#daimera

[neon-viking-art]

This one took me a while <3 Behold! Daimera’s STARFALLEN. From bottom to top - Aberrant, Abomination, Anomaly, Excelsior and The Keeper :D

[neon-viking-art]

Yet Another Excelsior <3 I s2g I’m obsessed with this dude’s design -

Excelsior belongs to Daimera @slushblock / @godslush / @artslush  Tbh? I’m super happy with this one :D 

[neon-viking-art]

Side by side comparison of my old and new pieces, same character two years apart... :D <3 Excelsior, Daimara’s character :D

Seriously tho god damn I’ve improved...

[neon-viking-art]

Behold! @slushblock‘s fantastic character, Aberrant, drawn by The Me. Took aboutttttt six hours, not counting breaks? Pretty proud of this one <3

[dragonandtiger]

Christmas Gift - Daimera

In a race that prides individual strength and vitality above all else, any sort of flaw is unforgivable. Cinquedia still has to learn that accepting help from others is not a sign of weakness. Good thing her big brother Cutlass is there to remind her.

In honor of the holiday season, Yuki has written a special flash fiction story for Daimera! We hope that you enjoy it, Dai, and Merry Christmas!

The rejuvenator was a rare machine in the Bloodslasher Empire. It was regarded as a miracle machine, a combination of technology and medical breakthroughs from at least a hundred worlds. It was also incredibly rare, not because it was difficult to make, but because a society that coveted an individual’s strength above all else had little respect for anyone weak enough that they needed help to heal from injury or illness.

The Sword clan, one of the oldest Bloodslasher family lines still thriving, was among the few with the resources to afford a rejuvenator of their own. It was a large machine, easily towering over Cinquedia, but it would not work if it was smaller. The rejuvenator needed room to process every drop of her blood. Tubes hooked into her arms and legs, drawing out her blood while pumping in the specially treated fluid that would keep her alive while encouraging her cells to repair the damage they had taken since her last treatment. Within the machine, her blood underwent purification, revitalization, and subtle alteration to encourage faster healing. Once her blood was back in her body, she would recover from injury and illness much faster than before, but over time the treatment would break down naturally, affected blood replaced with new cells, ones that degraded with time, and made her body slowly deteriorate.

A normal Bloodslasher did not need such a machine. They were a race who underwent such rigorous evolution and advancement that not even age could touch them. They regenerated from virtually any injury or ailment. Only a violent, brutal end by too strong an illness or opponent could end their lives.

It was the natural way of things for a Bloodslasher. There was no greater honor than a glorious death in battle, so long as that death achieved victory for their race. Members of the Sword clan had monuments placed on planets they conquered, memorials to their greatness. Cinquedia hoped that one day, far in the future, she would have a grand tomb and legacy to follow her to the Redlands, the afterlife for the greatest of Bloodslasher warriors, where endless battle and victory awaited them.

Cinquedia watched the tubes draw out the last of the thick blue artificial chemicals from her body and pump in warm red blood, wondering how many times she had been hooked up to this machine. She had tried to keep count at the age of five, but eventually gave up at some point when she found out that the machine had been used on her many times as a baby. She would be using this machine for the rest of her life. If she did not, she would die a most terrible, ignoble death.

There were those who felt that was the only fate Cinquedia was worthy of. There was no honor, many said, in using a rejuvenator. The Fragile, the lowest of the low in the Bloodslasher society, were fit only to serve the healthy and “deserving.” The only thing worse were the races subjugated from other planets, and even then, there were exceptions. She found that there were people who preferred the company of a cuddly rabbit-like Pooka to sharing the same air as a Fragile.

Cinquedia might have been a Fragile, but unlike many of her status, she had not been turned away from her family. As she watched the machine close the holes it made in her arms and legs after removing the tubes, she heard footsteps, feather light, outside of the room. She looked up just as Cutlass, her older brother, entered.

Cutlass was an Elite, superior to all other Bloodslashers. He looked the part with every confident step he took, the way his body language whispered promises of murder to any who dared to challenge him. His body was all sharp angles made into the perfect killing machine. Anyone else who looked at him would feel fear or wariness, but the sight of him always brought a smile to Cinquedia’s face as he turned a kind eye only to her and their parents.

