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katyawriteswhump · 4 months

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the power of love part 7 (steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

(also on AO3 here)

Chapter Seven

Eddie POV

Steve insists on being pathfinder lead for the next hour.

Eddie’s gotta admit—following Steve, as he thrashes his way through the undergrowth, is the best entertainment that banishment has provided yet. Steve’s tight-fitting pants don't do any harm. Goddammit, the perspiration patches on Steve’s shirt make Eddie sweat even harder than Steve is.

“You need the fedora hat,” calls Robin, “and you’ve totally nailed the junior Indiana Jones look.”

Steve smirks over his shoulder. “I was channelling that guy out of Romancing the Stone.”

“Michael Douglas? No way as hot.” Eddie flashes his best flirtatious grin with ever greater confidence. This afternoon, Steve has begun returning them. “Stick to Indy, man.”

By the time they reach the logging camp, however, they’re all beyond exhausted.

Eddie’s feet are raw with blisters, and Robin’s been complaining of the same for the past hour. She limps through the door of the first cabin they come to, which fortunately turns out to be a bunkhouse. She throws down her pack then throws herself onto the bottom of one of two sets of bunks. Steve collapses onto the other lower bunk and appears to fall instantly asleep.

Eddie considers crawling up onto one of the top bunks and seeing if sleep takes pity on him.

He doubts it would. The choppers were a stark reminder of the nightmare reality snapping at his heels, and he’s wired as hell. He begins to unpack their supplies. Robin, having taken a moment, sits back up.

“We should check this place out,” she whispers. “There must be a clean water supply somewhere, maybe a generator. Definitely canned food and that kinda stuff, for when the loggers come back in the autumn.”

“I guess it’ll make a change from cardboard-flavoured cereal.”

“God, I know, right! I’d literally murder for some Count Chocular right now.”

They split up to search the various cabins. Eddie hits the jackpot first, in the guise of a crate of bottled beer.

“Seriously?” says Robin, when she meets him outside the bunkhouse. Eddie sits on the beer crate he’s dragged out, taking a well-earned rest. “You’re gonna get buzzed?”

“You got it in one, sister.”

He doesn’t feel the need to justify this—I saw Chrissy butchered in front of my eyes. I’ve spent a week on the run from the cops. I BASICALLY DIED IN A WHIRLWIND OF EVIL KILLER DEMOBATS. And now I’m on the run again, with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, and I’ve fallen stupid hard for him. Oh, and there’s a small but real possibility he’s been flayed. Or something else freaky along those lines.

Robin hasn’t quit scowling at him. His smile is the first overtly false one he’s bothered with for a while:

“Forgive me, Robin. I’ve reached the point where, to quote my sweet old Granny—there ain’t nothin’ fuckin’ like it for me nerves. ’Course, she favoured hard liquor.” He offers one of two bottles he’s gotten out to Robin. “Want one?”

“I’ll stick to the cardboard cereal.” Her scowl lessens, though she remains deadly serious. “Look, promise me you won’t give too much to Steve.”

“Why?”

“What kinda pea-brain question is that? Despite the super-commando act, he’s still struggling, it’s totally obvious. Getting trashed is not gonna help.”

“Yeah, but… he’s improving, right?” Her slight wince betrays that, once again, they’re thinking the same thing. Perhaps Steve’s getting stronger, because he’s getting closer again to Lover’s Lake, Hawkins, Vecna, the Hive-Mind, and yet… “You know our little worst-case scenario, Rob? I’m still not buying it.”

The wind rustles the nearby trees. In sync, Robin’s hunched shoulders soften a little. “Me neither. Hand on heart, if Steve had a link to that evil shit, any at all, I’d sense it by now. Although… Was it just me who thought it was weird when the choppers came over, and then it suddenly clouded up?”

“Yeeeeaah, that really was just you. I was too busy eating dirt and shitting myself.” Now he thinks about it, mind, it was darn convenient.

She shrugs. “I guess I’m super-paranoid that way. I literally spent my Middle School years spotting aliens everywhere.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Then I realised they weren’t aliens. It was the Fae all along.”

“You sure it wasn’t dragons?”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.” Her laugh sounds as manic as his latest crazy smile. On the other hand:

“Maybe Steve really is getting better naturally,” he ventures, “and the set-backs are because he’s been overdoing it. I mean, yeah, we keep an eye out for anything cuckoo, watch for connections, make sure he takes rests, but… Time heals, huh?”

“Not always.” She purses her lips, veering straight back into scary mode. “Steve doesn’t like people to know, but since his second major concussion, he’s not supposed to drink. Of course, he does sometimes, but—”

“Message received. I’ll just have the one—for medicinal purposes, ’kay?”

