#foundling things

[foundlingthings]

Candy Cane

[thirddoctor]

Belinda's plotline is kind of a horror story, which would be very interesting if that's what they'd been going for.

She's kidnapped by a creepy guy who wants to marry her, and she's rescued by another guy who also comes off as kinda creepy to her, and she doesn't trust him or want to be with him, but conveniently he can't take her home so she has to stay with him for a while. And she's forced to start trusting him as they go on various adventures together, but then she sees him casually torture a guy and she has a moment where she doubts him again, but she's able to sort of brush it aside, and she even tells him how amazing he is.

And then she gets stuck in another creepy man's conservative utopia, where she's a housewife married to the man she's travelling with and they have a daughter together. And deep down she knows there's something wrong with this, and she even has a moment where she has to scream because this isn't her life, but she forces herself to keep on believing in the fake world and her daughter, and even when she gets her memories back her daughter is still there and she feels compelled to protect her. She shuts herself in a box, knowing she might be trapped there for eternity, because what else can she do? This is her daughter, right?

And then the girl fades out of existence and she forgets her, but the man she travelled with can't bear to let the girl go, so he rewrites the universe to save her... and rewrites Belinda's whole life in the process. Suddenly she's always been a mother. This has always been her daughter. Once again, she's had a new life imposed on her by some creepy guy, and she doesn't even know it's happened. He doesn't tell her, he just says goodbye and leaves her with the child she never used to have.

Will she ever feel the wrongness of her new reality? Will she ever have a nagging feeling that this isn't her life?

[blue-marbles]

A couple of weeks ago, I read this fic by @bardan-jusik aka verpineshutterrifle. To quote their summary: "Falin/Kal on Surcaris, and Munin finding him, mostly feral." The fic is really good, big recommendation.

Anyway, it inspired me to doodle the scene in which Munin Skirata finds little Kal/Falin Mattran, who had been surviving on his own for about one year.

Somehow, things escalated, and the quick doodle became a full-on painting project.

Painting this brought up questions I never thought about, like "What did Munin Skirata actually look like, other than having green armour?"

I did the outlines for both Falin and Munin with traditional ink, everything else is done with Krita. I'm still not fully happy with some bits of the picture, but for this being the second thing I have ever done in Krita, and also for me not having a tablet and thus having to work with my mouse, I think it turned out alright.

[alicelufenia]

Some of my favorite Catherine Foundling expressions from the A Practical Guide to Evil webcomic

[dioic1]

Natsu-go-round!!

[nosenipped]

Katherine had not been considered 'young' for many years, and even when she was ...she was not the most whimsical. Called mature, or an old soul. Now grown she found comfort in small moments of playfulness or even of mischief. Hugging Jack from behind where he sat, she was almost boneless for a moment before pressing a tender kiss to the snowflake mark on his neck. Smiling to herself as she stepped away mere seconds later to return to her sketchbook. / @foundling-guardian．　¨　❄️̸̲　　༉

　he'd been occupied by their thoughts about the slow elapsing season of winter. pollen had began to spread, tickling this trickster's nose whenever he frolicked too close to the sea of flowers. floes to ogle in interest at the sketches sprawled 'cross her canvas, blinking in contemplation. he never did understand art﹔ it's a foreign language untaught.

despite that, he enjoys watching her work, the intricate way her brows furrow when detailing the illustrations, watching her hands be daubed of charcoal pencils ﹠ stained with rubber's residual, scent of pages ﹠ parchment.

　cracked tiers part for a creeping question, before he's stupefied by the sudden pack along the dip of his neck. arcs of flakes webs 'cross guardian's visage, verglas clings onto the edges of mien, a feeling drawn from depths of winter's crux blossoms forth through their face.

gently, he cups the area planted with love, small grin, slithering closer to the busied mother goose, arms wrapping about width of waist, nose slotting nicely into the crook of her neck. ❛ special occasion﹖ ❜

[bonefall]

how do thistle law supporters feel about foundling kits? considering they don’t like half-clanners and former outsiders, i’m wondering if they’d take in abandoned kittens or not considering they don’t particularly care for the queen’s rights amendment. like, would they give them to another clan, ignore them, or something else?

