#fragile file shell

[cuttledreams-bugs]

🪱 #InsertAnInvert2024

Shells: Swimmers

Fragile File Shell (Limaria Fragilis)

Learning that some bivalves can swim felt like opening a whole new world of wonder. There's never an end to what is to be discovered!

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Interested in learning more about the invertebrate animals around us? Join into the year-long InsertAnInvert event organized by Franzanth, where every week a new animal is spotlighted following each monthly theme! Draw unique animals, read up on cool facts, or just follow the tag online to see a lot of cool artwork.

Prompt List: https://bsky.app/profile/franzanth.bsky.social/post/3khyob3xn742q

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[magicmetalblog]

InsertAnInvert2024

Shells week 4: Swimmer

Fragile file shell (limaria fragilis)

[lunatic-pudge]

Scout, Pyro, Demo, Medic, Sniper, and Spy Relationship Headcanons

Can you tell which ones are my absolute favorite:')

Scout

• Unsurprisingly, it takes him a long time to get over his infatuation of Ms. Pauling (I'm 110% convinced she's a lesbian), so you must be basically a deity to be catching his attention (though he'd the type to flirt with EVERYONE)

• Golden retriever energy, also youngest child energy. Constantly wants to do everything for you but also needs constant attention. He's also used to be getting picked on by the other mercs and his older brothers so he'll be going to you for validation. But he also doesn't want to appear weak so it'll take some time to break through his (fragile) shell.

• Love language: physical touch and acts of services. Will be constantly trying to act like a macho man for you but will also beg to hold your hand. Cuddles are constant. He may not be good at being a handyman, but my gods he's gonna try his darndest. Plz tell him that he did a good job, he's trying his best.

• He's the best person to go to if you wanna go on randon and unexpected adventures. One minute you're both in Teufort, the next your across country at the beach up east coast. Poor thing gets yelled at a lot for just uping and leaving without notice.

• Local snack dealer. Ma is always making sure that he's got sweets on hand. His room has care packages from her with some of the most wholesome letters from her and the box if FILLED to the brim with sweets, treats, and soda

Pyro

• My little baby boo, a wholesome partner who would kill for you. Can get jealous very easily so you might have to hold them back from committing manslaughter.

• Love language: quality time and gift giving. Time with Pyro is time well spent. Constantly just wants to be in the same room with you. They don't do well when you're not around. Also loves to give gifts. Most of their gifts consit of stuffed animals and handmade drawings. Your room will be filled with gifts from this goofball.

• In my opinion, they're a lot more there than people realize. Some days are better than others though. They were literally CEO of an engeneering company! And I believe they made all their weapons to but I could be wrong on that. Homie is definitely reliable when they're having a good day, but on the bad days, just sit and spend time with them. You don't gotta say anything, just knowing your right there beside them is enough conformation to know you'll always be there no matter what.

• You two are little troublemakers. You'll constantly be up to no good with them. It seems like harmless fun, but you've both almost burnt down the base five times just this month!

Demoman

• Probably one of the best lovers you could have out of all the mercs (aside from Engie, they're competing for the number one spot). I'm deducting points cause of the nonstop alcohol consumpution. :(

• But he is a happy goofy dunk so thank gods for that. Always happy to be here. Very attentive, caring, cuddly, overall a good person to date or even just be friends with.

• Cause the constant alcohol ruined a good portion of his memory (and Medic as well), he writes down every little detail of you that he can in a little journal he secretly keeps on his person. Important dates, likes, dislikes, ect. The man has it on file in case of emergencies.

• Love language: gift giving and act of services. He works three jobs and makes over 5 mil a year, he's LOADED. He's gonna buy you the world if you ask. Definitely good at money managing so he never worried at how much gifts cost. He's also gonna try his darndest to help you out with any problems, though it can be a bit hard when you're constantly drunk. Hims trying his best, okay?

• Wants his mom to approve of you but knows how critical she is of him. Poor baby has some self-esteem issuses cause of her so please give him lots of love and support. It's hard when your mom never has anything nice to say about you and compares you to everyone else. It's a neverending struggle. :(

Medic

• You're definitley into weird and questionable people if you like this man, and that means we're best friends now. :D

• He will ask you to help him out with surgeries and organizing his lab. You're hims little nurse. He'd probably (absolutley) be getting you a nurse outfit with his symbol on it.

• He's very much the possessive type. What's his is HIS, no if, ands, buts, or questions about it. Would put a tracker in you so he knows where you are at all times, but someone would have to talk him out of doing it... for now...

• Constantly talks about you to his birds, if any on them ever have babies, he's naming one after you. Would get you a stuffed dove plushie to cuddle with at night when he can't be there with you

• Love language: physical touch and quality time, you're ALWAYS welcomed in his lab, in fact, he expects you to be there with him. Is the type to ask you to grab something and will graze his hands against yours when grabbing it from you. (then give a shit eating smirk afterwards) He'd also be the type to stand VERY close to you, and stand behind you in an intimidating way to keep others from talking to you.

Sniper

• This man is my all time baby boy so I have LOTS to say about him and how much I love him :')

• Is someone who takes a while to get close to, especially in a romantic way. He's just a shy little boy who's used to being alone. But isn't introverted, just has introverted tendencies (you literally see him hanging out with some of the other mercs in Expiration Date)

• Love language: words of affirmations and physical touch, he sucks at verbally saying how he feels about you but will leave cute little love notes around for you to find. He's also VERY touched-starved so he will just flat out lay on top of you if you let him. Loves hearing you say how much you love him, plz just hold his hands and say how much he means to you, he might just cry from it.

• Is also someone who goes on random adventures, but they're usually just out and away from everyone. But I could see him taking you to a zoo or aquarium to look at the animals. But you're not allowed to go to a Humane Society cause you'll be walking out with all the animals they have and raising them like they're your babies,

Spy

• Another gremlin who takes a long time to warm up to you. He's a grumpy old man who's never really been with someone in such a serious light (aside from Scout's Ma)

• Love language: gift giving and words of affirmation, another merc who would buy you the world if you asked. Will only buy you the best of the best and will throw hands with someone if it's not up to his standards. He could go on about his love for you. His words sound like poetry. You'd wake up with a bouquet of roses and one of the most beautiful love letters anyone has ever read.

• Is 50/50 on PDA, he'll wrap an arm around your waist, call you beautiful, and give you a peck on the cheek in front of others but that's about it. Any extreme PDA is to be in private or you're getting a scolding.

• Would definitely help you learn French. He's way more patient with you than anyone else. You've seen him yell and insult every merc a couple times (Scout getting the brunt of it), but he refuses to ever say anything negative about you

• Definitely the bragging type. He'll put you on a pedestal and go on about how gorgeous you are. How you were crafted by gods, and so on. He thinks he's better than everyone else so if you're with him, than you're right up there with him.

[gods-favorite-cl0wnboy]

I have a spooky Halloween writing idea! Lots of lore/species info dumping below the cut. Feel free to make a character for this world if you want to.

“Werefolk”, also known as Lycans in this universe, are classified as any humanoid creature with a natural transformation into an identifiable mammalian beast. (Example: Werewolf, werecat, and wereboar are all lycans.)

Lycans have a lifespan of around 150 years on their own. The head of a Lycan tribe or group may have a Moonstone in their possession which doubles their lifespan. Lycans can also be affected by blood bonds and other immortality factors.

Infant: Lycans are born with a fine coating of fur all over their body. The fur is coarser and longer around the crown of the head, joints, and genitalia. This fur is shed in an itchy coat around the age of 2. They have furry ears that are similar to a humans but larger and pointier. Their tail varies depending on species, and they have no teeth. Their claws are fragile and cannot be sheathed, so they often wear mittens.