“Finishing up?” Cutlass asked, his tone light and playful.

“Your timing is impeccable as always,” Cinquedia said, her mood brightening thanks to her brother’s presence.

“Of course.” Cutlass closed the distance between them in a few quick strides and he leaned hard against Cinquedia’s shoulder, forcing her to strain against him in order to keep upright. “How else can I keep you from brooding?”

Cinquedia did her best to act as though Cutlass weighed no more than a fly, though she had to use her tail to brace herself against his weight. “Meditation helps with healing you know.”

“It would if you ever did it,” Cutlass said, flashing his razor sharp teeth in a wide smile. “You brood, my dear little sister. You are the broodiest Bloodslasher to ever brood a brood.”

Cinquedia rolled her sleeves down with casual slowness in spite of Cutlass’ weight bearing down on her and cocked an eyebrow for added effect. “That doesn’t make any sense, you know.”

“Nope, it makes perfect sense,” Cutlass said. “You just need to sit back and meditate on it for a while. You know, instead of brood.”

Cinquedia made a show of rolling her eyes and a second later, she ducked out from underneath Cutlass’ arm, sweeping his legs out from under him with her tail. Cutlass rolled into the tumble and was on his feet in less than a second, launching at her with one fist aimed towards her chin. She barely ducked underneath it. “Speaking of broods…” She lashed out with her foot, but failed to connect with her brother’s stomach. “…Did you hear anything about the tournament qualifiers?”

Cutlass managed to grab Cinquedia’s arm and threw her out the door into the hallway. She twisted in midair and hit the wall with her feet to absorb the impact before springing off to connect with her brother in a headbutt that forced them both apart. “Oh, you mean the who-gets-to-sleep-with-King-Switchblade thing? Not yet.”

The two siblings fought their way through the halls of the manor, dodging around furnishings and servants with skill that had been fiercely trained into them every minute of their lives.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Cutlass said as his punch was redirected by Cinquedia’s hand before it could impact. “They wouldn’t dare turn one of us down.”

“Fragiles are forbidden from entering,” Cinquedia said with more calmness than she felt as she retaliated with her own punch.

Cutlass snatched Cinquedia’s wrist and the atmosphere between them changed. His smile was gone and she froze, knowing the sparring session was over. “Who said you were Fragile?”

Cinquedia forced herself not to look away from Cutlass’ gaze. “No one who I didn’t make pay with blood already.”

Cutlass’ grip tightened briefly before he let go of his sister. “Did they say it to your face?”

Cinquedia’s smile held no mirth. “There was an Elite taunting a starving Fragile with food. She recognized who I was when I gave him something to eat and the directions to a shelter.”

Cutlass’ eyes narrowed, but then a second later he was smiling again, but the atmosphere had yet to change. “I see. Glad to hear you took care of it.”

“You don’t need to hunt her down,” Cinquedia said, her voice hard.

Cutlass cocked his head to the side and feigned innocence. “Me? Hunt someone down? I’m shocked that you would even think that of me!”

The question, asked so innocently, made Cinquedia chortle in spite of herself, and a moment later, they were both laughing. “I can’t believe you actually said that with a straight face!”

Cutlass wiped away an imaginary tear. “Thank you, thank you. It was one of my better performances, wasn’t it?”

“Yes it was,” Cinquedia said as her mirth died down. “But, seriously, I took care of it. She won’t dare underestimate me again.”

Cutlass folded his arms in front of his chest. “She still hurt you, and no one hurts my baby sister without facing me.”

“It’s not necessary,” Cinquedia said as she focused on straightening out her clothes instead of her brother. “Just forget about it.”

“I won’t,” Cutlass said with an air of finality. “If someone attacked Mom or Dad, we’d both want to spill our pints of blood. No one, no one hurts a Sword. No. One.”

“It wasn’t an attack,” Cinquedia said. “It was a word from someone stupid and petty and too scared of our family to even think to attack me after I knocked out four of her teeth. She might have been Elite, but she’s a nobody. A nothing. Not worth getting angry over.”

Cutlass jabbed a claw against Cinquedia’s breastbone with force just short of cutting her protective clothes. “She. Hurt. You.”

