#grenade journal

[feminerds]

The thesis is: Desire I Want to Turn Into You (DIWTTITY) is an exploration of the many forms our relationships to billionaires take.

So I saw that advert (the amazon one - with Bunny is a Rider and the cat) last week, and I can no longer abstain from posting about it.

*club-horn blaring* Never Post Podcast Mentioned *bhrmmm bhrmm bhrmr*

My family and friends will no longer tolerate the Pepe Silvia timbre of my yelling about CARO POLO (Caroline Polachek). So I simply must turn to outlet of the desperate - making posts - and talking to strangers on the internet about my little obsessions.

(I joined r/Caroline Polachek and they are all disappointingly normal about her(!) it's nice and fun there. But c'mon now I wanna talk to the people who are being little freaks about her - I know they're out there - it cannot possibly just be me!)

I am making a slow series (there's like 2) of tikt*ks about the subject - and I've been posting Grenade Journals about it for quite some time!

CAROLINE POLACHEK's diwttity IS OBSESSED WITH BILLIONAIRES!

As you well know.

06 May 2024

Addendum: I don’t truck with billionaires - obvs, and this is by no means an endorsement of them. I just think it’s interesting that we all kinda have to - because of the *gestures broadly* circumstances - think about them so often. And because we have to think about them so much, I maybe feel it's important to notice how we conceive of this relationship "we have with them" and interrogate it's forms, functions and limitations!

[feminerds]

Sounds like op and I were getting the same sheets in 2021, hahaha.

reviewing my DBT worksheets for homework & something about the way this bit is formatted is so fucking funny

[southernroach]

thinking of roach's coping mechanisms and i kinda think that he would have a log of all of his scars. maybe in his journal, written along the edges as if they were afterthoughts to his actual entries.

the first couple entries are clinical. they list:

the body part

the general weapon type (gun, knife, rope, whatever)

if he got revenge

all the usual stuff that he would find important

just enough to document them, in case they fade or to use as a story for later. every time he dots a period, it's with a warped sense of pride.

and then one day he gets a scar from someone protecting him. they had pushed roach out of the way a second after someone screams about a sniper through their comms and takes a bullet. roach ends up falling onto his own knife and gets sliced for it but that’s nothing compared to his savior.

when he goes to write the entry, it’s noticeably shakier, scribbled over and smudged like he couldn’t decide what to write and then got far too frustrated for what should be gratitude.

he’s seen people die but it’s never been for him. he makes sure that guy’s name is clear, makes sure the ink dries before allowing his hands to touch the page.

then another one happens. an enemy tosses a cooked grenade. they have a split second to react and the guy upfront turns around, looks him in the eye, and slams his palms into roach’s chest.

roach crashes to the ground, barely notices that he got hit with a nasty piece of debris until he’s crouched behind a wall and realizes that what’s dripping down his body is too hot, too thick, to be sweat. and another entry appears.

the scar, the location, his savior’s name. how it felt to look someone in the eye moments before death, knowing again that it was for him. another messy entry, cut only by the pristine printing of those names.

he’s lucky he doesn’t have to write one for every close call but even those have lost that naive arrogance from before.

the more it happens, the more he survives and other don’t, the less it becomes about the scars.

[fangdokja]

AEAWWAWAWAWAA I LOVE YOUR (WITD) OTOME ISEKAI WORK!!!

So a question that I have, how do you rank all of them in terms of strength, both physical and magical? Because honestly? If I put all of them in the same room, I think the only ones who will walk out unscathed might be the Supreme Mage, Demon King, and the Demon Assassin- but I can't be too sure since they're the only ones who I know have INSANE levels of magical strength.

(Supreme Mage-> Can literally turn back time

Demon King-> Can unintentionally destroy surroundings by just losing control of his emotions+Killed a Fallen Archangel+Won multiple battles

Demon Assassin-> Proves multiple times that he can potentially be on par against the Demon King)

I hate it here.

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped in a reverse harem of overpowered, emotionally unstable warlords, I’ve learned three things: love is just a polite word for obsession, survival is a full-time job, and statistically speaking, I should have died five times by now. But sure—tell me again how this is every girl’s dream.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Various! Otome Isekai Characters x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. How to Survive a Reverse Harem (You Don’t) - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 2,242

♡ TW. Heavy Dark Humor + Satirical Comedy, Reader dissing everyone including you (I'm talking about all of you Readers)

[BEGIN LOG]

Date: Irrelevant. Time: Wasted. Will to live: Nonexistent.

Not sure if it qualifies as survival or just prolonged suffering. Either way, I'm still here. Yay me.

For those of you who have found this document, congratulations. That means either one of three things:

You’re as desperate for answers as I was.

You’re already too deep into this mess and need a coping mechanism (writing helps, trust me).

You’re dead, and this is just some eldritch horror reading through my notes like a bedtime story before coming after me next.

If it’s option three, I hope you choke on my misery.

You ever wake up and wonder if, at some point in your past life, you pissed off some all-powerful cosmic entity? Like maybe you accidentally stepped on the Eldritch Lord of Relationships’ robe, and now you're cursed to live in the world's most EXHAUSTING social experiment?

No? Just me?

Well, sit down, idiots. Because apparently, you people find this entertaining.

Let’s get one thing straight. Reverse harems are not fun. You think it’s all, “Oh, she’s got multiple hot, dangerous men fighting over her, how dreamy!”—wrong. It’s like living in an active war zone but instead of actual grenades, it’s obsessive, overpowered lunatics with emotional damage so profound it could be studied in medical journals. There is nothing enjoyable about constantly monitoring the probability of spontaneous assassination attempts every time you walk into a room.

For whatever reason, some of you seem to think strength is the most important thing in this nightmare circus. Oh, how stupid. How naïve. If power alone decided the outcome of battles, then history books wouldn’t exist. But sure, let’s indulge your little power ranking delusions and talk about these walking natural disasters.

———

Before we begin, let me ask you, dear audience, one simple question: What is actually wrong with you?

No, really. Because I need to understand what kind of psychosis leads a person to actively seek out and romanticize a scenario in which one (1) socially detached, chronically exhausted individual (me) is forced to navigate an entire reverse harem of homicidal, magical, and politically influential lunatics.

You. Yes, you reading this. You think this is fun? You think it's "hot"? You think I'd enjoy this?

Congratulations, you're officially the reason why the world deserves to burn.

Now, since you refuse to let me die in peace and insist on knowing which of these disasters would hypothetically survive an all-out brawl (which, by the way, has already happened multiple times because they all suffer from incurable testosterone poisoning), I suppose I have no choice but to indulge your delusions.

────────────

❤︎ Disclaimer (because some of you can’t read).

Before you open your shriveled little mouths to cry about "power scaling" or "but actually, technically—" let me stop you right there. Everyone in this story is ridiculously strong. Their strength could shatter nations, rewrite laws of reality, and make lesser beings soil themselves at the mere thought of their existence. Compared to you? They might as well be extraterrestrial beings.

But compared to each other? Well. That’s where things get interesting.

So sit down, shut up, and try not to let your fragile egos get bruised when your favorite isn’t ranked as the ultimate all-powerful deity. You're lucky I even bothered to explain this, considering most of you wouldn't last five minutes in this world without crying, vomiting, or both.

────────────

Now, onto the subject at hand: Ranking the Men Who Have Made My Life a Living Hell.

Yes. Them. The supposed "love interests" of this so-called story. You ever wake up one day, and find yourself as the unfortunate soul caught in the crossfire of some overpowered, emotionally unstable men with enough magic, weaponry, and unresolved trauma to wage an entire war over you?

That’s me. Hi. Welcome to my breakdown.

Since I’ve managed to slip through the cracks (for now), I’ve decided to document their strengths. For research purposes? For future escape attempts? For spite? Who knows. Maybe all of the above. Maybe none.

Here’s what I’ve compiled so far:

———

❤︎ Physical Strength Ranking.

Because sometimes, magic isn’t enough and these men like to resolve their issues with their fists. Or swords. Or daggers. Or just brute force in general. It’s exhausting.

(Or: "Which One Would Yeet Me Across a Room the Farthest")

♡ Yandere! Master Thief – Listen. He’s fast. He’s slippery. He’s also the most likely to run away instead of engaging in actual combat. He doesn’t fight, he strategically retreats. If he has to fight, he wins by being an insufferable bastard. But brute force? No. If I had a rock, I could probably take him in a fistfight. (This is foreshadowing.)

♡ Yandere! Supreme Mage – He’s not weak, but let’s be real—he doesn’t train his body, he trains his magic. The only reason he’s above the thief is because he’s at least accustomed to lifting heavy grimoires and standing dramatically in high towers while the wind blows through his robes. That has to count for something.

♡ Yandere! Archduke – You would think someone of his status would have the raw strength to back it up, but let’s be real: he has People for that. Like, actual armies. Sure, he’s dangerous, but it’s not because of his strength. It’s because he can literally just send an entire brigade after you while he sits there sipping wine and making vague threats.

♡ Yandere! Crown Prince – A lifetime of royal training has made him decent at combat. He has discipline, skill, and years of experience with a sword. But would he win in a feral, no-holds-barred fistfight? No. Absolutely not. He’s still a prince. Which means at his core, he’s pampered. He would hesitate to fight dirty. And that’s why he would lose.

