in itself, even if it’s almost guaranteed to be defeated. it will just keep pushing through. this trait can come off as reckless and self-endangering however, and he definitely sits through lectures about this behavior from his loved ones. he is a super high-masking person, and once the mask is on for the day, he finds it very hard to take it back off.

-while it is afraid of being in deeper water, it’s fine taking baths or being in showers and even enjoys reading about fictional creatures that originate from the ocean such as mermaids and sea monsters

-chocolate is just too sweet for him most of the time, but he enjoys a nice pastry or cheesecake

-loves jazzy pop music, alternative rock, 80s music, gentle melodies, and super upbeat EDM. wakes up everyday with a song already playing in its head and thinks of its brain like a radio station that can flip between channels

for shadow,

-older than sonic by a year and a half (not counting the 50 year coma lmao)

-goes by he/they pronouns, afab, used to take T (recently stopped, feels like he doesn’t need it anymore) & has had top surgery

-has autism, dyslexia, generalized anxiety & depression.

-left-handed

-very closed-off individual who finds it very difficult to make new friends. he appears as being very intimidating to people who aren’t familiar with him, especially on days when the flat affect is strong. they’re a pretty serious and literal guy most of the time, but they have their silly goofy moments when around people they really trust and when they’re in the mood for it. they don’t remember much from their past besides the big important parts, and he overthinks about the future a lot, to the point that he can start to cry (in private).

-shadow’s friend group is extremely tight— only sonic, rouge, and omega have been allowed to see underneath the barriers. even despite this, he has trouble opening up to them because he’s afraid of pushing them away or thinks the content he enjoys is too embarrassing to share (even though sonic would go ballistic and enjoy it too, and he knows this, but shadow’s first reaction is still to hide it).

-absolutely adores coffee and sweet things. they have a lot of sensory issues when it comes to vegetables, and normally stick with a diet of primarily pasta, chicken, beef, or rice.

-loves hard rock music, metal, alternative rap, EDM, j- & k-pop / rock, & music that emo teens back in the 2000’s really enjoyed (lol)

[mercyisms]

wld love for u to expand on your thoughts about asian jewish mercymorn?? my beloved hater girl

(:<<<< i was delighted to receive this ask and rolled it around in my brain for days and days, even though the real answer is "i'm silly and i like to have fun." to preamble: very, very generally, i think it can useful to have fun with white characters in works written by white novelists. i think it can be a lot of fun, too, to see a fancreator re-interpret a work into a culture they know a lot about and bring out different textures or tensions. but i also think it’s fun to reconsider specific characters (sometimes especially the ambiguously raced ones) and tease out tensions that might feel interesting or ones that somebody without cultural context may have overlooked. i like resisting the idea that whiteness is the default or a neutral default.

though! on the flip side and despite routinely joking that augustine being canonically blonde is a hate crime against me somehow, i also recognize that, for example, augustine’s whiteness (or presentation towards whiteness) seems intentional and is doing work in the text. (when i joke about john always having one six foot plus blonde around, it’s funny! but it’s also reflecting something the text is engaging with with regards to race.) so, anyway, that man can stay white. but to speak, at last, to our beloved hater girl. i think the first thing that opened the door for me is one of the initial descriptions we get of mercymorn.

The face beneath the icy parti-coloured hood was a prim, virginal oval; much in shape and feature like the shape of a saint’s face in a portrait, or a death mask. The nose and jaw and forehead were all carven and serene, and therefore had the same indifferent dullness of a well-formed statue.

i am fairly certain tamsyn is consciously trying to evoke one of the infinitely funny and also very beautiful medieval paintings or sculptures of the virgin mary (etc.) (divine conception: difficult mode, am I right, lads?). but for me, the refrain of mercy’s oval face is a great example of a descriptor that isn’t exclusive to whiteness. very practically, when i started looking for references to make humble sketches of mercymorn, i first turned to michelle dockery (expressive eyebrows! a face that can be cold and severe but then melts into heartbreaking, childish expression!) and then more and more to (an aged down!) kim seo hyung. (for the record, when i make stabs at augustine, i am usually drawing on a richard ii era fiona shaw, with dashes of young peter capaldi and perennially ancient jeremy irons. recently, my go-to for cytherea has been ophelia-era—of course—helena bonham carter.) but it’s rooted in more than just me dicking around in procreate. the idea of an asian mercymorn became more compelling to me when i considered how that would change the texture of her character. to try and be as brief as possible, there, as you may well be v familiar with yourself, are longstanding stereotypes of (largely east and south, but it all gets homogenized) asian immigrants being depicted as cold and unfeeling robots, as excelling only at rote memorization and lacking critical thinking or social skills, as being dangerous or suspicious or obnoxious over-achievers, and as, depending on the day, being too sexy or utterly sexless. (i am not claiming any of these are unique to the very broad category of ‘asian,’ just setting the table.) and i think mercymorn becomes really compelling reinterpretation and rebuke to expectations if she is asian. because she is so many of those things: overachieving med school graduate; someone who (though she seems to have excelled at the magicky part) gift comes from stubborn, rote memorization; someone deeply repressed; someone who is told and believes herself to be unfeeling and inhuman (”Every time you’ve said that I did not understand the human heart, that I was unfeeling, that I only knew worship without adoration”)—but is also a disaster of emotions, despite it all, and is driven by incredibly messy emotions and whose skills (the memorization, the drive to overachieve, even the repression) come from this vast and terrifying well of emotions that even she can’t really look at head-on. before mercymorn, i don’t know that i had seen these tropes reworked in exactly this way or thought to rethink these stereotypes in this way, and so that’s some of what mercymorn-as-asian does for me. (obviously caveat that i’m very strongly drawing from a north american context and i totally confess to not knowing what stereotypes are present in new zealand! but anecdotally through friends in australia and england, these stereotypes certainly seem present throughout the globe, and i would not be surprised if they were also present in nz. but just recognizing that!) i also, personally, find this a lot more satisfying than just going off tamsyn’s canon sheet and being like, yeah, got it, isaac is the one canonical east asian. that’s nice! that’s lovely! but it doesn’t really do anything for me or the narrative. i’m not upset about it! but the lyctors, those who lived pre-ressurection and lived closest to john and carry some of their biases with them, are people who have been shaped by a society where race is very present. vs. the younger 10,000 years out gen who ostensibly (though of course they are in a text written here and now) live in a “post-racial” society, at least from what we see within the house system. (i mean, i say this, but then i also feel like... have u met east asian christian converts. there is some eighth house energy there is all i will say. so, again, i just like to have fun.) re: the jewish thing, i am a hater girl myself and cannot like catholics have anything not ever (hashtag joking, tbc) and a) would love for a foot in and b) as myself and others have pointed out, mercymorn would love to kvetch, she’d be so good at it, she understands it implicitly and she deserves to have a community to kvetch with and c) as i think the inciting post for this ask pointed out she’d be so good at saying ‘oy vey’ and d) idk i just think it’s even funnier if a lapsed jewish woman and a nun walk into a bar and then kiss. in general, i also feel a vested interest in opening the door for mixed race readings of characters and one’s that, again, reinterpret or add to the texture of that character’s presence in text and are done in a thoughtful, fun, interesting way. i could possibly say more but i think this is enough for right now!! maybe!!! sorry this took me so long!! uhh but that’s a taste into my thought process, anyway, for how i like to interpret and reinterpret les lyctores and specifically best beloved hater mercymorn m. nolastname i love u. it is (obviously!) not the definitive or only interpretation, but is the one that currently speaks deepest to my soul. but i do love to see all kinds of interpretations and reinterpretations of our beloved necro-cast.