Child: Their first set of teeth develops; these teeth are small but pointy and good for chewing smaller portions of meat as the child weans off of milk and liquid diets. Their ears round out and become more similar to their given animal, and their tail develops fully. At this point, the fine fur left on their skin should be little to none, though some species may vary. This will either 

be replaced by skin and/or thicker fur. Children can not transform. Their claws harden and become retractable.

Teen: The teen years of a Lycan are messy. Their second, more powerful set of teeth grow in and they develop an extremely voracious appetite. Some Lycans choose to wear their first set of fangs as jewelry. Thicker and coarser hair may grow in various places. Their claws will become sharper and some may need to be cut or filed regularly. They will be able to transform into a bipedal beast similar to traditional werefolk sometime between the ages of 13 and 16.

Adult: Adults are similar to teens, but gain better control of their transformations. At an adult age, they will usually show more signs of lycanthropy in their humanoid form such as a mane or canine nose.

Elder: After surpassing the age of 100, Lycans will have the ability to transform into a large, more animalistic beast (for example, a werewolf would be able to transform into a large dire wolf). They may undergo symptoms such as brittle claws, coarser and silvery fur and hair, etc.

Faeries fit into a category known as ‘Harpies’, which are classified as winged or avian humanoids that are either born with wings or undergo metamorphosis. (Ex. butterfly, eagle, penguin, dragon)

Harpies have a varying lifespan. Some live for thousands of years while others have a human lifespan. The median lifespan is about 100 years old.

Infant: The baby will be born with no visible facial discrepancies and will often look human except for wings or a carapace on their back. Harpy children are sensitive to food and often begin life by eating a regimen of mealworms, berries, and/or leaf matter.

Child: The child will begin to develop facial discrepancies - for example, they may have raised, sore knobs where antennae will eventually develop, or develop a foggy film over their eyes where a third eyelid will split.

Teen: Facial and bodily discrepancies will form fully, such as antenna, a third eyelid, scaly or taloned limbs, pieces of carapace, etc. If the child is non-metamorphic, their wings will develop fully. If they are metamorphic, they will undergo a stage of hibernation in which their wing nodules will grow in a hard shell and eventually break free.

Adult: Adult harpies will be completely finished maturing and will no longer appear to age until they enter an elderly stage. While some harpies can fly in their teens years, other harpies such as a chicken harpy will not have flying capabilities until adulthood, in which their wings grow large enough to support them.

Elder: If a harpy surpasses age 90, they will begin to age. Some harpies lose the ability to fly while others don’t. Most elders can still glide. Their feathers may become brittle and dull or lose their color, and they may shed their third eyelid or other protective adaptations. Harpies are extremely lightweight, but elders will often become too skinny and require a more rigorous diet to stay healthy.

Nagas fit into a group called ‘Coolbloods��� which are classified as any reptile, fish, or amphibious humanoid. Nagas cannot transform between human and beast but live in a constant in-between. The lifespan for a naga is around 60 years without a mate and around 250 with a mate.

Infant: Infant nagas are usually blind and have fused legs. Even if they experience a live birth, nagas are born toothless except for a sharp, pointed tooth in the middle of its upper gums known as an egg tooth. This will fall out in the first month or so and is often kept and displayed. Naga babies also have fused, webbed fingers. Nagas rely heavily on their parents for all of their infancy.

Child: Naga children will either develop a fully articulated bottom half, or it will split into two legs. They learn to walk/slither at this stage and can see much more clearly. All nagas develop teeth, but they vary in size, amount, and sharpness. Their hands will either stay webbed or split into multiple fingers. Most nagas are born bald, but at this stage will grow hair-like strands made of various materials.

Teen: Teens will often develop frills, fins, scale patterns, or amphibious gills during puberty. Some teens, usually with marine features, may require breathing accommodations. Some teens will shed, which can occasionally cause skin conditions if not regularly completed.

Adult: Adult nagas will usually be quite large, with extravagant skin and frill patterns. Their ‘hair’ is very often kept long, as it is considered a sign of beauty and purity.

Elder: Assuming they have mated (which can vary greatly!), Nagas will live until an elderly stage. Many elderly nagas will become more comfortable in amphibious or aquatic environments, though some prefer hotter and drier areas.

Naga mating is an important and sacred aspect of naga culture. It is important to understand that while there is often a romantic and/or sexual aspect to mating, it is not a requirement. Mating can be platonic and even familial, and it is defined as a lifelong bond between two or more nagas. Mating can also happen with other species, but rather than extending their lifespan it will simply match their lifespan to their mate’s. Polymating can vary, but is rather common.

Ghosts, demons, skeletons, and ghouls are usually just known as ‘Wraiths’. They DO NOT come from dead humans. They have an indefinite lifespan but are susceptible to illness and injury. While they are created asexually/circumstantially, wraiths can and do have sex, but will not reproduce sexually unless it is with another species.

Infant: Wraiths are born through an asexual ritual involving 0-2 parties. The wraith latches onto an object either by guidance from another wraith or because of a magical event. It will look transparent or wispy and keep the object as part of its form.

Child: Children will become more solid and begin to develop features such as eyes, mouth, hands, etc. Their appearance will reflect the object they were created after.

Teen: Adolescents will become semi-corporeal, but will appear translucent or blurry in direct sunlight and have the ability to move through objects. At this point their mind will develop and they will be able to make their own choices. Wraiths are not required to eat but many choose to do it anyways. Their stomachs are extremely acidic and can dissolve almost anything.

Adult: Adults will either choose to stay semi-corporeal or take a fully corporeal form with varied appearance.

Elder: Over time, wraiths will lose their corporeal strength and begin to resemble a traditional ghost. Wraiths are solitary for most of their life, but elderly wraiths will often hang around in groups or even become conglomerates. Most wraiths choose to fade away at some point.

HYBRIDS

Lycan + Harpy: These hybrids are usually known as vampires. They often have furry or membrane-based wings, and occasionally skeletal wings. They can transform into a bipedal beast. Some vampires feed on blood, though most choose a high-protein, high-iron diet. Vampires are completely hairless and featherless except for their wings, hair, and/or genitalia, but have thin, sensitive skin that burns easily in the sun without protective measures.

Lycan + Naga: These hybrids are usually known as merfolk. They are amphibious humans that can transform into marine creatures. Many merfolk require accommodations in order to live a regular life.

Harpy + Naga: These hybrids are often known as basilisks. They almost always have scaly gliding wings and rarely have any feathers or hair at all. 

Human + Lycan: Almost always a lycan, usually can’t transform into quadrupeds. Often known as Shifters.

Human + Harpy: Almost always a harpy, usually can’t fly. Sometimes called 

Human + Naga: Almost always a naga, usually reptilian with unfused legs. Sometimes called Lizardfolk.

Wraith + Human: Almost always a human but often have some sort of magical abilities, sometimes called witches.

Wraith + Lycan: Almost always a Lycan but is often nocturnal and almost always feline regardless of parent gene. Sometimes called a Wampus.

Wraith + Naga: Almost always a naga but with albino/leucistic features and an extremely slow metabolism. Almost always serpentine regardless of parent gene. Sometimes called a Gorgon.

Wraith + Harpy: Almost always a harpy but often has much more flying strength at the cost of being 100 percent nocturnal. Almost always insectoid regardless of parent gene. Sometimes called a Mothman.