♡ Yandere! War Hero – Finally, someone who has actually seen some shit. He has the scars, the combat experience, and the sheer stubbornness of someone who refuses to die out of pure spite. Physically strong, absolutely. But he’s also very "by the book" when it comes to fighting. Which is unfortunate for him, because the next three don’t play fair.

♡ Yandere! Demon Assassin – Built different. Too fast, too smart, too unhinged to go down easily. He fights like he’s a glitch in reality—no wasted movement, no hesitation. Also the most likely to stab you first and ask questions never.

♡ Yandere! Demon King – Do I even need to explain this one? He is literally a demon king. He has killed celestial beings. His rage alone can shatter mountains. I once saw him accidentally break an entire fortress just because he got mildly irritated. Mildly.

♡ Yandere! Enemy Spy – …Ah. And here we are. The anomaly. The one that should not be this powerful and yet somehow is.

Listen, I know things. Things that you don’t. Just trust me when I say that if you think the Demon King is the most terrifying entity on this list, you are not ready for the truth.

———

❤︎ Magical Strength Ranking.

If I had a gold coin for every time I nearly died from spontaneous magic exposure, I’d buy an alternate dimension where none of these people exist. But alas.

(Or: "Which One Would Destroy Reality the Fastest")

♡ Yandere! War Hero – He’s strong, yes, but magically? Almost nonexistent. He’s a normal human being (albeit an absurdly powerful one). No magical gimmicks, just raw battle instinct. You could drop-kick him into another universe and he’d probably still survive off sheer willpower alone.

♡ Yandere! Crown Prince – Has magic. Uses it occasionally. But his real strength is in political manipulation and military strategy. If he’s using magic, it means shit has hit the fan hard.

♡ Yandere! Master Thief – Ah yes. Magic. The cheating tool of cowards. He doesn’t have raw magical power, but he has a frankly unfair amount of tricks that let him survive situations where he absolutely should have died. His whole existence is a scam.

♡ Yandere! Archduke – Refined, tactical, and disturbingly efficient. He does not waste magic. If he’s using it, it’s because you’re already dead.

♡ Yandere! Demon Assassin – Fast. Deadly. Unpredictable. The kind of person who would kill you with a single spell and not even stick around to see if it worked. Annoying.

♡ Yandere! Demon King – If raw magical power were the deciding factor, he’d be top three. He wields the kind of destructive force that civilizations fear. But he’s also emotionally unstable, which means he can be baited into losing control. Good for psychological warfare. Bad for literally everything else.

♡ Yandere! Supreme Mage – Time. Magic. Literal reality alteration. And yet, he is still not the most powerful one here. Why? Because despite his ability to turn back time, he still cannot escape the cursed fate of being a yandere in an otome isekai narrative.

♡ Yandere! Enemy Spy – I refuse to elaborate. This man is an anomaly. He should not be this strong. There is no reason for it. And yet, here we are. Spoilers? Yeah, I have them. Will I share? No. Wallow in ignorance, as I do in despair.

As if I’d tell you. What, do you think I get paid to explain my personal torment to an invisible audience? No, I do this out of spite.

────────────

❤︎ Conclusion.

If, at any point, you read through this document and thought to yourself, “Wow, this is so cool!” I regret to inform you that you have lost all credibility as a rational human being. There is nothing “cool” about being trapped in a constant state of hyper-awareness, wondering which psychotic warlord is going to attempt a romantic gesture that results in a body count.

To those who still believe that my life is some sort of dream scenario: I envy your naivety. May you never experience the reality of what it means to be the object of multiple obsessive affections. May you never know the fear of realizing that every person in your immediate vicinity could, with minimal effort, end your existence in ways that defy the laws of physics.

And if you still insist on romanticizing this?

Congratulations, you have Stockholm Syndrome. Seek help.

Disgusting.

And yet. Despite it all. You’re still here. You’ll come back. You’ll keep reading. Because deep down, you are not normal. You enjoy this insanity.

And that? That’s on you.

I wash my hands of this nonsense. Goodbye.

I don’t even care anymore. If you want to simp, fine. Just know that I am staring directly into your pathetic, degenerate soul and judging you immensely.

———

❤︎ Final notes. Power does not equate to survival. Intelligence does. And if you’re reading this, you’re already at a disadvantage because they’re smarter than they look. Pray for me. Or don’t. At this point, I have no expectations.

[END LOG]

♡ A/N. That was a very enthusiastic response. Sounds oddly familiar, and very ENFP. I could be wrong, but the intro reminds me of people. Anyways... This isn't a request, but an ASK. I genuinely do like world building. However, this ask requires a semi-formal answer. Hence, the organization. Also I'm shocked you showed me actual lore. Reminds me of this request for Yandere! Marine Corps. Though, this does have a different structure than my usual works. But still entertaining. Also, I worked on this quickly, because I enjoyed writing in this style tbh. Just once in a while. I also won't be too specific though.

♡ Their Story. One of them wants to marry you. The other wants to make sure he never does.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams. ♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

[kneecapsbelong2me]

Marvel Women x Diabetic!Reader HCs:

When your blood sugar is low

Characters: Kate Bishop, Natasha Romanoff, Maria Hill, Wanda Maximoff, Carol Danvers

A/N: this can be read as platonic or romantic! Also, world diabetes day was last week, but here we are.

Kate Bishop:

Before you met, the food scene at Kate’s apartment was dismal

The only things she ever really kept on hand were boxed Mac and cheese, microwave popcorn, and chocolate bars

Now, (in addition to real food and snacks you can eat more regularly) Kate’s apartment is filled with all of your favorite carb-filled, high glycemic index snacks and drinks

When you go low, she’s immediately offering you everything under the sun

If your favorites are from abroad, she WILL order them, shipping costs be damned

If you’re having a super mild hypo, she’ll pop downstairs and grab you a slice of pizza

Kate Bishop is a bit of a hoverer

Constantly checking in to make sure your sugar levels aren’t going down further

She HATES waiting 15 minutes to see if you’re back above 70 mg/dL (3.9 mmol/L)

Lowkey more anxious about it than you sometimes

“Are you sure you’re not going to collapse?”

“Kate, I’m only at 68, and I had a snack. I’m fine.”

“That is not fine!”

Natasha Romanoff:

Natasha is super observant (obviously, she’s a spy)

Seems to know you’re going low before you do

Will tell you to check your blood sugar because she’s noticing you look a little shaky and out of it

Other times will rummage through your bag and hand you a pack of gummies just as you’re about to tell her you feel low

She keeps little hard candies/gels hidden in the most random places for you

Once you were out and she pulled a candy from a pocket in her shirt you didn’t realize was there

Will never force you to do anything, but will give you her hardest stare if you don’t immediately treat your low (especially if you wear a continuous glucose monitor [cgm])

“I don’t even feel shaky, and you know this thing sometimes shows false lows,”

“I can tell you’re about to go low. Here, drink this.”

“Where were you hiding a juice pouch?!”

“I have a lot of things hidden on my body,”

“IS THAT A GRENADE??”

Maria Hill:

When she found out you were diabetic, Maria did a whole bunch of research, including on the signs of hypoglycemia and how to treat it

She has your lows down to a science

If you have a cgm, she definitely has the app on her phone so it tells her when you’re going low

If the cgm says you’re low, but you don’t feel the symptoms, she makes you check with the finger stick

Has things portioned so each serving has exactly 15 grams of carbs

Makes sure you eat a more substantial snack with protein in it once you’re back in range

Keeps a journal of the dates/times you go low and how effectively different treatments work for you

“I think you should start having an afternoon snack. I’ve noticed you have the most hypoglycemic incidents an hour or two before dinner.”

“Hmm, okay. But only if you take a break and have a snack with me.”

“If that’s what it takes, deal.”

Wanda Maximoff:

Wanda is an even bigger worrier than Kate

She’s lost so many people in her life, and she’ll be damned if she lets you die from something she can directly stop

She keeps a closer eye on your blood sugar than you do

Like Maria, if you have a cgm she has the app to track

Wanda makes sure EVERY alarm is turned on and at the highest volume

When you go out, she carries more snacks than you do

If you have glucagon, Wanda keeps a dose with her, even if you also have one on you

The instant she knows you’re low there is a candy in your hand (before you can even access your own stash)

“If that doesn’t do it, I have three juice boxes, two packs of fruit gummies, and about two dozen hard candies in my bag,”

“Geez, Wanda. That sounds heavy. Which one of us is diabetic again?”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay!”

“Sorry, I know. Thank you for caring so much about me.”

“Of course.”

Carol Danvers: 

You go low while on Carol’s ship once, and she gives you juice from an alien planet and it’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever tasted

She finds out how much you like it and goes back to the planet just to buy it for you so she always has some on her ship

Forget a phone app, Carol has low glucose alerts hooked up to all of her tech no matter what technology you use

She somehow managed to get your finger stick connected to her suit and her ship

If she happens to be off-world and she gets an alert about you going low, she stops what she’s doing to text you

But if she’s “close,” no matter where she is on Earth (or near it) when you go low she will use her super speed to get to you, even if you assure her your fine

“Carol, you really didn’t have to leave your meeting with Fury for this. I have my own snacks.”

