#and anyways I always wait for the better models of systems

[no1islost]

The fact that my PS4 isn’t currently downloading Horizon Burning Shores because it’s only released on the 5, even though Forbidden West was released on the 4 AND 5, is criminal….and while I somewhat understand why it’s on the 5 after watching the trailer, I’m peeved that a small DLC is so exclusive when the (massive) main game wasn’t. I mean, I’m so glad I got to play Forbidden West, but still…and don’t even get me started on the increased price for new the Zelda game dropping next month.

[songonthewind]

Big Glass Onion Knives Out spoilers below, do not read if you haven't seen the movie!

Analyzing *that scene* at the end of Glass Onion

Someone has probably already talked about this, but the glass smashing scene! I cannot stop thinking about that scene because of how it DIRECTLY parallels Miles's speech about being a disruptor.

"If you want to shake things up, you start with something small. You break a norm, or an idea, or a convention, some little business model. But you go with things that people are kind of tired of anyway."

Miles has a giant room full of glass statues. Hell, his big fancy dome is called the Glass Onion, so easly breakable with all of its glass panes. He has a lot of it and it would all be so easy to knock over and destroy with one wrong step, and we see Peg almost do just that very early on.

And when Helen starts grabbing them and smashing them? Miles laughs. To him, she is a small, insignificant person who thinks she can get back at him by smashing some (probably very expensive) sculptures. But they don't actually matter - he can always buy more. They will always be replaceable. But she doesn't stop.

"Everybody gets excited because you're busting up something that everyone wanted broken in the first place. That's the infraction point."

The others start to cheer her on. They want these broken too. They wanna do something that makes them feel a little better, like they've gotten back at Miles a little bit. So they cheer her on and then they join in. They smash glass and cheer and you can tell that they're having a lot of fun with it.

Does it help anything? No. Does it change the fact that they've turned their back on Andi and Helen? No. Does it actually do anything to screw over Miles or reject the conditions of his monetary support? Nope.

It's just a bit of fun for them to take the edge off.

"That's the place where you have to look within yourself and ask, 'Am I the kind of person who will keep going?' Will you break more things? Break bigger things?"

They've had their fun, hell, even Miles partook and smashed the cup he was holding because none of it fucking matters.

But Helen keeps going. She doesn't stop at the statues. She pushes.

"Are you willing to break the thing that nobody wants you to break? Because at that point, people are not gonna be on your side. They're gonna call you crazy. They're gonna say you're a bully. They're gonna tell you to stop."

They tell Helen to go easy, to calm down.

She smashes the piano and you can see they're all concerned. Birdie comments that she thinks the piano belonged to Liberace. The glass statues were fun, but this piano is important and how dare you break it.

She smashes the bar cart and everyone is getting more worried. Miles is getting mad. He tries to bargain with her, asks her what she wants because now he's upset, Helen has taken things farther than she was supposed to.

And then she takes the lighter and sets it ablaze.

They tell Helen to stop, to wait. They tell her enough, that she needs to be done now because they're uncomfortable. They had their fun and didn't sign up for anything meaningful to actually happen.

Even your partner will say, 'You need to stop.'

The line about your partner is the only one that doesn't hold true.

Blanc was Helen's partner in all of this and he was the one who told her to keep going, he was the one who handed her the solid hydrogen, who told her to remember why her sister walked away, and by doing so gave her the green light (even though she didn't need his permission) to burn it all down.

"Because as it turns out, nobody wants you to break the system itself. But that is what true disruption is. And that is what unites all of us. We all got to that line and crossed it."

Helen finds the line - she throws the Klean fuel and everything explodes in their faces.

And then the ultimate crossing of the line, their horrified faces as they realize what she is about to do as she lunges for the Mona Lisa and it goes up in flames. Nobody wants you to break the system and everyone is terrified when you do.

Helen crosses the line, burns Miles's whole empire down in the process.

All of Andi's friends just reshaped the systems to serve themselves.

Helen is the only one of them who ever crossed a meaningful line.

[gravedwe11er]

Co-existence

Another rarepair prompt, a bit late but better than never. Thanks to my betas @jayden-writes and @showstopper35, your help means a lot!

Pairing: Starscream/Wheeljack

Cw: a bit of injury, but nothing serious

Wordcount: 2.5k

Continuity: IDW

Summary: Five times living together was a bit of a hassle, and the one time that made it all worth it.

“Wheeljack.”

Lifting his helm up and away from the microscope before turning his head towards the sound of Starscream’s voice, Wheeljack finds his lover standing behind him with a scowl on his faceplates and his arms crossed, claws tapping out an irritated rhythm on his own plating.

“Oh hey, you’re back early. Something happen?”

Starscream snorts. “You really should check your chrono more often, it’s evening.”

Ah. “Suppose I should!” he chuckles. Losing track of time has always been a common issue for him, and he doubts that’s gonna be changing anytime soon. “So, what’s got you making that face? The council stepping on your toes again?”

“Stepping on my what-? Nevermind, don’t tell me,” Starscream mutters, shaking his helm at the earth word before carrying on. “But no, they’ve actually managed to be marginally more tolerable than usual today.”

“So?”

“So,” the seeker huffs, gesturing towards the completely cluttered table Wheeljack is sitting at, “you do know this isn’t a lab table, right?”

Ah. Well, Wheeljack did sort of forget about that, actually. Back in his old apartment, he hadn’t really kept a distinction between refueling table and lab table – his equipment took up nearly every horizontal surface aside from his berth, not to mention he usually ate in his lab anyway and had no need to keep it tidied away.

Though it made sense that Starscream, being…well, Starscream, might not see things the same way.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he shrugs sheepishly. “I’ll clean it up soon, yeah? Just lemme finish this up real quick, it shouldn’t be moved at this stage-“

“You can have one half,” interjects Starscream. “One half of the table exactly. And keep anything caustic in your actual lab, this thing wasn’t cheap.”

Wheeljack stares at him, optics wide. Avoiding his gaze, the seeker crosses his arms again. “We talked about compromising, didn’t we?” he mutters.

“So we did,” says the engineer, pleasantly surprised. “Still, thanks.”

Humming in response, Starscream sidles up next to him before throwing him an expectant look.

With a grin hidden under his blast mask, Wheeljack pushes the microscope closer to his partner. “So, what I’ve got here are ore samples from the Helex area…”

Now, Starscream understands the value of personal possessions, of course, and understands that Wheeljack would want to bring them over from his apartment when moving into his own penthouse. But why must they all look like…that?!

“I had this place professionally decorated,” he complains, with a completely justified whine to his voice, as the engineer shoves a battered, stained monstrosity of a desk into a corner of their berthroom.

In the living room already sits an eyesore of an armchair, completely clashing with the rest of his carefully chosen furniture. Little holo displays with photos of Wheeljack and his various autobot buddies haphazardly litter the shelves, scattered around Starscream’s nicely arranged models and knick-knacks. By the entrance, a few boxes hastily labeled as various lab equipment still wait to be unpacked.

“Uh. Sorry?” says Wheeljack, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess the table does look a bit grimy. I could give it a wipe down if you want?”

Scrubbing a servo down his faceplates, Starscream abruptly turns on a thruster and marches away from the unfolding disaster before he ends up saying something he regrets.

Primus, the things he puts up with for this mech.

Wheeljack wakes slowly, his systems taking their time to boot up in the face of just how utterly comfortable he is. As ridiculously huge and ostentatious Starscream’s berth is, he’s absolutely beginning to see its appeal.

And speaking of the mech- he lazily throws an arm out to the opposite side, finding it empty but still faintly warm - must have gotten up just a bit before him.

When he eventually drags himself out, his frame’s demands for fuel overpowering the wonderful softness of his lover’s fancy sheets, he finds Starscream on the couch, sipping his own morning cube in stormy silence. The room is dark, unusually so for this time of day, and Wheeljack spends a few confused moments thinking about unexpected dust storms before noticing the blinds drawn across all windows and the glass balcony door. Making his way over to the nearest one, wanting to see natural light at least once per day, he’s quickly halted by his partner’s voice.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” says Starscream, tone acidic, “not unless you want to see your faceplates on the front page tomorrow.”

Stopping in his tracks, he turns to look incredulously at his seeker. “Say what?”

“It would seem that there’s nothing more interesting happening these days than my ‘scandalous paramour’ moving in with me and making things official. The camera drones have been lurking outside all morning.”

Wheeljack sputters. “Wh- that can’t be legal! Isn’t this private property?”

“Well, it’s not illegal, unfortunately,” scowls Starscream, taking another sip of his fuel. “They’re technically not on my property, and there’s nothing preventing them from hovering just outside of it. I’d shoot them down, but,” he shrugs, “that would be bad for my image.”

“Primus,” sighs Wheeljack, ambling over to the dispensary and getting himself a cube before sitting down next to the seeker. “This happen a lot?”

“More than I’d like,” grunts Starscream, before giving him a sideways glance. “I’m afraid it’s something you’ll have to deal with as well, now that you’re here. I hope it’s not too much of a deal-breaker.”

Sensing the thread of anxiety in his partner’s field, Wheeljack throws an arm over the seeker’s shoulders with an easy grin. “Eh, don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ll manage. And besides,” he says in a fake-conspiratory mumble, “I don’t think I could bear recharging anymore without these blankets of yours, they’re really something special.”

Sure, he’s not exactly a fan of being examined by the masses like a specimen under a microscope, but seeing Starscream laugh like that, at something he said, makes it all seem pretty bearable.

As Starscream flies home, zig-zagging between Metroplex’s towers in his altmode, he can’t help but miss the war, just a tiny bit. Primus, what he wouldn’t give for a chance to simply hold the council of worlds at gunpoint, to make them actually listen to him for once. But no, in this new, civilized age, he has to hear them squabble over everything for hours on end, wasting everyone’s time and still getting nowhere.

Doing a few loops in the air to properly stretch his wings, his thoughts begin to stray towards the recent addition to his penthouse. It’s been a few chords since the move, and while living with Wheeljack has certainly had its difficulties, so far it’s been surprisingly… pleasant. He’d almost forgotten how nice it was, being greeted by a mech who was actually happy to see him after a long day of work, work, and more work.

Buoyed by the thought, he transforms once he reaches his tower’s balcony and makes his way inside with a small spring in his step, only to bump into the engineer standing right behind the door. Steadying himself on Wheeljack’s chestplate, he barely manages to note the anxiety in his lover’s field before he’s hit with a verbal barrage.

“Right, so, first, I wanna say that it was an accident and I’ll clean it all up. Most of it should scrub out I think, but some of it got on the sheets and the wall above my desk’s a little burned and-“

“Wheeljack!” shouts Starscream, smacking a servo over the engineer’s mouth to try and parse out what he’s just heard. “Slow down! You said something about an accident- are you alright?”

“What, me?” says Wheeljack, stepping a bit further away. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, just a bit dirty,“ he reassures, waving his concerns off.

Now that Starscream can properly take him in, he sees the soot and odd colored stains littering his entire upper half, though, to his relief, he can’t see any signs of injury. With that out of the way, his processor manages to register the rest of that frenzied rant, and he quickly shoulders past the contrite looking engineer, marching his way into their berthroom.

It’s a disaster. Wheeljack’s already beaten looking desk is currently covered in soot and chunks of unknown origin, as are the nearby walls, the floor, and their berth. The explosion, as that’s surely what it was, also seems to have broken various other vials that were on said desk, whose contents are currently spilling all over the floor and making it look like an abstract artist’s canvas.

“I swear it was an accident, really,” calls out Wheeljack from somewhere behind him.

Starscream suppresses the urge to scream, field flaring out in frustration. For a moment, he wants to yell at Wheeljack, to complain about his ruined furniture and make him repeat the house rules for explosives ten times over until they stick. He’s already had a bad cycle and he feels close to snapping as he turns to the engineer, but then he just- falters.

Wheeljack looks anxious, wringing his servos together, a genuine, openly apologetic expression on his faceplates, and Starscream feels all the fight going out of him. He should have expected it, really, when he brought this brilliant disaster of a mech into his home. Everyone knows that ‘explosions’ and ‘Wheeljack’ are a package deal, and while that joke was certainly funnier when it wasn’t his home being wrecked, he can’t seem to get properly mad at him for it. Anyone else, he’d happily screech their audials off, but… not Wheeljack, it would seem.

“It’s alright,” he sighs, watching his lover relax a bit. “I suppose accidents happen, especially around you.”

“Yeahh, I know. Sorry again, I’ll go clean it up.”

“Hmpf. You better.”

Wheeljack wakes in the middle of the night, the last vestiges of a fading nightmare leaving him feeling bleary and cold. Somewhere next to him, he can hear the near-silent hum of Starscream’s systems as he recharges, a faint heat emanating from his plating. Wanting nothing more than to return to his already too few hours of rest, he’s in the slow process of turning towards his lover when a sharp object meets his optical glass with a resounding crack.

He rears back with a yelp, one servo covering his stinging optic while he onlines the other, just in time to see Starscream jump up onto his knees, gun in hand and aimed at the door.

“What happened?” the seeker shouts, shattering the last vestiges of the night’s peace as he frantically looks around for an unseen danger.

Doing his own sweep of the place and really wishing he’d kept a weapon in his subspace, Wheeljack fires back, “My optic’s busted, but I don’t know- oh, wait,“ he cuts himself off, quieter now, and points at one of the seeker’s flared out wings. “Star, look.”

In the near-complete darkness of the room, the tiny glowing smudge of processed energon on the pointy tip of Starscream’s wing easily stands out. As the seeker turns his helm and freezes at the sight, Wheeljack’s recharge-addled processor manages to put the pieces together and he slumps, feeling exhausted now that the fear has passed.

“Looks like I’ve just had a little accident,” he chuckles, running proper diagnostics on the optic to see how far the damage goes, “no assassins here or nothing. Still, what kind of luck is that, huh?”

No reply is forthcoming. When Wheeljack looks over at Starscream, he finds his partner’s gaze flicking between his stained wing and his own busted optic with a guilty expression.

“You okay, Star?

“I hurt you,” rasps the seeker, an unexpected amount of self-reproach coloring every glyph.

“What? No, if anything I hurt myself, and it’s not like you poked my eye out on purpose,” he laughs quietly, trying to lighten the mood. “Besides, it’s just a crack in the glass, the actual optic under is fine. I’ll pop over to the clinic in the morning, get it replaced, no problem. You don’t gotta worry about me.”

Starscream nods, shoulders relaxing a little, though his field still remains drawn close to his frame. “That’s good. Still, you’re hurt because of me, and that’s-“

“I know, I know. Seriously though, it’s fine,” says Wheeljack, scooting across the berth to put an arm around his seeker’s shoulders, lightly petting down the edge of one wing. “Wasn’t your fault. No hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings,” repeats Starscream, the tension finally leaving his frame as his field unfurls, gently meshing with Wheeljack’s. “Though perhaps you might benefit from inventing some sort of harder optical glass,” jokes the seeker dryly, “sounds like a nice potential side project for you.”

“Hah. I’ll see what I can do.”

As much as Starscream generally loathes the colonists and all the problems that come with them, he has to give them one thing: their entertainment programs are excellent. Not in terms of actual quality, Primus no, but they’re so over-the-top dramatic he can’t help but enjoy them.

It’s been a quiet evening so far, screaming protagonists in the show notwithstanding. Metroplex is stable, he’s caught up on his datawork and Wheeljack is a warm weight on his side, their fields comfortably intertwined.

“Wasn’t the red one over there conjunxed to that backstabbing emissary?” asks the engineer idly, looking up only for a moment before returning his attention to the tablet in his servos.

Starscream snorts. “That was two episodes ago. Besides, the whole thing was a sham in order to spy on the grand chancellor.”

“Seriously?” laughs Wheeljack, nudging him playfully. “And they call our relationship weird.”

“I think you should lay off the tabloids, dearest,” he says dryly, rolling his optics. “Just yesterday, they were accusing me of having a sordid affair with the mistress of flame, so I wouldn’t really put much stock in their opinion on anything.”

Wheeljack puts the tablet down, looking at him incredulously. “They said what now? Really?”

“Yes, really,” hums Starscream, before leaning over his lover with a teasing grin. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? Why would I want some preachy old crone when I have you?”

Smiling up at him, Wheeljack throws both arms over his shoulders. “Y’know, sometimes I’m not sure why you’d want me either. Really glad you do, though,” he says, before retracting his mask and leaning in.

As their lips meet, the show’s characters start up their third shouting match of the episode, but no one’s really paying attention anymore.

[unecoccinellenoire]

I wish you would write a fic where Nathalie doesn't want history repeating and so gives relationship advice.

answering this over a year late because the special gave me some feelings about this: It’s painful to watch how Marinette’s mask drops the moment Adrien leaves the room; the girl’s smile fading, her shoulders sagging. Nathalie’s can almost feel the loss of the phantom weight of the person Marinette’s meant to be slipping off her but not without threatening to draw her to the floor on in exhaustion on her way.

She’d used to do that with Gabriel after all.

She sighs.

Relationships are hardly her area of expertise. When Adrien tries to ask for her advise she feels like a computer failing to find a file that supposed to be there. Nathalie has no idea full stop what a healthy happy relationship is supposed to look like.

But between herself, Gabriel and Emilie she has a pretty good idea of how it shouldn’t go, and if she’s supposed to be worthy of pretending to be Adrien’s mother, and of unearned freedom her former enemy turned conspirator of his happiness has granted her then she should say something.

Marinette, always so alert to any issue that might need fixing, even when she’s not Ladybug and it’s not her job to do so is looking at her now. A peril of shedding part of her own persona around her too.

Most even. Perhaps more than even Gabriel had seen. But that’s not the point.

The point is. "You shouldn't always put Adrien first."

Marinette frowns a little. "OK. Um. What are you talking about? Because if this is about his fa-"

"It’s not that.” She’s still not convinced what they’ve done there is quite right, but then Marinette does know Adrien better, know how to make him happier, than Nathalie does for all she’s known him a fraction of the time she has. “Earlier. That girl makes you uncomfortable. Why don't you just tell Adrien that rather than just pretending she doesn't and going alone with it all?"

She thinks about it. Nathalie can give her that much credit. Can see that same deliberation she’d seen on Ladybug’s face each time the heroine had called her Lucky Charm.

But then Marinette looks at Nathalie like she’s one of those additional heroes of hers, like she’s her friend and the superheroine is replaced with a teenage girl.

"Wouldn't that be," She gestures awkwardly, "overreacting? And being too clingy? Adrien loves me.” Her tempo seems to somehow increase on every word, before it slows with a “Right. Adrien loves me so I need to just calm down and not be so territorial, it’s not like everyone wants him anyway, I mean they should but-"

It’s somehow sounds less convincing than Gabriel’s speeches and Nathalie’s lost enough of her life to those.

She interrupts. "Is that you talking or something you've been told?"

Marinette’s jaw dropped as if affronted by this,  when she wasn’t by the former enemy she keeps on tight lead daring to comment on love life in the first place. "Alya cares about me- and she's always been my number one supporter when it comes to Adrien."

"I'm sure she does. And that she is. And I don't know you the way your friend does.” She has no interest in meddling in whatever support system Marinette has to manage to be the talented schoolgirl dating the famous tragically orphaned model, the hero of Paris, and the Guardian of powers that could change the world. Relying only on Nathalie is a recipe for disaster. Events have proved that. Nor is it that she can’t see why this Alya might have said it. “And you can be a little given to..."

"To what?"

"You're not the most,” she struggles over the word aware her response is being waited on, but unwilling to offend her and get this chance. “moderate of people Marinette. That's not a bad thing. But your friend might have been saying just the right thing in the circumstances if she was trying to help you calm down. Gods know I wish I-” but, “it doesn't matter. My point is you don't need to worry about this girl, Alya was right. Adrien does love you. But that doesn't mean that you can't tell him how she makes you feel. Especially as- it's not just jealousy is it?"

"It's not. I get this- feeling. I can't explain it. I know it sounds crazy but I feel like she's being drawn to put attention somehow, like my Miraculous is picking her out for me to pay attention to like a Lucky Charm. But that’s not how that even works. And it’s not like I’ve never seen threats that weren’t there before."

Her heart sinks at the confirmation she’s not seeing things there but she pushes herself to maintain her calm tone. "I think you sound crazy. Not at all. Maybe I should look more into her."

The gratefulness in Marinette’s “Could you?” scratches at the wound that is Nathalie’s heart.

Neither Ladybug nor someone who loves Adrien should be grateful to her.

Especially when it’s really nothing. Not when. “I’d be remiss not to. Not if she could be a threat to Adrien.”

“So Adrien is your priority?”

“Did you doubt it?” She allows herself the slightest frown to underline her point. “If it wasn’t for Adrien I’d have turned myself in. You know that. You convinced me of that.”

“I know but- Oh! That’s why you told me to tell Adrien. Because you knew that he needed to know and-“

“That’s a reason for him to know. That’s not why I said it.” She clasps her hands behind her back, digs her nails into her fingers and with a deep breath forces herself to get to the meat of the matter. “…what you said down there about wishing you’d sacrificed yourself for Adrien so he’d still have his father.”

“I know you two fell out.  And I know he made the wrong choices and stopped putting Adrien first but there was good in him. I know it. I saw the regret in his eyes- and and he defeated me! He could have made any wish he wanted to! Have reshaped all of reality and instead he chose to save you.”

The worst of it is that Nathalie can tell she means it. That she believes what she’s saying- believes what Gabriel had said. And she feels sorry for Nathalie for not having seen Gabriel’s last actions.

“Gabriel’s choices- what sort of man he was in the end isn’t the point here. I don’t want to debate that with you anyway,” now when that could mean admitting that a selfish part of her would prefer for her prior belief in Gabriel to have been wholly misplaced than for a girl he barely knew apart from as an unfavoured girlfriend for his son to have been able to reach him when she, his confidante of years, couldn’t, “but the point is that doesn’t matter. Gabriel could have been the best father in the world and that doesn’t mean that you should have considered sacrificing yourself just to give Adrien a father.”

“But…I- maybe I’ve given you the wrong impression. Being Ladybug is hard, but I’m not looking for a way out. I’m not suicidal or anything. I just want what’s best for Adrien.”

Nathalie winces. “You sound like me. That’s not a good thing.”

Marinette has more to live for than her. She can easily see the girl not resigning herself to losing her live like she had. She can see her fighting for not just her life but what she wants for herself like Nathalie never had. She can also easily see her throwing herself in front of Adrien to prevent his doom.

She looks up at Nathalie, a confused little line between her brows. “I don’t understand.”

“Why do you think I became Mayura?”

“Oh.”  It’s a quieter one than her exclamation earlier. But from her too-wide eyes no less consequential a realisation.

Nathalie wonders sort of relationship exactly had the girl had thought she and Gabriel had. Probably not the one they did anyway.

And it’s not any of Marinette’s business really, certainly not something she wants to talk about to someone who despite everything she is and has done as Ladybug is after all not even old enough to have started lycée yet.

But there are certain blanks she should fill in for her.

“I knew the price of the Wish you know. I was ready to die for him if that’s what it took to make him happy.” It’s oddly freeing to admit it. To finally say what neither she nor Gabriel had ever dared to say out loud. He must have known after all, between what she had said and that Miraculous on his chest. Stupid of her to have even thought otherwise when “And in the end- in the end Gabriel didn’t vindicate that devotion. But I think- I booked Adrien into therapy you know. He doesn’t talk about it to me. But he gives me worksheets. I think he knows I need it too.”

Once again her enemy offers her pity and tries to help someone who as far as she knows had never done anything for her. “Maybe you should go too then?”

“Oh Marinette. With my crimes? I’m not sure I need a therapist. I need a priest. But regardless I’ve read enough to realise that… how I felt. No. How I acted on my feelings for Gabriel did neither of us any good. Perhaps if I’d valued myself as much as I did him all of this could have turned out differently and Adrien would still have a father. A better father. But I didn’t. And you’re better person than me. And Adrien is a better person than his father. And that’s why you deserve to have a healthier relationship than us. And that means not making my mistakes.”

“I just want him to be happy.” Marinette chews at her lip.

Nathalie wishes she wasn’t laying another burden on the girl’s small shoulders even if it was for her own good. “And that’s admirable. But it shouldn’t be at the cost of yourself. Adrien has no idea what a healthy relationship looks like. How can he?”

“His parents-“

She stops her. “You saw what Gabriel did to Paris when Emilie died. Is that what you want to become?”

“I thought it was you you didn’t want me to be like.” There’s a challenge underneath her words there. She doesn’t want to admit Nathalie has a point.

But that’s an attempted attacked. Nathalie has an easy answer to. “There’s no one in this household you should emulate.”

Marinette bristles again. Her posture straightens. “Are you going to try to convince me to tell Adrien again?”

Nathalie can feel the firm line her lips press into. It’s not a conversation she thinks she can win, and she’s not even sure that ethically she ought to. Marinette’s the good person here, it shouldn’t be Mayura having misgivings here. But still, “We should at least tell him what he is.”

It feels like a fair compromise. It’s the important part surely.

And indeed Marinette seems to soften a little.

Nathalie wishes it didn’t remind her of had Gabriel had on occasion when she’d tried to  argue his son’s case to him.

“Maybe.” Marinette says. “You have a point. And it would fit with Monarch threatening his father.” A pause. “Do you really think I’m like him?”

“In many ways.” She admits. It would be pointless to do otherwise when there’s such obvious parallels that sometimes she thinks fate or some wielder of the Rabbit Miraculous must be laughing at them. “But that doesn’t mean you have to make his mistakes. Especially as in other more important whys you’re not like him at all. And yes, in some ways you’re like me. And I don’t want you to make my mistakes.”

“Sometimes I think mistakes are all I make. I decided Gabriel Agreste wasn’t Hawk Moth. I gave Félix a Miraculous because I wanted Adrien by my side, and I lost the entire Miracle box! I let my guard down at the wrong time and let Monarch make the wish. I lost the Butterfly Miraculous!”

She’s surprised at the ache in her chest. Many things catch on the scabs attempting to form there but seeing other people hurt doesn’t usually affect Nathalie the way it does other people unless it’s someone she’s had the time to grow close to. There’s someone missing inside her, the very powers of her Miraculous seeming like another ironic joke of some omnipotent deity.

Just like it shouldn’t be her trying to comfort Marinette. She’s barely able to comfort Adrien. She’s not even sure she’d helped Gabriel these days.

But somehow she’s the only person Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Adrien’s girlfriend, Ladybug, has right now.

“Marinette…most of those things were weren’t things you did. Félix chose to betray you and trade with Gabriel instead. Gabriel chose to be Hawk Moth, and then fought you over the Miraculous even as he was dying. Whoever has Nooroo now- they stole the Butterfly Miraculous while you were concentrating on saving the world. And you managed to something find the Gabriel I knew once inside Monarch and bring him back to the surface. I was frightened enough of the Wish he’d make that I thought both our deaths was the only- was the better option. You- I don’t know if he saw his love for Emilie in yours for Adrien or what, but somehow you reached him. Yes, he made his Wish but there was no casualty. No one suffered from it. It just saved me.”

For all she doubted his motives were wholly selfless the fact of the matter did remain that. He might not have been what she’d loved once but when he died he hadn’t been the monster she’d seen at the end either.

“There was a casualty.” Marinette’s voice is quiet but firm.

Nathalie barely manages to stifle her impulse to blink in susprise. “What?”

“There was a casualty. Adrien’s father. He gave his life for yours.”

“Gabriel was dying anyway. We both know that.” In all honestly Nathalie was surprised his trade had even worked. It hardly seemed like an equal exchange to trade two deaths for one. But maybe this combined creature Marinette had spoken of followed exact rules rather than principles and Gabriel had just taken on her illness too or some similar work around. “And, by the way I don’t recommend following that example of Gabriel’s either.”

“What?”

“Don’t sacrifice yourself for Adrien. He isn’t me. You’re not Gabriel. And your relationship isn’t ours.” They had an actual romantic relationship for a start. “He wouldn’t live through it. And too many people in his life have sacrificed themselves already.”

Emilie for his existence. Nathalie had attempted it for his happiness. Even Gabriel had done so from a certain point of view.

Marinette expelled air from her nose in irritation, but then the girl conceded in a way Gabriel never had. “You’re right.”

Then she shock her head and added, “I just wish I could convince Chat Noir of the same thing.”

[haleigh-sloth]

I'll take the bait. How is rei's hospitalization not supposed to be something that helped her? The reason she was put there was crazy sure (the one that needed some hospitalization was always endvr) but its not like her kids forgot about her in the end. Also I believe the long time she was there was just for narrative purposes because hrks wanted her to be away.

Sorry I was gonna get around to posting it, I was tired yesterday lol.

I understand it's shown that she got better there. But I don't think enough people understand that 10 years being locked up in an institution is very fucking abnormal.

There is NO type of psychotic break or mental health break down that should lock you up for a fucking decade, unless it resulted in something serious like someone's death. And there is a reason that there is a shift from hiding people away to shifting them back into their community as soon as possible in several countries (not just the US), OR keeping them out of the hospital in the first place with research based protocols. Rei shouldn't have been separated from Shouto for 10 years. That is insane. That literally will make any parent more ill. Every mental health model you read up on will have an emphasis on a support system which usually consists of friends and family.

Endeavor put Rei in a hospital to get her out of his way, not because he gave a shit about her wellbeing.

Idk if Caleb put a twist on this or not, but it doesn't matter because the obvious tone here is "Oh, I got rid of her, she was getting in my way." Not positive. Then:

This is not a happy picture. I mean hopeful yes, but Shouto saying "I'll save her" while she's sitting in this small ass room, alone, staring out a window? I mean this is not...good. TEN YEARS???? I just cannot fucking fathom anyone justifying keeping someone (especially with Rei's circumstances) there that damn long. Holy shit.

And I mean, this isn't even a cultural debate. This is straight up not good for a person's wellbeing, to be separated from the real world, including your damn children only to have to wait for your older kids to decide to come visit you--and only when the hospital will allow it-- for ten years. But if we're gonna talk cultural, look up Japan's average psych bed ratio in comparison to other countries. Their reputation is not great lol. And I've seen plenty of commentary saying Rei's character kinda represents Japan's poor mental health care. It's just commentary so it's not fact or anything, but it's interesting I'm not the only one who thinks this about Rei, and I wouldn't be surprised if that was the intention.

BUT, anyway honestly the reason I said that is because I see a lot of "I hope the villains get what Rei got 🥺". And I hate it. Because...she was locked up. Away from her family, no freedom.

Like if the manga is going to go for a "I'll save them no matter what" ending, then why end it by putting them in a place where Shouto felt like he needed to save his mom from?

Also...I mean please. This is shonen, it's a fantasy. We don't have to stick to realistic irl answers to shit. Jail is just stupid, but the hospital ending is even dumber imo. Especially if we're talking ten years like Rei--who was put away by her husband for the purpose of keeping her away from his children.

I mean, let's say we stick as close to realistic as possible without going the jail route--hospitals aren't therapeutic, that's not a healing setting. Mental health care is a community action and the idea is to get people back home with their support systems as quickly as possible. AND! If that's the case then damn, at least show ALL of the UA kids getting their damn counseling sessions too since they've been in two wars? And seen dead bodies of their loved ones? I mean, go all the way with it. But! I have 0% expectations of that happening. So...it's STILL dumb.

Just, I'd rather Horikoshi just go balls to the wall with the fantastical power of love and friendship and acceptance ending. Personally I have no desire to see Tomura or Touya or Toga or anybody end their story in a freaking hospital bed. Just, why. Give them hugs, hold their hands, and send them on their merry, unrealistically sappy way.

[justp34chy]

First Meeting

takes place Briars first year of high school lol

     Highschool, A terrible place full of sorrows and stress. I moved to the G4 district not too long ago and have gained a decent amount of popularity since I have, I’ve even had a few girls ask me on dates. Of course I turned them down. I barely knew any of them, I have better things to do anyway. Walking through the halls I was approached by yet another girl, I groaned in my head, mentally preparing for turning down another confession but I'm caught off guard when it never comes. The girl was the president of the photography club and needed student volunteers to be models for a project they were working on. Not too long before that I was asking a teacher to work alone on a project and was reminded to put myself out there and befriend some people. Reluctantly, I agreed to model for the photography club. It wouldn't be my first time modelling afterall, they should feel lucky that I didn’t just turn the other way when I was asked. The girl who’s name I do not remember tells me to join them in the club room at the end of the day. That was not far from now as it was last period. I nod in understanding and resume walking to my next class, not giving her enough time to say anything more.

     Biology, My favourite subject. I’ve always been fascinated with how the human body works. I knew every intricate system and how everything behaved by memory, a morbid little child reading books full of gore and viscera. Naturally I was passing the class with flying colours, I was the teacher's golden child. This class was nothing special, just a period where students could study for an upcoming test next week. I didn't need to study but I did anyway, drawing an intricate diagram of the human skeletal system with labels and everything, patiently waiting for the bell to ring so I could get this photography club activity done and over with. Eventually it does ring and I silently grab my bag from my locker and walk up to the photography club room. I enter the room, great, I'm the first one there. I awkwardly place myself at a desk and wait for the few members the club had to actually show up. No less than five minutes later the first student shows up, some kid named Travis or something dumb like that, he seems confused as to why im here so I don’t think he was filled in on the project. He asked me a question but I didn't answer because the club president entered the room and filled him in. She seemed excited to see that I actually showed up and didn't just bail on her. I sat silently for fifteen minutes until all of the members arrived except one. The club president doesn't wait for that last student, assuming that they aren't coming in today she begins explaining that me and five other volunteers would be assigned to two club members and have to model for them. Mid sentence the door slams open the culprit screaming

     “I'm here! I'm here!” in a panic. The president sighs and welcomes him, ushering him to sit down and explaining the project again just for good measure before assigning the students to volunteers. Turns out I was only assigned to one person as there were an odd number of club members, someone named Ajax. I look around to find who responded to the name and, oh no it’s the late kid, and he’s staring at me with what looks like awe in his eyes. I force myself to walk up to him as he’s just sitting there and looking at me rather than making a move to talk to me for this project. 

     “Hello?” I greet him, snapping him out of his daze with my accent. He clearly didn’t expect me to have a german accent due to his eyes widening in surprise before awkwardly sputtering a greeting. I silently sit down next to him, he has short scruffy black hair and what looks like a patchy beard he's trying to grow out.

     “I like your hair, I've always wanted to grow mine out but my parents won't let me.” Ajax breaks the silence. I fiddled with my hair, I guess it was getting quite long. It wasn't the first time someone pointed out how long it was but this time it felt different somehow.

     “Thanks.” I answer in monotone, he could tell how uninterested I was about being here “why wont your parents let you grow it out?”

     “They say it'll make me look to feminine, but I don't believe them. Someone can look like a man and still have long hair.” I turn my head to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t worry I don’t think you look like a girl, though I swear I’ve seen a picture of you in a girls magazine before. Aren't you an actual model?” Ajax answers my question before I can even ask it and I feel my face heat up as he mentions that small gig I had for a magazine a few weeks ago. He notices my fluster and says that he's honoured to work with an actual model, though the blush doesn’t dissipate so he switches the topic to how he wants to compose the photos for the project. We had a long conversation about photography. He seems very passionate about it and he's excited to photograph me. I tell him how I want to be portrayed in the photos and elements I do and don't want in them before exchanging numbers and parting our separate ways once the club meeting is over. I don't think I mind participating in this project anymore.

[chronicbeans]

I Remember

A "Tales from the Iolite Hospital" story.

TW: Themes of Depression/Possible Implied Suicidal Thoughts, Mentions of Trauma-Induced Age Regression, Hospital Setting/Doctors, Medical Procedures, Mentions of Death, Chronic/Rare Illness

I walk through the large halls of Iolite, frowning deeply. Yet another appointment with Dr. Cogsworth. In fact, it is to set up another endoscopy, as well as a biopsy to see if the dupilumab is making anything any better. I hate them. They say that it should only be sore for a day afterward, but my esophagus is so narrow that it takes about a week for the pain to subside even slightly. Too much air gets trapped...

I enter Dr. Cogsworth's office, expecting to hear the usual music form his chest and the creaking clicks of his joints. However, it is silent. Silent and dark. I fumble around for the light switch, not intending to leave until I get the appointment done. I end up bumping into what feels like a body in a chair, leaning over it and feeling the switch. I flick it on.

The body I bumped into was none other than Dr. Cogsworth, himself. His key to wind him up is no longer in his back, instead lying on the floor beside him. His face is lying on his arms, which are neatly folded on his desk, with a look of both distress and peace on his face. Yes, it is contradictory for both emotions to exist in an expression at once... Perhaps it is more of a disturbed peace? Either way, he is unmoving, like he is in a place between both sleep and death. One which is simply called "we gotta wind him up, again, Nurse Janet", by his peers.

I would do it myself, but this is a great opportunity to snoop around. I search every book and cranny of his large office. I go through the unlocked cabinets, the drawers full of medical instruments, and even look at the weird models of different sections of the digestive system. You know, the ones you can tear apart and put back together? The cool ones?

I make my way back over to him, searching his desk, when I take a closer look at him face. I realize that it looks a bit odd. His face seems to be stained with... tears? His tears were always a bit more noticeable, due to the slightly blue-green tint in them. So, I guess that when they dry on his face, they leave little stains? What else would be covering his face in two thin, blue tracks from his eyes to his chin? Then there is the question of what he is covering with his arms.

As much as I hate him, and want to push him violently over to look at the little secret he is hiding, and watch him tumble to the floor... it would cause a commotion, most likely signalling a nurse to check in on him and I. Don't judge me for my want. He has been the bane of my existence. A constant reminder of how sick I am. Anyways...

So, I gently pick his arms up and move them over, then lift his head and pull the paper out from underneath it. For being a.. wind-up man? Doll? For being whatever he is, his hair feels surprisingly real and soft. Whoever made him must've done so with care. How sad it is that he turned out so emotionless and cruel. At least, that is the vibes I get from him. A doctor is supposed to be caring and gentle, with a gentle and warm aura. Not this cold, barren, and overly strict and harsh one that Dr. Cogsworth has.

I look at the paper, realizing that it must be a note of some sort. It is stained with drops of light blue-green, possibly even a turquoise color. The good thing is, none of it has ruined or covered the black pen he used to write it! I can still get the juicy tea from this! I can't wait to tell everyone his little secret. That's what he'll get for all that he has done.

Holding it up to my chest, so that I can read it with the various eyes upon my gown, I start at the beginning.

"To Whoever Finds This Note,

First of all... Please, do not wind me back up. I need a few days to contemplate some things. Preferably, an eternity to do so. I may never truly die, nor do I necessarily feel like I want to... At least, I do not believe I want to... but I must think over my recent actions, as well as the feelings in my chest."

Well... that is the FIRST red flag. That guy basically needs to be wound up to live and is telling people not to? I look over to him, seeing that disturbed, peaceful look on his face. The guy looks like he is in his sixties or something, but I know for a fact that he is younger than me. Doesn't make a difference in his actual mental age, since he was programmed to have the maturity, personality, and medical knowledge of a sixty year old doctor, but he does still hold the naivety of someone younger than me when it comes to the subject of things outside of medicine. Especially emotions, which I find absolutely hilarious, considering how he never shows any signs of having his own. I was sixteen when I came in, meanwhile, he was created five years before I arrived. Add eleven years... that makes him... Oh that makes it so he is sixteen currently. How ironic...

I look back at the note, trying to shake the thought that someone who has only had sixteen years of life experience, even if he was programmed to have sixty in specific areas, is thinking this way. If I had to guess, never being wound up is the equivalent of an eternal slumber. Willingly going through with never being wound up must be like... Resigning yourself to that fate.

"I have a few words I wish to share. I hope that whoever finds this is not a patient of mine, but if it is so, I will not have any reasons to care about it. If I never wake up, I will never know of it. My fellow healthcare providers, however, have been concerned about my recent, outspoken nature regarding the treatment of the patients on the C-Floor, especially my own, in the C-GastEnt ward. They say that I am losing the point. To follow the protocol. That it has been proven to work. I think that they have lost the point, but I have no choice but to follow through with their orders. I wish to address this in this note."

Ah, yes... the C-GastEnt ward. The ward on C-Floor specifically for patients with chronic gastrointestinal and digestive system conditions. The entirety of the C-Floor is for chronic illness patients, but that ward is our own special little hell. Why would Dr. Cogsworth care so much? He doesn't have to live there. No one else cares, either, besides the patients trapped on the C-Floor.

"I have been having thoughts regarding the purpose of the doctor in a patient's care. When I was first created, I was told that, as a doctor, it is my job to make patients feel better. It is my job to make it so that they are happy. Happiness is shown by a smile, if I am correct. I realized a few months back... none of my patients in the C-GastEnt ward have ever smiled at me during their time in my care. None of the others on the C-Floor have, either. If a person shows happiness through a smile, and no one is smiling, doesn't that mean that we are failing? We are failing at our one job in life. I am failing at my purpose in life."

I pause, again, looking back over to him. There is still so much more in his note, which I still plan to read... But this is growing a bit more concerning. "I hate Dr. Cogsworth because he is an emotionless robot with no idea as to how I feel and what it is like to be me" is what I have always said when others ask why I hate him so much. Now, however, as I read this... Yes, these aren't emotions. These are thoughts. The problem is, these are thoughts I know all too well. Not only that, but these are thoughts caused by concerns over his patients, including me. Thoughts caused by concerns I never even knew he was able to have towards people.

"In fact, I have seen many of them smile before. My peers complain about how Aluminum is a main point of obsession when it comes to these thoughts of mine. It isn't just him, but I talk about him often because, like I apparently am, he is outspoken in his dismay. I know his feelings the best, because he tells me about them the most out of all my patients. He is in pain, lots of pain, and he is letting me know it. He calls me a monster, when I am just following protocol. He says I am emotionless, to which I understand, but know I am not. I shall use him as an example in this note, both to accurately explain my concerns, and to spite you all who dare say those concerns are not important."

I can't help but chuckle at the last line. Spite. I love it. The old guy has a lot of courage to spite his peers like that. I then think over the rest of the paragraph, before realizing what he is saying. I am the most outspoken patient? I thought I was being quiet compared to the rest. Perhaps we all are just more open to each other than the doctors and nurses here. It would make sense. The usual response is "I am not a therapist. I can't help that you feel bad" or "let me get you more medicine".

"I remember, eleven years ago, when he first entered my office. We hadn't done the endoscopy, yet. I know how his kind, the Eyeless, work. They see through the eyes on their clothing, have no eyes on their face, and tend to be more modest and show large amounts of hospitality. A large part of their culture is the desire to grow up quickly. They want to act like adults, even when they are not. They try to be mature, independent, and be looked upon with high regards. Clothes that show too much skin, even just short sleeved shirts, shorts, or even skirts are not seen as proper."

Sounds about right. Dad was always fighting with mom, who wasn't an Eyeless, about how she dressed and how she let me dress. The parts about wanting to grow up too soon are right, as well. Kids as young as ten will be left alone, cooking dinner and such, not because their parents want to leave them, but because they want to seem more mature than they are.

"Aluminum walked into my office with his father. He was only sixteen and was complaining of pain while swallowing. However, when he saw me, he smiled. He smiled. He shook my hand, smiling and laughing as he said "for a man made of cogs and gears, you sure look nice! Your hand is also warmer than I expected, too! That's so cool!" His father immediately slapped his hand, saying something about being rude for saying that. It was the nicest thing I had heard all day, actually. In fact, I had just been chastised by another patient for not having any way to help her with her acid reflux. I had given her a set of instructions that she refused to follow. I couldn't do anything if she wouldn't help herself. That is besides the point. The point is, he was happy. He was smiling. Not only that, but his hand was warm. It was nice, warm, and, for a man with problems eating, not too frail or thin."

Raising an eyebrow, I feel confused. I get the first part. Yeah, I was happy before. I also remember saying those exact words to him. What do my hands have to do with anything? Why is he focusing on them? Seems kinda creepy.

"Next thing I know, after getting a barium swallow to check for abnormalities in the esophagus, such as strictures or holes, the imaging department sent in the pictures, alongside a note. The x-rays showed an amazingly horrible sight. The esophagus was proportional, with no sudden dips or bloating. However, the entirety of it was only around a half to a third the width it should be. The note said "Never seen this in my fourth years of working in imaging. Patient smiles when he saw the pictures, thinking it was normal due to no easily visible strictures and no knowledge on the width it should appear as on the imaging screen. When informed, patient began to laugh from a nervous breakdown, trying to play it off by saying "I am special! I am a freak of nature!" in a playful, shaking voice. Please tell me you know what this is, Dr. Cogsworth. I have no clue.""

I look up from the paper, shocked that he would remember the day so well, much less be informed of my reaction to the news. It continues on, too. I am too deep at this point. I must see this note through to the finish. It is multiple pages, at this point.

"When he came back for our next appointment, I told him I would do an endoscopy. His mother, bless her soul for being so kind, comforted him through my explanation of the procedure. She will be missed by many. She even waited the entire two hours as it was done, helped comfort him when he was scared of changing into the patient gown, telling him that he should trust me. There weren't any eyes on it, so he would be blind. He trusted me in the end, though, changing into the gown and letting me guide him to the surgery room. It usually only takes thirty or so minutes to do an upper endoscopy. For Aluminum, however, his esophagus was too small for our smallest endoscopes, including the pediatric ones, to fit into the opening of the esophagus. I needed to widen the entirety of his tract to perform the procedure. I took the biopsy, after seeing type two inflammation present in his esophagus, as well as some slight ringing in one area of it. I found that a high number of eosinophils were present, thus, diagnosing him with eosinophilic esophagitis. When he woke up from anesthesia, the first thing he did was regurgitate blood from his stomach, before trying to get out of bed, screaming in horror about the blood, only for me to have to catch him before he dropped to the ground or tipped over the bed pan used to catch the blood."

I shudder, remembering that moment. It was awful. My mother was there by my side during those days. She passed away sometime later, but I was already admitted as a long-term patient, so I wasn't allowed to visit her or go to her funeral.

"I have the young man his diagnosis, explaining that it was chronic, what I had to do, and how his case is very severe. I also explained how it was a new diagnosis, so there isn't much known about it. In those exact moments, I saw all light leave his face. Two little wings appeared above his head. I knew that it was a sign that the poor man was traumatized. Wings are a telltale sign that an Eyeless has faced a life-changing trauma, good or bad. The look on his face read that it was not only bad, but like I had dragged him through the raging fires of hell, through mountains of needles, and thrown him into a pit of lava. He trusted me. He trusted me and I traumatized him immediately afterward. I felt the worst pain in my chest, piercing right where my heart would be. It pierced right through my music box."

Only one more section to read. One more section, then I will be able to go. I can't just leave myself in the dark. I must know.

"There were no more warm flutters, like when he shook my hand upon our first meeting. Just... an agonizing pain. For these past eleven years, time seems to have begun to move slower for me. I want it to end. I want my world to turn, again. My dreams have been of him leaving this hospital, the building crumbling around me as I watch him go. I get the warm fluttering feeling, smiling in my dreams. I smile. I know I feel happy in those dreams. I feel happy because he always turns back to smile at me. Whenever I get the same feeling in reality, I do not know if it is happiness, sadness, nostalgia, or whatever. But I know those dreams of his escape and my own destruction within Iolite are happy. I know, in truth, that it will never happen. The Iolite Hospital will never fall. It will keep turning around me, watching the patients, workers, and myself with its watchful eyes. Tears have been falling from my eyes more recently, to which I cannot comprehend why, except for the commonality of each incident being the pain in my chest rising to an unbearable level. Is it guilt? Is it sadness? Is it a feeling of unbearable apathy? I fear the worst.

The only times I see him smile are when he regresses in age, acting like a child. He does this to go back to a time where he wasn't aware of his illness, as such, having no care in the world. Back to a time where he never met me. In those moments, the second he spots me, he runs away in fear. He avoids me like I am an angel of death.

The most unbearable part is Aluminum's hands, nowadays. When he shakes my hands, which is a rare occasion, nowadays, they are cold. They are cold, frail, skinny... He is losing weight. His fingers sometimes even look a bit blue, not due to cyanosis, but due to him being so pale and skinny that his veins are visible through the skin. His fingers and body do not have enough fat to hold warmth, making them cold. He even says that my own hands feel as cold as stone.

The Iolite Hospital has made us both cold."

I finish reading in, placing it back down on the desk. I am speechless. I always thought he never cared. I look back to him, seeing that he is still as stone, of course. I hesitate, before picking up his key, winding him back up. He has a lot to explain. I have a lot to explain. I have a lot to apologize for.

[the-takosader]

Y'all ever had the urge to create something random? Yeah, me neither. Anyway, here's Kara running from a horde of Giga Monty (if you haven't seen the last post, all you need to know is that he (Kara) is my main OC). I know this specific art was featured in the last post as well, but hey, this one's something to be proud of for me.

"But wait!", I hear you say. "What is a 'Giga Monty', and why does it look like Montgomery Gator from acclaimed game Five Nights At Freddy's: Security Breach?" Well, hypothetical reader, a Giga Monty (singular) is actually Spotlight Monty from the "Showtime" sequence of the game. For more info, watch this video (made by AstralSpiff): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLtpPoLyV3o

So why's Kara running from them? Because I like to make random scenarios happen that pop up into my brain. And, one warm summer's night in late July of last year, I made this piece. Fun fact about it: It was the first art I made of Kara that I manually posed the hell out of. Earlier arts had me editing the stand pose of the model (for the models I used, a T-pose) into a slightly better pose, giving it a better vibe than just "this art is unfinished, under construction, nothing to see here yet, folks."

Now, what in specific did I edit? Well, here's a better question: what in specific didn't I edit? The pose was built off of a stand pose (I didn't stop using the addon as a base until December), but it's been so built up that you cannot guess that from first glance. I manually posed the fingers into fists, and posed the arms to look like that running pose that you always see on fire exit signs.

However, all that pales, pales, I tell you, in comparison to what I did with the head. Because what I did, I am oh so SO very proud of: I posed the head as looking over his shoulder, and I posed the eyes to do the same.

Now, posing the head's easy talk. You know what you're doing, you can get that puppy to spin 180° Exorcist style while making the creepiest grin possible (actually possible by the way. Facial flexes are weird in GMod).

The hard part is the eyes.

Eyes, by default, cannot be posed. Nope. Mm-mm. Not gonna happen, Cap'n. You need a specific addon, developed and bug-tested by Steam users, to make that one work. The only downside is that the addon I use also appears to be the only eye-related posing tool that actually works. But that's neither here nor there. My problem was trying to get the eyes of the model I used to actually look in the direction I wanted them to look in.

A quirk of the eye posing tool that I use is that it has two modes and methods of function: Mouse1, and E + Mouse1. I know. Shocking difference, right?. Well, you ain't seen nothing yet, kid. Mouse1's function is simple: make the eyes look at a point, focusing on the crosshair of the player's HUD. All that's fine at first, but the only issue is that it's not calibrated for the Octoling model's eyes. In fact, it's not calibrated to any custom model's eyes that are further apart than the eyes of the stock valve_biped model.

Okay, you want an example, right? Let me describe it. So, let's take Dr. Breen's model and pose the eyes using Mouse1. Normal movement. You move the crosshair to the right, he looks right. You move the crosshair left, he looks left, and so on and so forth.

You can't do that for the Octoling models, or the Inkling models, for that matter.

The eyes, they shift as soon as you click Mouse1. And wouldn't you know it, they shift to right where good ol' Dr. Breen's eyes would be. Which means that no, you can't just use the "look at this point" system to pose the eyes.

E + Mouse1, however, that's your bread and butter here. With E + Mouse1, the model doesn't look towards a point, it looks towards the player, which can be creepy. Lifeless eyes, staring deep into your soul, stealing what secrets lie within.

Now that we've had our daily dose of cosmic paranoia... back to-

GOOD GOD HOW LONG DID I RAMBLE ABOUT EYEPOSERS?!

Ahem... sorry about the wall of text. Yeah, it happens with me. Too much long-form content in text format, methinks. Anyway, the point about E+M1 is that through this, Inkling and Octoling eyes can be posed (yay!), and through this feature of the eye mover, I got this art looking the best I possibly could. Granted, my skill has improved since then, but it's good to recognise that you last year is not you today, and it's good to see how your art has gotten better!

Also don't ask me why I chose SCP:SL's LCZ as my background map of choice, I just did.

[cavefilllingcorporation]

Meeting of the Drones, part 1

This is a voice log between The Admiral and The Scientist. Both parties have agreed to share this voice log to provide transparency for our investors. The exact names of the members in the call have been censored for privacy.

The Admiral: So, [The Scientist]. I see you’ve taken the time to interrupt me, so I hope this is important. To what do I owe the pleasure?

The Scientist: Well, I hope I wasn’t interrupting something.

The Admiral: No, but my time is valuable. So, what do you wish to talk about?

The Scientist: Well, I wanted to discuss the new satellite program, and work some things out, and just have someone to talk to about this.

The Admiral: Alright. What about it?

The Scientist: Well, to start, I think that we should discuss who should inherit the program.

The Admiral: You think we’re going to keep it?

The Scientist: At this point, it’s almost indispensable! It replaces the old waypoint system and allows for worldwide transportation. Not to mention being able to track progress of all types! It’s only been tested half the worlds by now, but it’s proving its worth every time!

The Admiral: Alright… so why are you talking to me about it? Wouldn’t you get it due to being surveyy and sciencey?

The Scientist: Oh no, I think you should get it. After all, it’s just an addon to Crates at the end of the day. I would imagine as the person responsible for Corporation’s fleets, you should get it!

The Admiral: You think I have the time and patience to manage that?

The Scientist: Isn’t that what sub-board members are for? Such as your Harbor Master?

The Admiral: You’re right. I’ll take it, I guess. So, what exactly are these benefits that these satellites provide? I was pretty sure that they were useless.

The Scientist: And what makes you think that?!?

The Admiral: When I was with the Founders as they looked at the technology years ago, before the Corporation got started. They were always buffering, and never gave the full picture.

The Scientist: Well, I can assure you that those problems don’t exist anymore. From what I understand, they may have even been looking at a different model entirely. At the very least, they were looking at an old one. It has none of those problems.

The Admiral: Alright, then what exactly has it done well then?

The Scientist: Well, for one, it has revolutionized C8H, especially thanks to it replacing the waypoint system. Well, not exactly, but…

The Admiral: Explain.

The Scientist: Well, with the old waypoint system, the workers had to wait at a drone pole and wait for drones to take them to other drone poles, like waiting for a taxi or personal bus. It was annoying. However, with proper satellite mapping, we can go ahead and reprogram the drones, giving them the ability to pick up people from anywhere and drop them off anywhere they wish!

The Admiral: That makes sense… I’m also going to assume the satellites were at least partially responsible for C8H tripling in size as well?

The Scientist: Yes. It was the first world that we tried it on, and we realized that there were areas far away that pertained to the fallen civilizations. So, we decided to go ahead and get the grants necessary to expand out towards that area. A shame for the work we did previously, but oh well! You’re not mad about it, are you?

The Admiral: I know that [The Introvert] wasn’t happy about it, at least in the meeting. I don’t particularly care though.

The Scientist: Well, what do you think? Just asking.

The Admiral: Sighs. I’m more neutral about it. I don’t care much for [The Introvert]’s whining. If we have to fill bigger caves, so be it. I do have to worry about the majority of the territory being wilderness though. That just makes the work longer and more tedious and skews the progress percentage.

The Scientist: Its technically the completion percentage…

The Admiral: We’re going to have a vote on that, and you know who’s winning. Better switch while you can. Anyways, you said half were tested with this thing. What other results were used from this.

The Scientist: Well, there’s also the Default Project! We’ve been able to find so many different locations thanks to it, and we might be able to map out a much more accurate comp… progress percentage system thanks to it! We’re not removing the old system, rather just having it only compose half of the percentage and have the locations mark the other 50%! And of course, for getting around. We’ll probably keep the waypoint system for oil deposits though.

The Admiral: Very nice. Anything else?

The Scientist: Well, there’s MazeRun but… Mmm… I… think we should discuss this later.

The Admiral: Oh? How so?

The Scientist: It brought up some… complications. It’s been useful for finding and scouting out a terrorist organization, but it also revealed some things that might skew things even more than even C8H.

The Admiral: Should the investors be notified?

The Scientist: I think that we should let the supervisor have some input into this first. The situation is complicated anyways.

The Admiral: Right. So, I presume that is all?

The Scientist: For now. I think I might call you later when we test it out on the other worlds.

The Admiral: The Shattered Isles and the Storytime Dimension you mean.

The Scientist: Yes. We might even experiment with the Solar Isles! Well, I’ll leave you to your own business. Goodbye!

The Admiral: Well, I guess I was mistaken with this call. It wasn’t a waste of time after all. Goodbye.

[rolo]

Hello, I miss you.

I don't post here anymore. Clearly. My last actual post was saying I don't post here. But I logged in the other day for funsies and saw that some people I knew back in the day still use Tumblr! It makes me really happy to see people I love still kicking it. And that people are still being passionate and creative. I miss being a part of this.

Anyway, it got me really nostalgic and I wanted to do something cathartic so I wrote a long ass letter thing to myself. I also wanted an easier way to send it to some people, so it's ended up here.

I really don't expect anyone will engage with this, but if you see this/do engage with it, hello!! I miss you! My life is chaos and I can scarcely believe I had the time to do this (it's because I have had 4 days off work with like, parainfluenza or some shit). If you can be arsed, I'd love to hear from you. One day, I will get time to send people messages to tell them that I still think fondly of them, but that is going to have to wait until after physician exams (which I better fucking pass or I will actually go insane) and can do it with the amount of time and dedication it actually takes to be sincere and heartfelt.

I still talk a lot of shit, hey?

I.

My life's changed so much compared to when I was active online. I have a wife, a son, a cat (I swore I'd never get a cat!), a different career, and a significant lack of free time. All of which explains why I am not active in fandom. I'm immensely satisfied with my life. I have so much to be thankful for, and so much that makes me happy each day (even though my son does not sleep (he is otherwise perfect) and I currently have a horrible cold). But I still miss fandom. I also miss consuming media! I just have minimal time. Between a full time job (which is actually more than full time; thanks, health care system), my wife, a child with seemingly boundless energy, maintaining a house, attending to the bare minimum of life admin and studying for physician exams, I generally have like, what, 30 minutes a day where I am not otherwise engaged? So I spend that time drinking tea with my wife and having an adult conversation, to stop her going insane from having to read Spot Goes to the Park for the umpteenth time. And, you know, she's my wife so I actually just enjoy hanging out with her.

So it leaves very little time for consuming new media. And thus no ability to engage in new fandoms. I don't really have time for fandom, anyway, even old ones. And a lot of my old fandoms have died, and I don't have the time to seek out the last bastions of fans and then try and make new friends. Which makes me sad because I love media! And I love talking about media with other people who also love media!

But I also feel as though I find it so hard nowadays to find something which appeals to me. Entertainment, for as long as I have been alive anyway, has always been a part of the capitalist machine. But in recent years, it feels as though it has become this way even moreso, with media designed specifically to be profitable at the expense of being creative or truly innovative. This has meant games are pivoting away from standalone stories to DLC models and live service models, anime is a lot of isekai shit (I am out of the loop, though, so maybe we're over that??). There is good stuff out there, but legally streaming it all would require me to take out a second mortgage. So I've just been relying on YouTube to watch random videos when I can, and have consumed the odd series or two.

It just all feels very lonely. And makes me wonder what the media landscape will look like when my son grows up. Will we be able to bond over a mutual appreciation for the media we enjoy, or am I going to look at what he consumes with bemusement? And if I try and share my favourite things with him, will he thing it's a load of shit and go off and play the latest version of Fortnite? I hope not. At the very least, I like to think that some of my favourite stuff can transcend generations a la Star Wars or Back to the Future, which I shared with my parents.

My other hope is books. Books are subject to trends, too, but there will always be large communities who enjoy particular genres, and thus always new, quality works in those genres. And my son loves books, so here is a glimmer of hope. Hopefully, we do move past Spot and onto something more robust.

(As an aside, the blurbs for children's books are hilarious. For example, in Spot Goes to the Park, he loses his ball since it goes into a lake (because Helen the hippo has butterfingers) and SPOILERS, a duck brings it back. But the blurb - which is just about as long as the damn book itself - makes it sound like you'll be reading some Agatha Christie level mystery. Love it. #parentthings #dopeoplestillusehashtags?)

II.

I logged into Dreamwidth and LiveJournal the other day, just for shits and giggles. It was partly to look at the icons I'd made (sidenote: I actually got pretty good at that? Like, I made some quality shit) and partly to reminisce. I clicked on a few old friend's profiles to reminisce. I noticed that someone I was really close to, but lost contact with, had posted 2 years ago! They had a link to their other socials, and they're actively posting there.

I always worried that something had happened to them, so it's wonderful to know they're okay (or at least, alive). I think the reason we lost contact was probably me. They were going through some heavy stuff - events in their life and significant mental health diagnoses - and their coping strategies were less than ideal (i.e. use of substances). Not a judgement, but it's well documented that substance use as a coping mechanism is not good for you and exacerbates concurrent mental health problems. Anyway, I thought I was being helpful by suggesting they wind back on the substances because of that and interactions with their meds. It was well intentioned, but I'm sure that it probably did not come across that way. I mean, I was a 21 year old who thought I knew how the world worked. Obviously I didn't. 

I think I'm still glad I tried, though. If something happened, and I hadn't, I'd have felt terribly guilty. I still do feel guilty for assumedly causing hurt, but I think it would pale in comparison to guilt for not having tried to help a friend in trouble, and then something awful happen.

Now that I know they're still around, part of me wants to reach out. Not to rekindle a friendship, but to let them know I still think of them from time to time, that they were an important person in my life, and I'm sorry if I hurt them. I wouldn't need a reply, it would just be to clear the air. But then, if they cut me out for a reason, does suddenly reappearing make them hurt all over again if they remember who I am and what I did? Largely I do want to reach out to try and lessen the hurt, but a small part of me hopes that they would forgive me and reply, and I'll feel better. Is having this guilt, and knowing they no longer want to be my friend, actually something I just need to live with a consequence of my action? Is my seeking to apologise and let them know they're important actually just self serving?

And again, is what I'm really after is them replying and us reminiscing about the good old days and we strike up a friendship again? I mean, that would be amazing. I truly loved this person. They were kind to me, they were wickedly funny and helped improve my self confidence. In their own way, they built me up. I remember many of our interactions leaving me in hysterics. We wrote letters to each other, and would talk endlessly about our shared passions. They were so dear to me, and I desperately hoped that to them, I was even fractionally as dear. So losing them was a big blow, and made me wonder if it was just one sided. Towards the time we cut off contact, they were making fast friends with a lot of new people, and I just wanted to be a part of that, too. Enjoying their company. I felt left out. Messages started to lack replies, until just nothing. 

But that's life, I suppose.

Anyway, I don't have the time to actually be that much of a friend to anyone at the moment. So even if I did get a reply, any exchange would probably be superficial and/or have significant amounts of time between replies. 

So I guess in the end, I'll probably just leave things as they are. But I'm still happier than I was, knowing they're okay.

III.

I mentioned before I primarily watch YouTube when I have a spare moment, or am holding a sleeping child. A lot of what I watch is actually let's plays or first watches of things I've played/watched before. It's easy to do as I don't have to pay super close attention as I know generally what's going on, and I can stop and start without too jarring a break (my wife reads and says it's really jarring/frustrating to have to drop it suddenly for a crying baby at the climax!). But I think the reason I have gravitated towards this as my primary "genre" for now is kind of an amalgamation of the above. It's something I know I enjoy, and it lets me participate in fandom in a passive kind of way, and share in the excitement over a piece of media like I used to back in the day, either during my first time with it, or when new members of a fandom arrived. The most recent series I completed after months was a first watch of Code Geass because I am predictable as fuck (I am the Code Geass meme. If Code Geass has 1 fan, it's me. If Code Geass has no fans, I'm dead). It was really nice seeing people excited about the show and theorising about what was coming just like back in the day! As opposed to now when people binge an entire series, or just post horny pictures on the Code Geass subreddit.

It made me really nostalgic for the days of LiveJournal (hence my login). I miss being a part of a community where people journeyed through media together, and there was the opportunity to get to know them outside of that setting through their journals. Not that you can't do that now, but platforms such as Reddit (and to a lesser extent, Tumblr), where fandom is now concentrated, make things much more impersonal and difficult to actually make friends. Again, not that I have the time, but I miss the magic of forums and LiveJournal and friending memes and knowing what was going on in the lives of my fellow fans! And making icons and graphics and reading fanfiction. It was such a magical time on the internet.

I don't think that will happen again in my lifetime. And I don't think I'll have the time again to engage in that until I retire, haha. But I miss it. I miss people being as excited as me about things. I miss memes. I miss making new friends from around the world.

IV.

Anyway, if you got this far, like wow?? Actually thank you?? I'm guessing if you did, it's probably because we were close in the past. I'm sorry I've been shit at staying in touch. I know I'm prone to exaggeration/melodrama, but it's actually accurate that I have minimal time available to me. This post has been brought to you by sick leave and the fact I'm too sick to properly study.

Please drop me a line if you want. I'd love it. Even if I don't know you, I'd love it.

I hope you're well.

[fenmere]

But, OK. A new vignette for this. Written in our typical style for these prompts.

---

Everything about `etekeyerrinwuf, the Sunspot, the ship, is better than the Magnificent Dirt.

Which is easy, because your parent ship was literal hell.

And it's a self congratulatory thing to think, sure, because you had a hand in creating the Sunspot.

But even after only a couple of centuries away from what very nearly had been the death of you, what should have been the death of you, it's a huge relief to see how this ship functions.

You're thinking about this as you decide to head to the Engine Room to see how it works.

OK, it's not called the Magnificent Dirt. That name started as a joke, a play on words, but everyone calls it that now. But you can barely remember what your life was like before you boarded the Sunspot. Even though you live in that glorified food can for far longer than the Sunspot has existed yet, trying to remember it is like recalling a bad story someone once told you.

It was that bad.

But also, maybe between age and transferring to a whole new world, your sense of identity has just changed that much. And memory has always been funky, especially without the Experience Recorders of the Magnificent Dirt.

But, OK. It's not perfect.

Shit's been happening, and the Mechanic has been ignoring it. In fact, the entire Senior Crew has had their hands full with trying to keep the ship from flying apart at the seams for the past century now, and the little things have been building up.

It's not as bad as living under outright fascism, but it's kinda scary sometimes, still.

And during a council meeting to discuss it, you had looked Eh squarely in the eyes and said, with some disbelief, "Wait. You and Jenefere built an Engine Room into this thing, and nobody's used it yet?!"

Eh had blinked, and said, "It's a bit more than redundant. It's just a Network space, like this council chamber, the Bridge, and we can access all of the systems from wherever we are in the Network."

"OK, but the engine's been stuttering chaotically for the past several decades, and no one has done anything about it," you had pointed out. "Maybe because no one's been to the Engine Room?"

Eh had sighed. "It's not for lack of going to the Engine Room. It's that the whole ship if fibrillating, and that stutter isn't yet destroying anything, so we've all been patching up the bigger disasters."

You had been fed up enough at the time that you had blurted, "Well, I'm going to check out the Engine Room and see what I can do about the stuttering from there. It's destroying me."

"Sounds good," Eh had said. "Thank you for doing that."

And it had made you so frustrated to hear that!

But you went, and here you are.

It really takes no time to get from one part of the Network to the Other, and you don't think much about that most of the time. It's a blink of the eye, if you had actual eyes anymore. But it does seem like you had the whole length of the ship to cool down anyway. You could swear you remember ruminating on that conversation all the way here.

Weird psychological Network mechanics that you'll never get used to, but it's nice.

So, what. OK. The Engine Room appears to be a real time model of the sun intake in the Aft Endcap, and you're floating in the middle of it.

It's twenty kilometers across, and superficially appears to be made from gargantuan electromagnets. The whole purpose of the sun intake is to catch the daily sun and channel it into the ship's engines.

And, somewhere in that process, the engines stutter, and it affects the tides and flow of the rivers in the Garden, and the cuttlecrabs yammer louder whenever it happens. It cannot be good for the wildlife, plants or animals.

So, it makes sense to you to actually set your vision on it directly. And this does seem like as good a place to start as any.

Out of curiosity, though, you check the Network space for its controls.

You could just pore over everything with your own senses and tweak it with Fenekere code directly. But the controls will be a set of tools and shortcuts that someone provided for anyone visiting the space, so do some things more efficiently. And you want to know what they were thinking when they made this part of the ship as much as to see if there's anything useful there.

And there actually are controls!

A lot of them!

This place was, in fact, made to make managing the ship's drive simpler and easier.

These controls are not on the Bridge.

Maybe 900,000 different specialists building a 2,500 kilometer long spacecraft could have used, maybe, slightly better management? Some communication maybe?

Eh, of all people, the Captain of the Ship, should have known these were here.

OK. OK.

So, at first glance, most of these controls are what you'd expect. Rudimentary commands for evaluating adjusting the ship's drive and powerplant, from the Bussard collectors on the prow to the very tip of the fusion spike at the stern.

And when you run diagnostics, you find that despite the fluctuations in power, everything is operating according to spec. There's even records of the average function of all the previous Exodus Ships, or what you assume to be that due to the label, and those numbers are more lenient than the Engineer's specs for the Sunspot, and the ship is meeting them. Except for the stuttering!

It's actually really hard to figure out where the stuttering is coming from, and that's super fucking annoying.

Are this ship's internal sensors that poorly designed? Are they missing something obvious? Or, is this something truly mysterious?

You consider, for a brief moment, attending to the problem directly your self, to just go to each system and use your own senses to look it.

But you're Crew, a Network entity now. Which means that to look at each system, even without the controls in the Engine Room, you'd still be using the Sunspot's internal sensors to do it.

Your set of eyes is everyone else's set of eyes!

Of course.

You sort of slump as you accept this really obvious thing. This might be why Eh was so dismissive of the Engine Room, after all.

But, as you're glancing over the controls, moping about it, thinking once again about what the designer of the Engine Room could have had in mind, you notice something.

There's a set of controls simply labeled "Influx". No specific descriptors, no documentation. Well, not much documentation. There's a note beside it that looks a lot like the notes beside the other controls, but it just says, "For managing influx."

Influx of what?

You poke the diagnostic control for it, and a whole set of graphs bloom around you.

Hailing fucking Scales, this is where all the chaos is coming from!

Or, it is? You don't really know. But there's a lot of chaos here. All of the graphs are unintelligible for the amount of noise they display.

You need to find out what this is, and how to actually manage it, but who do you go to?

Typically it would be Eh and the Council, but you haven't been having very good interactions there lately.

The other possibility is the person who set all this up, the Engineer.

But, did they obfuscate the purpose of these controls intentionally? Can you trust them?

Centuries into a generation ship’s journey, the ship has a constant plethora of tiny issues and malfunctions overlooked by most of the crew’s mechanics in favour of the larger issues. In your off-time, you decide to start fixing some of these minor issues and discover some interesting functions.

[featheredcritter]

I know you seem to hate the remake, but I gotta say as an og fan who like. Made the first two games (and even a bit of the third bc hey. Husbands) my personality for years it’s like. Really good. I clowned on Isaac’s new face for a while too but it’s the first game, he’s gonna look a lot more fresh faced than dead space 2 anyway. I guarantee you if they remake DS2, he’s gonna look like shit lmao. He was modeled to look more like is VA, the same guy who voiced him since 2 (thank fucking god) and I can respect that. I like the way the redid some of the dynamics, too. Like Diana actually trying to stay undercover and manipulate Isaac against Hammond. And Hammond got A LOT better, they changed his death scene just a little, and it was a lot more impactful than just unceremoniously slamming him into a wall. (Never felt good that they offed the only black guy like that.) and gameplay wise, improved on some thing I didn’t even know I wanted, like weapon balancing so that I actually have a reason to use anything but the plasma cutter, the upgrade nodes, and shredding system: a lot of good stuff. I’m always gonna miss and mourn Visceral, and I’m always gonna despise EA games, but Motive is their own studio, they aren’t EA, just published through them. And they clearly cared a lot about the game, it felt like a love letter. All I’m saying is, give it a chance. You might like it more than you think you would

oh i do actually absolutely not hate the remake! i enjoy some of the changes they did! i'd just say personally prefer the og but the remake is not bad at all in any way! i will give it a shot as well but i'll wait some time for the price to get lower probably. eh

[mangetsuame]

The Golemns

The dingy apartment had papers scattered everywhere. Journals, books, articles, blueprints, and more. You name it, you could find it somewhere. This was the blonde thief's base of operations.

Evidence from previous heists was scattered throughout. Larore Academy for the Up-And-Coming Mage? The security system blueprints sat under an empty mug. The House of Ugai? A model took up half the ratty couch. Mirage Library? A replica of their security drone - a small rock infused with potent magic - sat on the nightstand, disassembled.

The blonde thief stood at a small stove, trying to make breakfast. There was a slowly growing pile of discarded eggs and a carton of eggs to the side with three remaining.

'C'mon. Eggs aren't supposed to be hard,' thought the blonde. 'Just put them in the pan, mix 'em around, and you should be done.' Eggs are, after all, a simple dish. 'Even a baby could make them,' he decided. 'So why am I still here?!'

He glanced at the carton before returning to the smoking pan in front of him. Wait. Smoking? A look of incredulous panic crossed the blonde's face before he grabbed the pan and frantically scraped the newly burnt eggs off. Another batch burnt to a crisp. At this rate, he wouldn't be getting food any time soon.

Three eggs and one frying pan later, the blonde decided it would be better to conjure food rather than try to make something. ‘All I need is the ingredients,’ he noted. Some of the burnt eggs should do.

And one spell later, he had an, admittedly small, meal. 'Oh, well. If I try anything bigger it might backfire.' His magic wasn't the most stable, especially when it replicated skills he wasn't the best at. For example, cooking. So, a small meal would have to do.

The blonde settled down on an unoccupied spot on the old couch with his meal and a newspaper delivered earlier in the morning. The headline was, as it always seemed to be, about him. Today's headline was about the riot he had caused the other day.

It read, “The Kurtan Criminal Strikes Again! Kurapika Causes Another Riot!”

Kurapika grinned, remembering the riot. The magic council had recently arrested a partner of his, a siren named Melody. She specialized in music magic, as most sirens do, and was looking for a dangerous music score. She had been caught in the Harrower's Hall while researching a lead on said music.

Anyway, the riot. It had been something senseless, a new law probably, that Kurapika used to start this particular one. While he was publicly leading this,

some of his other associates, faeries by the names of Pokkle and Ponzu, broke Melody out.

Kurapika had ended up using a teleportation scroll to escape the riot when the security golemns had gotten there.

Speaking of Golemns. They were getting more advanced. One had detected Kurapika while he was using a glamour, which had never happened before. Their eye colour was different, too. What had been a peaceable green - Kurapika had rather liked that colour - became a peculiar scarlet color. As far as Kurapika could tell, that was the only change.

Well, that and they finally replaced that old Chief Inspector. The new Inspector had even been quick enough to show up before Kurapika had left the riot yesterday. 'Inspector Palidiknight,' Kurapika thought. Tall, dark-haired, muscular. With a cheery disposition and a certain rugged handsomeness, the half-orc won the civilian's hearts.

Kurapika had even looked into the new Inspector a little. The Inspector was a real rags-to-riches story. Born in a dingy old town with nothing but a friend who died young. Later, Palidiknight applied to the Magic University but was rejected. Then, by some miracle or another, he was recruited into the Magic Police Academy. Throughout his school days, Palidiknight was a pretty average student. When he was in the field, however, Paladiknight was invaluable. He'd been the officer to capture Melody, which had earned him favor with the old Chief Inspector, an old dragon named Netero. Then, two days later - the day before the riot - Netero had retired, leaving Palidiknight in charge.

Many officers weren't too happy with this - Paladiknight was new - but Netero commanded enough respect that nobody really did anything about their dislike. Personally, Kurapika didn't mind. Not only was a new chief good for criminal activities - Paladiknight was bound to mess up more than Netero - Kurapika also found the man rather pleasant to look at.

Wait. No. That wasn’t right. That couldn’t be right. Paladiknight was an enemy. He arrested Melody. ‘But those glasses are cute,’ a rebellious part of Kurapika’s mind said. ‘But he wants to see me executed,’ Kurapika countered.

The blond shoved his earlier thoughts to the side. For now, he needed to go buy more eggs. He threw on a quick glamor - sacrificing the last of his makeup - and left for the store.

The trip to the store - Tonpa's Emporium - was largely uneventful, with no security golemns nearby. The only slight problem that came up was an old lady getting arrested. Kurapika had to restrain himself from attacking the officers, even though she was clearly innocent. It left a bad taste in his mouth, but he couldn’t afford to get caught this early in the game.

Kurapika found the eggs, and some new makeup, easily. He liked this about Tonpa's Emporium. It was easy to find what you needed and leave.

It was on the way back to his apartment that everything went wrong.

Fifty feet from his apartment, a security golemn made of cobblestone stopped the blonde. In a monotone voice, it declared that he was under arrest for thievery and high crimes against the magic council.

Simply put, Kurapika was quite opposed to being arrested. Quickly, he summoned a steel chain. This particular summon was easy for the blonde due to years of practice. He swung the chain at the golemn, going for its head. Where it was connected to sensors and vaguely controlled by the inspectors.

The head popped off surprisingly cleanly. As it did, the cobblestone body began to crumble. Weird. The golemns didn't use to crumble like that. Stones clattered to the ground, and what Kurapika could only assume was the core of the golemn was suspended for a second before falling and bouncing on the stone path.

Tink.

Tink.

Tink.

It landed at Kurapika’s feet.

The glass surrounding the object was broken, a clear liquid pouring out of the vial.

Kurapika recognized it immediately.

It all made sense now.

The new eye colour of the golemns.

Their improved abilities.

Their uncanny ability to find him.

The core was a Kurtan eye.

Kurapika dropped to his knees, rage building inside him, and tears streamed from his eyes. His scarlet eyes. The same colour of the eye that sat staring up at him from its vial. The blonde could feel his magic bubbling up, ready to release. He saw passersby stopping to stare. Vaguely, he wondered if his glamour was gone. Or if the eggs were okay.

An inspector stood before him, ordering Kurapika to get up. To surrender. The inspector came with more golemns. More red-eyed golemns.

The inspector yelled again.

Kurapika snapped.

As a snarl left his mouth, he could feel chains erupt from his back. Not the simple chain he summoned earlier, but giant, violent chains. These chains didn't discriminate. Human or golemn, living or inanimate. Fairy or Elf. Inspector or civilian. These chains didn't care. They just destroyed.

Destroyed the flower shop on his left.

Destroyed the apartment complex fifty feet in front of him.

Destroyed the passersby who had stopped to gawk at the broken boy.

Destroyed the golemns as they clumsily lumbered forward.

Destroyed the inspector who came to arrest him.

When his rage had quieted and the chains were satisfied, Kurapika shakily stood up. Everything and everyone within a seventy-foot radius had been flattened. Including, he noted, the eggs.

And his apartment.

In a daze, Kurapika began to walk.

He was going to need a new home.

And more eggs

[engeorged]

Obi’s Place

Words - @engeorged

Pictures - @badoobers

I’d only taken the job as a favour for a friend originally. He had a family wedding and a big delivery order came in so I offered to drive the truck for him so he could still go. I’d driven trucks in the army a few years back so I still had my licence. The delivery went really well and I ended up really enjoying it. The long night shifts on my own in the cab driving across the country were really nice. I’ve always liked spending time on my own so it was ideal. I’m Ben by the way, nice to meet you.

After the army I’d tried lots of things, building work, nightclub bouncer, personal trainer, but I’d never last more than a few months in any of them. I guess I don't really like doing what I’m told anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not disruptive or rogue, I just like to do things on my own terms at my own pace. Besides, the physical work was beginning to get harder now I was putting on a little timber. I’m a big guy anyway, 6’5, and thanks to my Scandinavian genes I’m pretty broad shouldered. Being in the army I’d bulked up a lot, bulging muscles everywhere. I was even asked to do some modelling when I came out of the army, for a sports brand, but I’m not a show-off really so it didn’t suit. Now I’m back to being a civilian, the muscle has broadly stayed but it’s now accompanied by a fairly rounded solid belly, which I don't hate. Sitting in a cab eating late probably doesn’t help but I don’t mind too much. Female attention has dried up a fair bit but to be honest the male attention seems to suit me better anyway. I like the way guys look at my belly and muscles and comment on them. Probably something to explore at some point!

Anyway, enough about me, I’m here to tell you what happened to me a few nights ago. I’m sufficiently recovered and I think I need to get it out of my system. I’ve no frame of reference as to how to tell it either as nothing like this has ever happened to me before. Hope it’s ok to tell you? I was doing a run I'd done dozens of times and I was only a few hours away and running a little early. It was 6am in the morning and I was starving. The place I normally stop for breakfast was closed for refurbishment so I was looking out for a diner or some sort. That's when I saw the sign. I’d never noticed it before, which was strange as it was big and illuminated with flood lights. The text was fading and shabby so it must have been there years? The sign pointed to ‘Obi’s All You Can Eat Breakfast’ 300 yards down the road. As I said, I was hungry, so I pulled in! It looked a little run down but as I walked in the door I felt immediately at home. The place was deserted so I found myself a seat. There was no menu on the table but the seat was super comfy and a recliner which I thought was a little weird. That definitely came in handy later!

I didn’t have to wait long but out of nowhere the waiter appeared with his little notebook and pen and asked to take my order. He was quite striking with sharp cheekbones and slender features and a wry smile that seemed to be his resting face. His eyes were sharp and a piercing ice blue and seemed to bury into my soul when I looked at him. It felt like I knew him from somewhere but I couldn't quite work it out. I questioned the lack of menu but then said I wanted the all you can eat breakfast. He wrote in his book, his smile increasing ever so slightly. I asked how it worked and he just said he would return and popped his little book on the table with a card reader. I paid the amount and looked up at him. He really was a beautiful man and looking back I’m pretty sure there was a tiny touch of purple in those eyes but I don’t think I believed it. He looked at me and handed me a pen. He indicated I was to sign the notepad. All he’d written in there was ‘All you can eat’ in beautiful cursive handwriting with silver ink. I thought it was a little extra, but not wanting to look stupid, I signed it. And after I’ve finished telling you the story you’ll probably understand what happened there. But for now let’s just say I was confused. He smiled his smile and left to go to the kitchen.

Normally in a restaurant you can smell food when you go in but this place lacked the olfactory magnificence these places normally have. I looked around trying to find the buffet but there were just more tables. This place was starting to creep me out a little bit but then I began to smell food. The bacon was the first smell but then I started smelling coffee and something baking. My belly immediately began to growl and my hunger began to grow. I’m a big guy so it will come as no surprise to you that I can eat a lot. I was known for it in the army and would regularly be challenged to eating contests with the other cadets. My trick was to finish my own food and then polish off theirs whilst they were sick in the corner! It's why I’m not really surprised the gut has arrived. It was inevitable really.

I didn’t have to wait long before the waiter returned with my food. The plate was enormous. And I mean Enormous with a capital E. If I was sharing it with other people I would have still commented on how much food they brought. I was surprised at the ease at which the waiter was carrying it. It was like it was an empty paper plate! He put it on the table along with a big mug of coffee, a basket of muffins and a huge glass of orange juice. (I know, I know, that’s too much food and not enough hands. What can I say, I was oblivious!)

The food was piled high on the platter. Bacon, sausage, eggs done four ways, beans, a huge bowl of fries for some reason? There was more on the plate but honestly I can’t remember much else! It gets a little hazy from there. I tucked in earnestly, hitting the bacon and sausages first and dipping them in the eggs. The food tasted so amazing I almost forgot where I was. Lost in the huge meal in front of me. I’m not really one for words so I don't know how to describe how the food tasted. The bacon tasted like morning I guess, that's the only way I could describe it. I could have sworn the sausages were the same as my family butchers from when I was a kid, and the eggs nearly made me cry, they tasted just like my Grandma used to make. It must have taken me half an hour to clear it and by the time I was soaking up the last of the juices with some toast, I was stuffed. I could feel my belly pushing into the waistband of my jeans. (I don’t wear a belt! For obvious reasons!) I learnt back and pushed my hand underneath the band and freed my belly a little. If I was at home, I’d have just undone the top button but I wasn’t sure about that in this place. I sat back to finish the coffee and let my stomach settle. To be honest, at that point I thought I’d overdone it a bit. My T-shirt was feeling a little snug and I had the ‘full burps’. You know the ones where you have to blow it out of your lips as you think it helps?

I’d only been sitting back a few minutes when the waiter turned up out of nowhere with a huge stack of pancakes covered in butter and syrup and a full salad bowl full of berries and fruit. He placed them down in front of me and produced a bowl of whipped cream and another pot of coffee. (Yes I know! The waiter's hand to food ratio still didn’t add up!! Hindsight is a bitch right?) I laughed at how much food there was and looked up but he’d gone. Now I don’t want you to judge me. I know I said I thought I’d overdone it already but you have to understand how incredible they looked and smelled. In my defence, I was only planning on eating a few and then I was gonna leave! I think you’ve guessed what happened next? I ate the lot! And they were delicious. Easily the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten. Each mouthful was better than the rest and dispite how full I was feeling I kept eating. I almost didn’t realise I’d finished them until my fork hit the plate and found it empty. A little startled I leant back and the true extent of my fullness hit me. My belly had really blown out and was super hard and bloated. My T-shirt was stretched tightly over it and the full burps were back. I didn’t really care at that point so I pulled my shirt up to have a look. My gut, which is pretty furry, was distended and hard. I must have eaten enough at that meal for a family of six and reader, it showed! The shyness I felt before now gone, I popped the button on my jeans and let it all expand to fullness. Rubbing the tight surface felt so good. I wasn’t sure how I was gonna get back in my cab and keep driving but I knew now was the time to leave.

Getting up out of the chair was hard as I couldn’t really lean forwards.As I was struggling, the waiter appeared and asked me what I was doing, in his sing-song voice. I politely explained I was done and needed to go but he wasn’t having any of it. He put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down to my seat. I don’t know how to describe the push to be honest. He wasn’t a big guy and yet the push was firm enough to move me without being forceful. It was like I didn’t have a choice but to sit down. I’d also not realised that he’d brought more food over. A second platter had appeared full of pastries. There had to be more than a dozen and they were big! There was no way I was eating any more food! He wasn’t going anywhere this time, he was just standing over me with a hand gently on my shoulder. I tried to move but I literally couldn’t. He picked up a pastry with his long fingers and brought it to my mouth. I’m 31 years old and not since I was a toddler have I let anyone feed me so I can’t really explain what happened next but I simply let him feed me the pastries. Bite after bite I chewed and obediently swallowed them all. Each one a different flavour and texture. Chocolate crème filled, orange and lemon, cinnamon flavoured. All perfectly baked. Every pastry disappearing down my throat and pushing my already engorged belly out even further. I could feel my stomach stretching out, the skin getting tighter around the mass of food contained within. My T-shirt was already stretched but it was now starting to feel restrictive.

As I finished the last mouthful, I swallowed and came round a bit. It sort of hit home how much I’d just eaten and how unusual it was I’d allowed a total stranger to feed me like that. As these thoughts were swirling around my head, he just reached down with his spare hand and with one finger began to lift my T-shirt. I swear it pushed out even further as the fabric released my belly. It looked comically huge, like it had been inflated by a hidden hose somewhere. I looked up at him. My T-shirt is now resting on top of my bloated sphere and he just smiles at me. That was the first time I noticed there was something not quite right about this situation. His smile wasn’t quite human. I don’t think I’ve any other way of explaining it. Well, his smile and the fact that without him moving to the kitchen the table was yet again loaded with a huge plate full of waffles covered in syrup and at least a gallon tub of ice cream dumped over the stop.

Now reader, let me pause here. I don’t know who you are or whether you’re researching the supernatural or just plain enjoying how big my gut gets here. But I hope you’re understanding the unreal amount of food I’m currently carrying inside myself. You’re probably desensitised to eating this big if you’re reading this as a gainer story. Those walking balloons in gainer fiction eat tons as if it’s nothing! But this actually happened to me. I ate and ate and ate until my gut looked like an exercise ball. That’s not normal! Go back and count how much food is in me right now. It’s a lot!

Well, on with the story! You know what happened next I’m sure. The brain fog came on me again and I obediently chowed down. Loaded waffle after loaded waffle disappeared into my now enormous gut. His fingers dancing over me and pushing it into my mouth. My belly now uninhibited by the fabric of my T-shirt, now advancing forwards, and inevitably to the sides as well. It was beginning to take on a character of its own. (And maybe a small moon as well?) By the time the plate was empty I could hardly breathe. I was taking in breath but only my rib cage had the ability to go anywhere. My mammoth gut was totally maxed and unmoving. It’s firm surface covered in my stretched furry skin. The zipper on my jeans had given up the fight and was completely down to the base. (It kind of made me wish I’d worn boxers. But what can a guy do!)

The waiter leant over and slid his hand down the side of the chair which promptly reclined. I’d forgotten it was a recliner which really made me jump but the weight of my gut meant I couldn’t really do anything about it. My plaid shirt now falling back and simply framing the swell of my gut. I couldn’t see him any more but I was aware he was doing something. I just took the opportunity to lay there and concentrate on nothing but digesting this mountain of food. After a few minutes I began to feel his cold hands on the underside of my belly. Gently at first but getting firmer as he stroked his way up the peak to the top of the curve. My eyes almost rolled back in my head, it was so good. He rubbed every inch of my distended abdomen with firm unyielding strokes. I could almost feel the food redistributing inside me. Whatever he was doing it was bringing a huge amount of relief from how swollen I had become. I don’t know how long it lasted for but all I know is it was some kind of magic. When he’d finished, I found myself inexplicably feeding not quite full. I tried to look up to see what he was doing and peered over my hefty mound. Already, I could see more food on the table which should have maybe panicked me more than it did. I searched around for the waiter and couldn’t find him, until all of a sudden he appeared next to me. Looking over me with that smile of his. I asked him who he was and why he was doing this to me. And he just smiled and sort of shimmered. He leant down and whispered into my ear. ‘Aren’t you enjoying your breakfast?’ I paused to think about my answer. And friends (because I think of us as friends now you’re reading my story) I had to answer truthfully. Even though this was the single strangest experience of my life, and even though I was currently under the very real threat of bursting right open, I had to nod. I was enjoying myself! He stood up and smiled. Yet again he sort of shimmered and then there were four of him. I know how that sounds and I know what you’re thinking but honestly I can only tell you what I remember. It might have been a hallucination brought on by my gluttony or some sort of glucose high, but in front of me were four identical men all smiling the same smile.

If you’re still reading then I can only apologise for what happens next, I can best describe it as an eating frenzy. In a flash all four of them began feeding me whatever had been placed on the table. In the reclined position I found it easier to lay back and just let it happen. If this was to be my last day on earth then at least the food was good. They didn’t even take it in turns to be honest. There were eight hands everywhere all at once. There wasn’t a moment when someone wasn’t putting some food into my mouth. I’m not even sure I had time to chew half of it. Bacon, waffles, eggs, bread, pastries, biscuits and gravy, random meats. It just kept coming. More and more food sliding down into my now obscenely distended belly. I could feel their hands on my gut massaging and pawing at me. They were all over me, on my sides and middle, on my shoulders and for some reason, on my throat! I think they were massaging the food right into me and it was working. Even though I couldn’t see it I could feel my belly expanding at quite a pace. I don’t know if they fed me for twenty minutes or twenty hours. By the size of me at the end it was probably the latter. As suddenly as it had started, the feeding stopped. The last mouthful of food still in my mouth. It took every last bit of energy I had left to swallow it but I made it. My eyes were closed at this point but I took all my courage and opened one and looked down. What I can only describe as a wall of belly surged up in front of me. My swollen belly had literally tripled in size. It didn’t look like it was mine. It looked like some sort of balloon had rested on me. I had to tentatively lift my hands to touch it to make sure it was actually me. My hands made contact with the sides and it was definitely mine. The skin was totally solid to touch, like the side of my truck. I had eaten enough food to feed my entire barracks back in the army. Whatever the waiter was, he had coaxed a shit ton of food into my now maxed out belly. I lay there, my brain unable to process what had just happened. Within minutes I was asleep in a coma of digestion.

So that’s my story. I have no idea how I got back to my truck, and even less idea as to how I had arrived at the depot and made the delivery. Waking up in there I was basically wedged in the steering column, it had gone down a little bit but not much. I’ve been back down the road where the diner was and there is zero sign of it. No sign, no carpark, no diner. The only thing I have is the little slip of paper from the waiter's notepad with the words ‘All you can eat’ and my own signature in the silvery ink. I don’t really know why I’m telling you this? I don’t know if it’s to validate what happened to me and make it real or if it’s just to see if anyone else has had an experience with one of these guys? Reach out if you’ve got any information. I don’t think I’m mad at him? And if I’m being totally honest with myself, I kind of want to find him again? See if that really was all I could eat!

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Read more with Asters Maze, Santa’s Otto and The Sugarman’s House

For the rest of my stories click here

[nevergonnasimpyoumikey]

T and Amanda getting along for M’s sake

Sorry, this is so late! This turned out to be the longest prompt I did because their dialogue just swept me away. x)

***

346-555-0118

When he saw the unknown number flashing on his phone screen, Trevor thought it might be a new business proposal — definitely an opportunity he couldn’t miss. “Keep digging,” he grunted an order to Chef, putting down his own shovel. He walked the short distance to his truck; in the back, several recently passed members of the Lost waited for burial under the ruthless desert sun. “And hurry up before they start soiling themselves!”

He glanced at the number again before cheerily answering, “Trevor Philips Industries! Guns and crank and everything else your heart desires!”

What he got in response was a woman sighing.

“… Patricia?” he asked breathily, heart skipping a beat. She had called a few times in the past months, usually from an unknown number, sounding sad before hurrying away.

But it wasn’t her, and he tried to hold back his disappointment when a curious voice asked, “Who’s Patricia?”

“Amanda. To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked in his usual, mocking style, then realized that they hadn’t talked on the phone since the kids were small. Maybe something was wrong with Michael. Or even worse, the kids. He hastily added, “Is everything okay?”

Amanda was quiet for a long moment, and Trevor was already preparing for the worst, even opened the door and sat down to the driver’s seat, figuring out how long it’d take him to drive to LS if they were in trouble — but then she answered, her tone almost cordial. “Yes, Trevor. Everything’s okay. It’s... Michael’s birthday on Friday.”

“I’m aware,” Trevor said, squinting his eyes a bit. As if he could ever forget.

“He was thinking of inviting you, Franklin, and Lester to dinner. With me and the kids.”

Trevor processed the information that Michael actually wanted to see him. “Right. So why are you calling me?”

“Because I know my husband. He talks about doing this and that but when it comes down to it, he never does.”

“That lazy piece of shit.”

Amanda’s silence, Trevor assumed, meant that she agreed but didn’t want to say it. “And he thought we would just fight, anyway.”

“I thought the marriage counseling was supposed to help with that,” he sneered.

“What? No. I meant that we would fight. You and me. He’s worried I’d end up getting upset.”

“Well, isn’t he a model husband?”

“He’s getting better,” she said simply, and Trevor believed her. “So do you think you could be sober for one evening and have a civilized dinner with us?”

Trevor let out a small laugh. “You wouldn’t like me when I’m sober.” No one did, least of all himself.

“I don’t like you, full stop. But Michael wants us to get along for one evening, at least. Can you do that?”

“Can you do that?”

She sighed again. “Just don’t be mean to me and I won’t be mean to you. That’s why I don’t like you, Trevor. Because you’re always so mean to me.”

“You’re not exactly a saint yourself, Mandy.”

“Maybe not,” she admitted. “Can we just agree not to talk about certain topics? I won’t bring up your mother, your body odor, Canada, this Patricia woman…”

“Great,” Trevor growled. “And I won’t bring up your complicated history with strip clubs, cheating, or boob jobs.”

“Great,” she said matter-of-factly, “we got that out of our system now. So, you’re coming? And we’re going to get along for one night, for him?”

“Yes.”

“Could you be sober?”

“… Ish,” he promised. "Sober-ish."

“Fine, I’ll take it. 6 o’clock. Don’t be late.”

"Already counting hours, Mandy."

And he really was.

[briarpatch-kids]

Hi, you seem rly cool and rly knowledgeable (/gen) and I guess I was wondering like, when would be the best time to get a rollator? I deal with a lot of pain when walking and standing, I can't even rly be on my feet for half an hour, and I get exhausted and feel the need to sit down often, I can't stand in place at my job even if it's a short shift bc it hurts and drains me so much, but some days I'm okay and can walk fine (or better anyways) and do a lot, etc. etc.

I haven't been diagnosed w/ anything (to be fair I haven't gotten to see a doctor bc I'm extremely broke and have absolutely no idea how to navigate the medical system on my own) but Im pretty much always in pain and exhausted. Im rly tired of my feet going numb and burning or whatever when I try to stand, my muscles hurting and straining almost every time I walk, and of being so drained every time I go out. I rly wanna be able to go out more easily. I have a cane I try to use but it honestly doesn't do as much as I'd like and usually hurts my wrist :( would a rollator even be a good idea or would something else be better? I'm just really anxious Abt all of this, it's so hard to find advice and answers for any of the questions I have :'' I'm rly sorry I'm dumping this on you and I'm sorry if you're not sure how to answer or respond. Also pls dont worry Abt answering if you don't have the energy :) thank you

Honestly those all sound like good reasons to get a rollator, I really like the Drive Nitro or other "euro style" rollators. They're a lot more portable and can go over more surfaces than the other style.

If you want to get medical coverage and care for this and you're in the US, call a medical clinic nearby that does primary care and ask for a primary care doctor and an appointment. Of you're uninsured you can sometimes find sliding scale clinics that will cost much less, the one here is called Terry Reilly.

Once you're there, talk to them about what's been happening and what makes it better and worse so they can run some basic tests and hopefully prescribe you a rollator so you can get around while you wait for things to get figured out. Make sure it's for a wheeled walker with a seat. They might want to send you to physical therapy, I'd let them but make sure the physical therapists know when things are making you feel worse, especially if the "feel worse" is lingering and not just while you do the PT. You can ask them how to use the rollator the best way and have them adjust it to fit you.

From there, I usually get a prescription written and take it down to a medical supplier. My local one is called Norco and also sells welding supplies because it uses oxygen tanks the same way some disabled people do. They'll show you what insurance will usually cover and what you can pay extra for. There's usually 10 or so different models with like, heavy duty or low height features and 3 wheeled walkers, a Euro style one, walker/transport chair combos... etc. You can try out the floor models and see which one suits you best before you pick them out too. Generally they have untouched models of the walkers in the back and you can take it home the same day which is nice.