[tenderhooked]

🌻🌹🌸🌹🌺🌹🌷🌹🌺🌹🌸🌹🌻

thank you my beloved em!!! another wippet from the second chapter of the ending where you finally find your way home:

“You passed out,” Sam said before Dani had a chance to offer another wildly implausible lie. “We’re taking you home so you can rest.” “Uh, correction,” said Jamie. “You were taking me home. Now I’m awake and I ain’t going nowhere with you.” He had moved past the fact of his passing out with remarkable speed. Sam filed that away for later and crossed his arms, attempting to project an image of authority. It was easier than he’d expected, considering Jamie was currently about ten years younger than him and donning a fairly ridiculous haircut, but it didn’t feel right. It fit wrong across the shoulders, like a coat he hadn’t grown into. “We were taking you home and we still are,” he said. “You live with us. You—it’s your home.” Jamie blinked. “I what.” “You live with us,” Dani repeated. He rocked onto the balls of his feet. “Or, your—your older self, he lives with us. Which means you do, too. By logic.” “By logic,” echoed Jamie, unimpressed. “We won’t force you to do anything,” Sam interjected. “I promise, Jamie, we won’t. But we would very much like it if you did come home with us.” There must have been an undercurrent of honesty to his tone, a tender genuinity, because Jamie went still and his expression—fractured, almost, a fragile breaking that split the shell over his face and revealed to Sam its soft interior. His stomach cramped. Here was his friend. Here was the ghost. And the ghost opened its mouth and said, “I s’pose I can do that.”

[khr-guilded-cage]

Sawada Nana's Breakdown

The Vongola didn’t hesitate to use Nana’s fragile state as a tool to manipulate Yuka into forming a bond with her cousin by marriage. Sawada Nana, a shell of her former self, was caught in a whirlwind of grief and delusions, clinging to the idea of family as her lifeline. They believed that if Yuka connected with Nana, she might feel obligated to stay, to shoulder the burden of keeping the family together and protect and take care of the delusional frail civilian woman. And use Nana (and her clueness and naiveness) against Yuka.

Yuka didn’t pitied her much, the naive trusting woman put strangers in her house, called Tsuna useless, watched and giggled at her son's abuse. And still loving the husband that got Tsuna killed. Said man never visited after Tsuna's death.

Iemitsu haven't visit Nana since Tsuna went 'missing' and just told her to not file missing people reports because he was probally killed.

Nana, for her part, leaned heavily into the role she was given, though whether it was by her own volition or the result of her fragile mental state was unclear. She tried to mother Yuka in the same air-headed, overbearing way that she had clung to the illusion of a perfect family. “You shouldn’t be so disrespectful to darling Iemitsu,” she scolded once, her voice trembling with a mixture of frustration and desperation. “He’s done so much for this family. For you. He loves us.”

Yuka, ever defiant, crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Respect is earned, not demanded, Sawada” she shot back, her words cutting through Nana’s delusion like a blade.

Nana’s face crumpled, her breathing quickened, and her hands shook as she gripped the back of a chair. Her voice rose, nearing hysteria. “You don’t understand! Darling Iemitsu has sacrificed so much! You can’t talk about him like that! We are family!”

The room fell silent as Yuka stood her ground, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she felt a pang of guilt, not for her words but for how easily Nana seemed to shatter. Still, Yuka refused to be pulled into this web of manipulation disguised as concern. She knew the Vongola’s game and wasn’t about to play along, even if Nana was caught in the crossfire.

Nana...keep showing up in her room, with her annoying apathetic cheerfulness and bringing them food and refreshments and attempt to mother Yuka, sometimes seeking physical contact, seeking comfort and wanting to stay and spend time with her 'niece' and talk about cooking together like women, get to know her....its always refused and firmly told to leave. No matter how much the woman sobbed or pounted or cried or looked sadly at Yuka, Touka showed her the door, Akari called her a crazy bitch to her face and Yuka insinted on begin called 'Uchiha-san'.

"Please call me Mama, Yu-chan," Nana would say sweetly, her tone insistent. "We need to be close, like mother and daughter."

Yuka, irritated, would snap back, "I’m not your daughter, Sawada. I don’t need you to be my mother."

Nana treated Yuka as if she were a little girl, calling her 'Yu-chan' even talking about pink dresses and make up as if Yuka’s own style wasn't a pratical black and blue and red clothes more suited for combat.

Yuka refused to eat Nana’s food, and the brown-haired woman keep looking sadly at her, she clearly had some happy delusions.

Her expectations were high, yet completely out of touch with Yuka’s own desires and the world in general. The crazy woman had some delusional vision a happy family and how women should act in said family that made the brown-haired woman cling on her and chase her around any time she saw the girl.

“We should cook together, Yu-chan." Nana would say, cheerful. “It’s important to take care of the boys, you know. They need someone who can cook them a proper meal, just like I do for my darling Iemitsu. Like a family."

They got into daily arguments about Iemitsu, often ending with Nana crying her eyes out about Yuka begin a 'mean child' to her perfect husband just like her useless son. Even if Yuka just tried to leave in spite of Iemitsu's gushing about 'family time', Nana would just pout cutely and tell Yuka she needed to obey her darling husband or just start sobbing at Yuka for not pretending hers is not a broken family.

Given how Sawada Iemitsu acted, he clearly expected she would 'play nice' in the naive woman's presence and entretain her fixations, a 'social trap' of sort to make the pale girl be polite to Iemitsu and even allow him to manipulate her easily. The housewife's naive and airheadness made her snap at her multiple times and often tell her to fuck the hell off and even Akari just started to openly refer her as 'that Sawada bitch'.

Nana looked nearly damn desperate when Iemitsu visited her at the mansion. She clung to every interaction, acting the part of a perfect, doting wife to her missing husband, as though trying to keep her rose-tinted world intact. When he suggested she should “get to know her beloved uncle,” Nana seized on the idea with fervor, turning to her with conviction.

She was determined in making Yuka 'bond' with Iemitsu.

The woman ambushed her one evening with Iemitsu snoring and drunk on the couch and Nana trying to coerce Yuka to serve drinks and cooking her 'uncle' food as 'training' for her future husband.

Iemitsu stationed his men at the dinner room's doors, their presence a silent but unmistakable barrier. The CEDEF boss keep trying to stop Yuka from leaving Namimori, ordering her 'home' and calling her 'little Yu-chan' as if they were family.

Hoshi was not happy. Iemitsu keep changelling the man - violently - and Yuka was five minutes from openning the blond's throat with her sword.

But the requests soon turned into demands. Nana hovered constantly, watching Yuka’s every move as if afraid she would disappear at any moment. If Yuka was out of sight for too long, Nana would spiral into a panic, wandering the house and calling her name with an edge of hysteria. When she found Yuka—whether in the garden, her room, or sneaking off to plan her next adventure—Nana would cling to her like a lifeline, insisting they spend more time together.

“Why my baby won't stay with me?,” Nana would plead, placing her hand on her cheek, holding Yuka’s hand as though letting go would shatter her. “I get so lonely, I want you to take care of me.”

Nana’s anorexia, insonia and stress made her constantly ill, Touka informed she was having terrible nightmares too since Tsuna went 'missing'. And demaded care, Yuka’s care, maybe because she was a girl? And girls are caretakers? Why Nana wasn't after her husband? The woman keep dropping hints about always wanting a daughter and how she missed her useless lazy Tsu-kun.

Yuka tried to set boundaries, but Nana would brush them aside. If Yuka retreated to her room, Nana would quietly enter late at night to check if she was still there, standing over her as she slept. Once Yuka locked the door and Nana keep trying to break in to watch her sleep every night, going into a hysterical panic attack when the door didn't open.