“I know, but I’m planetside and I have that juice you like.”

“Thanks for always taking care of me.”

“Of course, I’ll always be here when you need me.”

[ltwilliammowett]

The grenade

The grenade (grenade is likely derived from the French word spelled exactly the same, meaning pomegranate, as the bomb is reminiscent of the many-seeded fruit in size and shape. Its first use in English dates from the 1590s.) as we know it today is not a modern invention - on the contrary, it has its origins in late antiquity and the early Middle Ages.

First grenades appeared in the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Empire not long after the reign of Leo III (717-741). Byzantine soldiers learnt that Greek fire (a mixture of sulphur and oil), a Byzantine invention from the previous century, could be thrown at the enemy not only with flamethrowers but also in stone and ceramic vessels.

Byzantine " Greek Fire" Grenade, c. 800-1000 AD

With the invention of gunpowder in Song China (960-1279), weapons known as ‘thunderbolts’ were created by soldiers packing gunpowder into ceramic or metal vessels with fuses. In a military book from the year 1044, the Wujing Zongyao (Collection of Military Classics), various gunpowder recipes are described in which, according to Joseph Needham, the prototype of the modern hand grenade can be found.

The grenades (pào) are made of cast iron, are the size of a bowl and have the shape of a ball. They contain half a pound of ‘divine fire’ (shén huǒ, gunpowder) inside. They are sent by an eruptor (mu pào) towards the enemy camp, and when they arrive there, a sound like a thunderclap is heard and flashes of light appear. If ten of these grenades are successfully fired at the enemy camp, the whole place goes up in flames.

Grenade-like devices were also known in ancient India. In a Persian historical account from the 12th century, the Mojmal al-Tawarikh, a terracotta elephant filled with explosives was hidden in a chariot with a fuse and exploded as the invading army approached.

These encrusted hand grenades were washed up from a 17th-century pirate shipwreck, Dollar Cove, in the coastal Gunwalloe district of Cornwall's Lizard Peninsula

The first cast-iron bombs and shells appeared in Europe in 1467, where they were initially used in the siege and defence of castles and fortresses. In the mid-17th century, infantrymen known as ‘grenadiers’ emerged in European armies, specialising in shock and close combat, usually using grenades and engaging in fierce hand-to-hand combat. But grenades have also been in use at sea since the 17th century. They were used to inflict as much personal damage as possible below deck after boarding a ship by throwing the grenades underneath.

After the middle of the 19th century, grenades were used extensively in the Crimean War and the American Civil War. Before they changed in design and function to be used in the trenches, especially in the First World War and later. They are still in use today.

Forbes, Robert James (1993). Studies in Ancient Technology

Thomas Enke: Grundlagen der Waffen- und Munitionstechnik

David Harding (Hrsg.): Waffen-Enzyklopädie

Bertram Kropak: Die geschichtliche Entwicklung der Handgranaten. In: DWJ Deutsches Waffen Journal. 1970

[ratasum]

GW2 Blank Journal Pages

So I made these in order to write Snaff's Lost Journals for the Great Big SotO Rework my friend and I have been working through, but I was asked, and so here they are! I only have pages 1 through 3 because that's the blank pages that were available, but it's something!

I use Times New Roman font, size 22, in (a very legitimate copy of) Photoshop to edit in the text, which looks close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades.

[msbarrybeeson]

Before You Go | Future Donnie & April Insight (Part VI)

(Reader Included)

A/N: Any constructive criticism is appreciated. Reader comments and feedback are also welcomed a lot. 

I have been gone for a long time. Just occupied with my studies! No fan fiction author curse or anything (yet).

Summary: You’re both adopting-parents of Casey. The story follows the perspective of Donatello and April O’Neil during the Kraang apocalypse. You and Leonardo decided to ask them to watch over thirteen-year-old Casey.

In other words, familial interactions between April, Donnie, and Casey Jr.

Reader: Gender-neutral pronouns are used, except the terms “(Mom / Dad)” are also used. Second POV.

Pairing: Rise! Future! Leonardo X Reader

Warnings: Bittersweet.

Word Count:  ~3490

Parts: One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / ...

~

Donnie knew how much of a genius he was.

It was no surprise after all. In his late teens, he improved NASA’s satellites to communicate with planets light centuries away. He cured breast cancer through the use of protons in radiation therapy to target specific cells, rather than affecting the harmless. Hell, he even managed to discover a new type of radioactive particles: mutons. By that point, he—.

“—should have been given a Nobel Prize in Medicine and in Chemistry.” Donnie cursed under his breath. He strolled over to his lab bench, equipping his goggles.

Squeeeak. 

April– who was found seated on Donnie’s roughed-up, spinning gaming chair– raised an eyebrow. Her hair had grown out and was left unbounded. Faint wrinkles and eye bags on her features displayed maturity, in contrast to a couple of years ago. However, everyone was well aware that time was not the only factor. 

“Whatcha going on about now, Donnie?”

The softshell huffed. “Recall when I wrote a report about my experimental findings with an invention meant to revive a deceased human being?”

“...You mean the one where you thought it was a good idea to open up Curie’s tomb? Even gone as far as to ask for my help?” April grimaced. “Who’d ever forget that.”

She proceeded to massage her temples. 

“God. You were in all kinds of messed up for that, Don.”

Lightning-like yellow sparks flickered as Donnie had his robotic hands occupied with a butane torch. His goggles were sealed tight around his eyes as he built a oval-looking device on his lab bench. Titanium outer-layer over a seriously complex circuit-board; appearing as if Samsung marketed grenades.

He scoffed. “Oh please. It wasn’t as if I’d taken long to understand how Marie Curie deserves her rest for her great contributions to radiation. Thus is why–.”

“–You decided to take a poor random husband of an old wife,” April interjected.

“Ahem.” Donnie pronounced. “The poor woman was begging me for her husband to be alive again. I was simply gracious and generous enough to not charge her for the process.” He set aside the butane torch. “At least it progressed well; he stayed alive for an additional two years. It gave his wife psychological comfort, and I was able to submit my paper to the N.S.F..” 

He picked up a screwdriver. “Except....” 

April could tell her friend’s eye was twitching. 

“They rejected my findings, nearly had me detained, and claimed it was far too ‘unethical.’” Donnie raised his volume. “Scoff! As if those researchers weren’t committing the crime themselves! Taking bodies away from families and claiming them as scientific property without permission.

If I could go back in time and shove my documents in their jaws, you bet I would.”

April smirked. “Well, I have my regrets too, Donnie.”

“You sound rather amused, April. Is that so surprising? And here I never thought you would regret your part-time job at Albearto’s. Or the fact you wasted money to switch to journalism in university.”

WHACK!

April threw her bat at Donnie’s head, flying back to her hand like a boomerang.

“Watch your mouth, mister. I may have regretted Albearto’s, but not a single moment in my life did I ever regret my journalism passion.” She stood up.

“Ouch.” The softshell vocalized, squinting his eyes toward her. His robotic clampers paused, setting aside the torch and taking off his goggles. 

“Mind yourself, April. Horse-playing is forbidden in the laboratory. I am not consenting to having yet another silver-titanium apparatus get scratched because of you.” Donnie gritted his teeth. “Can you hear the negative connotation?”

“Seriously, Donnie? Where’d that come from? Not only was that years ago but it ain’t anything except a simple accident.” 

“‘Simple accident?’” the softshell repeated with dramatic offense. “An accident, like many others in science labs, which could have caused severe damage! Remember the incident when your teacher dumped bleach and vinegar into the trash bin?

You know, if you had paid any attention in your chemistry class, those two would make mustard gas?” Donnie side-eyed his friend. “Simple accidents can have serious consequences, O’Neil.”

A hand crept up the lab bench.

“Uh-huh, and I’m supposed to believe an instance of me knocking over your phone and books would kill somebody?” April crossed her arms. “If anything, the blame’s yours for not organizing your desk when you got drunk on coffee.”

The hand took ahold of the butane torch.

“Donatello? Disorganized? Sounds cheap coming from you, a student majoring in Journalism.”

April pulled up her coat’s sleeves. “Oh boy, you’re about to get it—.”

Squeeeak!

Heads spun and found a 13-year old boy, replacing April’s spot on Donnie’s chair. Casey eyed the torch with a great yet concerning amount of curiosity.

“Yo, what’s this for, Uncle Don?”

At lightning speed, while April ran to move the gaming chair away further from the workbench, Donnie snatched the tool from his hands. “Child. Casey. Young man.” The softshell heaved loudly. “I must inform you this is NOT meant to be handled with such casual ease. How in Hawking did you even—.”

“Don’t your lab have a passcode or something?” 

“–Is what I am wondering myself, O’Neil. I refuse to believe this child remembers the beginning thirty numbers of π–.”

“Nope, only us.” April and Donnie lifted their gazes to his lab entrance. You leaned on the frame while a dear red-eared slider stood just behind. A couple of steps inside, and the metallic lab door shut close. 

Donnie– strangely– was quick to hide his device-in-progress off to the side.