Cinquedia’s face skewed up with emotion. “That’s not the point! If someone insulted you–”

“Then I’d show them why they should be afraid,” Cutlass said. “Then you would, if you wanted. Then Mom, Dad, Cousin Katara, Uncle Morningstar…” He shrugged. “Anyone who attacks our family is free game.”

Cinquedia’s tail lashed behind her as she looked to the side. “This is different.”

Cutlass tilted his head back. “You know, for someone who loves to protect others, you have a hard time accepting it.”

“Th… this isn’t protecting!” Cinquedia said, her voice harsh. “Protecting someone is… it’s keeping them alive and safe! It’s not going after people who insult you who already got the message!”

“Obviously she didn’t,” Cutlass said, his gaze cool. “If she knew who you were, then she knew our family, and she would know that anyone who dares to insult us pays.” He approached his sister and placed his hands squarely on her shoulders. “I know most people like to play the lone hunter, but the Swords… we’re a pack. That’s why we’re alive when so many other founding clans are dead.”

Cinquedia could not bring herself to meet Cutlass’ eyes. Unlike before, his touch on her shoulders was light, but a heavier weight came with them that had nothing to do with mass. “It’s not… They’re never going to learn. If they haven’t stopped by now, they’re not going to. It’s not worth making a big deal about me just because I’m… I’m…”

“My sister,” Cutlass said, cutting off the terrible word before Cinquedia could bring herself to say it. “That’s the only reason why they’re going to pay.” His smile was cruel and terrible. “Even if I have to gut a thousand Elites, eventually they’ll learn that insulting a Sword, any Sword, is begging for their blood to spill.”

Cinquedia clenched her hands into fists, faintly trembling. “I…”

“It’s not because of your disability,” Cutlass said, his tone growing gentle. “It’s because they’re idiots that don’t learn.” He patted Cinquedia’s shoulders. “So stop thinking about stupid people and focus on getting ready for the tournament.”

Cinquedia closed her eyes and nodded. “Right.”

Cutlass let out a light chuckle. “Someday you’re going to be a Captain too, you know? Then we’re going to look back on these days, laugh, then share some nice, grizzly war stories.”

A tiny smile started to form on Cinquedia’s face as she nodded. Somehow talking with her brother always made her feel better, even if her problems still felt insurmountable. “Right.”

“Unless you don’t speed up your tail slaps,” Cutlass said thoughtfully. “You know, I did that first flip like I was doing jump rope. Kind of fun, but didn’t actually do anything to me.”

Cinquedia’s eyes took on a challenging glint. “Oh, really?”

Just like that, they were fighting again, testing each other’s strength. Although it would mean another round of healing, it would not be severe enough to require the rejuvenator. Sparring was all about building themselves up, not breaking things down. It was the strength her family gave her that kept Cinquedia going despite terrible odds, and defy death even when it tried to quietly steal her away from the inside out. Someday, she would share this strength with all Fragiles, then perhaps one day that hateful word would disappear forever and they would be rejuvenated into something entirely brand new.

[siryl]

Zombkeradops, a creation of Daimera (Godslush) inspired by the 1987 arcade game R-Type.  She's provided it with a slimy environment, but it looks just as frightening in a white void.

[yukidragon]

Responding to Non-Rebloggable Christmas Gift Comments

It's a shame tumblr doesn't let me respond directly to comments made on entries. I suppose quoting them in a single post and replying to them all manually will have to do.

godslush on Christmas Gift - Sage:

Of all the fandoms so far, this is the one I know absolutely the least about, but it’s still well-written and cute.

I'm glad you liked it despite knowing little about the source material! Mouko deserves particular credit for this one. She thought up the great idea for the story.

godslush on Christmas Gift - Yscaldine:

I actually remember their old first-meeting. Especially the bit where she demonstrates her gauntlets on that poor unsuspecting boulder. It’s amazing to see how far it’s come since then. Unless I’m misremembering.

Ah yes, I remember that, way, way long ago back in the days of role playing. Man, Katalina has certainly evolved quite a long ways since then. That wasn't even their "first" meeting in writing so to speak. The first time I wrote them meeting up, they actually engaged in combat because Knuckles was pretty much comic-verse version, where he had more temper than brains, thus immobilizing him was the only way to get him to talk. We've totally abandoned all ties to the comic since then, so Knuckles' personality is a lot different in the Sonic Remix universe.

godslush on Christmas Gift - Kitsuja:

Poor Muse. :c It’s extra EXTRA frustrating because of her disability at that young age. It really screams why she’d go out of her way to do what she did. It’d be utter desperation at that point.

Hoooo my, yes. There's no such thing as sign language in a universe without hands after all.

godslush on Christmas Gift - Daimera:

Heeee~ It’s perfect. Such a poor, distraught couple. But not to worry; their faith in one of the least-responsible geniuses in their world is by no means misplaced! It’ll all work out swimmingly~

Sorry, had to use an image to convey my feels. I'm so glad you enjoyed your present~! It'd be cool to figure out what happens when the couple meets up with the genius. :D

godslush on Christmas Gift - Aquamarine:

This was so horrifically out of your writing style after reading all the ones above this, so much so that it basically captures the personality of the batscots perfectly. XD

Sometimes crack is the best thing to write. Ever.

godslush on Christmas Gift - Neon Mouko:

While it’s not a pairing I’m into, still a very cute and well-written read. The names Satoshi and Shigeru always evoke the anime versions of the characters for me, so the personalities seemed off at first, figured it musta been an IRC talk I missed.

I'm glad you like it despite not being into the pair and the disorientation about the names! Yeah, you probably weren't on when we discussed the Kanto Pokemon Remix group, but if it helps, JA was floored by the sudden twist too.

godslush on Christmas Gift - WAFF Grab Bag 1:

D’awwwww adorable~

godslush on Christmas Gift - WAFF Grab Bag 2:

One of the shorter ones, but still very sweet. They’re such a cute and innocent pair. Quite fitting for a pair of angels.

Thanks! I'm so glad you think so. XD

godslush on Christmas Gift - WAFF Grab Bag 3:

Aww, that’s cute. Kind of sad, but cute, and wraps up nicely. I never finished the series, so I’m a little lost and not sure if this is directly following canon, but it feels very natural from what little I -do- know about it.

Thanks a lot! Yes, this is directly following the end of the manga's canon. I guess I spoilered you on it. Oops!

godslush on Christmas Gift - WAFF Grab Bag 4:

Omg the feels. ;_;

It's canon.

godslush on Christmas Gift - WAFF Grab Bag 5:

It’s a pity that, as Japanese, saying those names out loud wouldn’t key them in ahead of time. XD Oops.

[dragonandtiger]

Christmas Gift - Daimera

A young couple struggles in a world that would never consent in their union with nothing but love to keep them moving forward.

In honor of the holiday season, Yuki has written a special flash fiction story for Daimera! We hope that you enjoy it, Dai, and Merry Christmas!

They were broken, weak, and desperate. One night had cost them nearly everything they held dear. In a world that would not accept their union, the pair could only rely on each other to protect them and the product of their love.

Sandy could have abandoned Lime that night, as well as their unborn child. There had been a terrible moment when the gemstone took away his sanity that she had been tempted. Then her father… her own father…

Sandy forced her mind away from that night. Daisy was fussing again, probably sensing her distress, she supposed. She cooed meaningless reassurances into her daughter’s ear before settling Daisy in to nurse again. It was surprising how quickly she adjusted to this routine of sleepless nights full of dirty diapers and nursing. The only blessing was that Daisy was a quiet child, which meant that there were no baby screams to give them a way whenever they had to hide.

That night, their escape, keeping Lime from dying of his wounds, and then giving birth without the aid of modern medicine took too much out of Sandy. If Lime had not recovered enough of his strength to keep them going…

Sandy let out a heavy breath and tried to fill her troubled mind with lullabies to sing to her daughter. The groaning of the shack walls as they struggled to remain standing against the wind served almost as a base for her song. Though she worried about how stable the shack really was, as well as the smell of mold and the vermin that crawled around in the corners and in the things the former owners left behind, it was the best place they had come across so far. Sleeping in caves, alleys, or, worse, outside in the open, offered far less protection. At least here, she could build a fire to keep them warm from the chilly weather.

A knock on the door had Sandy on her feet in an instant. Her ears twitched as she listened and relaxed when she recognized the sequence of knocks – the passcode she and Lime devised. She struggled a bit to shove the empty fridge away from barricading the front door using just her back while still balancing Daisy in her arms. “It’s open,” she said after stepping aside.

Lime entered immediately and the smile on his face instantly lifted Sandy’s spirits. Despite everything they had gone through, he always had a way of making her feel better. “I got food and good news!”

“Good,” Sandy said, the hint of a wry smile playing across her lips. “Because we could use both right now.” She took the plastic bags dangling from his arm, each one printed with the logo of some local grocery store. She almost asked if he spent the money she gave him or if he stole someone else’s groceries, but thought better of it. They no longer had the luxury of once rigid stance of moral standards – not while they were starving and constantly in fear for their lives.

Lime shut the door quickly to keep too much of the heat from escaping into the rainy evening air. The raincoat – stolen from a careless fisherman – was slick with water and let out a clunk as it hit the rickety little table near the door thanks to the mannequin arm that had been stapled into one of the sleeves so that the fact that he had only one arm would not be obvious from a distance. The dye staining his normally white hair green was a similar attempt to hide him in a crowd – as long as someone did not get too close to see how white his fur was or the red of his eyes, he could pass for an ordinary lemming. It made Sandy jealous at times that he could go outside freely, but she always mollified herself with the thought that he must have felt the same way on Lemming Island for all of his life.

The kiss half took Sandy by surprise, but she eagerly returned it with one of her own. With how awful things had become, sometimes it was easy to forget the little things that made her stomach flutter with warmth. Being wrapped in Lime’s arms – arm – always made her feel secure. She tried not to look at the bandaged stump where his right arm used to be and freed a hand to stroke his cheek. “So are you going to give us the good news before or after dinner?”

“I found someone who can give me a new arm,” Lime said, his wide grin displaying how even though the jewel was gone, his teeth were still sharper than any lemming’s had a right to be.

Sandy stared at Lime, taking a moment to process his words. “A new arm…?” Her eyes widened with realization. “Wait, are you talking about a prosthetic?”

Lime nodded, his expression alight with an amount of excitement that was rare for both of them these days. “There’s a robotics expert from the Space Tribe that’s not too far from here. They said he’s a genius.” He fished the receipt from one of the bags and showed a name and number hastily scribbled on the back in pencil.

Sandy looked over the name and for a moment, she felt happy and relieved before reality whispered vicious words in her ear. “But there’s no way we could afford it. Robot upgrades are ridiculously expensive, and the money I stole from my f… from that bastard isn’t going to be enough.”

“That’s the best part,” Lime said, his enthusiasm still strong. “He’s apparently not in it for the money.” He paused for a moment. “Well, not much money anyway. Seems he’s got a reputation for doing stuff only when he feels like it. All we have to do is give him a good reason to want to do it.”

Sandy looked from Lime’s face to his empty right shoulder to Daisy, who was still nursing. “You think doing it to help a father protect his wife and daughter will be enough?”

Lime stepped in closer to Sandy, mindful of the week old infant between them, and kissed the crown of his beloved’s head. “It’s enough for me.”

Sandy exhaled and leaned sideways against Lime as she closed her eyes. “And if he decides whatever reward my… that’s on our heads is worth more than that?”

Lime squeezed her shoulder, but Sandy noticed the hint of harshness that came to his eyes whenever the three of them were threatened. “I have information that any lemming would find more important than cash. And if that’s not enough… we’ll find someone else.”

Sandy caught the unspoken threat in her husband’s words, but declined to comment on it. Since that night, since giving birth, she found herself often depressed and with terribly little energy. As long as there was hope, any at all, she wanted to cling to it even if the cynic in her told her that they were merely delaying the inevitable.

“Let’s hope this Jeri person has some kindness for stoat lovers,” Sandy murmured.

Lime kissed one of Sandy’s ears, which twitched against his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of us, no matter what happens. Now let’s have some dinner.” He smiled down at Daisy, the expression both fond and wry. “Or rather, let’s join our daughter for dinner.”

Sandy gave in to impulse and kissed her husband’s smiling face, lingering in the moment. Though she was hungry – starving really – she needed Lime, and to believe in him, just as desperately.

“It’ll be okay,” Lime murmured against Sandy’s lips. When the kiss ended and he gazed deeply into her eyes, she somehow believed him every time, even after their world crashed down around them.