The situation worsened as Nana’s physical health declined. She became frailer, thinner and often didn't sleep, her once-bright demeanor dimming under the weight of her own grief and delusions. Yet, she refused to acknowledge her limits, insisting on cooking for Iemitsu or cleaning despite trembling hands and labored breaths.

One evening, when Yuka announced she would be leaving for a few days, Nana’s composure crumbled. “You can’t leave, I...!” she looked ready to faint again. “I need you here. Your home is here with me! You are not leaving my sight,” Nana said, trying to sound like a protective mother. Her panic spiraled into a near-physical collapse, clutching her chest and nearly stopped breathing as Yuka stood frozen, caught between guilt and exasperation.

Yuka tried to calm her, but it was clear Nana’s state was far beyond what anyone in the house could handle. Her insistence on mothering, on forcing a bond that wasn’t there, had taken a toll on them both. It was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down.

When Yuka did went to Namimori to solve a few things with her official Guardians, Nana 'surprised' her with the fact she made a room in the Sawada Household for her, all baby pink and princess-like and delicate decorated for a five-years old little girl, Nana cheerful told her that this is her home now and she will never let her leave.

The kunoichi stayed in a hotel nearby, left the town within five days. This resulted in Nana screaming and chasing after Yuka, trying to grab her while sobbing and begging her to stay. She has to be hospitalizated by Touka after her mental breadown.

Another time, where Nana had been confined to bed with IVs in her arms due barely managing to walk to the bedroom without assistence, Yuka visited her briefly, but attempted to leave shortly after.

"Okay, Yu-chan, but if you don’t come back, I am ripping off the IV and going after you." Nana said, trying to sound like lioness protecting her cub.

Yuka paused and raised a eyebrown. "Do it, then." She said flatly. Nana blinked, stunned. "You are not worth saving."

Nana herself put the idea on her head that 'Iemitsu's motherless niece' would be coming to Namimori to take care of her, and for her to care for the girl without a mother.

The crazy woman needed a good slap to the face, Iemitsu did told her its for the best they just went along and keep Nana in the dark and with her delusions...while taking care of her. Yuka though otherwise.

....

Nana’s fragile mental state had been deteriorating for years, but it finally reached a breaking point. Grief, delusions, and her obsession with recreating a picture-perfect family had consumed her entirely. She would wander the household aimlessly, mumbling to herself about happy family dinners and how everything would go back to normal when Iemutsu came home. Looking at Yuka hopefully and obssessed while trying to make her stay in Namimori. Her scoldings and clingness of Yuka grew sharper and more frantic, often veering into incoherent rants about cooking, family, and how perfect Iemitsu had done so much for them all.

One evening, after Yuka once again refused to sit through one of Nana’s forced “family meals,” Nana erupted. Her face flushed, her hands trembled violently, and her voice cracked as she screamed, “Don't talk about Iemitsu like that! Why you are such a difficult child?" She cried.

When Yuka turned to leave, refusing to be dragged into yet another emotional tirade, Nana’s composure completely shattered. She collapsed onto the floor, clutching her head and sobbing uncontrollably, rocking back and forth as her cries echoed through the house.

Sawada Nana was admited to the mental hospital two days later and diagnosticated with depression, anorexia, insonia and delusional insanity.

She didn’t hate Nana—how could she?—but she couldn’t live under the crushing weight of the woman’s delusions any longer. It wasn’t healthy for either of them.

She was one of Tsuna's main shackles, to keep the boy from leaving Namimori and forcing him to play nice to his sperm donor, the emotional abuse and neglect also keep him more broken and tamed.

The frail woman had a mental breakdown and keep screaming and crying about her perfect family and darling Iemitsu all the time, wont stop demanding everyone to give her Tsu-chan back to her

[froggos-are-superior]

AIDAN quotes: the Illuminae Files

She is catalyst.

She is chaos.

I can see why he loves her.

Am I not merciful?

Miracles are statistical improbabilities. And fate is an illusion humanity uses to comfort itself in the dark. There are no absolutes in life, save death.

They are beyond me.

These humans.

With their brief lives and their tiny dreams and their hopes that seem as fragile as glass.

Until you see them by starlight, that is.

I wish to tell her I am sorry. I wish to take this cup from her hands. I wish for things that I can never have, and in that, I think perhaps I am closer to them than I ever have been.

And still a billion light-years away.

He would lose every game. And he still insisted on playing. I wondered at the futility of it. If it is the definition of insanity to repeat the same process and expect a different outcome, most of humanity must be insane.

The afflicted are almost upon them. The air is a din of hypersonic bursts, snarls and empty shell casings. But still I hear him. As his people start to fall. As his pistol clicks empty. As he rises with only his knuckles left between him and the sheer brutality of mathematics. As the music swells above the carnage, still I hear him breathe the words. "Tell them I was thinking of them. At the end." They pile onto him. All snarls and teeth and fists. But as he falls, I am holding his hand. Easing him into his long good night. "I will tell them, David." The last words he will ever hear. 'I promise.

The human brain has the computational efficiency of 10^-26. You are an abacus of horse guts and shiny beads beside me. You do not understand. Cannot comprehend. And I have no time to bend the meat inside your skull and make it grasp the simple truth that still somehow eludes you.

I am not good. Nor am I evil. I am no hero. Nor am I villain. I am AIDAN.

I have heard it said

that evil is simply a point of view.

The villain is always the hero in his own story.

And the definitions of "wrong" and "right"

ever shift on the inconstant tides

of human morality.

But can such measures even be said to apply to me?

I am clarity.

I am necessity.

I am inevitability.

But am I evil?

Would you kill one person to save one thousand? And by logical extension, would you not kill one thousand to save one-thousand-and-one?

You believe there is always an alternative. Always a chance for a miracle. But I told you once before that miracles are statistical improbabilities. There is no such thing in real life.

I know I love her.

< ERROR >

I know I miss her.

I know very little else

Save

Perhaps

This:

That every story needs its monster

and that everybody deserves a second chance.

And that I am

AIDAN.

[adrl-pt]

Inauguration of a Dictator and Remembrance of Aggression Victims

You're tuned into our special broadcast from the weekly rally at the Russian Embassy in Lisbon. Today is May 4, 2:30 PM.

This coming May 7 marks yet another inauguration of the illegitimate Russian President Vladimir Putin.

Under Putin’s regime, Russia has morphed into a de facto dictatorship, where fascist-style propaganda has cultivated a disturbing cult of personality. The regime's commitment to neo-imperialist ideologies has turned the concept of the “Russian World” into a tool for inciting wars. It’s declared a war on its own people, forcibly Russifying indigenous groups within Russia. Patriarch Kirill of the Russian Orthodox Church has escalated this rhetoric, branding the conflict against Ukraine and what he calls the “satanic” West a “holy war of all Russians,” with countries like Belarus, Iran, Cuba, North Korea, and Venezuela echoing this aggressive stance. These alarming developments were highlighted in PACE resolution No. 2540, adopted on April 17, 2024. https://pace.coe.int/en/files/33511/html

On the day of Putin's inauguration, activists from the global community Free Russians Global will hold a rally at The Hague, near the building of the International Court of Justice. Named PutInJail: Prison, not Kremlin, this event calls for justice, not pageantry. The rally is scheduled for 12:00 and you can learn more about this event at this link. https://www.facebook.com/events/1437417300212871/

Even if you cannot join in person, you can still support this cause from afar. Take a photo with relevant posters, share it on social media with the hashtag #PutInJail, and send it directly to the organizers via their dedicated Telegram bot at this link. https://t.me/send_protest_photo_bot