“You’re back!” April grinned. “Hell, you would not believe the convo Donnie and I were having a minute ago.” She hurried to hug you.

“Figures,” Leo remarked. “We could practically hear you yards off.”

“Sounds like things never get old.” You smiled.

There was a side-eye between Donnie and April, before the Commander proceeded to inquire, coughing: “Anyhow.. care to explain the occasion? You two don’t seem to be in a hurry.”

“The only times you ever visit my laboratory are to prepare for immediate combat engagement, and you look awfully collected.” The softshell furrowed his brows.

“No, no.” You waved your hands, shaking your head. “Thank God no. We came here to ask if you two could take care of our Casey here while we head out.” The other turtle scrunched his in-quote eyebrows. “You— You came here to request us to... babysit him?”

April jabbed him in his plastron.

“You see? Just like I said.” Leo turned to you. “I know my brother, love. Don’s not the kind of guy to take responsibility for a kid. Or anyone, really.”

“Hold on.” Donnie narrowed his eyes. “I never said I refused, Leo.”

“Don’t know, it sounds like it to me.”

“Well, my misinformed brother, contrary to your belief, I am perfectly capable of handling a child.”

You huffed with amusement. Your husband only winked back.

“If you say so, Don.”

“Where are you two heading off for if you needed us to watch over him?” April inquired. “Wondering, ‘cause this never happened even when you two leave for patrol.”

“Just finding some time for ourselves.”

April exclaimed, “As in a honeymoon? Why not just say so? We’ll leave you two alone–.”

“–In this economy and climate?” Donnie interjected. “Has it also not been six years since your yet-to-be-legal marriage?”

“Alright, alright,” Leonardo chuckled. “Cut us some slack, bro. Finding time wasn’t easy when there’s Kraang above our necks.”

“Right, and you’re going on a honeymoon, how?” The softshell crossed his arms. “Simply because you’re the leader does not equate to you making wise decisions, Leo.”

“His ōdachi can teleport anyone to anyplace, we have some hope we can easily teleport to a remote area,” you answered. “One without Kraang infestation. It’ll be hard, but we may as well try.”

“Bonus points if we find clear skies and an ocean.” The red-eared turtle grinned, wrapping his arm over your shoulders.

“What’s a honeymoon, (Mom / Dad)?”

Your hand went to caress Casey’s cheek. “Parent quality time. It just means you get to handle yourself like the responsible grown-up you’ll become one day. Just promise me you’ll be on your best behavior around Uncle Don and Auntie April?”

“I promise, (Mom / Dad)!”

“Good boy,” Leo laughed, ruffling the kid’s hair.

“You didn’t ask Mikey and Raph to help out too, or?”

“Between you and me, I think you guys are better of making sure Casey doesn’t get into any chaos,” you whispered to April. “Don’t tell them that, though.”

She laughed. “Okay, I see how it is. You both have fun.” 

Donnie bit his lip. Right as Leonardo and (Name) turn to exit the laboratory, he extended his arm out to them.

“Leo, (Name).”

You two faced back to him once more.

“Don’t kill yourselves out there.”

Everyone’s eyes widened– April, you, and Leonardo himself. But the brother in blue snickered, holding a smile that reached his eyes. “So you do also care for me, Don. And all this time I thought you were plotting to put me in my grave or something.”

“We won’t.” Leo placed a hand on your shoulder. “You got my word.”

“Bye (Mom / Dad)! Bye Papa!”

“We’ll be back soon, Casey!”

Donnie stood in silence as you finally left, leaving himself with none other than his best friend and his nephew. “I refuse to believe this is the future we have to deal with.”

“Times changed all of us, didn’t they?” April spoke. “One day we wish each other a good one, and the next, we hope we just don’t die. I could’ve been a famous news anchor by now, make my mother happy, fight crime without worrying about dying the next second.

..I wonder if there’s anyone else out there besides the small number of us down here.”

“..I doubt it.”

Donnie pulled himself together and walked back to his workbench, operating his clampers to work once again. He put on his goggles. Casey, being a young teenager of enthusiasm, peeked over.

“Watch yourself, boy,” April warned.

“Don’t worry about me, Auntie. I’m only standing over here.” Casey narrowed his eyes upon the glowing and metal-like ball his uncle had his tools on. “What are you working on, Uncle Don?”

“A sphere.”

“A sphere?”

“You heard correctly.”

“That sounds kind of boring.”

Donnie had to hold himself back from remarking with: ‘That is exactly what every child whose intellect is doomed would say.’

“I’m sure your mother would find it rather moving.”

“(Mom / Dad)? I don’t understand what’s emotional about a ball, though.”

“Hey Casey.” April coughed. “Why not tell us about your mask here? Haven’t taken a good look at it before. Maybe Uncle Don would like to hear it too.”

“You actually want me to talk about my mask?”

“Ain’t a problem, is it?”

“No.” He fidgeted with his fingers a bit. “You don’t have anything else to do?”

“We were just told to watch over you, kid.”

“Yeah, but everyone I know is always busy with the Kraang or supplying weapons. I never really get chances to hang out.”

There was a brief pause in the butane torch’s flame.

April’s expression softened. Her hand came up to brush his black hair. “Things have gotten calmer up there. So you’ve got plenty of time with us now.”

Casey smiled.

“So your mask?” 

The boy alternated between covering his face and removing it. “(Mom / Dad) gave it to me. She told me it is based on the one worn by my biological mother. (Mom / Dad) also said that my birth mother was kind of crazy-funny and likes to be loud. She would have a stick to play– what was it– hockey?

I don’t know what kind of game hockey is supposed to be, but I guess it’s nice to know how life was like before all the Kraang.”

A sad smile crept on April’s lips. 

“Anyways, I thought the mask looked kind of plain, so I decided to draw red marks on it. See?” Casey showed his mask off, fingers tapping the surface. “Guess who it looks like!”

There were two bold and thick streaks of red. Each one ran through one eye, truly a defining characteristic. The Commander chuckled, already imagining how much pride her friend in blue would feel from the fact a kid– let alone one he had been parenting– looked up to him so much.

“You know, I am seeing someone familiar here.” April hummed as she put on a thoughtful facade. Fingers holding her chin and everything. “Got to be Uncle Don.”

Named turtle paused for a moment and raised a brow.

“Seriously, Auntie April?” On the other hand, Casey gave her an incredulous look and shook his head. “You probably want to get your eyes checked out, ‘cause Uncle Don doesn’t have any red stripes.” Off to the side. “And even if he did, he won’t look as cool as Dad.”

April snickered behind her palm as Donnie eyed the boy from behind his goggles.

“You’re right, you’re right. Just messing with you, kid.” Her hand ruffled his hair once more. “Sounds like you really admire your Papa, don’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Dad has an awesome sword that opens up portals. He always moves so quickly whenever he’s fighting. Bam! And the Kraang’s gone!” The teenager stretched his arm for emphasis. “Even as the leader, Papa knows when to get serious and when to make people laugh. He also cares a lot about me, (Mom / Dad), you guys, and everyone!”

It made even Donnie himself smile. 

However, the way Casey’s enthusiasm died down had not gone unnoticed. “I’ve always wanted to help out though.” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I want to fight the Kraang right by his and (Mom / Dad)’s side. Except I barely get the chance to, because they keep telling me to stay close to base and hide behind a giant rock.”

April crossed her arms and went quiet. His feelings were nothing new. In fact, she experienced the same thing herself, seeing she had always been a human. It was like that until–.

“Have no hard feelings,” Donnie spoke up, his hands and eyes remained on his spheric gadget. The sparks were flying. “Your parents are merely worried about your well-being.”

“I know, I know. They won’t have to though, if I can have enough training or something.” Casey sighed. “Then again, I also know I’m only a normal sensitive human.

...Why can’t I be a mutant instead?”

“Ahem. You are classified as a human. That is a true statement and one you cannot change.” Donnie hummed. “However, that does not mean you cannot be strong and capable in other ways.”

“Why does it sound like you’ve been in my place before?”

“Perhaps I did. Did you truly think being a soft-shell turtle is easy? I happened to be born as one of the only Testudines species whose outer shell cannot protect.” Donnie remarked. “Casey, your mask.” His hand signaled.

“What about my mask?”

“I merely want to add something.”

Confused, he hopped off the chair and handed the mask over. “Hmm. As long as you don’t mess with the stripes, Uncle Don.”

“Who says I won’t?”

Casey kicked Donnie’s leg.

“‘Ow,’ I say sarcastically without feeling physical pain.”

“Hmph.” He crossed his arms. “Why do you keep saying things like that?”

“Such as?”

“You say those action verbs, even when you’re already doing them.”

April snorted. “Just his thing, kid. Uncle Don’s got his special quirks.”

“Do you have a quirk?”

“Picking unnecessary fights for one,” Donnie commented.

“You only call them ‘unnecessary,’ because you never want to fix the problem.”

He rolled his eyes. “My solution would’ve been ten times more efficient if you had allowed my technology and I to do the work.”

Casey wondered. “Does your tech ever go haywire, Uncle Don?”

“No.”

“Oh man,” April began, “you should’ve been there for this one time. Your Uncle Don was building some kind of overprotective bed to keep your late Gramps from waking up from his beauty sleep.”