“Please yourself. Then wake Steve long enough to put our own bedding on those disgusting bunks. I don’t wanna be bitten to death by bed bugs.”

Robin stomps off toward the camp generator. Eddie is executing the important business of prying the top off his beer, when Steve appears, leaning in the cabin doorway. “Why did you both let me… Hey, is that beer?”

The top pops off with a treacherous fizz. “Uh, no?”

“You’re a useless liar.” Steve closes in. His messy, sleep-mussed hair renders him totally edible.

“You got me.” Eddie darts his tongue nervously across his lips. “This indeed is the amber nectar of the Gods. You want some?”

There’s a skewed logic behind Eddie’s offer. If he told Steve he couldn’t drink, like he was his mom or something, Steve would probably get mad. He opts to play a good cop, bad cop routine with Robin, who…

Eddie glances toward the generator.

She’s not there. If bad cop isn’t gonna show, then he needs a Plan B.

“I guess I’ll have one.” Steve stretches to take the bottle.

“Just gonna test it. Been here a while.”

Eddie takes a glug, splutters it out across dusty ground. “Oh man, it’s worse than cat-piss.” He’s only slightly exaggerating. “There’s a reason those lumberjacks left this garbage behind.”

Steve yawns into the back of his hand. “Gonna be honest. I’m not supposed to drink anyhow. Long story.” Ooookay. That went easier than predicted. “Got any water left?”

“Yeah. By my pack.” Eddie hurries into the bunkhouse, and Steve follows. It’s the last bottle, so he hopes Robin’s busy locating fresh supplies. Though that proves the least of his worries.

Half a minute later, he’s sitting on the edge of a bunk, thigh-to-thigh with Steve. They pass the bottle of water and a bottle of beer between them.

And being this close to Steve, now Steve seems so much better? Exchanging chitchat about how long they can hideout here, and if any of them have the skills to hunt a deer or something?

It sends tingles up and down Eddie’s spine.

The way Steve looks at him underlines exactly why Steve was angry last night, when Eddie “assumed” he was straight. Eddie suddenly can’t look Steve in the eye. Trouble is, he then can’t stop staring at Steve’s mouth—those shapely, slightly chapped lips, moist and glistening with water and bad beer.

Then Steve blindsides him with: “Do you honestly think you died, Eddie? Before I did the CPR?”

“I dunno, Harrington.” Eddie squirms on his butt, all kinds of defences flying up. “It was like a dream. Apart from that, it wasn't a dream. It was a place, and Dustin was there, and Robin was there, and you were there, too.”

“Wow. Seriously?”

Eddie cackles out a mocking laugh. “I’m misquoting ‘The Wizard of Oz,’ dude.”

“Oh.” Eddie glances sidelong. Steve appears… oddly crestfallen. “It’s just… You know, I said when I get hurt, I feel like I come back different each time. I mean, I don't know if it's true or not, but... I never knew you before... and I know you now and... and…” Steve fluffs his hair. “Jesus, I’m blabbering.”

“Nah,” says Eddie. “You sound like you’re getting somewhere.”

Compared to the meltdown my brain is having.

“Okay, well, here it is. I like you, Eddie. I really like you.”

Eddie half wants to flee for the hills. He fixes on a beetle scuttling across the dirty floorboards. “Dude, you sure you’re not in love with Wheeler?”

“I… I… No!” Steve doesn’t sound angry, only bewildered. “Yeah, I believed that once, and maybe I was. I guess she fitted in so many dreams I’ve had of my future, and I owe her a lot. But now I’m with you, and…” Their eyes finally meet. Steve’s earnest warmth sends a brutal shockwave through Eddie. “I know this seems fickle, but…” His gentle laugh is too much. “Who knows? Perhaps it’s because Nance has never been dead. Or, near dead. You know, we’ve gotten that in common, right?”

“Riiiiight,” Eddie says, stupidly, then, “Screw it, I like you too, Stevie. I really like you.”

They fling their arms around each other, and tumble into the kiss.

For Eddie, the sensations are like no make-out session before, such is the hunger that zings between them. Eddie’s so blown away, that the brush of Steve’s lips seems to kindle an actual crackling, electric friction.. Damn, the boy can kiss!

Eddie’s gotten a semi already, fingers threading up through Steve’s hair, toying at the nape of his neck. Steve does amazing twisty things with his tongue. Gnng! You wanna kill me again, Baby? Even the scrape of Steve’s shallow stubble totally unhinges him.

They work the kiss with their whole bodies, striving to get beyond close, as if they could slide beneath each other’s skin. Eddie can’t help wondering—can they get each other off, before Robin gets back?