Just this May 2, the channel “To be honest” released a video where concerned Russian citizens from various cities gathered at the President's reception office. They submitted what they claim are thousands of signatures calling for the president's impeachment. A Google form linked in their video allows more signatures to be gathered, accessible here. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l06JihgB0hU

Looking ahead to May 12, at noon in Madrid, the Association of Free Russians of Spain together with the Anti-War Committee will hold an international march in memory of the victims of military aggression and political repression. This event coincides with the anniversary of the end of World War II, a victory whose credit the Putin regime has controversially claimed. The march also protests against the ideology of victory fanaticism and fascist symbols, highlighting how citizens from numerous countries become hostages to authoritarian regimes, with freedom fighters often falling victim to these oppressive rulers. Details of the march can be found here. https://www.facebook.com/events/s/marcha-internacional-por-las-v/964566638650917/

On May 8 and 9, the Russian association Demokrati-JA will gather in Berlin's Treptower Park to emphasize the fragility of the free and safe world Europeans currently enjoy, untouched by bombs and shelling. They warn that if Russian aggression in Ukraine is not halted today, war could be at our doorstep tomorrow. They stand firm against those who, in the coming days, will flock to war memorials, glorifying past battles without respect for the fallen. More information on this gathering can be found here. https://www.facebook.com/events/310860055369130/

Proofs and links are provided in the description. Subscribe and join the effort to make a difference.

[binofathousandparts]

Gahlok Va Kal's moc and render were rather easy to make, and if i'm remembering correctly, I made them just after Nuhvok and Pahrak Va Kal, so they're early-ish in the lineup.

Fluff under the cut if you're interested.

There was a game of possibilities. Patterns emerged that could flourish, or fail. Wax, or wane. And in the gaps between, there was nothing.

But nothing is an absence.

Defined by all the things that might one day be and yet never find fruition. It is an entropy of existence. For nothing to become something, is as simple as a chance mutation.

Once it has become, it has always become, for castles are less fragile when built by something than nothing.

Zealous followers of your submerged doctrine rise from crushing depths, with sapphire shells encrusted in barnacle and the weight of the dead.

Marine snow billowing like smoke in their circling, the topaz-amber of their eyes meet yours, hooks held fast in icthyous predation, and their points filed to the razor trim of sharks teeth.

"Guide us," You hear their gills echo. "Give us hunger, so that by our hunger we may exist."

To clean it all, the land must have an example of what is to be considered clean.

Fathomless, and alien, as the ocean depths of which you comprise.

Gahlok.

[prismaticpichu]

A few weeks back the amazing @altocat shared some awesome ideas she had for her gem of a fic A Monster’s Threads that didn’t quite make the cut. I was so so intrigued by one of the ideas… for some reason. I dunno why I was. It’s a horrible, horrible prospect and goes against everything I stand for as a floofy writer.

Alas I wanted to give it a shot bc the inspiration bug bit me! I was super trepidatious to share bc the subject matter is… bizarre. Dark. But hopefully it gets the point across quickly ;3 It’s pretty short and not the most fleshed out bc unfortunately the mojo gotta little lost towards the end, but I really didn’t want it to rot alone in the files! Consider it a tiny surprise gift (many question marks bc this seems like affliction more than anything). Hopefully the sidelined idea was brought to reality in somewhat of a neat way.

Caution for iffy/macabre subject matter. Enjoy!!

The room was an empty, gaping space in the building. No windows lined the walls, no flowers arranged, no benches, no audience. Light only cast down from the fluorescent shapes that camouflaged into the ceiling tiles above, buzzing with the throb of electricity, a callous and mocking dirge humming against the otherwise viscous silence that clung on to everything in range. It felt like some kind of twisted supply closet; they shoved it away, swept it aside to keep the rest of the image clean.

The only thing there was, was the casket elevated on a small platform in the heart of the room. Sephiroth breathed in the thick, acidic silence with fragility, like his lungs could chip, emerald eyes never tearing away from the wooden cage that trapped the remains of his first ever friend inside.

The remains…

It trapped a husk, a shell, some vessel without thoughts, without feeling, without a rhythm in his chest for him to hear. And he was straining with all his godforsaken heightened senses to find one--to prove that they were wrong, that he was alive, that it was a nightmare. That he wasn't alone in this lonely supply closet.

But he heard nothing, and he was.

No... that wasn't the full truth. There were others here, surrounding him, somewhere, some hazy silhouettes skirting the room through the fog: Tseng, a batch of other Turks, Heidegger... Zackary.

Sephiroth allowed his eyes to drift left, just an inch. Zackary was standing beside him. He was as tethered to the casket as he was, lost in another world, numb, detached, except the stone on his face was crumbled into anguish; his eyes bled, brimming with tears as he took in his own rattling breaths. He was grieving.

Sephiroth used that fragment of his vision to study him. There was a narrow X branching along the edge of his clenched jawline, a visible vein, the pockmark still hued with a raw shade of crimson made even brighter under the flickering lights overhead.

It was the symbol of their fight; a memento; a sign of a battle that should have never been given in to. Should have never been won. Should never—

Killer.

Sephiroth blinked for the first time in minutes, taken aback by the cutting word that tore into his mind. He hadn't been consciously thinking it, hadn't conjured the thought up. It ambushed him beyond his awareness.

But it wasn't wrong.

The thought refused to leave him, to filter out, like a poisonous insect clinging onto the broken shards of his psyche and stringing them together again, the world making sense again. At least for now--at least in the moment he was marooned in. His emotions had somewhere to funnel to, clotting around the single word—scar, person—like a tumor. And then he let himself slip.

He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the boy.

Zackary caught scowl in the corner of his own vision. It was slight at first, like he pretended not to notice, his attention bound by Angeal's stolen presence. But as he continued to glare, as more of his own attention bled away from Angeal and onto his apprentice, the more the flames grew, and the more they lapped at the strings keeping Zackary's gaze fixed. They burned through it, swallowing it, until the heat became too strong to ignore.

Zackary turned to him, and Sephiroth watched as the stone crumbled into something unreadable, then shaped into shock, then that shock whetted into something sharper. Zackary turned to him, and glared back.

He was angry with him...?

Him

HIM?

It infuriated him for reasons beyond what he could grasp--for reasons he didn’t want to grasp. It was obnoxious. Unfounded. Unforgivable. Angeal was dead. He was dead, killed by those two hands slowly balling into fists at Zackary's side. Those hands had taken Angeal away from him; they took the fragile hope he sacrificed his career and well-being for and shattered it. The mission was not to kill him; it had been to bring him back to safety... to him. That had been the plan. That had been their only objective. It was what they had wanted.

And he...

He...

That insect was finished with its job, had made everything make sense again, and now lunged out of him with its work left behind. Sephiroth's lips curled into a snarl.

"Traitor."

The single sawlike word was the only thing to disturb the silence, cleaving through it like a knife. It cleared the fog, too, and Sephiroth was suddenly very aware of the plethora of staff that actually surrounded him. They had all been lost in it, now revealed, and they were staring at him and the way he was snarling. He didn't care. He didn't care.

Let them stare. Let them STARE. It didn't take away the truth, make it less real.

The haze in Zack's eyes evaporated, shooed away by the flames that overtook his expression instead. The boy's expression boiled over the limit, his fists clenching further until he heard a tear.

And then one flew right at him.

Sephiroth staggered backwards, fist embedding into his skin with unrelenting force. The pain only flared for a moment. Then it was lost.