“Gramps likes to sleep?”

“You’d be surprised to hear that he sure does.”

“Then what happened?”

“Uncle Don asked your Dad, Uncle Mikey, and Uncle Raph to try punching, slicing, throwing whatever they could on the bed. They were attacking it like crazy!”

“And then?” 

“And the bed was even more insane, ‘cause there were actual missiles shooting out! They went straight for his brothers. At some point, it got overboard, so Uncle Don tried to command it to stop.”

“I’m hearing a ‘but’ coming.”

“But it malfunctioned and thought Uncle Don was the enemy!”

“However!” Donnie pointed his finger up, interrupting the story-telling. “It did not take long for my creation to recognize his master.”

“Still went haywire in my book,” April remarked. 

“Ignoring that.” His robotic hand tapped the edge of his workbench, grabbing Casey’s attention. “Come here, young man.” He slid back the mask, except in his hands, it felt as if the frame had thicken.

“It looks the same, but it doesn’t feel the same?”

“Try wearing it over your face.”

The boy did as told. All of a sudden, a bunch of green rectangles and words appeared in his vision. He gasped in awe. He spun around slowly, watching the rectangle focus on a figure through the wall.

“Yes yes, I know. I am well aware of how amazing I am.” Donnie huffed in pride. “I have opted to construct an interface with your mask. I cannot see why you shouldn’t have something to defend yourself with,” he reasoned. “I have other updates in mind later on. As of now, however, your mask will help you detect life forms across other rooms or through other objects.” 

“That’s so cool!” The boy hesitated though. “But I don’t want to break it or anything.”

“Hey.” April rested her hand on Casey’s shoulder, giving a firm squeeze. “Our resources are already scarce. Using then losing them is better than nothing. You better make the most of our tech. Understood, soldier?”

Casey grinned underneath his mask. He fixed his posture up and saluted. “Gotcha–! Understood, Commander!” 

He faced the inventor, whose hands were already back to being occupied with the “sphere.” “Thanks so much, Uncle Don!” Casey exclaimed, leaping towards the turtle to give a tight hug. “You’re the best!” 

Upon contact, Donnie stiffened up, but his lack of experience with physical touch did not prevent a smile forming on his face. He extended a robotic arm, patting Casey’s back. 

The boy then scanned around curiously with his mask. “Hey! Think I spot Uncle Mikey and Uncle Raph two floors down! They’re holding hands over a table or something. Why are so many people circling around them?”

April rolled her eyes. “Sounds like another arm-wrestling match between the our youngest and oldest brother.” 

Just like that, Casey booked it out of the laboratory so quickly, it reminded her of a certain red-eared slider. “What the–! Casey!” April groaned. “And here I thought we don’t have to deal with runaway kids. I better catch up to him.” 

“Would not worry about him too much,” Donnie commented. 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Considering we will not always be alive to protect him... the sooner we leave him to himself, the easier it will be for him to survive alone.” 

“Hey. Come on now.” April walked to her best friend’s side. “Don’t you say things like that. We’re all going to survive this together–.”

“April.” Slight pain wavered in his voice. “You know as well as I do how our current reality is. It is only a matter of time before the Kraang finds everyone.” 

“Yet you’re still here trying.”

No response.

“It’s all because of the kid, isn’t it?” April affirmed. “He ain’t any genius prodigy you were expecting long ago. But he gave you a reason to try– he became someone worth fighting for.”

“I would not put it as simply as that.”

She shrugged. “That’s how I’d say it. You know you’re not the only one whose life changed because of Casey.”

Donnie paused his work, turning off the butane torch and finally pulling his goggles off his eyes again. “...Casey reminds me of when we were young, being rash and immature teenagers like any other. I hate admitting to such thing, but I was one too. And I hate admitting much more how much I missed those times.

The child has known nothing of the trouble we’ve experienced outside, April: when Cassandra was killed, when Draxum was torn apart, when Dad decided to sacrifice himself despite the slim odds.” His hands clenched into fists.

“Do not expect me to have any false hope for our future, but do not assume I would want Casey to feel the same way. For as long as he can, I want him to hold onto that false hope.”

“...” April had her arms crossed. Her eyes slowly came to linger on the workbench. “Is that ‘sphere’ his false hope?”

“..No. Not his.” Donnie traced his thumb over his contraption. “It’s for (Name).”

[feminerds]

17 FEB 2024

The MCR that exists inside the minds of obsessives (me) is kind of like the holy mother (Mary) -- it's not the thing or even a representation of that thing anymore. It's not even a simulacra (? I might be pushing it with this - because upon reflection I think I might be describing a simulacra quite accurately actually - haha)

it no longer bears a likeness, really at all. An idol is what the k-pop darlings call it, and that makes sense to me. I feel it's closest to an effigy. An item that has had so much projected upon it, it becomes holy*.

Wholly unrecognisable

GIMME ALL THAT PAIN

That Gucci Scent - The Last Day of Summer

*Holy - to the holder, and item of ultimate projection. Like close reading. Like for what you really collect is always yourself**. Like all fan art, is just art, is just a reflection of self and now. A light bent through the body.

**Baudrillard, The System of Objects

I also saw this 30 day song challenge, the other day and I'm thinking I might do it.

God help me, do I have an artists' practice at all? Or is my artists practice just hanging out and participating in the goofy little teenage challenges and what-not. Is my artist practice just being a very online teenager for ever?!

I SAID -

IS MY ARTISTIC PRACTICE JUST BEING A VERY ONLINE TEENAGER FOREVER!?

[lizzieraindrops]

BRING ME PINS FOR MY RED STRING BOARD

Eris looked to the last card. The Wish puzzled her. A wish is desire, the greatest power in this universe. Eris had wished before. It had led her here. Would she be asked to wish again? What else would her desire wrought? Turning away, Eris left the cards on the table and took her questions with her.

From the Ex Diris exotic grenade launcher lore. This will obviously be highly relevant to the resolution of Season of the Witch. What does Eris really want??

guiding others down the same path that saved me. But... I might allow myself to want more than peace. What, I am not certain. Is joy the word? Might I find that again?

From Eris' last radio message in Season of the Haunted. Once resigned to misery, Eris now wants something more than the peace she has gained helping others process and survive trauma like hers. She even entertains the once-impossible idea of seeking joy in her life.

"Hey," Drifter said. "You find that joy yet?" "Soon," Eris answered. "Joy is built... but I have taken the first step."

From the IV. Tether in the Purpose lorebook from Season of the Deep. She's seeking the joy, folks! But still, what does she want?

I am lost in these lunar tunnels. Out of ammo. Short on Light. I am out of moves, save one. I clutch an Ahamkara bone in one hand, and my dead Ghost in the other. I hear a whisper. My vision is gone. My face itches from the viscous flow from my eyes. Though I can't see, I find that I suddenly know the way out.

From the Cloak of the Great Hunt lore all the way back in Forsaken. She wants what she's always wanted, what she originally wished upon an Ahamkara bone for. A way out. Of the Hellmouth, of her personal misery, of the Sword Logic and the greater horrific positive feedback loop of violence that the Hive have been enacting upon the universe for billenia.

Your star got its name from the oldest myths in that archive. and when your mother told your father that story...the star became your name. A prayer that all will go as it must... and the way it must go is struggle." "Aiat." Not a word in Ulurant or any other Cabal tongue. "But Caiatl means something else." "Yes. 'It may not always go as it needs to go.' A good name for a soldier." (emphases mine)

From Caiatl's journal in the Lightfall Collector's edition. A way out!!! It keeps coming up in the lore again and again. Ending vicious cycles and finding out what's beyond them, even the Hive's unstoppable AIAT.

Recovery is a spiral, not a circle. You may return to the same patterns, but you will break free." —Eris Morn

From the Refashioned Shapes (!!!) ship from Shadowkeep. Perhaps the most iconic Eris line in the game. This is who she has always been! This is what she has always sought. By finally fully embracing and claiming the way the Hive have affected her, she is going to paradoxically END THE HIVE'S CYCLE OF VIOLENCE. The HIVE!!! She is going to FREE HERSELF and in doing so FREE THE HIVE FROM THE SWORD LOGIC!!!!!

[mariacallous]

How do you solve a problem like the Houthis?

The U.S. Navy has certainly tried. It’s fired missiles at the militia’s facilities in Yemen. Together with the British Royal Navy, it has intercepted Houthi missiles being fired at ships in the Red Sea. All sorts of Western navies are conducting patrols in the troubled waters. But the Houthis are not relenting. On the contrary, they have asked the world’s most notorious arms dealer for more weapons. And the arrival of Russia’s Viktor Bout in the Red Sea is bad news for global shipping.

The Houthis are unlike any other adversary that Western militaries have faced in the past few decades. They’re not traditional armed forces. They’re not a Taliban-like insurgency outfit whose only objective is to seize territorial power. And they’re definitely not a mere criminal gang, like Somalia’s pirates.

Instead, the group is a powerful militia that has discovered that it can attack ships to get global attention, and it uses weapons ordinarily reserved for official armed forces.