Then something changes.

He senses Steve gasp, then moan into Eddie's mouth with something other than dumb teen passion. His arms, clinging around Eddie, falter and slip away.

“Stevie?”

Too late. Steve crumples against Eddie, totally senseless.

“Steve?” squeaks Eddie, struggling to stop Steve slipping to the floorboards. “Robin! ROBIN!”

Part 8

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

#steddie #steve harrington whump #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #stobin #platonic stobin #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson lives #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington hc

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mantisgodiveblog · 27 days

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Twenty whole posts! Wow! The big two-oh! That is A Lot of posts for a liveblog that's still on Act Two Of Six and only on Loop Two! Let's call this a milestone. Our backup document for the text of this liveblog currently logs at around 30k words, and we ain't getting any less wordy. Now, let's get back to it, shall we?

(Part 19 is here)

We are, of course, starting with this beautiful piece of flavor text. Considering how many times we double back on ourself and have multiple characters occupying the same space, we kind of wonder how that looks in-universe. Less overlapping, we assume. It's probably less pathfinding work to do it this way but the fact that this, too, is more literal than originally assumed, is... very good.

We're walking in file. Organized. It seems strategically unsound to do this instead of grouping up so we can have things like actual battle positions that are not a line vulnerable to attack in almost any direction but it is funny to imagine.

Dialogue for selecting "creepy" - same exact spy dialogue as every other Sadness in this particular set. This one reminds us of a turtle.

...skipping straight from III to Alpha V? Seems odd to us, but okay.

And - well, we've been running into these destroyed statues enough that we feel we have to ask. Did the King just go through the House and smash every single Change God statue in here? That seems like a lot of effort for apocryphal depictions. Do you have some sort of superstition thing going on or something? Are you afraid that having a Change God watching will disrupt your unchanging time stop? Surely, there are better ways to do this.

...then again, we're talking to the guy who chose to set up his unchanging, time-stopped reign in a House Of Change, so maybe he just has some religious problems going on. Doesn't seem very fond of the Change God, regardless.

Is it a crime to steal from the House if everyone inside is frozen? We say no. They're not using it. When they get unfrozen, it might count, though. For more steaming hot takes on morality, follow our BandCamp.

Intended for us, clearly. We can find no reason that we would be any less romantically viable than the intended recipient. Besides the fact that we're aro, of course. We're always open to love confessions, we just don't have enough romance in us to love you back the same. Or enough general allo-ness, actually. You know how it is.

#we speak #liveblog #in stars and time #act 2 #loop 2

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ayyy-imma-ninja · 8 months

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Good morning.

I'm curious, if this was in the D&D or Pathfinder universe, what would the Royal Au character sheets look like?

Would Sir Sun and Sir Moon be paladins or fighters? Would y/n be maybe a rouge? Despite being royalty?

Just kept having funny thoughts of Sir Sun rolling a nat1 on something as easy as jumping over a log. Lol

ooh, good question!

Hmm, I think either Paladins or Fighters would fit either Sun or Moon, or both. I know Sun being a paladin has been rather popularized. And I think a Rogue would definitely suit Y/N.

LMAO- If he gets a nat1 for stepping over a log, he doesn't just trip over the log, he fucking EATS the log, straight up faceplant and getting his head stuck inside and finding it full of bugs XD poor guy

#answered ask #fnaf daycare au #fnaf dca au #dca au #royal guard!au #royal guard!sun #rg!sun #d&d #paladin #fighter #rogue #royal heir!y/n #royal guard!moon #rg!moon #feel free to ask me more stuff about this au!#it will help with the world building

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kalevalakryze · 1 month

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A Moment Of Peace

Original Pairing: bo-katan kryze / the armorer Warnings: the Mandalorian season 3 spoilers, descriptions of injury, and inaccurate medical jargon. Notes: Hello! This is a rewrite of the very first creative piece I’ve ever written, originally published to Tumblr on April 28th, 2023! To celebrate my one-year anniversary of writing, I’ve decided to take everything I’ve learned and put it into this fic to study in depth how I’ve grown! Thank you so much to everyone who’s taken this journey with me, seen me through unfinished multi-chapters and too many events at once, and to all the Discord servers that have helped keep me going with so much inspiration. I’ve grown a lot as a person and as a writer, I think, in this short time, and I can’t wait to see what next year brings (fingers crossed it brings some update energy, welcome to the family is collecting DUST, my poor baby). Anyways, there really isn't enough space in the world to call out the thanks to everyone who's helped me get this farm so group shoutout; The LesBo-Katan server, the Shin Tano server, Wolfwren Enthusiasts, Pathfinder's (Forge!) Steel & Rev, Dax, Sammy; Everyone who's helped me get here, I really just love you all sooooo much! Here's to the next hundred, right?