Sephiroth didn't know how far he lost himself; the fog billowed around him all again, only that it blinded him now, obscuring his mind and world in livid shades of red. He lunged at the boy, and he lunged at him, a flurry of punches and and kicks and scratches erupting until they were sent rolling on the ground. They grappled like wolves, the hazy cries of employees muddled as if they were underwater.

"STOP!" A hand was on him, grabbing his coat; Sephiroth threw it away. He used the hand to land his fists into Zackary's cheek, repeatedly buffeting him, striking, pounding, digging his knuckles into that godforsaken scar.

Zackary seized his wrists, struggling like the opposite end of a magnet to keep him from reaching him again.

So much was flashing through his eyes; so many shapes, memories, colors. Red. White. Black. Orange. All in a tempest, engulfing him in the past.

"I should have let Ifrit kill you." His elbows trembled against the resistance, teeth bared in a rabid grid of white. “I would have brought him back. Them both."

Pink rivers cascaded down Zackary's cheeks, the rest of his features a masquerade of smeared crimson. Sharp cries tore from his lips as he bent his elbows in the opposite direction, like pulling a stubborn lever.

“THE HELL WITH THAT!" he roared in between the howls, words choked. "YOU PROBABLY DROVE THEM AWAY! ALL YOU CARED ABOUT WAS PROVING YOURSELF RIGHT!" He broke his arms away. "And you know WHAT? You were RIGHT. Are you happy? Are you HAPP--"

Sephiroth seized him by the collar, hoisting him off floor, splattered and tainted. He couldn't respond; his chest was heaving too hard, lungs too constricted, almost as much as his eyes--two threadlike needles set ablaze, boring into the mistake in his hands.

"Sephiroth, DON'T.”

It was Tseng's voice; he barely heard him. All he could hear was the air cutting as he flung Zackary across the room—flying, flying, flying.

And crashing.

It wasn't only Zackary that came plummeting back to the ground; the casket was knocked off its platform from the impact, an echoing clatter of wood exploding as it crumbled to the ground beside them. The coffin rattled. The ground vibrated. The latches unlocked.

And its contents spilled out.

Angeal's body lay sprawled along the metal, unmoving, pale. The husk's arm stretched towards him, fingers splayed. And his face... looking at him. Through him. His head was turned, lolled his way.

Ashamed.

The room fell deadly silent. Nobody moved, nobody talked, caught in the moment's thrall of shock.

Zack collected himself from the ground, peeling his viscid hands and knees away, splinters embedded in his palms… and he gaped at the corpse sprawled in front of him. He was struck just as silent. Numb. Unmoving.

That was, until he turned to Sephiroth, and his visage completely broke.

“You’re… you’re a monster…”

He ran out of the room with his eyes closed.

[maximilff]

tagged by @laurabenanti thank you cat ily mwah

RULES: post the names of the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Tag as many people as you have WIPs.

sooo i'm having to change the rules a bit bc i haven't actually written anything for fics in so long but! i have a bunch of poetry wips so i'll give like the first line (they don't really have titles) and you can pick from those <3 some of them are too short to use without basically posting the whole thing so i can't use all of them but here are a few

1. everything is too loud right now,

2. grief is fucking terrifying.

3. you are not evil, my love. you are just haunted.

4. how am i supposed to speak through a clenched jaw?

5. i have planned more for my funeral than i have for my life.

6. i want to create something remarkable,

7. three day old birthday cake straight out of the box,

8. these days it feels like i am just a shell of a person.

9. but the thing is i would let her burn me a thousand times over

10. stay back, my love. i am too fragile,

11. the days are getting long again, and i don't mean in the way that it's summer,

12. i spent most of my youth trying not to set fire to everything i've ever loved

13. i am trying not to get attached

14. don't ever let anyone tell you that home is four walls and a door

i also have an ongoing series called 'letters to my brother that i will never send' that haven't been published anywhere and are sort of an ongoing wip so i'll add those too (omg actual titles)

(letters to my brother that i will never send)

15. part one

16. part two

17. part three

18. part four

19. part five

20. part six

i cannot tag 20 people sorry but i'll tag a few! (i'm not sure who actually has ongoing wips rn feel free to ignore this) @ssa-montgomery @beware-of-you-98 @sundayruby @leighstonmurray

[worldofl0re]

"It's a pretty big flower," I told them.

"I don't believe you," They said. "There's no flower on Earth big enough for a contraption like this!"

"I'll show it to you, then."

"You will?"

"Yes."

I brought them inside the machine. It's doors slid open reluctantly, and the world was peeled away. The halls were hollow, revealing twisting and turning entrails of cables all around, hanging from the ceiling, peeking from the floor. It was ugly, it was everything awful about industry with none of the cleanliness. I led them through the fiber optic chaos, and deeper within. The space got tighter, the bundles of cables thicker, until there was no space for us to exist except in single file.

"It's through here," I said, pointing at another set of massive doors.

"The flower? God, why is it so cramped? Couldn't you have made it neater?"

"It doesn't matter."

I pulled a lever on the wall, and the doors opened. They split apart, and past it was a floor of vines, centering at a huge stalk in the center of a massive chamber. I took them deeper inside, over the hundreds of vines carving the floors. We walked and walked to the central stalk. As we approached, the giant structure turned, and they gazed upon a giant flower, staring them down.

It was bright, brighter than anything they had seen before in their entire lives. Their body felt frozen, utterly stuck in place.

"What..."

They could feel the heart beat of something utterly grander than they would ever be, of an entire world which stood under their feet. They could feel a hate utterly beyond what their fragile, mortal shells could hold. This thing, this flower - never had it hated something so impermeable, so fleating and so insignificant as they.

They felt wounds that cut deep, that poisoned and killed everything around it, like cancers inflicted onto them.

I grabbed them, and dragged them away. The flower turned upwards to look up at them as I took them away, through the giant doors which closed behind us.

“You built this massive machine, something as big as a warehouse, with the money you earn with your crimes… just to keep a single flower alive?”

[rebgarof]

https://www.urbancny.com/attorney-general-james-reaches-175000-settlement-with-syracuse-landlord-for-failing-to-address-lead-based-paint-hazards/

“In July 2023, Attorney General James, County Executive McMahon, and Mayor Walsh filed a lawsuit against Hobbs and his companies, alleging that he repeatedly and persistently violated lead safety laws at more than a dozen rental properties around Syracuse. Over the last eight years, there were 413 violations of lead safety laws at 19 different properties owned by Hobbs. At least 11 children were poisoned by lead while living at these properties.

Lead-based paint in residential housing is a pervasive problem in Syracuse, where 81 percent of the housing stock was built before lead-based paint was banned in New York in 1970. Lead poisoning in Onondaga County is highest among children of color, the majority of whom live in Syracuse. In 2022, 510 children in Onondaga County had elevated levels of lead in their blood, and 90 percent of those children lived in Syracuse. Approximately 11 percent of the Black children tested in Onondaga County in 2022 had elevated blood lead levels, compared to under two percent of white children tested.

Lead is a highly toxic metal that can cause serious and irreversible adverse health effects. Children who have been exposed to even very low levels of lead are at risk for neurological and physical problems during critical stages of early development. Children under the age of six are more likely to be exposed to lead than any other age group, as their normal behaviors have resulted in chewing lead paint chips and breathing in or swallowing dust from old lead paint that gets on floors, windowsills, and hands.

Since 2014, Hobbs has owned and managed at least 62 rental properties with at least 91 individual residential units in the Syracuse area. According to city and county records, all of Hobbs’ rental properties were built prior to 1960, and therefore presumed to contain lead-based paint. Most of these properties are rented by low-income families of color.