Under an institution like TigerClan, they would be put to the claw. A foundling is a future rogue. Every metastasis of Thistle Law is unique and different but they would never be on the same level as stolen kits.

The Clanmew word for a Stolen Kit is "Kurrnia," Honor Child, so I'm going to use this term

A Kurrnia is one that is rightfully won through conquest, FROM another Clan. They are still Clanborn, still have Warrior Blood. The idea here is that fighting over them and winning them makes this transfer legitimate. Might Makes Right.

So there could have been a timeline where Stormpaw and Featherpaw would be kurrnia and not halfclan in the eyes of a Thistle Law supporter-- if Crookedstar had gone ahead with the raid, and if Graystripe hadn't "ruined" the children by coming to RiverClan.

During the Crusades, some kits were taken as kurrnia from Chelford. Unfortunately though, they DO get discriminated against. They aren't Clanborn, don't have the ancient blood of the founders. They are seen as inferior to those earned through "honorable conquest."

But Kitten Stealing is a DEAD tradition, so heinous that only Thistle Law supporters consider it. The idea disgusts most Clan cats. But, it's a tradition that puts the modern understanding of Foundlings into perspective.

[crossdressingdeath]

I love that of the faction backgrounds at least two of them are explicitly foundlings (and de Riva is... well, a member of House de Riva, meaning that isn't their birth surname unless they were born into the Crows to begin with). It really helps justify the surnames being the same regardless of lineage; you have that name because it was given to you by whoever raised you, so your lineage doesn't matter as far as that goes.

[radioactivepeasant]

Halloween Fic: Prologue

(This angsty little bit actually happens month before the story itself, but it's very important worldbuilding for the story. When the whole thing is done, it'll be published on AO3 as a two-chapter whole)

"This one's temperature is too high."

Damas frowned down at the pallet beside the vast Precursor statue that loomed over the dais. The survivor he'd tracked the beacon to that morning in the desert lay there, unresponsive to the whispered chanting and cooling packs of the monks. He'd been shocked to discover that what he'd taken for a young soldier was barely more than a child under the sweat and grime embedded in his pores. By the size of the bones standing out just a little too visibly against the Unclaimed's skin, and the teeth they could count, Brother Rhys reckoned the boy could be no more than three and a half lustrums: seventeen at the oldest.

Seventeen was just barely old enough for the Trials, and that was just the high estimate of the stranger's age. That complicated the usual procedures of dealing with newcomers to Spargus. If he survived -- and at the moment it wasn't looking terribly likely -- and it turned out he was younger than seventeen, some kind of arrangement would have to be made for a child-Unclaimed.

"Do you not have cooling packs?" Damas asked, gesturing to the boy and the two animals that had been found with him.

"They are inadequate, my lord," Rhys answered. "Our supplies were greatly depleted after a failed expedition of several acolytes to the Great Volcano."

Was that all? The king of the Wastelanders turned away with a dismissive gesture.

"Then keep his body submerged until his core temperature stabilizes. I have questions for this one."

Silence followed the command. When Damas turned, the monks were watching him with conflicted expressions. He frowned and paced to the edge of the dais.

"Well?" he demanded.

Another monk, lower in rank than Brother Rhys, made a pacifying gesture and said apologetically, "We cannot, my lord. It is improper."

The king curled his lip at them. "Oh? Tell me, when did it become improper to render aid to a child?"

Rhys raised a hand, silently forbidding his companion from speaking further. He bowed his head.

"He is an Unclaimed, sire. Only those who brought the Unclaimed into your city may give them the rites of Water and First Breath, by law."

His meaning was clear: if Damas wanted to this one to live, he had to deal with it himself.

But there was a problem.

The monks would not treat submersion as an emergency medical treatment. They were rigid and uncompromising in the arena of new citizens. No matter what Damas said, if the Unclaimed was submerged, even to lower his temperature, they would record it as the rite of First Breath. But the rite of First Breath was reserved for those who had earned their first amulet in the Arena; those who understood the laws of Spargus and chose to stay, sponsored by their Finders, would use the ritual to move from Unclaimed to Foundling in the city census, gaining the same legal status as any child born within the walls.

This Unclaimed would die long before he had the chance to test his mettle in the ring if his temperature was not brought down, and soon. But without that amulet, if he were to step out of line later, he would not be the only one held accountable.

Damas took one last look at the limp form, and -- with a fairly imprecatory prayer under his breath to the Six Patrons of eco -- he made up his mind.

The king tossed aside his staff with an echoing clash of metal against stone. The monks twitched, and the guards at the lift jumped. Damas ignored them. He stormed down the steps of the dais and grabbed the skinny boy's arm. For a moment, he was thrown off by the texture of scars swirling across the skin like silvery fractals. More questions without answers. He shook away his curiosity and dragged the Unclaimed from the pallet and down to the edge of the pools. The orange creature raised its head and let out a choked cry -- it likely thought he was going to harm its human.

This wasn't going to help its opinion.

Damas stepped down into the water and hauled the Unclaimed bodily in after him. Frustration boiled under his skin, making his movements rough and brusque as he pushed the boy down under the surface and held him there.

The Six were mocking him.

You couldn't handle a toddler. Try again, maybe you can keep track of one big enough to protect himself? Try try again, Damas. Try and fail again.

The frustration bubbled up into his throat and tasted of bitterness.

He hadn’t asked for this.

He didn't want another child. He wanted his son. He wanted Mar.

But he knew in his heart that he was far too stubborn to let this one die.

One of the newer guards watched, and realized soon enough that the boy was awake, yet he did not struggle.

"This one is too weak, sire," he sneered, looking down with contempt, "Let the waters claim him."

And perhaps it would have been the merciful thing to do.

But Damas hated being told what to do.

And Damas had always been the kind of man who refused to admit defeat.

The boy's body would realize it needed air soon enough, surely. Any moment now.

Usually candidates are fully lucid during this rite for a reason....

Two seconds passed. Then five. Nine. At eleven seconds, the boy's eyelids twitched like he was going to open them. Good.

"Push," Damas whispered, stubbornly willing him to fight, "Push, whelp."

The Unclaimed's body tensed as if in response and one hand slowly, ever so slowly, rose to break the surface as if he'd just realized he was underwater. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open -- horribly, familiarly blue -- and his fingers snatched at whatever he could reach, clawing weakly at Damas’s arm.

It was enough.

Damas yanked him up out of the water by the collar of his mutilated tunic and the boy coughed out a mouthful of water. There would be no going back after this. The second they'd entered the water, the Unclaimed -- the Foundling's -- fate was bound irrevocably to Damas’s.

Grimly, and as quickly as was socially acceptable, Damas recited the words that would make the ritual binding -- and would add one more duty to his endless litany of tasks.

"Take your first breath, child of the wastes. By this birth and the hands that bore you, you belong to the people of Spargus."

"To the king of Spargus," the second monk softly corrected him, cutting off the rest of the words traditionally spoken as the young man sucked in a desperate gasp of air. "It is you who has chosen to forego the First Trial to give him his birth-by-water early. His fate is solely in your hands, my lord."

Damas snarled softly. "There was no need for it to be so," he reproached.

Emotionlessly, he hauled the Foundling from the pools and dropped him back onto the pallet.

"Heal him."

"Of course, my lord," the monk murmured. "As he is now part of your household, do you consent to the use of city eco to treat your Foundling?"

"Don't call him that." Damas turned away to retrieve his staff.

"It is what he is," Rhys observed placidly. "As you are his Finder-"

"I didn't ask to find the whelp," Damas hissed, "None of you were going to give him his rites!"

He marched past his throne, towards the exit of the chamber, stonefaced.

"Put him back in the water until one of you returns with the eco. Inform me if he recovers."

Between the monks, Jak lay on the pallet and stared at the ceiling with wide, glassy eyes.

If anyone had been paying attention, they would have seen his pupils dilate unnaturally wide.

[regainingparadise]

Ragnar’ika pulls out a knife--not so much a knife as a piece of broken rusty metal. “Come any closer and I’ll kill you.” His voice is savage with bravado. Paz is delighted, and his heart breaks for the child. So young to need to show so much courage. All the New Republic’s talk of high ideals, and they let this happen to their children.

OR

Grieving Din Djarin's betrayal of the Creed, Paz prepares to leave Glavis Ringworld with the Armorer. On a last supply run, he finds more than he expected.

[aerithisms]

the vibe i'm getting from this season of doctor who is that it's a pretty good anthology series of whacky and interesting ideas and i do love to see the show willing to push the boat out in that regard but it's lacking the emotional through-line with the characters that makes doctor who sing. so even though i like a lot of individual episodes it's kind of leaving me emotionally cold as a whole

[foundlingthings]

Oral Rinse Packet

[reeveskryze]

Favourite Koska is Bo-Katan's foundling headcanons 1/?

Bo saved Koska during the purge when Koska was 15. She tried to argue that as she was close to being of age she didn't have to be Bo's responsibility. That she could simply join the niteowls and it would be enough. Axe had simply shrugged and reminded her their creed stated she was now Bo's responsibility and her family.

Koska has always been incredibly protective of her. Not in a physical sense as Koska is fully aware she can take care of herself in that aspect but the amount of fights Bo and Axe have had to pull her out of because someone said some shit about Bo is ridiculous.

"What did you say about her you.." -cue the scrambling to stop her killing someone. Although sometimes Bo lets her go more for the entertainment of it.

She was gifted her armor when she turned 18. It is standard niteowl armor, minus the decals on her shoulders which match bo's (don't get me started on how sad she is when bo gets a new one and they don't match anymore)

Did i mention she is head of the 'bo can do nothing wrong' club?

she didn't become Bo's right hand simply by being her foundling. she worked hard to impress her and earn her trust.

They don't refer to each other as ad and buir in public or in front of any other niteowls except Axe who has kinda worked his way into this lil family as an uncle/annoying brother.

Koska was crushed when bo didn't claim the dark saber from din. In her eyes, her mother and hero had just walked away from the one thing they had been fighting for and needed to save their planet. When the other members of the niteowls began turning their back and leaving Bo she felt she had no choice but to do the same. Axe was offering work, money, food and the continued support of her friends in the niteowls. She had to chose from her buir or everyone else. She told Bo this in person on Kalevala. Feeling she owed her at least that. An argument broke out and words were said that both sides meant but would have preferred to be said in a much better way and Koska left the castle for the last time.

Koska isn't entirely sure of what's up between the armorer and bo and can't decide whether she wants to know or doesn't. Axe said he'd give her 50 credits if she makes a comment to bo about the armorer being her new buir but she isn't game enough for that yet. LOVES teasing Din about it tho

LEGIT WON'T LEAVE BO ALONE ANYMORE. every mission since they've returned and reclaimed mandalore she wants to be there.

Koska is really proud of her mom okay? Once the imperial threat is destroyed and they are back on mandalore she gets Bo's attention in front of a group of mandos by calling out "Buir?" softly and Bo's turns with a smile on her face.

[kill-your-darlings-art]

One of my favourite things about going down research rabbit holes is finding unexpectedly humorous things.

For example, I went down a rabbit hole for a steampunk story I'm kicking around and ended up on the Wikipedia page of the Foundling Hospital (Britain's first...orphanage? children's home? to put it very simply?), where I came across this line that genuinely made me stop midsentence in my phone call to my grandmother and bark out laughter:

Ah, yes, I too would get rid of a painting for looking "too Catholic."

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

99% of my day dreams are just me cooking up detailed and often convoluted AUs so I can imagine my favorite characters with kids

[rinayeas]

Im still going on my star wars newbie binge ft my boyfriend who is a lifelong star wars fan and we just finished watching the first 2 seasons of the mandalorian and like..... its really good but why does everything have to be serialized....

I enjoyed the show 100 times more when it was just mando and lil yoda (ik his name is grogu i just think its funny) going on episodic space lone ranger adventures and helping random ppl bc mando may be a bounty hunter but he is a Noble Man.

Why does moff gideon exist. He is just space gustavo from breaking bad except gustavo was cool and smart. Moff gideon just knows everything about everyone bc he's played by gustavo from breaking bad. I dont give a shit that the empire is rebuilding itself as... the empire.... if the remnants of the empire were rebranding as a proto-first order or smth like that it would b so much cooler and interesting but. Star war. Storm trooper or something.

Anyways i love pedro pascal hermano latinoamericano. Also din and luke only have like 15 seconds of interaction but honestly?? I see the appeal.