Not even Hezbollah has such capabilities—or at least, it doesn’t use them, perhaps because Lebanon depends on shipping for its survival. Since the Houthis launched their campaign against Western-linked vessels, they’ve certainly been getting the attention they crave, and they’ve been demonstrating that they have access to highly sophisticated weaponry.

On Oct. 10, for example, the Yemeni outfit struck a Liberian-flagged ship with drones and missiles, and less than a month before that, they fired a missile that reached central Israel before being disabled by an Israeli interceptor.

The Houthis claimed the missile they directed at Israel was hypersonic, which has not been confirmed and is unlikely, but they like to brag. Their attacks seem designed to keep the global public in a state of fear over what might come next. And now, the Wall Street Journal reports, the group is in talks with Viktor Bout over the delivery of additional weapons.

Bout, you may remember, is the world’s most notorious arms dealer. The Russian merchant—who is known as the “merchant of death” and has also worked for Russia’s GRU intelligence service—spent nearly two decades selling weapons to armed groups around the world. Death and destruction followed wherever his weapons went.

But in 2008, the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) managed to get him arrested in a sting operation in Thailand. He was subsequently extradited to the United States and sentenced to 25 years in prison on several counts, including conspiracy to kill Americans.

“He’s one of the most dangerous men on the face of the earth,” Michael Braun—the DEA’s chief of operations until 2008—told CBS’s 60 Minutes in 2010.

But two years ago, the United States decided to trade Bout for an American citizen imprisoned in Russia, basketballer Brittney Griner. Former DEA officials were aghast. So were U.S. military personnel, who had seen the immense harm that Bout’s weapons were doing.

Writing in Foreign Policy, Braun strongly advised against the exchange, noting that Bout remained close to the Kremlin: “Even after formally leaving the GRU, Bout enjoyed the backing of—and at times took assignments from—his former employer.” But the Biden administration believed, or wanted to believe, that the Bout of 2022 was much less dangerous than the Bout of 2008.

And now the Houthis have turned to the wily arms dealer. Before his arrest one-and-a-half decades ago, he specialized AK-47s and grenade launchers, but he seems to be able to deliver whatever his clients need.

In 2008, he offered two FARC guerrillas who’d arranged to meet him in Thailand 30,000 AK-47s, “10 million rounds of ammunition, or more, five tons of C-4 plastic explosives, ultralight airplanes outfitted with grenade launchers, mortars, unmanned aerial vehicles, Dragunov sniper rifles with night vision, vehicle-mounted anti-aircraft cannons that could take down an airliner,” not to mention some 700 to 800 MANPADs (man-portable air-defense systems), as Politico subsequently reported. (Alas for Bout, the guerillas had been turned by the DEA, and Bout was arrested.)

That means that Western navies and shipping companies have to prepare for the potential arrival of new weaponry in the Red Sea. The first two deliveries facilitated by Bout, expected as early as this month, “will be mostly AK-74s, an upgraded version of the AK-47 assault rifle,” the Wall Street Journal reported in early October. Bout and the Houthis have also discussed Kornet anti-tank missiles and anti-aircraft weapons.

The Houthis may well need automatic assault rifles in their armed conflict against Yemen’s official government, but it’s the larger weapons that Western countries should worry most about. If Bout’s relationship with the Houthis takes off, anti-ship weapons could well follow. Thanks to Iran, the Houthis already have access to drones and missiles, but Iran is weakened and may not be able to focus much on the Houthis. That’s where Bout could be useful.

And the arms dealer’s talks with the Houthis are hardly a freelance venture. Since his return from a U.S. prison, Bout—hailed as a hero by Russian state media—has entered the warm embrace of the Russian state, and in last year’s regional elections, he was elected a member of the Ulyanovsk state parliament. If he procures weapons for the Houthis, it will be with the knowledge or even assistance of the Kremlin.

The Kremlin has already shown a desire to help the Houthis. Iran is brokering talks between Russia and the militia that would see Russian P-800 Oniks anti-ship missiles delivered to the Houthis, Reuters reported in September.

The powerful missiles, which have a range of 300 kilometers (186 miles) and carry a 200-kilogram (440 pound) high-explosive warhead, would significantly increase the risk for merchant vessels in the Red Sea—and even for the Western naval vessels there to protect them. Indeed, the arrival of the nasty P-800 Oniks would trigger the departure of the remaining few shipping companies still sending their vessels through the Red Sea.

“The very notion of the high seas is now challenged, and once state and/or nonstate actors, especially proxies, discover a new approach that has strategic, operational, and tactical impact, it will only be mimicked by others,” retired Vice Adm. Duncan Potts, who commanded the European Union’s counter-piracy operation in the Indian Ocean at the height of the piracy resurgence there in the early 2010s, told Foreign Policy. “I fear this is a game-changer,” he added. “Defending against complex weapons needs complex weapons, and there are relatively few navies who have the capability, number of platforms, and will to do anything about it.”

It’s also about the dividing world. Ever since launching its campaign against shipping last November, the Yemeni militia has spared Russian and Chinese vessels. The two powers have shown their appreciation by not pressuring the Houthis to end their campaign and—unlike earlier operations against Red Sea pirates, where China participated—by not taking part in escort plans. (Western countries are conducting the escorts and fighting of Houthi attacks regardless of what flag ships fly and in which country they’re owned.)

The fact that Moscow appears so willing to fund an assault on Western vessels shows that global shipping is splitting in two—and a divided ocean will be a far riskier and more costly place.

[celestial-spectre-shuigui]

Days since last act of violence, …

I believe I missed yesterday’s journal, my apologies. It was greenjack night in the Greenhouse and I was up big. I am proud to say that-!

I lost everything, I’m actually 81 Jin in debt now, it was actually amazing how genuinely horrible I played once I started getting ambitious.

Six Dragon Ninjas, four Dragon Grenade Throwers, and a Caretaker are currently being repaired, I am unsure what happened to them. I briefly blacked out after losing my last game, waking up amidst their destroyed bodies as the Greenhouse floor below me was littered with craters and smoking divots.

Correction; I am very sure of what happened, I just wish to avoid dwelling on it.

What am I? Why can’t I stop myself?

Thankfully, no dragonsnails or dragonfrogs were nearby, I would be struggling a lot more with remaining calm now if something had happened to any of them. Though they’ve all been reported fine now, none of the Dragon Legion wishes to play greenjack with me anymore. I understand.

I’ve got nothing else to say, I am disappointed in myself. I will be meditating beneath the water if anyone needs me. Shuigui, out.

[ammythewanderingartist]

First OC on this platform ig.

Sketches 2 dif versions

Equiped with a double-barrel pistol, officer sabre, a journal that keep his mind a bit sane, and grenades.

Don't think anyone is interested in reading paragraphs of main character ocs, but here it is. Backstory

Anton Kuntz back when he was human; used to be known as a cheerful, enthusiastic guy, even when he was promoted as being 2nd Lieutenant during the middle of an apocalypse. Has an older brother named Carsten, a gruff and grizzly guy who is also in the same regiment as him as a seaman. Carsten Kuntz is 46-years-old.

(In the castle of Kaub) One night, the night he turned into a zombie was when he was writing paperwork and letters in his room, only to have his little usual writing session interrupted by a knock on his door, the general's adjutant, Gunther. Of course, Anton wasn't thrilled in seeing Gunther at his door but would always act his usual demeanor with courtesy. Since Gunther is the general's right hand.

Gunther leads him to a short conversation in attending to a supply run, Gunther using his common card on the "Field Marshal's order". Anton leads the group alongside with some of his soldiers to go on with the supply run with the wagon down the bridge to the once-lively village. Little did Anton know that Gunther had another plan for him than some simple task, Anton would be pushed into a horde discreetly away from witnessing the eyes of their comrades when things got hairy. His soldiers heard Anton's scream, thinking it was just the unluckiness of Anton's cost and not Gunther's doing.

[ Gunther is known to be an arrogant snobby assistant, a blonde bloke who as much as he easily pisses off everyone, also has a short temper. ]

So yeah, when Anton woke up as a zombie; mauled alive, unable to use his vocal cords due to his throat being ripped out and some of his vital organs missing and chowed away (which is the reason why he wears a trenchcoat to hide his mangled body and torn, bloodied uniform). Prussian soldiers still think about him, thinking he's just missing as they miss his high spirits around the castle that he had once provided once and then.

He was enraged, however, there is a hint of intelligence behind his hungry, bloodthristy gaze. Days passed, he turned insane (but not mindlessly stupid) when his main priority was finding Gunther and no one was getting in his way for it. He also cannot remember anyone or anything from his past human self, but still understands languages and knows how to write. Will go insane if someone takes his journal away or if he can't find it.

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Destinytober24: Day 8 - Harmonica

You know who else cheats at cards?

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

When the sky is darkening, the fire crackling, and one is alone and missing one's ghost, the only sensible thing to do is pull out a harmonica and serenade the universe, like a whale singing its solitude out to the open sea.

Cayde-6 is doing this now.

It is the in-between time. The Witness has not yet been killed. The Vanguard is preparing for what may be its final operation. Crow is out scouting. Zavala is learning Stasis from Ikora, and Cayde has been left with his own thoughts, for however long that will last.

A Hunter's journal lies open on one of the salvaged folding chairs by the fire. It shows a map of the Blooming, sketched in a careful hand with clear labels of landmarks and concentrations of hostile troops.

The fire is spitting, a new log having recently been added. A small pot of something edible is near enough to the flames to be kept warm but not close enough to char.

And Cayde... Cayde is warding off the loneliness with a sad song. He tells himself that if Sundance is in the Traveler and the Traveler is all around him, then she can probably hear the music. So he plays for her. He plays to tell her he misses her. That he knows she misses him too.

It isn't so much a sound behind him as a feeling. A creeping feeling. The sensation that he is no longer alone. He stops playing and tilts his head, listening. Not Crow. He makes too much noise. This is someone quieter. The eerie sensation increases. It feels inexplicably... Hive.

Cayde stands and spins around, Ace drawn. Three green eyes glow in the darkness above a larger sphere of Soulfire at the other end of the path leading up to the campsite.

As his finger depresses the trigger, he hears the gunshot from a different direction. Cayde retains his grip as the barrel of his gun is knocked aside.

Solar. Different angle. Two of them.

Cayde tumbles back out of the firelight, seeking the shadows to avoid the next shot. But the next shot does not come. He rolls again and comes up on one knee with a tripwire grenade armed and blinking in one hand, his weapon readied in the other.

The Hive eyes have ducked behind a rock. He can see the faint glow. He waits a moment for the grenade timer to run down so that it will detonate as soon as it lands and prepares to toss.

"Cayde!" a voice calls out.

Feminine. Low. Familiar. Pissed off.

"Eris?" Cayde stands up. "Eris Morn?"

"Yes." She confirms with an oh-so-familiar tone of complete exasperation.

"Well I'll be damned."

Cayde tosses the tripwire grenade behind him, holstering his hand cannon as the device explodes harmlessly on the beach.

A hand holding a globe of Soulfire emerges from behind the rock, followed by the distinctive three glowing eyes. And then, as she comes closer to the fire, the tear-streaked face of Eris Morn above the outline of her chitinous pauldrons, strings of beads glinting in the firelight, becomes visible.

"Sorry," Cayde says, flippantly. He isn't very sorry. A little sorry, maybe, but not that sorry.

He steps closer to the fire, his arms out, ready for yet another hug in a long string of hugs from people he's been dead to for years.

Eris steps closer to him as he stands, his arms still out, the awkwardness of the situation increasing as he awaits an embrace that does not come.

Instead, Eris leans in and holds out her Ahamkara bone like a flashlight, peering intensely at him. Her outstretched hand hovers inches above his skin as her three green eyes bore into him, examining him as though he is a science experiment. She looks closely at one outstretched hand, up one arm, walks around behind him, peers down his other arm and finally leans up on her tiptoes to scrutinize his face.

Cayde-6 leans back slightly as her hand hovers over his faceplates. Eris steps forward and continues until her fingertips are just inches away from the tip of his horn before withdrawing her hand.

"It is you," she intones.

"Yeah, it's me." Cayde's arms are still out, waiting for a hug he is no longer certain is coming.

Eris tilts her head.

"How?" she asks.

"It's... complicated."

A shadow to the side steps into the firelight. The second shooter.

Cayde's eye-lights blink in surprise. Of all people...

"Now that's a face I didn't expect to see. How are you still here?"

The Drifter shrugs as he continues to walk toward the fire. "I might ask you the same thing, brother."

"And you," Cayde turns back to Eris, still examining him intently, his arms still out awkwardly. "I figured you'd be a Hive god by now."

"I was," Eris says nonchalantly as she makes another slow circuit around him, peering at him over her ball.

"I think he wants a hug, Moondust."

"What?" Eris pauses, giving the Drifter a confused look before looking back at Cayde again. "Oh."

Cayde raises his arms a little bit.

"Very well" Eris turns and places her Ahamkara bone on top of the open journal on the chair before clumsily reaching up to provide Cayde with the most graceless and uncomfortable hug he's ever received as he looks down in exasperation at Eris' rock on his map.

Cayde and the Drifter make eye contact. The Drifter smirks and sits down in an unoccupied chair, lounging back like he owns the place.

Cayde raises a finger, about to say something when Eris steps back and places both of her hands on his shoulders, gazing at his face intently.

"Have you been on the Moon?" she asks.

Distracted from what he was about to say, Cayde looks at her quizzically. "What? Uhmmm... you mean before or after I died?"

"After," Eris says, her voice insistent.

"The Guardian and I did go looking for a ghost there for Micah."

"No. After you died but before you returned. While you were dead. Have you been on the Moon?"

She speaks with the intensity that only Eris Morn can summon, focused on a confusing detail that means nothing to him, and it's as though all the years have dissipated and they're back in the Vanguard office and she's once again being frustratingly cryptic and weird, up to and including having her damn rock on his damn map.

It's oddly comforting, the exasperation. Like an old familiar blanket.

"No, Eris," Cayde says, with a gentleness he never had with her in the past. "I wasn't anywhere. I was... with Sundance... somewhere inside of here... before here became... whatever it is now."

"Hmmm..." Eris releases his shoulders and turns away, staring into some unidentified point in the darkness out beyond the light of the fire. "Troubling, but... not unexpected."

Yup. Same Eris.

"Someone wanna clue me in here?" Cayde asks looking to the Drifter, of all people, for clarity.

"Apparently a ghost of you... not like a guardian ghost, a ghost ghost.... has been pestering her on the Moon for years," the Drifter says, tumbling a coin across his knuckles. "She's been tryin' to figure out this whole time whether it was a pyramid phantom twisting her memories or actually you. That's one of the reasons she wanted to come see ya."

"Yes," Eris turns away from both of them and reaches out a hand in front of herself, her fingers combing empty air. "Of all the nightmares that have been sent to torment me, yours has been the most confusing."

Cayde feels a pang of guilt. "Wasn't me. I mean, I figure I tormented you enough while I was alive. Seems unfair to keep doing it after I'm gone."

"Yes," Eris intones and nods. "It did seem like far more effort than you would have troubled with."

Another pang of guilt.

"Look... Eris," Cayde steps toward her. "I don't know if you got my message after I died but um... I am sorry about your ship."

"My ship?" Eris turns back to him, confused.

Her three eyes blink slowly and then narrow. "My ship." Her mouth twists into a snarl.

"Easy, Moondust. You got a Tomb ship now. You don't need that old thing."

"She has a Tomb ship?" Cayde stares at the Drifter in disbelief.

"Yeah," the Drifter answers gleefully. "Reclaimed from the Lucent Hive. The inside is bigger than the outside. It's wild."

"You seriously have a Tomb ship?" Cayde asks her.

"Yes," Eris intones, as though it was a simple boring fact that was not remarkable at all. "Your light is... different."

She never was much of a conversationalist.  Same old Eris.

"Yeah," Cayde says. "No powers either... just the gun... And no Sundance... I don't even care that much about the powers but... I miss her... a lot..."

"Yes." Eris says, her own voice now gentle. She lays a hand on Cayde's arm.

"It hurts," Cayde says bluntly in a way he knows she will understand.

"It does," she agrees, once more staring into his eyes with her own.

"Now I know what it feels like..." He places his own hand on top of her own.

"It is not a feeling I would wish to share with anyone."

"Yeah," Cayde says quietly.

The Drifter's misshapen ghost appears over Eris's shoulder. Both Eris and Cayde look at it for a moment, and then over at the Drifter.

The coin disappears and he sits up nervously from his slumped position.

"What?" he asks them.

The Drifter's ghost bumps into Eris gently, blinking red then blue then red again, before floating away into the darkness beyond the firelight. It emits its single tone from a lighter spot a short ways away and looks back at them, its shell open and spinning.

"Hmmm...." Eris follows it. Cayde follows Eris. The Drifter shrugs, stands up, and saunters after everyone else.

The Drifter's ghost continues moving until it leads them to a crack in the ground pouring out brilliant white light. It hovers over the crack and emits its tone again.

Eris catches her breath. "Is it... one of them?" She asks, looking at Cayde.

"Cracks in the Traveller?" Cayde asks. "Yeah."

Eris walks over and kneels down next to the crack in the ground. The Drifter's ghost settles into her open hands. She tilts her head, listening.

"You know, Ikora did the same thing." Cayde says.

The Drifter stands next to her. "Eris?"

Eris's hand flies up, palm flat. "Hush."

The Drifter looks back at Cayde. Cayde shrugs.

"You just gonna sit there on the ground like that, Moondust?" His hand reaches out to touch her arm just below her pauldron.

Eris hand flies up and grips his wrist tightly.

"Be. Silent," she commands him, giving his hand a small shake with each word.

The Drifter's ghost floats up from Eris' lap and bumps into his chest, nudging him back.

He takes a step back and the ghost floats back down into Eris's open hands.

The Drifter's hands raise up, palms up in a gesture of surrender as he steps back further. "Oooookay."

"Is that your ghost?" Cayde leans over and whispers.

"I think she's gonna be a while," the Drifter whispers back, not answering the question.

"Yeah, Ikora sat there for a couple hours the first time she saw it too."

"Alright then."

Both turn and walk back to the fire.

Cayde sits down on the chair next to where Eris' Ahamkara bone is sitting on his journal. The Drifter takes a seat as well.

"So uh... are you and Eris..."

The Drifter is silent. He leans back and his coin once more starts to flip across his knuckles.

"I mean, I'm not going to pry but... I've only ever seen you look at one other person like that..."

Still silent, the Drifter shrugs.

"And you're still here," Cayde continues. "That... that really is a surprise... I figured you'd be long gone by now."

"Yeah well," the Drifter keeps his coin tumbling as he talks, "Decided I wanted to stay after all."

"Have to admit... I did not see that one coming... does make a bit of sense though."

The Drifter is silent for a few more moments as the coin walks across his knuckles and the fire licks at the logs. Then he leans forward and the coin disappears.

"How long you figure you got?"

"I don't know," Cayde says quietly. "It... doesn't feel like a long term thing."

"Might not be long term for any of us, really, depending on how this fight goes."

Cayde nods.

The Drifter shrugs. "Feel like losing at cards?"

The practised grin with a glint in his eyes is back and Cayde finds the offputting man oddly comforting in this moment, much in the way Eris being frustratingly obtuse was comforting earlier.

Shifty scheming Drifter is still shifty scheming Drifter, and that, too, feels weirdly soothing to Cayde in a world where everything else seems to have moved on without him.

"Lose?" Cayde asks, his elbows resting on his knees. "I seem to remember the last time we played I wasn't the one with no pants on."

"If you call seein' me without pants on winning, sure." The Drifter winks. "Didn't know you felt that way, brother." His eyes sparkle in the firelight.

Cayde laughs and shakes his head. Yup. Still Drifter.

"Shut up and deal."

The rogue Lightbearer reaches into his coat with a wide toothy grin and pulls out a dark glass bottle. He places it on the ground between them.

"Ooooh," Cayde reaches out, curious, and picks it up by the neck. He brushes off some dust to get a look at the label. "Ooooh," he says again, this time leaning back and nodding in appreciation. "All right, you have my attention."

A deck of cards appears in the Drifter's hands.

"Uh... hmmm..." Cayde pats at his pockets. He wasn't resurrected with any glimmer.

His hands come across a lump. It's not a question of value, but the spirit of the thing. That'll do. He pulls the object out and holds it up.

The Drifter raises one eyebrow and then nods, shuffling the deck with easy familiarity.

Cayde tosses his harmonica next to the bottle on the ground between them.

The metal instrument glints in the light of the fire as two rogues sit down to do what rogues do best: see which one can out-cheat the other at cards.

Link to the entire month's worth of prompts on Ao3, posted daily.

[incorrect-murderdrones]

ANDDD WE HAVE A QUOTE MASTERPOST! ALL QUOTES BELONG TOO: @the-island-of-quotes HAVE FUN AND FOLLOW THAT PERSON :D -Mod Kai

N: This is what Victor would look like if he was doctor Seuss.

Uzi: There's a socket in my pocket, maybe this will help me fix my sprocket.

Uzi: It's not a 5, or a 6, or a 10, I have seem to have lost all of those again.

Uzi: And when it comes to wrenches, it seems all of them have disappeared off my fucking work benches.

Uzi: So even though there is a socket in my pocket I can't even use it to fix my fucking sprocket

*Next day*

Uzi: Another tool another day, I dropped some more shit in this fucking engine bay.

Uzi: But it's okay because I bought this car to get from point A to point B.

Uzi: And after one week of ownership I'm kinda hoping this thing gets crushed by a fucking tree.

Uzi: I've wanted to sell this car since week one, but nobody wants to buy it when it has every problem under the sun.

Uzi: This car will just remain broken and collect some dust, and eventually this piece of shit will start collecting rust.

Uzi: But at this point I don't really care! I have the time, nor money or energy to try and repair.

Uzi: I'm just gonna say fuck this, and sell this shit on craigslist to some guy named Chris.

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V: I now proudly present, the life and times of earnest Hemingway in aproxamently 3 and a half minutes. GO! Born in Chicago in 1899, son of a physician and a musician, reasonably uneventful childhood, decided to study Journalism. Enlisted with the Red Cross during World War I, got BLOWN up in Milan and spent 6 months in hospital with severe shrapnel wounds in both legs. Fell in love with a nurse, they decided to get married. He came home to prepare, she stayed there and ditched him for an Italian soldier, which initiated a life long pattern of him rejecting women before they had a chance to reject him. Got a job as a foreign correspondent, fell in love with his roommates' sister, married her and moved to Paris. They hung out with Gertrude Stein. They kicked it with Pablo Picasso. He started writing in earnest, no pun intended. Moved to Toronto, had a kid, moved back to Paris, published a couple of books. Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman. Converted to Catholicism... Cut his head open after pulling on a cord thinking he was flushing a toilet and instead ripped a skylight from the roof and smashed it onto HIS FACE! Moved to Kansas City, had another kid, his dad committed suicide, he shot a lot of bears for some reason. Had a car accident, had another kid, went to Africa to kill some wild animals and got dysentery karma! Published another book, moved to Cuba, SHOT HIMSELF IN THE LEG WHILST AIMING AT A SHARK! Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman. Published "For Whom the Bell Tolls," sold half a million copies in a couple of months and got nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman. Became the self appointed leader of a band of village Militia outside of Paris and was subsequently brought up on charges for contravening the Geneva Convention, and GOT AWAY WITH IT LIKE A FUCKING CHAMPION! Got pneumonia, moved back to Cuba and spent most of his spare time on his boat TRACKING NAZI U-BOATS WITH A MACHINE GUN AND A PILE OF HAND GRENADES I AM NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP! Had a few more car accidents, three more concussions, got CLAWED WHILE PLAYING WITH A LION... Got depressed, drank. Got fat, published a couple more books, went back to Africa to shoot some more wild animals, and barely survived two separate plane crashes in the space of 24 hours, winding up with a fractured skull, internal bleeding, cracked spine, ruptured liver, first degree burns, and a paralyzed sphincter muscle karma! Won a Nobel Prize, had a file opened on him by J. Edgar Hoover, left a bunch of shit in a safe in Cuba and moved to Idaho, paranoid that the feds were following him WHICH THEY WERE BECAUSE HE SPENT MOST OF THE 1940S WORKING FOR THE KGB, AGAIN NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP! Suffered from hepatitis, nephritis, hypertension, hemochromatosis, anemia and impotence, karma. Got committed, received way too much electroconvulsive therapy and came out all fucked up, started hinting at suicide so immediately got recommitted, received another couple of months worth of electroconvulsive therapy, got released, put both barrels of his favorite 12-gauge shotgun into his mouth and BLEW HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF! WHAT A GUY!

______________________________________________________________

N: Welcome to applebees! What'll it be? Apples or bees? Congrats, you get bees!!!

______________________________________________________________

Doll: Now that I've added the milk to the cereal tell me, is that milk now a beverage, a broth, or a sauce? Answer carefully Khan, you're wife's life depends on it!

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Uzi: If the conspiracies about life being a simulation are true whoever is controlling my Sim I JUST WANNA TALK!!

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N: Do you think god stays in heaven because he too fears what he's created? That's a quote from Spy Kids 2 have you ever seen it it's like peak cinema.

______________________________________________________________

Uzi: Who needs sleep when you run on equal parts NyQuil and Methamphetamine?

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V: Just remember Uzi people die when they are killed!

______________________________________________________________

V: Ha! You're pointless!

Doll: Thirty nine buried.

*Gunshot*

Doll: Zero found

______________________________________________________________

N: Which one of you was gonna tell me tea tastes different if you put in hot water?

Uzi: Y- you we're putting it in cold water???????

V: N. Answer the question N!

N: Yeah??? I thought for like five years people just put it in hot water to speed up the tea-ification process, didn't realize there was an actual reason.

J: You don't have the patience to microwave water for three minutes??

Doll: Why are you. Putting it in the microwave to boil it?

J: Do you think I have the patience to boil water on the stove?

Doll: It takes less than a minute!

J: Doll is your stove powered by the fucking sun!?

Doll: How long does it take to boil a cup of water on your stove?

J: LIKE SEVEN MINUTES!

Doll: Just stick the mug on top of the stove on medium heat and it boils in two minutes, less if you use a saucepan.

Lizzy: Crying your putting the whole mug on the stove??? On medium heat??? Your stove is enchanted!

Uzi: Every drone in this exoplanet is a fucking idiot.

Cyn: DO NONE OF YOU OWN A FUCKING KETTLE!?!?! REMEMBER TO FOLLOW: @the-island-of-quotes AS THEY OWN THESE QUOTES :D

[lounesdarbois]

San Sebastian. Je vais aux courses de taureaux. De très belles bêtes de chez Sottomayor, vigoureuses et qui font grand carnage de chevaux. Quand on pense à la gloire obscure de milliers de Français qui ramassent des grenades prêtes à éclater et les renvoient sur la tête des Boches et à celle de l'Espagnol qui se fait applaudir par six mille concitoyens pour avoir tourné le dos un instant à un taureau éreinté, cela fait rire.

Paul Morand, 9 Septembre 1917, Journal d'un attaché d'ambassade