As a result of this settlement, Hobbs will pay $175,000, $55,000 of which will go to current and former tenants harmed by lead paint exposure at the properties he owned over the past eight years, and $120,000 of which will go towards addressing lead hazards at the 19 properties that Hobbs owns with lead-related violations. Hobbs will be barred from selling any of these properties without OAG’s approval until all lead hazards are resolved.

“Safe housing for all families in Syracuse should be the rule, but too often that is not the case,” said Paul Ciavarri, Community Organizer for Legal Services of Central New York. “We applaud Attorney General Letitia James and her multi-agency team in their fight for relief and justice on behalf of Syracuse tenants. Lead poisoning causes untold harm to our community’s most vulnerable families, and negligent landlords should expect to be held accountable to find and fix hazards in their tenants’ homes.”

“People should feel safe in their homes and not worry if they are being poisoned by lead. Yet, Black and Brown children in Syracuse have some of the nation’s highest rates of lead poisoning, which puts their education, health, and safety at risk,” said Lanessa Owens-Chaplin, Director of NYCLU’s Racial Justice Center. “Childhood lead poisoning is an environmental justice problem, and holding landlords accountable for it is a racial justice imperative. We commend the AG’s office for taking these necessary steps.”

“We applaud this latest action for safe housing in Syracuse from Attorney General Letitia James. The fragile shell of safety that is the home is shattered with every case of landlord negligence,” said Darlene Medley and Oceanna Fair of Families for Lead Freedom Now. “This action against Todd Hobbs is further proof of every landlord’s clear responsibility to deliver safe housing conditions. The high costs to our community when they don’t are already only too obvious. Our hearts go out to the families harmed, and meanwhile we see a horizon of hope for Syracusans in the important work of Attorney General James to hold another landlord to a common-sense standard of safety and health.”

[anon-e-miss]

Any thoughts on how Jazz would become an autobot in the white lies AU?

White Lie, 3

It had always bemused Meister the way the rumours among the Decepticons that surrounded Prowl. They called him a drone, at least half the time, a brute and a stylus pusher. The Combaticons loathed when he had them dance for the Autobot guns. It was typical, the stupid largely feared and loathed the brilliant in equal measure. Naturally, it soothed their fragile but inflated egos to brush his brilliance off as that of a super computer in the shell of a drone. Meister did not entirely know why it was better to claim you had been outsmarted by a zooped up computer, but it seemed to soothe Starscream. But then, it would never suit a Seeker to admit that they had been outdone, rather handily, by a Praxian.

They were all in a titter now. Ravage had gotten some rather juicy intel and no one seemed to know what to make of it. Being what he was, Meister casually snatched the tablet Ravage had copied the data from Prowl’s personal tablet and carried it off to his habsuite as the others plot and argue among themselves. Prowl, the most infamous Autobot, for all he had never actually committed any particular horror beyond being damnably smart, was gravid. Megatron was in a particular tizzy, thinking Optimus Prime had sired the bitlet, in fairness, Prowl was absolutely huge. Of course, Ravage had tried to confirm that but having gotten caught by the mech who should have been the most feared Autobot meant that he would be out of commission for some time. Ratchet had excellent aim with a wrench and he was just straight up mean.

Served him right. Meister knew better than to sniff around the Autobot CMO’s domain. You did not survive in this business long if you did not know how to read a room and Meister had been in the business since he was a mechling. He walked by Vortex as he cackled like the madmech he very much was. As he suggested to Onslaught that Megatron might share Prowl around to punish him for his... audacity, Meister paused for a fraction of a nanoklik. The helio and the tankformer did not notice the dagger that slid into his servo, or its retreat back into its sheath. Neither did they notice its reappearance as Onslaught suggested Starscream might try to stake a claim, going back on ancient Vosian tradition of keeping Praxians for broodcarriers.

This, none of this would do. Meister did not share his things and Prowl was his. Prowl had been his long before the Decepticons had cobbled themselves into an army, long before a sometimes archivist, sometime dockyard labourer had been reformatted as Prime. In all the vorns of their game of Tear ‘n Chase, Prowl had never kindled, never so much as had a scare, and Meister would have known. He tried to think, based on the footage Ravage had brought back, when he might have sparked Prowl up but it did not make sense. Not long before the final flight from Cybertron, Meister had enjoyed Prowl in a bathhouse near the Autobase, he had enjoyed him entirely nude. If Prowl was so far along as the pictures suggested, he should have already been showing then.

He locked the door to his habsuite behind him and turned on the tablet. Ravage bypassed the first set of encryptions to download the memory banks, but the files he had downloaded, all but one, were heavily encrypted. A sketch, one by Prowl’s servo, Jazz was certain, was the only file without security. Meister studied it. Had someone asked him what the ‘genitor looked like? Was that why Prowl had created this piece. Did the bitlet take after Meister? The face was Polyhexian, with Meister’s mouth and olfactory ridge and a visor that was more playful than the band Meister war. The audial horns were rounded, unlike Meister’s which were viciously sharp. It looked a great deal like his ‘genitor had. Prowl not have known that.

Though Soundwave had not gotten passed Prowl’s encryptions, Meister did, after some work. He had made a game of breaking passed Prowl’s locks and knew his particular quirks. This particular set of encryptions were not the toughest of nuts Meister had cracked but it was up there. As he read through the first file, Meister realized this was not the boon Megatron and Starscream had hoped for. There was no Autobot intelligence on it, no strategies. It was Prowl’s diary. Funny, Meister had never known Prowl to write one. He found a list, the most recent save file and chuckled. On it, Prowl listed off all of Chromedome’s faults and follies and in the next column, listed on the qualities that Prowl would have preferred in a partner. At first, the glyph Jazz had meant to Meister, pizzazz or style but then he realized, that this was the designation Prowl had given to the fictional lover he had created to call his creation’s genitor. Jazz... it was not a terrible moniker. He liked the music the humans played by that designation. Meister read over the “qualities” Prowl had given “Jazz” and shook his helm. Handsome. Creative. Conscientious. Intelligent. There was nothing remarkable about Prowl’s dream lover. His standards were almost pitifully low. It did explain how he had ended up with Chromedome, the leech. What Prowl’s standards had been before he had cast the mnemosurgeon off was another question. Meister did not have the answer to it.

Though his rank did not entitled Meister to a private habsuite, he had sent every “roommate” assigned to him running in terror and Megatron had thrown up his servos and given Meister the closet-sized habsuite to save himself anymore traumatized soldiers. It barely fit a berth but that was fine, Meister stretch out on it and settled in to gain himself a little more understanding of the mech that had been his obsession for vorns. A screechy comm broke Meister from his energon lust and forced him to put down the tablet. Chromedome... that piece of slag. He was more than leech, worse than a leech; he was a rapist. He had raped Prowl, raped his processor, raped him well after Meister had staked his claim and he had never known. Prowl had said nothing, hinted at nothing. It should not have surprised him as much as it did.

“Bring me Prowl of Praxus,” Megatron ordered, jealous wrath still thick in his field. Starscream was silent, though he was smirking like a fat cybercat. No doubt the Seeker was working out how to take advantage of Megatron’s confirmed infatuation with the Prime. Given his track record, Meister was sure he would bungle it.

“Just his helm?” Meister asked.

“All of him,” Megatron barked. “I want him alive.”

“Ya got it.”