Summary: Mandalore has been returned to the people at last, though it came at a cost. There were wounds to lick, anxieties to heal, and graves to dig... But perhaps, they could allow themselves at least one night of calm.

Wood crackled in the bonfire, embers shooting from the mix of tinder and logs crammed into the dug-up hole. Smog hung thick over the Mandalorians as they rested, though the anxiety amongst each of them hung thicker, tension that felt ready to snap and drop the veil at any moment. Peace resided amongst their people for the first time in what had to be decades, so alike and so different. Predators and Prey trapped in one body, given a chance to be just Mandalorian, in each of their own respective ways.

There was no segregation in the many different campfires that roared across Mandalore’s wartorn surface, Niteowls, Bounty Hunters, and Children of the Watch all gathered in whichever direction had the most warmth to stave off the cold night. Alcohol flowed, and some groups grew rowdy with song and drink, their tay’gehaase gathering to write the tales of the victory into a song that would surpass any of their lifetimes.

Medics glided across their people, giving out supplies to the covert, and helping those that would allow them a glimpse of the damage the battle had caused, armor and flesh dented, cracked, and bruised under their efforts.

Despite their victory, many Mandalorians still looked to the sky, waiting for the cruisers to appear, parting the storms above to rain the hells upon them all once again.

Several gunships stayed docked far from their people, far enough that Lady Bo-Katan of House Kryze could only hear the barking of laughter and the roar of raised voices if she listened closely through the lowered ramp of her kom’rk. The entire ship was dimmed to ease her overstimulated mind, emergency lights only just barely offering her a sense of direction as muscle memory guided the woman through what was effectively, the only home she hadn’t managed to destroy.

It was almost comical; Here she was, the woman who reunited their people, who found the middle ground for them all, and helped regain what they all believed to be lost forever, the woman who learned to preach togetherness and community… running off to lick her wounds, alone.

Her armor had been stripped in a messy fashion, the burn of broken bones and scorched skin leaving her no choice but to allow the ancient beskar to fall when she managed to unhook it from its tethers. She was helpless in removing most of the pieces herself, resorting to rather unorthodox methods to strip what she could as she tumbled to the folded-down cot in the cockpit.

The small pouch of medical supplies was spilled across the cot, bacta pouches half torn open, medical salve oozing against the thin sheets where they lay, forgotten in lieu of pulling at the straps to her gauntlets with her teeth, Frustration swelled inside her chest as she tried to pull off her vambrace with her teeth, hissed curses in Mando'a filling the cabin as she failed again and again.

She’d been so preoccupied in the hailstorm of foul language and the swirling tornado of self-deprecation that she hadn’t heard the quiet footsteps that ascended hr ramp, deafened by the way each inhale came in the form of a pained hiss sucked between her teeth. Every twist of her body as she worked in vain at another strap only succeeded in bringing her attention back to the tidal waves of pain that radiated from her battered midsection. Her armor had prevented the worst of Gideon’s blows from breaking skin, but it had done nothing against the way the energy had transferred, marring her skin in hideous blossoms of blues and greens, vessels broken behind pale skin in a morbid display of art.

She shouldn’t have been caught so unprepared, should have noticed in seconds that she was no longer alone- Mistakes like this caught warriors their lives, a lesson she’d learned the hard way long ago. If she’d have been anywhere else, even with her own Niteowls, they would have taken the jump to attack, just as she’d trained them to.

The Armorer however, did not attack. Red and gold stepped further into the interior, presence silent, strong, commanding attention even as broad shoulders hunched to find space in the small alcove the cot was nestled into. The vastness of the woman’s visor stared at her, and Bo-Katan had to look away, unwilling to catch her reflection in the mirrored surface while her own face was bare.

Something about the Armorer eased the tension in her shoulders, and Bo-Katan could feel the way her jaw unclenched even just being permitted to be in the Prietess’s presence. Neither woman spoke, and for a moment, neither moved, content to breathe the same air and to allow the rising and falling of their chests to test the tension in the room.

The Armorer closed the distance at last, stepping all the way into the redhead’s space as the skin between dark brows creased. “Armor can protect so much,” She spoke at last, watching as freckle-kissed cheeks darkened, either in embarrassment from being found half undressed, or in her entire predicament of needing help; neither could truly tell. “But there is always a price.” Gloved hands moved to take Bo-Katan’s in a gentle grasp, more careful with the shattered remains of her right hand than one would be with a newly-born Strill. Another sharp inhale, tears stinging at tired eyes as she was moved, the light catching the mess of a warped hand plate and bone protruding morbidly from her glove. “It protects us from everything but ourselves.”

Green eyes tore away from the sight of bruised skin being cradled in dark gloves, finding a point in the durasteel of the interior of the ship, a green blinking light catching her eye. There was a rustle of fabric as her hands were shifted, though it was the warm press of skin into her wrist that warned her not to look- Alertness shot through her body like a wildfire as her eyes snapped to a scuff amongst the durasteel walls, each bump and bruise ignited along the path of blood in her veins, and yet, she could only focus on the feeling of rough callouses as they danced across her skin like she was something special.

The coolness of the bacta salve being eased into her skin was almost enough to coerce her into following that traitorous thought to peek. The Armorer treated her as if she was deserving of gentle touches, and for once, Bo-Katan Kryze could not find the energy or the heart to try to convince the woman otherwise. The biocast was pulled from the packaging carefully, though Bo-Katan could not find it in her to pay attention, even as bone shifted to mold into the cast’s settings- She couldn’t feel the sting of pain from her hand being moved around, in fact, all she could feel was the warm tingle of listlessness- When did the Armorer drug her, and why wasn’t she upset about it? The empty hypo-spray canister sat off to the side with the various odds and ends from the medkit, though focusing her gaze on reading the aurebesh.

“Did you… drug me?” She blinked slowly, just barely catching the way warm ebony skin wrapped bandages along her hand, securing the biocast in place and adding an extra layer of protection.

She was met with a silent stare… or… what she could assume was such from the empty reflection in a dark visor. Their communication seemed otherworldly as understanding settled past the haze of the meds; she would have done the same, were the roles reversed and a stubborn warrior needed care. Her head dipped in silent thanks, muscles relaxing under the influence, even as those careful hands reached beyond her wrists and began stripping away the remnants of her armor.

Beskar gave willingly under her touch, set aside much neater than the Mand’alor would have been able to remove it. An Armorer’s hands were always something to be glorified, they took things damaged beyond repair and molded them into something useful, made them into more than what they were. Bo-Katan Kryze was born in the flames of war, damaged in countless battles, and had found herself at the smith’s forge since the day Din Djarin led her to his people, redeemed, and on the path to reconstruction.

This time around, she didn’t feel as bare as when she’d been ordered to remove her helmet. An emotion she didn’t know how to place sat heavy in her chest where the fear of rejection once sat- A promise of comfort, that she would not be sent away from their home- her home, not just in the ruins of the planet around her, but in their people united. When deft fingers paused at the zipper of her flight suit, the redhead found her good hand sliding across warm skin. She did not remove the Armorer’s hand, but dragged the pad of her thumb against the bumps and ridges of scars, encouraging the other woman to guide the zip down.

Bo-Katan’s mouth went dry as cool air ignited across her skin. “Dank Farrik!” The Armorer breathed in a hiss through her helmet, both women entranced in the macabre display against almost anemic skin. Heavy fabric dropped against the cot with a thud as the Armorer leaned closer to study the damage. “You will need a proper healer for this, Lady Kryze.”

“Tomorrow… Just-” A pause as her head pressed forward, finding the warmth of the rough material of the Armorer’s flight suit, and the contrasting soft furs that brushed against her forehead. “Not right now…” Then, as if in afterthought. “Please.”

The woman’s hand cradled the back of Bo-Katan’s head as the other continued the assessment of injuries. Her heart thundered beneath the Armorer’s touch against her chest, fingertips poking and prodding until even the haze of meds were ineffective in halting the way her weight shifted uncomfortably on the cot. “I will do what I can here-” Tired eyes fluttered, blinking through heavy lids to stare up at the hammered gold of the priestess’s helmet.

Her breathing was too heavy, something she was becoming consciously aware of as fingers pressed worriedly around her pulse points. There was a wheeze to each breath as the other woman halted her movements against her flesh, reaching instead for bacta, and another hypospray to keep on standby. “Hurts.” She’d rasped out as her senses came back to life. It only took so much poison resistance training before most stims were rendered useless in time… The pain was worth being captured, at least, not when she was actively suffering its consequences.

This time, she was all too aware of the prick of the needle pressing into her skin, though she took the release from the pain in stride, relaxing into the care of gentle hands once again as she struggled to find a rhythm to breathe with. The bacta was spread sparingly across her abdomen, with the Armorer working quickly and efficiently to cover the large surface area that the damage took up.

It wasn't a perfect solution for her injuries, but they were all pretty limited in everything they could do, with the other injuries among the tribe and their scarce supplies. Bo-Katan stayed silent as her armor pieces were moved and the medkit was packed back up, warm hands returning to help guide her weight back into the thin pillows of the cot and the scratchy blanket to be pulled across bare skin, halting at her hips to allow the bacta on her stomach time to dry. She'd half expected the armorer to leave her to her misery, though was once again surprised as the other woman's weight settled beside her. The ship was soon filled once more with the sound of armor being removed and stacked neatly beside the cot, though she hadn't once heard the hiss of a helmet depressurizing. She could not fault the Armorer, she’d already shown the redhead more than she should have, according to Creed; and while the image of dark skin would forever be burned into her memory, she could not help but feel like guilt, the sacrilege of everything she’d done just to aid a Fallen Mandalorian Princess in the last hour.

She could never ask the Armorer for more than she was given, deeming each interaction since Nevarro more than she could ever deserve, and she didn’t ask- Maybe, she thought as the Armorer’s arms encircled her waist, caging her close to her broad chest and allowing her neck to find the crook of her neck, offering up something so vital to one who had been an enemy for so long, maybe it was of the Armorer’s own needs that had the woman’s legs entwining with her own, and the protective way those strong arms kept her pressed into her warmth, even as they reached and the warm fur was dragged into the cot, tucked securely around her shoulders and offering warmth, even as the cool, recycled air of the ship tried to cut through the comfort. There was no energy left but to allow herself this moment of peace; safe and cared for, repurposed not into a weapon, but a person, for what truly felt like the first time.

#nitearmor #armorkatan #bo katan kryze #the armorer #fanfic #star wars lesbians #star wars wlw #the mandalorian #star wars

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o-wise-corvid · 10 months

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Probably the last of my Artfights this year. I wish I’d have joined sooner ngl. Oh well. Next year 😌

#general’s log #gen draws #artfight #artfight 2023 #maul #Darth Maul #friend’s OC #pathfinder 38

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burnwater13 · 4 days

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Concept art by Anton Grandert of the rancor on Tatooine, in Mos Epsa crashing through a courtyard and holding a speeder. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 7, In the Name of Honor.

“Ship’s log: It’s day 134, officially Taungsday, at midday. Grogu has insisted that we travel to Dathomir to evaluate it as a potential location to re-home ‘Ranky’ if anything happens to Fett, Fennec, the rancor keeper, and those creepy monks that infest… I mean inhabit, the palace. I gotta say I’ve been to some real skugholes, but this place beats them all by a couple of parsecs. I’ll be completing a couple passes around the planet to collect appropriate data on the atmosphere, any living creatures, and any potential threats. Grogu keeps wrinkling his nose, and while cute, I think it’s a sign that the place smells ‘Sithy’. He’s made that face before and it’s always turned out that the person, critter, or place had some association with the Sith. Just imagine my surprise that a rancor comes from a place that you can detect the ‘Sithiness’ it gives off from orbit. Hope the Force covers us, because I can’t imagine how the Creed could. Din Djarin out.”

The Mandalorian looked over his shoulder and was at least glad that Grogu hadn’t been paying any attention to his log entry. Instead he was practicing his various meditations. Apparently the Jedi had a whole catalog of mediations that they used to prepare for things. He’d heard about the battle meditation. A Jedi, who was appropriately tuned into the Force and sufficient strength, and thoroughly practiced could turn the tide of battle whichever way they wanted it to go according to legend. Since the Jedi hadn’t won any major battles since the Clone Wars it was pretty clear that no one had met any of those criteria.

After the battle meditation, there was the Pathfinder meditation. Similar in many ways to the battle meditation, the pathfinder allowed a Jedi, under all those same criteria, to find a path to any place under and circumstances and traverse it safely. Again, there had been no indication that any of Grogu’s masters had been able to perform that meditation either. Although, the story Grogu told of helping Ian escape from the Jedi Temple did seem like the output of some sort of miracle, Grogu had commented that he really hadn’t had the time and foresight to use that meditation to help solve that problem. He and Ian were just good at climbing trees.

The next meditation that Grogu had talked to the Mandalorian about was the one the small Force worker seemed to use all the time. It was called Charm Creature. It puzzled the bounty hunter that Grogu had only mentioned it passing and that he had to get his apprentice to elaborate on what it was and how it worked. As it turned out, it still worked like all the others, but Grogu was so good at it he managed to do the steps in something like a wave of his hand.

It had saved him from the Mudhorn, the Krayt dragon (Grogu told him that no one was paying attention to him, but he was certainly paying attention to that Krayt dragon), and then Ranky, when the critter went berserk because of the Scorpenek annihilator droids. All it had looked like to him was Grogu holding up one hand and kind of holding his breath. Then the rancor took a deep shuddering breath and began to fall asleep. Grogu had informed him that it wasn’t that easy, but he could hardly expect a Mandalorian to understand all the nuances. Din Djarin would have grounded the little krill-crabby patty for being so sassy, but the kid had just saved his life again.

Right now Grogu was practicing the ‘Everything in its place’ meditation which he said helped him understand a new place faster. Where he could find places to hide, or places to stash snacks, or places that could get you away from danger even if hiding from danger was impossible or at the very least, highly unlikely. The Mandalorian had asked him if his plan covered hiding someone as big as his dad and Grogu and grinned widely and began to laugh. There was something to the laugh that was unnerving and Din Djarin wondered what story his son hadn’t told him yet. No doubt how he’d helped his friend Ian study rathtars and had to help smuggle them into the Temple from whatever crate or aquarium they had been at.

The thought made him shudder. Grogu was capable of doing many things and the more time he spent training, the more amazing they were. Amazing and terrible. Since the little guy had been able to keep the terrible part focused on ex-Imps, the Mandalorian hadn’t worried about it too much. But now he was worried. They would be landing on Dathomir whenever Grogu gave him the signal and it was all so they could find a home for a critter that couldn’t even fit in any ship they had ready access to.

Now, Din Djarin really shuddered. He couldn’t even imagine what sort of ship Grogu had in mind for his impossible to predict rescue mission that they both hoped would never come to pass. At least Din Djarin knew he hoped it would never come to pass. He was a little worried that Grogu knew something else about Dathomir and this reconnaissance mission was more about that and less about the rancor.

“Hey, buddy? Are you almost ready? We’ve done our passes around the planet. The data is all over the place. Are you sure you want to check it out? We could go to Felucia. I understand rancors live there as well.”

Grogu opened his eyes and looked up at him and locked onto the Mandalorian’s gaze.

“Purrgil”

“Purrgil?”

“Purrgil”

The Mandalorian wondered if that was the name of new meditation when R5 beeped at him.

“Space whales? Dank Farrik! What do space whales have to do with anything?”

Between R5 and Grogu they managed to explain it all to the Mandalorian.

“Ship’s log. Amended entry. We are not at Dathomir to evaluate it for the rancor. We are waiting here for it’s ride to show up so Grogu can explain to the space whales, when and where to collect it. Apparently he was using another Jedi meditation called 'Sight from Beyond’. It lets him sense major changes in the balance of the Force and prepare for them. When asked why that hadn’t helped the Jedi he replied that you have to listen to warnings. Great. After the ‘meeting’ we’re headed back to Nevarro, I hope. All this meditation has given me a headache. Mando out.”

#calendar prompt a day #din djarin #grogu #the book of boba fett #the mandalorian #the rancor

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gla55t33th · 2 years

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Out here Jsab posting !

Quick and shallow character summaries under the cut that you can 100% ignore

(Blue square) Lazureus P-1, He/Him and any non gendered pronouns. Gendervoid Aromantic (not repulsed, just very little attraction) Androsexual!

Extrovert, Neutral Good (somehow.??)

Only one of the four with a perfect memory in spite of immortality! Bit of a cruel joke at this point, really.

Head of the Watchers; those responsible for armed forces, ‘security’ and detainment. Its not a job Laz enjoys, but he doesn’t really have a say in that!

Voice cast: The Periodic Table Song by ASAPscience

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(Yellow Triangle) Amael P-2, they/xe/she , demigirl and AroAce (romance repulsed)

Introvert, True Neutral

Amael with their immortality only remembers fragments, with periods of amnesia that exist randomly and even recently. She logs things digitally to deal with when that happens.

Head of the Developers, the largest sector, though xe automates her work where possible. Anything involved with “production” and R&D falls under their jurisdiction, but she doesnt like to touch much out of her current passion project.

Voice cast: ES by Crying

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(Green Pentagon) Protham P-3, she/they, female and fem-leaning bi

Extrovert, Chaotic Evil (once again. Somehow! These are done with that online dnd test btw)

She has a pretty typical memory, and anything not particularly emotionally charged or notable fades into something she cant remember at all after a few months. Facts persist longer, though.

Her sector does not have a name, as its identity is a lot looser than the other three, encompassing media, news, entertainment, and public appeasement in the general sense of it. Though, to the average citizen, she seems more an idol or influencer than anything more insidious.

Voice cast: Bottom of the River by Delta Rae

———

(Orange Circle) Aurum P-4, they/xey, nonbinary and demi-recipromantic ace

Ambivert, Lawful Good

Aurum only has a functional memory of twenty five years, and anything beyond that is completely blank. Xey have taken up regular journaling as a result, and have amassed quite the collection after a millennia or so. Its incredibly well organised with events tagged and coded!

Aurums heads the Pathfinders, who are involved in public safety. Law making, Trials, Forensics and Regulations are for the most part their field, but more serious laws must be parsed through the king- which Aurum often finds less than favourable, being a firm pacifist and believer in reformation than punishment. (They have been known to skew sentences lighter than otherwise would have been called for, when xey see it fit.)

Voice cast: Pirates Reprise by Chris Garneau

#dev.draw()#jsab #memos ocs

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hellyeahheroes · 1 year

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Entitlement of the Rich

Recently the whole RPG community has been shaken by a very convincing leak concerning neat year’s upcoming new edition of Dungeons & Dragons. The leak is a draft of updated Open Gaming License, that details which parts of the 3rd and 5th editions of the system could be used by other publishers, free of charge. This OGL is used to allow 3rd party publishers like Kobold Press, MCDM, Green Ronin or the Dungeon Dudes to publish their own content using the form of d&d rules. While the game mechanics cannot be copyrighted, this OGL allows other publishers to use terminology and reference things like classes or monsters from official WotC products. Most prominently, it has been used by Paizo to develop both of their big games - Pathfinder and Starfinder - that make them currently second biggest company on the market and Wizard’s biggest competitor.

The leaked version of OGL 1.1 contains language that would do a lot of potentially extremely damaging things. It talks about “authorised” version of OGL, which could potentially be used to bypass perpetural, irrevocaible nature of OGL. Theoritically, by declaring previous versions “unathorized”, WotC force everyone using it to switch to OGL 1.1. Worst case scenario it could even affect unrelated games, liek Traveller and FATE Core, that designed their own OGLs by basically coping WotC’s OGL.

Moreover, the language used in OGL 1.1 also forces people using it to report their profits to WotC and pay off 25% of revenue if you made over 750 thousand on the product based on d&d, while giving the company right to redistribute and resell all products based on their license with no financial compansation or even recognition of original publisher. It also expand what is considered as licensed this way to everything deriverate of d&d, including OSR games based on older editions, like Dungeon Crawl Classic or the Whitehack.

There is a lot of debate over how legitimate this leak is. Whenever it is not a hoax. And if not, if it is actually what Hasbro and Wizards’ plan to do. Some claims in the document, like one giving WotC rights to all content based on D&D across all media, something OGL is not designed to cover, leads credibility to a theory that if it is legitimate, it is merely a first draft by executives, that no one from legal department has touched yet. Because a lot of the things it tries to do would probably get demolished in the court of law.

I subscribe to the “executives’ christmas wishlist no lawyer looked at yet” idea. Because I could see a corproate execs not realizing how such thing is bound to drive people away in huge numbers. A process we do see already happenning, with many fans declaring switch to other systems, boycott of WotC products or sailing under jolly roger, if you know what I mean. Only a big, rich guy in a suit who doesn’t actually work on anything the company is selling would act as if the company could try to backstab major part of the community and fans would stay with them for “brand loyalty”.

It does fit a certain pattern I noticed among billionairies and corporations that I do not think is talked about before. Such things as Elon Musk bitter anger when people massively leave Twitter or merely stop posting, culminating in him making it harder to delete your account but also getting it deleted if you don’t regurally log in (the conservative idea people will be converted to right if you force them to interact with fascists without ability to retaliate nonwithstanding). Or Netflix acting suddenly upset people are sharing their accounts for convenience, as if that wasn’t one of intended uses originally. Why it would cost all major contributors to global warming literally pennies to stop destorying the planet, and instead they spend much larger sums trying to discredit the whole concept of climate change.

At some point the rich forget that they’re supposed to try to get our time and money. They feel entitled to it. Once you adopt this mindset, all things click in place. Of course Elon Musk is mad people are leaving Twitter, he thinks we owe it to him to stay on his platfor. Of course Hasbro and Netflix cannot entertain the idea that people would jsut drop them, in their perspective we should be gratefull they allow us to pay for their shit. Of course polutters would rather spend more money to keep polutting than less money to stop, they think they simple deserve to not have anyone tell them how to spend.

I find this very eye-opening as a way to reframe actions of the rich capitalists. A lot of idiotic shit they do makes much more sense, once you realize they don’t do it out of just simple greed, but because they geniuelly beleive thy’re “too big to fail” and thus the world should just fold the way they demand. And it is why it’s so important to oppose them at every opportunitty. You give these fucks an inch, they’ll take your country.

-Admin

#evils of capitalism #fuck elon musk in particular #global warming #copyright law

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