[aliettali]

I wanna know more about your clone ocs!

thank you so much for asking this you have opened the floodgates i am so sorry! 

i have nine: tidbit, crypt, oops, flipside, sher, intel, three-two, pint, and dangle. i’ve only (officially) drawn crypt and tidbit so far, but i do have a sketch for oops that i’ll be putting in here as reference. it is also worth mentioning that only crypt and tidbit are actually alive - the others all died so they dont have as much lore!

everyone except tidbit (crypt + co) are batchmates. the large majority of them die before they can individualize so they don’t have many unique designs my bad! also they’re all relatively young- i’d like to think that they’re fresh out of kamino and get assigned to the 501st on umbara almost immediately. and that goes SPLENDID (all of them die except for crypt, who is left to deal with losing every single one of his batchmates within a single campaign)

putting things under a "keep reading" section because it gets pretty long

crypt ct-4342:

well he WAS going to be a medic and them umbara fucked him up so severely (physically and mentally) that he couldnt deal w the hypothetical consequences of having blood on his hands anymore

now hes a slicer (he goes back to get medic certified because he does want to save people but that’s a separate character arc) 

honestly i signed him up for bad things happen bingo and he just has to deal with it

doesnt get a name until after umbara, chose it because a) encryption, slicing reference b) crypt -> grave -> his brothers never got one

facial/corneal scarring that holds his right eye slightly open+ some hearing loss that he makes up for with (unsanctioned) modifications to his bucket. outer arm scarring too because he shielded his head

tidbit ct-2719:

field medic ! hes also a little bitch but a) older and b) aware of concepts such as “emotional maturity” and “compartmentalization” so he’s doing ok 

he and crypt hit it off pretty quickly because it took him exactly three whole days of being stationed w the 501st to sprain an ankle by doing a cartwheel on a sloped floor (dangle dared him to)... but he was polite and nice and compliant in the medbay which is rare

theyre the most brother figures to ever i love them dearly

anyway tidbit keeps his hair short because he got fed up w it getting in his face when leaning over people you know how it is. never plans on getting a tattoo because he’s seen too many people in the medbay with ink related infections for that to happen, settles for hair bs instead

got his name because he tells his patients random bullshit to distract them

mostly closed off bc he’s seen a lot of troopers die (he cares far too much and it’s becoming a problem) and if he can’t save them in time then it means he’s losing those he loves because of his own incompetence

oops ct-4748 (dies on umbara): 

this motherfucker decided to catch an activated thermal detonator and tossed it back so late that he burnt his eyebrows off permanently (he also has burns on his hand but they wear gloves)

the only thing he said was “oops” so that’s his brand now

overall he was a pretty chill guy too bad he died saving crypt 

(he dies draped on top of crypt, who wakes up half thinking that they’re back on kamino in a batch pile but nope! oops is dead sher is dead pint is dead three-two is dead he can only pray that dangle and intel are alright) (crypt gets up and casts oops off and has to leave him behind, stumbling through a veritable graveyard, almost blind in one eye and teary-eyed in the other, and almost gets shot when he finally finds more troopers) (they’re the 212th but its okay they're alive and okay) (he gets through the disguise clusterfuck and crypt races over to tidbit to ask about dangle and intel) (they’re dead and gone and he has never been so alone)

flipside ct-4344 (dies on umbara):

little bitch, got his name because he really hated the kamino bunk pillows and kept flipping them over to get at the cooler side (he just ran really hot for no reason)

dies in a classic krell “push forward no matter the consequences” maneuver- he's the first of the batch to die actually good for him

was probably the closest to straight up defecting out of everyone

sher ct-4190 (dies on umbara):

the calm normal guy, he and intel are probably the reasons the batch got off kamino in the first place

slightly longer hair than regulation - he wanted to grow it out into a ponytail but guess what happened

was an older brother out of necessity but the others realized how hard he was taking it whenever any of them did something reckless and got hurt as a result so they toned it down a bit

forces crypt to go on without him when he gets shot and subsequently dies alone

he was going to be a sniper bc he always had steady hands (his batchmates always asked him to cut their hair for them) (he was trembling when he died) (i think he was too kind to survive much longer than that anyway)

intel ct-4223 (dies on umbara):

REALLY focused on making plans, the second most responsible

“guys, please, what’s the plan? we have intel for this test, we just watched the other group take it-”

“you and your intel. i say our plan is to FUCK IT and BALL” 

he and sher try really hard to manage the others. sadly kamino does not manufacture child leashes

gets killed on umbara like a good soldier who follows orders (krell tactics again)

he dies painfully aware of his own insignificance bc preciously he was driven by some hope that hey!!! if we get past this training/test/battle we won’t be forgotten but exactly three people end up remembering him as a person lmao (tidbit, crypt, rex)

i think he and dogma fucking hated each other

pint ct-4337 (dies on umbara):

the only one of them to have paint on their armor pre-umbara and thats through sheer bad luck - he walked into a room and kicked over a can of paint and got some of it on his boot toe

dies alongside intel

three-two ct-4332 (dies on umbara):

never chose a name, pretty withdrawn from the rest of his batch bc he, unfortunately, is hyperaware of his circumstances and what will happen to his brothers after the war

aggressively regulation haircut

as soon as intel and pint are killed in front of him he realizes that they might not matter in the long run but his brothers wormed their ways into his heart and now they're gone before he even chose a name. he didnt even get to tell them his name and they're dead (messes up and gets shot moments later)

dangle ct-4322 (dies on umbara):

suspiciously flexible, probably hypermobile, loved dangling (!) from the top bunk with his legs on the bed and his entire upper body just. hanging there

saw shaak ti do a sick jedi trick ONCE and decided that was his brand so he liked practicing cartwheels and splits and backbends in his spare time

they didnt have music (cant have shit on kamino) so he hummed his own and imagined dances to them

dies on umbara ft the clone eating plant thing because he was under the impression that crypt was just killed

[quinthejester]

finally drew the twins! Amrod and Amras. Didn’t do as many sketches as usual because my hand has been acting up a lot lately, so I’ve been trying to take it easy. Regardless, I love these boys and have a lot of thoughts on them. 

Basically a lot of this is me looking at them and thinking ‘Oh, free real estate for making stuff up since not much is really said about them’. And I’ve done just that, so personality headcanons below:

(I ended up writing a lot oops, so decided to put it under the keep reading thing. TW: there is a brief mention of self harm at the end)

Links to the rest of the brothers before I delve into rambles: Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir and Curufin

(In Valinor)

So, while they were pretty similar, being the mischievous twins of the family, the two aren’t all the same and have some very distinct differences, I imagine. I see Amras being the more extroverted and confident twin and Amrod as a bit more introverted and sensitive. Amras was the one who was more actively mischievous, while Amrod was more subtle- but when around his brother, he’d come out of his shell more and the two could cause a lot of chaos together. 

Interest wise, both are very outdoorsy people. Running around, hiking, probably liked playing with Celegorm a lot when they were kids. However, Amras was always more into hunting and animals (and hunting style wise, he’s stealthy and great at setting traps; in contrast to Celegorm, who I see enjoys the chase more), while Amrod is more gardening and plants. 

Skill wise, Amras is a great hunter, but also a really good artist. He often sketches animals, plants, buildings, lots of still life, but often with notes which basically deconstruct the things he draws. And I see Amrod as being good at gardening, but very scientific about it as well, often seeing if he can crossbreed plants etc. Basically both take their interests in a very Noldoran scientific creative way, and their father is very proud. 

The two are each others best friend, and when together they act in a way that is nearly indistinguishable, and they were almost together. Though catching them on their own will make their differences more clear. Amrod is quieter, more gentle, and more shy, and while Amras is more imaginative and reckless. And while back in Valinor, Amras often seemed more carefree, he was the type of person to hide his true feelings behind a smile and people could rarely tell if he was upset- except for Amrod, who can always tell and push his brother to open up to him. 

(After the first Kinslaying to the ship burnings)

So, with my headcanon of Amrod being the more sensitive one, I also just see him as overall the most sensitive, empathetic and pacifistic of all the brothers. As a result, he was the most effected by the first kinslaying. Completely guilt ridden and horrified, wanting to stay home, atone, etc. Complete emotional wreck after the fact. Amras on the flip side kept his feelings pent up, but seeing how his brother looked, ultimately convinced Amrod that, when they arrive at Middle Earth, Amrod should just stay on the ship and Amras will just try make it seem like both he and his twin are there until Amrod is long gone. Amrod ends up agreeing to this, despite not wanting to seperate from his brother. And then the ship burnings happen, Amrod dies, and Amras both blames himself for coming up with the idea, but also blames his father, because what the hell. As a result, Amras grows to kind of hate Feanor, and the death of his brother causes Amras to just lose his old happier personality. 

(Just Amras headcanons, post Amrod death. TW: Mention of self Harm) 

Amras overall just becomes a more distant and cynical person. I imagine he does grow to sometimes pretend to be Amrod as a way of coping/or as a way to make it seem like the Feanorians haven’t lost as much as they have, convinced by the rest of his brothers, so that their enemies can fear all seven sons (idk if that makes sense, it’s hard to explain my thoughts). As a result, sources are mixed on whether Amrod is dead or not.

With my headcanons of Amrod being into plants and stuff, I see Amras as going out of his way to learn all about middle earth’s flora, sketching them and writing notes, all that. He learns the lands the best out of all his brothers, becoming highly skilled at surviving in the wilderness, discerning dangerous plants from safe ones, hunting. He very much became one of the best hunters and survivalists of his time.

I think out of his brothers, I see him as the most disillusioned with the oath and Feanor’s will. He’s bound by the oath, but holds a massive distain for his father and their cause. This anger and grief at what happened leads to him burning and scarring his hand, which has a tattoo of the star of feanor on it. All done in an unhealthy way to deal with his grief, anger, an attempt to regain some sort of control, to show his anger to his father for killing his brother, and to get rid of his father’s mark on him. 

I probably have more thoughts and I do really love these two, these are all my thoughts at the moment. 

I hope my rambles made sense. I am tired and have a lot of feelings. 

[dkniade]

“Something that does storytelling on a more personal level.”

Allow me to talk about my own fan work of Genshin Impact that I liked, and my thought processes with regards to storytelling and style.

Snowy woods and a certain child.

One of my first proper pieces in 2023. This one was inspired by the visual style and pacing in @pascalcampion’s Kitty Cat and Manly Man comics. I wanted it to be minimal and quiet without lingering on each moment for too long. It was also an experimentation on using more muted colours and colder tones, breaking away from my usually vibrant and warm tones. This is so that Tartaglia would feel small in the panels, since his scarf and hair are the only sources of warm hues. 

I also wanted Dainsleif’s quote from “Teyvat Chapter Storyline Storyline Preview: Travail” in Chinese to add more depth to the comic while keeping the distance between the scene and the narrator, so to speak. Here’s an unofficial translation of the line, from the wiki.

But oh, you who oversteps your bounds, do not stop walking here,

For none can watch the fire burn from the other side of the river.

A colour test to understand Tartaglia’s colour scheme more. I had noticed that his colour scheme is very muted when compared to the rest of Liyue Harbour, but against the rest of the Fatui Harbingers as shown in “A Winter Night’s Lazzo”, he stands out. In that sense, he stands out as suspicious in Liyue, yet too direct in his methods within the Fatui.

He stands out better against white snow, an environment of his own.

I was inspired by his “When It Snows” voiceline, and thought the imagery was striking. In brackets is my translation, with the official translation beneath.

多好的雪！天地都和月光一样干净，在这样的舞台上泼洒的鲜血才格外炙烈。

(Such wonderful snow! The world’s as clean as moonlight. Only on this sort of stage would bloodshed be especially intense.)

The world looks glorious in the snow. Pure white, like the light of the moon. A perfect backdrop for bloodshed.

A sketch from late 2022 that I’m using for colouring practice and experiment. Like the first Tartaglia piece, I don’t usually use this much cool-toned blue, nor do I do overcast lighting. The overall atmosphere was meant to evoke rain, since back when I was sketching this, it was an exploration on the effects of rain on Kaeya, who had near-death experiences on rainy afternoons that changed his life dramatically.

Some notes on the shapes I used when simplifying Kaeya’s design. The idea is to reduce the clutter in his original design while still having the shapes register as Kaeya.

It uses a combination of circular shapes (which is found in his Elemental Burst) and diamond shapes (which is already prevalent in his original design to symbolize his ties with Khaenri’ah).

His hair is meant to look like a tragedy mask, similar to the half-masks Pierro and Dainsleif have. I’ve also discovered by accident that it looked like the profile of an Abyss Mage. Interesting…

If only I could share with someone the joy of creation…

This one uses a painterly style, which is pretty different from the sketches I usually do. The roughness is intentional, as it is meant to be a painting on a canvas, while also evoking the feeling of looking into a bathroom mirror, hence the flipped position of the shoulder strap. 

Since it’s meant to be a painting in a drawing, the rough quality and the fact that it’s unfinished might be indicative of what the painter feels…?

I didn’t finish painting the coat. Maybe even that can be symbolic of how people usually look at the face first…

I forgot to paint the star on his neck too, but thanks to Shadows Amidst Snowstorms, that could be significant too.

Since this feels unfinished in so many aspects, maybe this is actually Subject 2 contemplating on his existence?

I think it’s time to move on from this game. It’s been an interesting ride. I’ve learned a lot of stuff, I got to enjoy nice music, and I was able to make wonderful friends.

“Something that does storytelling on a more personal level.”

I’ll try to find that somewhere else.

[velvetfoxgames]

Infinite Blue - October 2022 Update

Happy October! Our update for spooky season is going to break down where we’re at with Tobias’s route, since it’s the one that has the most progress so far. We also recently announced our Patreon and Discord, so we have a small update for that as well!

Tobias’s Route

Writing

This is the big one! While I can’t say his script is in the very final draft, I can say that after going over it several times, I’m feeling pretty satisfied with the storyline and like all of the plot points have come together, enough so that it’s ready to be programmed in its current state. I’m sure I’ll be updating it in the future, but it’s a very nice feeling to have a route done-ish.

The wordcount for Tobias’s route comes in at ~55k words. In the meantime, I’ve moved on to Leo’s route. His is fairly close to being ready for programming as well, but there was a plot point I’ve flip-flopped on including, and in the end, I’ve decided to keep it. The last time I worked on his route I had taken this plot point out, so now I’ve been working to put it back in.

Art

All item art for Tobias's route has been complete, except for one thing I forgot to include, so I’ll be going back for that when I send out the briefs for Leo’s route. Tobias's route will have 8 total CGs, and we have the sketches in for 4 of them. Three of his backgrounds are done, and since we reached the extra background stretch goal, I'll be commissioning one more. I did run into an issue where there's a scene on his route that will require an extra background. This scene isn't important enough to utilize a CG to cover it, so to keep within budget, I have modified a free-for-use photograph. It matches the other backgrounds pretty well, so hopefully it won't be a glaring issue for players. One side character sprite for his route is finished, leaving one more to go.

What's next for his route?

Art assets will continue to be gathered, and once the initial programming is in, I'll be going over his route a few more times. When the final draft is reached, we'll be able to do voice acting.  In the meantime, it'll be a matter of putting in the final touches such as SFX, profile picture changes, and sprite expressions

Patreon

We've launched our official Patreon! While Infinite Blue has been funded, it's still vital to have support for the studio, as this allows Velvet Fox Games to grow as a company and most importantly, create more games! I'm very thankful for any and all help, and incredibly touched to have the support of our patrons so far 💞

Click here to check out our Patreon!

Discord

We've also launched a Discord Server. If you'd like to join, you'll find lots of fan created content, fun discussions, and friendly people 🌸

Click here to join our Discord!

Hope you have a good and spooky October! 👻

[davnittbraes]

The First Step - Chapter Three

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader (eventually)

Rating: Explicit (also eventually)

Word Count: 5000 (I know, I know, I’ll try to keep them a little more bite sized in the future but I’m excited to get to the good stuff)

Warnings etc: Reader insert, female reader, anxiety, violence

Notes: Whew, I cranked through a lot this week. I’ll probably shift to updating weekly moving forward (unless Life Happens) because my dog has been thoroughly unimpressed with how much time I’ve been spending staring at a screen lately. Thanks to everyone who has liked/reblogged/commented on this series so far, your interactions are my lifeblood.

Shattered glass whips across the room.

You duck instinctively, the reverberating blast of a grenade shaking the floor, your feet stumbling as you dive across the kitchen toward the table.

Senses reeling, you manage to grab your blaster and flip the table onto its side as another blast wracks the walls of the house, wood creaking and splintering, threatening to break apart with the force.

You drop to a crouch behind the table just as the first blaster bolts zing over your head.

A couple catch on the table, sizzle through the thick wood, barely slowing down enough for you to lurch out of the way when they punch through.

You need better cover - there is no better cover, everything in this house is made of kriffing wood -

Another bolt pops through the table right above your shoulder, close enough to singe your shirt. The heat twitches over your skin, threatening to blister.

All around you is only chaos.

Too much sound and motion -

You can barely think, let alone figure out where the attack is coming from. Instinct swarms over your thoughts, dampening the sensations of chaos around you, pulling your focus into a singular point.

Where in the crikking hells is the bounty hunter?

Blaster fire suddenly sounds off from the direction of the bed.

There.

A resulting scream echoes outside the house. The blaster fire stops, a moment of silence and then one voice calls out, floating into the house from the night.

“Come out, Mandalorian! We’ve got you surrounded!”

Your body is on the defensive, instinct in full control. Shifting your weight fluidly, you rise to peer over the edge of the table, lifting your blaster as your thumb flicks off the safety.

You fire two shots through a broken window, right in the direction of the voice, then drop back behind the table.

A loud grunt and the sound of something heavy falling.

The voices outside erupt into shouts of rage and blaster bolts start whipping through the air again.

Kneeling low, you sneak a glance around the corner of the table.

The bounty hunter is crouched by the bed, one arm curled into his side and half-turned away from the windows, awkwardly firing at an angle.

He’s got the kid.

A blaster bolt pings off the bounty hunter’s helmet, earning a grunt from the modulator before he keeps firing.

Kriff, what’s that armour made of?

A rough sketch of a plan forms in your thoughts.

Whatever it is, it’s about to come in handy.

You raise your voice to be heard over the screech of blaster fire. “Hey!”

The bounty hunter glances at you before firing another round into the night outside. “What?”

You quickly shift out of the way as another blaster bolt burns through the table near your thigh. “Give me the kid!”

He doesn’t respond, curling tighter around the kid, ducking another volley of bolts.

“Come on!” Gritting your teeth, you shuffle as close to him as you can without losing your cover. “We don’t have time to talk about it, just give me the kid and I’ll keep him safe so you can get out there and finish this!”

He hesitates, and every curse word you know flies to the tip of your tongue.

Then the kid cries out, voice tight with fear and the bounty hunter moves instantly - two steps and he’s next to you, and you’re bundling the kid into your arms, dodging another blaster bolt as it pierces the table.

Then in a flash of silver, he’s striding toward the front door, moving with an intensity of purpose that makes him seem more, somehow.

Your gaze captures the image of his silhouette in the doorway, stark shadow against the moonlight, cloak swirling through the smoke that’s beginning to thicken the air as the blaster bolts catch fire on the wood. Tall, broad, unshakeable. Blaster in hand, stepping without hesitation into the darkness.

You almost pity whoever is out there for what they’re about to face.

Then a barrage of blaster fire scatters across the kitchen and you duck behind the table again, holding the kid close to your chest.

Multiple voices shout outside, too frantic for you to make out what they’re saying. Blaster fire still rages around you, and you curl your body around the kid, his little hands grasping your shirt tightly and his head tucked against your chest.

There’s too much risk to making a break for the back door. Besides, it sounds like there’s at least a dozen people out there, the house could actually be surrounded, like the voice in the dark had said.

A flash of awareness slices through your adrenaline-focused thoughts, tightening around your heart until it almost stops, your vision darkening around the edges.

This could be it.

Everything you’ve been through in your life, everything you’ve survived…

This could be the moment that all ends.

You might die here, holding this strange creature, shot by someone you don’t even know.

Pfassk.

This… isn’t what you wanted.

Then suddenly -

Silence.

It’s heavy, fills your ears and blocks out everything else as if you’re underwater.

You don’t move. Don’t even breathe.

Someone on your front porch, then boots hitting the floorboards in your house.

You draw a deep breath, grip your blaster. You’ll get as many shots in as you can, try to get away, get the kid into the orchards and -

“It’s safe to come out now.”

The modulated voice cuts through the air.

Your head thunks against the table as it falls back, eyes closing in relief.

The kid chirps happily, squirming out of your arms and shuffling around the table toward the bounty hunter. Standing, you quickly look around, spot your bag where you left it. Undamaged, thankfully.

You holster your blaster and move to grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulders.

A gloved hand brushes your shirt, where the blaster bolt grazed. “Are you hurt?”

The concern in his voice throws you off guard. When was the last time someone cared about your well-being like that? “No, it’s fine. A-are you?”

“No.” He pauses, bending down to pick the kid up, helmet turning as he looks around at the damage. “I’m sorry about your house.”

“Oh, it’s…” You stop, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. “It doesn’t matter. We need to leave. Now.”

Voices float through the open door, calls of your name, some exclamations of shock - the other farmers, coming to see what’s going on.

Spinning on your heel, you head toward the back door. “They’ll call the patrols, if they haven’t already. I have to get out of here before they take me in for questioning.”

The night air is refreshingly cool as you step into the back porch - was it really less than half an hour ago you were sitting in that chair, listening to the cratsch?

Suddenly, the bounty hunter is right beside you, shadows casting dark slashes across his helmet. “Come with us.”

You freeze mid-step. “What?”

“I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

That something flares in your mind, that intense curiosity you’d felt on the mountain, and again tonight, before the blaster fight. Some kind of impulse that tries to push you toward him, makes you want to know him -

You violently shove it to the back of your mind. “I don’t travel with others. I’ll be fine, I can cut through the orchards and make it to the city, find a transport.”

“You’ll be safer with us.”

Looking pointedly at the cottage behind you, smoldering with multiple small fires and punched through with blaster bolts, you raise your eyebrows at the bounty hunter. “Debatable.”

He sighs, a mixture of frustration and chagrin. “Those people were after me, they followed me here somehow. I brought this on you. Let me… make it right.”

Hesitating, you search the black visor for some sign, something that would completely squash that desire to go with him, a hint of dishonesty or maliciousness or -

The screech of speeders cuts through the air.

The patrols.

Dank farrik.

You could do it, just like you’d said. Run, disappear into the orchards, maybe make it to the mountains. You just need them to lose your trail. Then you could make your way across country, to the city, charter a ship or something, and get the hell of this planet.

Start over somewhere else.

The kid is staring at you, tucked into the crook of the bounty hunter’s arm, those big eyes wide.

Pleading.

Like he’s asking you to stay with them.

And for some absurd and unknown reason, you want to. “Fine. Let’s go.”

You move quickly, running into the trees. The voices are coming closer, the whine of the speeders ratchets up in volume.

Kriff. It’s too dark to flat out run, too much risk of tripping on something. There are countless raised roots and hollows in the ground that are just waiting for a misplaced boot.

The bounty hunter pulls ahead, and you let him - if either of you are going to fall, let it be the fully armoured one.

He moves fast, armour flashing as he slips through moonlight filtering through the trees, his long legs eating up ground. You almost have to jog to keep up with him, gripping the straps of your bag tight to keep it snug against your back and from affecting your balance.

The sound of the speeders suddenly turns toward you. The patrols are spiraling outward from your house, searching the orchard.

You glance over your shoulder, catching the flash of searchlights through the trees. “Hope your ship isn’t far.”

“I’ve got a speeder bike, just ahead.”

His voice is terse, though it seems to be more from frustration than keeping up the fast pace he’s set. Probably has a lot of experience running through every kind of terrain, chasing bounties. You can already feel the burn in your chest, but you shove it aside, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

The trees abruptly come to an end, orchard opening up into a wide, empty field. The planned expansion for next year, the owner had already cleared it in preparation for planting in the spring.

There, tucked beside a tree, just to your left.

The bounty hunter strides toward the speeder bike, turning the ignition with practiced movements. You’re right behind him, holding out your arms, and without hesitation he hands you the kid, gracefully throwing one leg over the seat as you situate the little guy against your side. The helmet turns, watching while you slide in behind him, wrap your free arm around his waist.

Then his boots kick the gearshift into movement and you’re flying across the open field.

Wind whips over your face, refreshing night chill suddenly cold and biting, and you duck into the bounty hunter’s shoulder, inadvertently pressing your face into his cloak - the scent of smoke and blaster fire and something else fills your lungs, curls into the pit of your stomach, warm and heavy.

He smells good.

The black line of a gully appears just ahead, to the right, and the bounty hunter leans, turning the bike toward it. You feel solid muscles shift under your arm - not all his bulk is armour. There’s a power there, underneath the plates and fabric, your fingers flex automatically, seeking -

The scream of speeders suddenly roars behind you.

They’ve spotted us.

A quick glance confirms it. Five speeders, just clearing the trees, flying across the field toward you.

The kid squirms in distress, obviously hearing the approaching speeders. You squeeze your arm around him once. “It’s ok, kiddo, I’ve got you.”

With a sharp turn, the bounty hunter swerves the bike to a stop, just at the edge of the gully.

You look down and there - the ship is a hulking shape in the night, moonlight glancing off durasteel and making it seem bigger than the last time you saw it.

The bounty hunter doesn’t stop, keying in a command code on one of his vambraces, slipping off the bike as the ship door opens and the ramp starts to descend.

Suddenly a beam of light flashes over you, and a voice calls out, too far away to make out what it’s saying but by the way the speeders screech as their engines are pushed to the max, you’re guessing it wasn’t good.

You follow the bounty hunter down a narrow path that dips into the gully, jogging to keep up. It’s not far to the bottom, then your boots are blessedly thunking into the ramp and you’re stepping into the hold of the ship.

Relief floods your veins as the door starts to close behind you, quickly cut off by your common sense - you’re not clear of danger yet.

The bounty hunter reaches for the kid and you hand him over without a word. He turns and strides toward a ladder at the back of the hold and you follow, watching with mild surprise as he climbs it smoothly, even while holding the kid with one arm - obviously something he’s done countless times before.

The cockpit is small and cramped but there’s two passenger chairs aside from the pilot’s, so you shrug off your backpack and slip into one as the bounty hunter takes his. Gloved hands move competently over the console, flicking switches and buttons. The ship roars to life and he turns to set the kid in one of the passenger chairs.

You move to buckle the kid in. “I got him, just get us out of here.”

The bounty hunter doesn’t hesitate, turning back to the console and keying in what you’re guessing is the launch sequence. You strap the kid in snugly, smiling at him in what you hope is reassurance as you fasten the seatbelt, those big eyes watching you, unblinking.

The ship jerks into motion and you scramble to grip the arms of your chair. Nausea ripples through your stomach for a moment - you’ve never really liked take offs - before the ship’s engines engage and steady, then you’re flying up out of the gully.

Searchlights flare through the transparisteel, the speeders coming to a stop at the edge of the gully just as the ship clears the ground. For a split second you can see them, the faces of the patrols staring in shock, probably not expecting an entire starship to suddenly pop out of the earth. Then the ship is turning and all you see is the night sky.

The stars grow closer and the odd, familiar sensation of the sky shrinking hits you. The ship moves through the atmosphere, a few minutes later you’re free of Bakura, staring at empty space.

You’re safe.

A mixture of anxiety and trepidation swarms under your skin.

Not because of the violence of the last few minutes. Not even from the thought of leaving your life behind. You were ready to go.

The source of your unease is sitting right there, armour glinting in the starlight.

The kid makes a soft burbling sound, and you look over to see him watching you, one ear flicking just a bit. “You ok, little guy?” He chirps happily in response, and you grin back. “I hope that means ‘yes’ in Little Green Dude.”

“I can take you wherever you want to go.” The bounty hunter pulls up a navigation map, display flashing with various hyperlanes and systems.

Wherever you want to go.

And where is that, exactly?

A thousand warring thoughts try to answer that question all at once.

With effort, you pull out the most logical one. “I meant what I said back there, I usually just go where the work is.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, seemingly occupied with looking at the map. When he finally speaks, the words come fast, like he had tried to stop them. “I was planning on refueling at Takodana.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Not at Maz’s Castle, I’m assuming. You must be bad for business - I can’t see her usual clientele being particularly pleased to have a bounty hunter hanging around.”

The helmet tilts to the side just a bit toward you, as if he’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye. “No. There’s a small fuel station not far from the castle. I’ve been there a few times with no issue.”

“Mmm. Not surprising no one bothers you.” The note of teasing is a little too heavy in your voice, and you bite your lip to pull it back.

The helmet tilts again, this time as if he’s amused, but he doesn’t say anything in response, just moves his gloved hands over the control console and brings up coordinates for Takodana.

*****

You’ve always valued the quiet. It’s comforting when silence blankets a space, covers all those within it. Much of your life has been full of noise, light, movement. In the still silence, you can piece through your thoughts, examine and categorize them, file them neatly away without interruption.

The bounty hunter has been quiet, too. Surprising. You figured he’d start digging, prying at you for information, but instead he’s barely looked at you, focused on whatever data log he’s pulled up on the console.

You’re almost grateful to him for appreciating the silence as much as you do.

Except you know he’s waiting.

For what, you’re not sure.

But Takodana is a fair distance from Bakura. If he was truly done with you, he’d send you back to the hold, maybe offer refreshments or something, depending on the social standards of his culture.

A snort of amusement threatens to escape as the image of this intimidating hunter politely passing you a ration pack and offering you a beverage pops into your mind.

No, it’s obvious that he doesn’t trust you to be alone on his ship. He wants to keep an eye on you, keep you close. Even though he’d come to you for help with the kid, showing that he has some amount of trust in you, you’re still a stranger, and one who he’s clearly noticed doesn’t like to divulge details about their private lives. You probably set off every single one of his bounty hunter red flags, so he -

“Do you always think so loud?”

The rasp of his modulated voice brings your thoughts to a shuddering halt. You blink a few times, looking at him to find the black visor watching you. “Uh, I guess so. I’ve never realized - wait, did I say something out loud?”

He turns back to the console. “You didn’t have to.”

Well. You’re really not sure what to say to that.

You take the opportunity to turn his attention to the kid, smiling at the little guy, who coos back at you. “He seems better. I guess the herbs worked.”

“Thank you. For helping us.” The words come out hesitant, as if he’s unsure of whether or not to say them.

The memory of your shocked reaction to when he thanked you on Bakura pops into your thoughts. When you had just realized he was a bounty hunter, moments before. Ok, well, you don’t want him to think you’re that strange, that a simple thank you renders you speechless. “No need to thank me. I’m glad I get to see him again. He’s a cute kid.”

Maybe that was a little too personal, but the kid is grinning at you, ears perked with excitement, and you really can’t stop the warm feeling that blooms in your chest.

The bounty hunter glances back at the kid. “He likes you.”

“He’s a kid, he probably likes a lot of people.” You shrug one shoulder.

“Not as many as you think. That’s why I came to you.”

Your gaze flies to the bounty hunter, staring at the helmet that’s turned away from you. “Don’t have many friends, huh?”

A pause, just a split second of one but enough for you to notice and realize he recognizes your careful prying. “Not in this sector.”

Nicely countered. Your mouth curves into a wry smile. But now your curiosity is well and truly piqued - that strange, insistent urge to know more about him and the kid that you’d felt on Bakura comes back full swing.

Shifting to lean sideways in the chair and casually crossing one leg over the other, you throw the question out there as if this is a simple conversation between acquaintances. “So what brings you to this sector in the first place?”

The helmet doesn’t even tilt, armoured shoulders relaxed as he closes the data log he was reading and opens another. “I was on a job.”

“Oh? And what do you do?”

“I think you already know.”

Pfassk.

An ice-cold chill zips down your spine, raising the hair on the back of your neck.

Ok. Maybe he’s reading you wrong, maybe - no, he’s pinned you down. He knows you’re watching him, learning him, just as much as he is you.

Through your entire adult life, you’ve honed your observation skills, learned to trust your intuition. It’s saved your life many times before, that ability to see and assess people in great detail, and often more adeptly than they could assess you.

You’ve never met someone who sees right through you like he does.

It’s uncomfortable. Disorienting.

And intriguing.

You drop your guard. It’s apparently useless with him anyway. “Bakura doesn’t seem like the smartest choice for bounties. There are a million other planets with much more viable criminal networks where people can slip under the radar and disappear.”

He closes the data log and turns to face you, seemingly recognizing your shift in attitude. “And you would know how to do that.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement of the obvious. One you’re not going to bother denying. But you’re also not foolish enough to confirm it to a bounty hunter.

You meet the black visor’s gaze steadily.

He rests his gloved hands on his thighs. “I checked the boards, there’s no puck for you. I don’t care what you’ve done. But if you’re going to be on my ship, I need to know who you are.”

“You were the one who offered me passage.” Your voice is sharp, more defensive that you intended.

“I know. And I’ll take you to Takodana. But you don’t need to be unrestrained in the meantime.”

Dank farrik.

Panic flares in your chest, fingertips curling reflexively, readying for a fight. You’ll lose against him, you know that, and even if you won, there’s no way you could pilot this ship -

A deep sigh through the modulator of his helmet interrupts your frantic thoughts. “That was… I’m not used to talking to people.”

He sounds so disappointed in himself, such a contrast to his usual aura of confidence, that you almost burst out laughing, tension releasing your limbs. “Clearly. Usually people buy me dinner before they offer to tie me up.”

A visible tremor of discomfort runs through him, and you raise your hand in apology. “Sorry, sorry, I’m also… not used to talking to people. Sometimes my tongue gets away from me.”

He relaxes, slowly, helmet tilting as he assesses you once again. Another long pause, then he says your Bakuran name, the one the other farmers shouted outside of your house. “That’s your name?”

“It’s a name people call me, yes.” A huff of frustration comes through the modulator, and you shrug. “What? You don’t own the rights to mysterious, nameless stranger.”

“I never said I did.”

Frustration tinges his voice, but this isn’t something you can bend on, so you deflect. “Actions speak louder than words, Mr. Never Reveals His Face.”

Another tremor runs through him, but this one stiffens his spine, shoulders, tightens his hands into fists. “It’s my creed.”

His tone is so defensive, you feel a twinge of guilt. You hadn’t meant to offend him. Settling further into your chair, you nod once in apology. “Everyone’s got their own armour of sorts.”

Silence.

He’s just looking at you, staring, still.

Did you offend him again? Kriff. Just when you thought you were finally figuring out how to talk to him. Clearing your throat, you try again, softening your voice to make sure your intention to stay on his good side is clear. “So what should I call you?”

A pause, then to your relief, he answers. “Most people call me Mando.”

The memory of a shout in the night pops into your mind, realization clicking into place. “As in ‘Mandalorian.’ That’s what they called you, back there.”

“Yes.”

A Mandalorian.

That explains some things.

You don’t know much about Mandalorian, just rumours and gossip that you would bet good credits was exaggerated. But the common thread of what people said about them was pretty consistent - highly skilled fighters, fiercely devoted to their families, proud of their heritage.

The last two points were especially unfortunate, because the Empire had nearly wiped them out.

That’s why he’s so cold, so aloof. He belongs to a people who were once a driving force, who flourished and spread throughout the galaxy. Until their planet had been practically destroyed, their people scattered, population reduced to almost none.

He keeps others at distance, to keep himself from experiencing such a loss again.

A thought pierces your chest, sharp and painful.

And that’s why he’s so ferociously protective of the kid.

Maybe the kid is all he has left.

You’ve been quiet for too long, he’s shifting uncomfortably, black visor turning away. Recovering quickly, you snort softly, raising an eyebrow. “‘Mando,’ eh? Very creative.”

A gentle exhale drifts through the modulator - was that a laugh? “At least I have a name.”

Now he’s teasing you.

He went from threatening to imprison you to teasing you within a few minutes, while also confirming his dangerous profession and revealing a life of tragedy.

This man is fascinating.

You bite your lip to stop your mouth from curving into a grin. “Oh, you can call me whatever you want. But you should note that I respond best to names that double as a compliment to my beauty and wit.”

He twitches again, clears his throat roughly and stands. “I’m going to clean the kid up.”

The abrupt change of conversation leaves you on uncertain ground once again, but before you can question it, the kid launches into a loud string of bright babbling, obviously done with being quiet while the adults talk and intent on making up for his silence.

The bounty hunter - Mando - unclips the kid’s seatbelt and lifts him into his arms, gloved fingers plucking at the little guy’s vomit-stained robe before the black visor turns to you again. “I… don’t have a spare room, but you’re welcome to find a space in the hold if you want to rest. We’ve got about a full day cycle until we reach Takodana.”

You nod once in acknowledgment and stand up, grabbing your bag before moving to the ladder and climbing back down into the hold.

It looks like any other ship’s hold you’ve been in, stacks of crates, storage cabinets along the walls. Random bits and pieces of equipment that you can’t identify. You find an empty space in the corner of the hold and drop your backpack to the floor, shaking it a little so the hard objects slide to one side. It’s only coarseweave, but it’s better than sitting on the cold durasteel floor.

How many times have you used a pack as an impromptu seat or pillow, snugged away in some abandoned warehouse or storage room or sheltered doorway?

A sigh squeezes from your lungs as you sit down on the backpack, leaning against the hull and bringing your knees up to your chest to rest your arms on them. The adrenaline that was coursing through you on Bakura has faded, leaving your muscles a little shaky and weak. You know it’ll pass, you just need a bit of time to rest and re-centre yourself.

Your thoughts flit through the events of the last hour at random, pulling everything together, actions, words, emotions. Anxiety, bubbling in the pit of your stomach, slowly levels out as you process what had happened, go through your usual rote of private reassurance.

I am alive.

I am safe.

I am going to survive.

You’re heading to a place where you could choose the next step. You have enough credits to buy passage to somewhere along this hyperlane, and it was a popular trade route with some great options for your next life.

Your eyelids drift shut naturally, breath slowing to a steady pace. The thrum of the ship’s engines is a low vibration against your back, a soothing sound on the edge of your hearing.

The words swirl through your thoughts, over and over, a reassuring rhythm.

I am alive.

I am safe.

I am going to survive.

*****

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[robobrainrot]

Introducing Rory Magellan, my newest Transformers Human OC.

Rory is a third year Fine Arts major that does a lot of experimental art and gesture studies. They frequently stop to draw things they find around town, which causes them to be late to almost everything. Rory also usually draws themself as a little Garfield-esque character instead of a human-person.

One day they stop to draw a gorgeous red Aston Martin they find parked in an alley and decide to leave the sketch and their card on the windshield for the "owner." Vain as he is, Knockout loves this kind of attention and starts making a plan to get them to be his personal artist.

I'm not sure if I'll post the full short fic of them or not but here's a snip-it under the cut;

(From the first chapter/introduction)

“Finally! The human is leaving. Knockout, Out.” He ended the transmission quickly as the human in question walked closer to the car. Instead of continuing down the sidewalk, they stopped next to Knockout’s side mirror. They pulled a piece of paper off the thing they had been fiddling with, then flipped it over and scribbled something on the back.

It took everything Knockout had not to smack them away as they lifted up one of his windshield wipers and tucked the paper neatly under it. He was trying to be a better bot. If he kept causing issues, the Autobots might have second thoughts about giving him so much freedom. He remained tense as the human placed their hand on his hood.

“Don’t see many beauties like you around here.” They said under their breath. “Thanks for letting me draw you. Love the sticker thing.” Then, they patted his hood and walked away.

Knockout sat there for a moment stunned. First, yes, he was quite beautiful. More humans should be like this one and notice that. Second, they had spoken to him. Not at him. Not to some fake driver. Him. Third, they had touched him. Their grubby little human fingerprints were no doubt on his hood now. He was going to have to pull over and fix that before returning to base. Not to mention whatever it was that they stuck under his window wiper. It was terribly itchy.

Still, he watched them turn the corner down the street. He had many questions. Were any of them worth pursuing? The blinking missed message from Breakdown on his dash told him no.

“Stay out of trouble, Speedster.” The text read.

He turned on his engine then rolled out. He would stay out of trouble… for now.

---

Notes: 1. KO doesn't know that humans talk to inanimate objects sometimes. 2. Breakdown isn't dead. Fuck canon- I do what I want :)

[damnedparker]

Here’s an Adrian chase request! Adrian finds out the reader draws him a lot n he finds it so endearing n cute he can’t stop gushing about it to ppl n the reader n kissing them all over for being so sweet n maybe the 11th street gang make jokes about how the drawings are too good to be of Adrian

hello! sorry this took longer than intended, getting back into the mindset to write for adrian is hard and i've been working a lot. but i hope you like it :) tysm for ur request!!

Adrian had no idea that an inanimate object could taunt him so much.

It's like your sketchbook, even closed and plastered with cute stickers on the cover, is screaming open me! open me! directly into his eardrums. His fingers are practically twitching.

Normally, he'd have been halfway through looking at it by now. You two share almost everything; it's just the way your relationship is, even only after a few months being together. You're like two open books.

Ha. Irony.

But the thing stopping Adrian from picking up the book is just how secretive you've been with it the past few weeks. He'd known that you drew, you did just about anything art related. He'd always admired your passion for creative hobbies. But you never showed him any, even awkwardly cover them up when he tries to peek. And it'd been even more intense lately, with you either on the other side of the room, or completely in another room, huddled with your phone next to your sketchbook. If you aren't drawing, it's tucked away somewhere Adrian hasn't discovered yet. The only reason it's now here, sitting in front of his curious eyes on the coffee table, is that you'd rushed out the door, having nearly forgotten to pick up the takeout you ordered an hour before.

You'd been gone now twenty minutes, and Adrian's spent half of that in the same spot, staring at the book. He knows he probably shouldn't open it, but he's also super fucking curious. How bad could it be? Surely there weren't any big secrets in there, right? It's just drawings. You aren't the cerebral type when it comes to your art hobbies; it's more of a way to relax or give yourself something to focus on to decompress from the rest of life.

Another five minutes passes before Adrian steels himself, finally picking up the book and flipping through its pages. A smile slowly curls up his lips once he gets a quarter of the way through various sketches of places around your apartment, little goofy cartoons of the 11th Street Kids, into a number of pages of... himself?

His heart races as he takes it in, warmth crawling up his arms and settling in his chest pleasantly. Graphite sketches, some in higher detail than others, carefully done with each stroke building a near perfect image of him. His jaw could've fallen off and dropped to the floor. Your other stuff is great, he was amazed on the first page in, but something about you spending hours-- days by the dates scribbled next to each sketch-- capturing him in such detail. His shock turns into a smile so wide his cheeks hurt.

As he continues to leaf through them, various sketches in different areas of your life together-- the sofa, your bed, Fennel Fields, Hennenlotter Video, even the van during one long roadtrip for a mission-- he finally reaches the most recent one, dated today. You have the day off, and with Adrian only having had a half-shift as well, you'd both lounged in bed longer than usual this morning. He remembers you shifting over to where he couldn't see the paper as you'd begun to draw, so he'd focused on playing a game on his phone, the TV playing some sitcom rerun in the background. The sound of your pencil weaving in and out of laugh tracks and commercials. Your legs stretched out comfortably over his thighs from your side of the bed. His hand massaging your ankle affectionately. It was so peaceful. And even he could see it now, reflected back on his own face constructed in shades of grey, careful scribbles shading the late morning light framing his face.

Adrian is so distracted by the memory that he doesn't notice you opening the door until a loud thunk makes his head jerk towards you when you drop the bag of food on the floor.

"Adrian!" Your voice turns a bit shrill in panic as you reach for your sketchbook in his hands. He pulls it just out of your reach with a smile. Meanwhile your frown nearly reaches your shoes. "Give it back, you weren't supposed to see that."

"Why not? It's just me," he smiles at you brightly. He finds the pink dusting your cheeks incredibly endearing. "You shouldn't hide these anyway, babe, you're a regular Salvador Deli!"

"It's Dali--"

"Are you sure? I always remembered his name because it sounded like Salami Deli and--"

"Adrian!" You whine, finally prying the book from his hands. You huff. "I'm just-- I guess I'm embarrassed. I don't want you to think I'm a creep or something for drawing you so much. And- and they're not that great--"

"First of all, they are great, fucking amazing, actually. Second, you could never be a creep, dude, not with skills like that, plus, we're dating, how is it any different than when I take photos of you?" He presses a kiss to your cheek, squeezes your wrist. Tugs you impossibly close to him. The heat of your embarrassment fades into the familiar warmth of Adrian's affections. "I think it's cute that I'm your muse or whatever, baby. I've never been someone's muse before. This is just like Titanic." You let out a giggle at that because, no, it really isn't, but you understand what he means. It's cute. Adrian kisses your cheek again.

"Okay, Jack." You mumble, overwhelmed with warmth as he presses his cheek to yours, practically overflowing with his affection for you. He almost prances over to the food you left on the floor, completely moving on to another conversation.

"Speaking of, did you know the first time I watched that I only saw the second VHS tape when I was a kid? I thought it was a horror movie."

--

Adrian knowing about your art was a blessing and a curse. You love having his support, his constant praises were motivation to you, and validation that nobody would shy away from. It's also nice to not have to worry about hiding them from him anymore, and sometimes he makes sure not to move for a while if he notices you're drawing him.

On the other hand, he continues to tell absolutely everyone, every single person you bump into, how talented he thinks you are, and "oh you should see, I have it right here on my phone." It's sweet, really, but sometimes it gets overwhelming. You're hoping it'll die down soon, but knowing Adrian, it might be a while before he fixates on some other quality to brag on you about. Again, he's sweet.

He especially never stops gushing to the 11th Street Kids, most often Chris and Leota, the latter who, god bless her, actually shows interest, and is incredibly supportive. Well, she was at first, now it's just to make you flustered just to get on your nerves.

Chris, however, consistently tries to convince Adrian you aren't actually drawing him, because you make him look too attractive. And every single day you are on the verge of kicking him in the nuts.

"Adrian, man, I'm telling you, they just put a pair of glasses on a random stock photo model, you are not this hot--"

"Christopher Smith, put my boyfriend's name in your mouth in a negative context one more time, and you will no longer have a dick that works."

[bramblesramblesintoshambles]

The Eclipse Dungeon (Part III)

So, I figure I should do a preamble to these and maybe explain why I made this and why I chose 13th Age as a system. Well, I've been watching Frieren and Dungeon Meshi lately which have naturally inspired me to build a dungeon. I'm also a huge fan of mazes and puzzles in general, so it was good fun to just sketch this out. As for why I chose 13th Age, I've enjoyed this system a lot. My times playing it have been brief and few but there's tonnes in it to enjoy. Hopefully this inspires people to try it out so I'll have more opportunities, because its a really easy system to learn the basics of. Additionally, I feel 13th Age is better suited to a dungeon adventure than others.

-Art by TheMinttu on DeviantArt.

The Queen's Maze

When the players emerge from the previous Labyrinth, they'll find a barrier to the North-East is now open. This is perhaps the most complicated of the areas and will require some backtracking as well as splitting the party (potentially). Which is why you require 3+ players. It's literally impossible otherwise. The reason why will become clear as it's various facets are explained in order. To start, let's revisit the map and go through each location. For the most part we'll go in order with the exclusion of Location 8.5 as players will likely encounter this soon enough after Location 7.

Location 8.5 is the first of several barriers in this area of the dungeon. Across a wall beside it, in large lettering, is a message. Any character who is an Elf or has the Linguist feat can read it with an Intelligence check requiring 8+ to succeed, adding any applicable background skills. Any backgrounds relating to ancient cultures, old languages, or archaeology could be useful to this check. For characters of other lineages who lack the Linguist feat, they require 14+ to succeed. When translated the players learn that it says: "With time, all people must part from those they walk beside". This will hopefully provide players an insight into how they should approach this maze.

Location 7, is a triangular room with a small pedestal in its centre. There are two walls which have murals. The first wall they see has a mural of several elves fleeing underground from a dark red sun. In its centre, is a woman carrying a swaddled baby. The second wall has and image of Drow emerging from below ground, with all of them staring up at the moon above them. Central to this image is a younger dark elf, who is holding her mother's hand and stands directly below the moon. That pedestal has a small hourglass filled with sand. When flipped over it opens the barrier at Location 7.5 for around a minute (9 rounds). It should be made clear that the sand in this hourglass is running out.

Location 8 possesses another hourglass on a pedestal as well as two more murals. The first wall seen shows the Elf Queen, now fully grown puppeteering several suits of armour which battle against humans in golden armour. Her expression is cold, dispassionate one of a woman who has been at war for an age. The second mural shows her sat at a campfire, across from the Human King with that eclipse in the sky behind them. Their expressions have softened and she is laughing as he speaks in a casual manner. When flipped this hourglass will open the barrier at location 8.5 for around 20 seconds (3 rounds). To clarify, they can be flipped again when the time runs out (this is implied, however it's always important to specify details).

-Art by Magdalena Ploszkiewicz.

Location 9, unlike the others is at the end of a corridor with two murals on either side. These depict the union of two kingdoms into one. Debates between human and elf scholars, mixtures of architecture, fashion are on one wall. Feasts, dances, quiet picnics between the Elf Queen and Human King are depicted on the opposing wall. Then at the end of the corridor, behind the pedestal holding an hourglass is a painting of their wedding. Flipping this hourglass will open the barrier at location 9.5 for 5 seconds (1 round). With this, the characters should be able to send at least one player through to the final puzzle with 3 players.

The Final Puzzle and Second Animated Armour

-Art attributed to HoDaRaKe.

The final room of this maze contains three paintings. The first is of the Queen bowed before a grave, her expression twisted into the specific agony of fresh mourning. She is alone. The second painting shows the sun and moon starting to overlap in another eclipse. The body of the King writhes and contorts on the ground beneath it as the Queen looks away from him and that eclipse. The final mural depicts her leading him underground, chased by soldiers wearing silver and gold armour. The sun and moon part as they descend. On a pedestal in the centre is an hourglass with bone white sand. Unlike the others its sand is resting in the top half of it. Meaning if it is flipped the sand will have already run out. The answer is to simply turn it over, to accept they are out of time, at which all the barriers in this maze open. This also unlocks the final door to the long corridor and triggers the armour in this section to begin moving.

I suppose now we should talk about that monster hiding around a corner at the end of the initial corridor for this maze. It is another suit of armour which behaves in an identical manner to the previous one (check my page for Part II). However, in terms of its appearance the armour is silver rather than brass and gold. Due to this it lacks the vulnerability and resistance of the previous armour suit. Additionally, in terms of its behaviour, it does not pursue the party as its counterpart would. Instead it simply waits at the entrance to this maze for them to return.

-Image from the 13th Age SRD webpage.

I would argue that for a party of 3 adventurers, a Monster Level 1 should pose a significant challenge to the characters. I also realise that I neglected to state which is the Better or Lesser defense of these armour suits earlier. I'd argue that their Physical Defense of PD is higher due to being armour. Additionally, it would not be unreasonable to give them immunity to conditions such as Fear or Stun. However it's also perfectly possible to relabel these effects narratively. Stunned could be a locking of armour joints which impedes movement, for instance. The main thing is to have fun with the fight, give your players a challenge and give anyone looking for combat their fill. A palate cleanser to the difficult puzzle they solved.

Again, to be clear, I likely got a tonne wrong here and messed up on different things. However, you'll learn that yourselves by playing this game. So if you play it and think I got stuff wrong be sure to reblog or reply with helpful advise others can implement for their own usage of this. I'm grateful for any sort of support or advise. I wish I'd had a chance to play this with people but the 2nd Edition will be out soon enough so I doubt I'll have the chance.