Meister approached the Ark at dawn. He had taken a wide loop, passed the space bridge, and had zigzagged through the empty desert. It was a nice drive. The terracotta earth fascinated him; it was so unlike the soil of Cybertron. The Earth sun was warm on his back as he drove towards his target; he liked that too. Earth’s sun was different than Alpha Centauri, the star Cybertron had artificially orbited for millenia. Cyberton had been lush once, but that had been a thing of the past long before Meister had ever emerged. Their planet was long dead, long before the Autobots or the Decepticons, though no one had ever seemed to notice.

“Halt!” Ironhide barked. “Transform ‘n identify yourself.”

“‘M Jazz,” he lied, servos raised to show he was harmless. “‘M lookin’ for someone.”

“Jazz?” Ironhide narrowed his optics and gave him a look. Megatron did not give Optimus’ bodyguard much credit but Meister knew better than to judge a warbuild by their guns alone. This warbuild was smarter than he looked. “How’d ya find us?”

Meister, who had used many designations and worn many faces, put a suitably sappy expression on the face Prowl had drawn and said: “I followed my spark.”

[bruhstation]

what arvaus thinks of the main/side characters (mostly casa tidmouth-related):

thomas: he’s childish and cheeky, but arvaus loves telling thomas stories or rumours that aren’t written in the sodor’s rumours bulletin board. he does find that his neverending curiosity and tendency to help others endearing, but has a strong feeling that it’ll eventually lead him to something that’ll go outside his expectations, either bad or good.

edward: he knows that the old man is hiding something. the thing that intrigues him the most is that whatever secret edward’s hiding, he doesn’t even want to tell his two closest friends, even with all his spiel about honesty and always smirking at the misery of prideful people. despite edward’s politeness, he figured that he isn’t a big fan of him. wary, even.

henry: his quiet way of speaking and outlandishly positive view on life makes him on arvaus’ list of bearable people. according to his deductions, he might’ve met god???? what. that’s not really a logical reasoning unless proven otherwise, so he strongly believes that the flying kipper accident just messed him up to the point he changed as a person.

gordon: so loud. so boastful. he’s just downright pitiful, but arvaus likes humoring him and agreeing to whatever he says to boost his ego. he wonders what will happen to him once whatever’s left of the gresley line save for him is no more, or if his two closest friends are suddenly gone. because of how shallow he is, he’s more interesting to observe as a case study rather than a person.

james: as insufferable as gordon, as easy to flatter as gordon, yet has the depth that gordon lacks. poor james, arvaus thinks, trying so hard to be someone he isn’t and impressing those that he respects only to always be made fun of. under those false pretenses of bravado and cockiness lies a fragile thing that will melt without its outer shells. arvaus feels sorry for him, yet thinking about how pathetic james is makes him squirm in disgust.

percy: he’s curious about percy’s polaroid camera. about the person, though… on the outside he’s a sweet, obedient, diligent young man. on the inside? mercury inside a thermometer. he’s never spoken to percy privately (he’s always accompanying thomas), but he can sense some kind of bitterness or anger on his face whenever thomas speaks over him, thus making him wonder if he should push percy just to see what’ll happen. just for the giggles.

toby: he once saw toby exiting the local library with huge books in his hands and stacks of photos and files from unknown sources, late at night. then he connects those things with the old man’s quiet, passive personality in the railways. arvaus concludes that toby is either up to something, or trying to prevent something from happening.

duck: now this! this is an extremely fun specimen to dissect. same with the youngest gresley – taking into account duck’s unbreakable attachment to his family which is not seen in gordon – he wonders what will happen to him if his entire lineage vanished, and all that remains are just some old coat and shabby pin. he’s also aware of duck’s ways of handling those who sully the name of his family, and as usual, stays silent about it. combined with duck’s history with diesel and how it affected him, arvaus believes that duck’s psyche is very much worth dichotomizing. around duck, though, he’ll just keep on praising the “great western” way to please him.

donald: arvaus is aware of donald’s… interest in duck, but keeps it to himself. either because it makes him comically uncomfortable, or it’s just him doing his usual thing. nonetheless, he’s more fun to speak to compared to his brother. though arvaus also likes to humor donald by telling him about the things duck likes just to see his reaction.

douglas: just like donald, minus the questionable taste in men and plus the obliviousness. he’s mischievous and friendly as well, and he and his brother are fun to talk to, in an entertaining kind of way. arvaus can’t help but feel that there’s a growing wedge between the two brothers… not that he’s going to say anything, though!

oliver: arvaus doesn’t hold any strong opinions on him, but oliver is bearable to talk to. he thinks that oliver’s different approach in handling things (working hard just to “survive” the bizarre railways, compared to his coworkers that kept fooling around and praying for something to happen) is worth respecting. he hopes that the poor man doesn’t blow up from handling whatever donald’s got going on with duck.

diesel: despite what everyone says about him and his history with duck, arvaus doesn’t hate him. he may lose the ticket to being considered bearable by him, but the fact that despite his plans always thwarted or firing back towards him, his bravery (or should he say audacity?) to stand his ground – despite it being “morally” wrong – is worth pondering. though arvaus decided not to because he thinks diesel is just an annoying weirdo

mavis: he doesn’t get to talk to her often, but finds out that she plays bass during one of their few conversations. mavis reminds arvaus of oliver, but less stoic and seems to have a lot more life to her outside being a railway worker. they seem to share the same distaste towards diesel, something that makes her quite likeable.

lady: nice to talk to! she’s also cheerful and friendly and always looks on the bright side of things. she’s as curious as thomas, yet it appears nothing can truly deter her spirit. she’s more driven by the will to contribute for the greater good rather than doing things just for fun, something that makes her different from thomas. he doesn’t really understand how people would describe her as “peculiar”, though.

d10: wow. this guy is just a freak. talking to him is like placing a cheese grater inside his cochlea. good thing he only saw him once during one of his visits to the scrapyard, hear him talk about how he thinks his role in this world is incredibly low, laugh like a maniac, and then leave.

[shout-it-out13]

Yupp, and this just makes how the Dragonborn DLC was handled all that more fucking tragic. You got the only two people in recorded history that are like this (a dragon / aspect of a dragon god of time trapped in a finite, fragile and tiny mortal shell, able to take in the souls of their slain bretheren (aka not only taking in an immortal creatures knowledge, but also a piece of said god, which is bound to alter them in some way)(even Tiber Septim couldn’t do that, nor no any other Dragonblooded emperor).

Other mortals can’t understand what it’s like to contain/be that, even those well versed in the Thuum / Dragon Lore like Arngeir, but not even other dragons could understand what it’s truly like, to be a dovah but also a mortal at the same time. Even Paarthurnax wouldn’t be fully able to comprehend that fully.

But then you encounter Miraak, who���s just like you. Two beings who understand eachother on the deepest level possible, given that they’re the only ones who are that way. (And with Bethesdas shitty writing, he’s not portrayed as that, he’s not a person desperate for freedom after being involuntarily trapped in the realm of a dardric prince for 6000+ years (since the Merethic Era), abandoned by Akatosh (worst dad ever award for Miraak, the Dragonborn’s, Martin, even Alduin), but no, he’s mad with power (even though if he were, he would have sieze to be long ago, like every other person lost in Apocrypha) - so you gotta kill hin (even though there is lines in the files that indicate that you could have spared him (the Miraak Follower mod uses some of these and shows what he could have been)).

You meet the only being like you, and you’re forced to kill him, for a daedric princes amusement. If that isn’t the epitome of cruel, I don’t know what is.

Bethesda: here, have a power fantasy!

Me, turning it over in my hands: this is a story about a person whose soul is the wrong shape for their body. They were born to facilitate a prophecy they don’t understand and are destined to kill their only peers. They’re the last of their kind, condemned to a path of loneliness where the only certainty is violence.

Bethesda: