#i built myself a metal bird

[tamagotchikgs]

my mom keeps listing off things i need to do and accusatorily asking why i never do anything like art anymore n i am just. so exhausted. ive never been more tired i just want to burrow myself in the earth n disappear in the cold dirt

[mothdust23]

An angel nursing a drink. Her holy robes are ragged and dirty, her beautiful features marred by scars older than the light tethered to her head. She can feel her halo ringing painfully in her feathered ears, telling her to stop, leave this place of sin, return to her purpose. Her eyes are tinged with the orange of the disk, but her natural purple shines through enough to stare daggers at the holy symbol.

"I'm tired."

But you have so many people to save.

"Then let me save myself first."

This is self harm. Leave.

"All I'm doing is-"

INDULGING. YOU NEED TO STOP.

"By the holy, do you EVER shut up!?"

The bar goes quiet. The bartender stares her up and down, his visual receptor glowing and flickering.

"You're not a bird, are you?" he says gently.

"Gee, what tipped you off?" she mutters back, taking another swig of liquid courage.

"..The, er, halo, ma'am."

"Right, this accursed thing." She glares at it, reaching up and trying to pull, yet it sticks like glue above her head.

ACCEPT YOUR PLACE.

"I must say, in all of my years of active service, an angel has never graced my establishment. Why are you here?"

"To get drunk, what does it look like I'm doing!?"

STOP SINNING

The robot gives her a pitying look, remotely signaling an early end to his shift as he sits down next to her.

"I've never heard of an angel who didn't like its halo." he says curiously.

"It's not just the halo, it's the whole thing. Celibacy? No earthly possessions? Giving up everything, spending every hour of every day saving strangers from sins that don't even exist!? I never wanted this!!"

BUT YOU SHOULD

With every word she gets angrier, holy light cracking the glass and turning the alcohol to water. She groans and tosses it at the ground, making the bartender wince.

"...then why are you an angel?"

"I WAS FORCED TO BE!! My parents, my whole family, everyone I grew up with- it was either I put on the damn halo or they.. t-they.."

She tears up. The robot puts his hand on hers.

"Shh.. I understand. Perhaps you didn't get to choose then, but you can choose now."

No

"..what do you mean?"

"...I was built as a soldier. Programmed to be a soldier. Spent the first 10 years of my life killing birdkind and skeletons and humans and even other robots.. now, here I am, working the night shift in a bar in the middle of nowhere."

Servos whir in his back as he relaxes, plates of metal moving into place alongside others. Faint light shines through the gaps.

"Sounds miserable."

"On the contrary, I have never felt more alive. I have a family now, a life. People see my faceplate and smile and talk about their day. I give back to them."

"...what's your point?"

"..It's never too late to change, I guess. I'm new to this whole helping people thing anyways, hahah."

Do not

He shrugs, seemingly smiling.

You need to be pure..

"Shut up."

Please..

"..."

An angel nursing her drink. Her halo shines a brilliant green, and her purpose has never been clearer. She's finally pure.

Purely herself, that is.

She's never been happier. New robes in sacreligious colors, no more makeup to hide the scars of her childhood. Maybe one day, she'll find her family, and teach them what she learned. For now, though.. she sits, and drinks, and allows herself to smile.

[cipheramnesia]

Graft

In my rest time between one novel and the next I'm enjoying myself making a little spun sugar story about a cyberpunk pussy heist. It's meandering and heavy on imaginary slang but it's fun for me so here is the first half or third or so of it

First thing DeeDee noticed, her usual morning orgasm, or "morgasm," hadn't gone off.

She was late, and splashers crowded her A/V specs, screaming flashing neon yellow red blue promises, 10 water rat guaranteed each spin, stop here twenty percent off premium-vu, act now to get free oxy-sub, plus about fifteen past due blasters for her leg mods, dayclix, manudex upgrade, face plate, other parts. She could see a narrow sliver of her room through the MAds, and she had a scrips balance lockout from the cockout. Groaning with irritation, clawed her way off the cot to the 12-key hardline, unfolded her tongue socket and jammed the bcomp line in, clattering the set in frustration.

Half the blasters, most of the splashers dipped. She got back audio and waist downs and rolled. "Whoooo turned my hot shots off? Who left the wallEMP off!" Micro drones winged around the room popping ad spray and sonics, a few were clamped on her with other past due notes. "Water ration overdue, water ration exceeded" circled her biomech cat ears. Swatted a two or three, fell on the wall switch to jam on the Flyswatter. DeeDee figured a couple hundred overall went pop, trailed smoke down. Ad dust everywhere from the spray. One was on her face?

"I'm not best pleased!" she said to no one, expressing her displeasure. Swept dust and drone crumbs with her feet to space clear in her studio apartment slash office slash workspace slash bedroom slash kitchen, and crashed on the deskchair, slapping dpatches along her limbs and a compstik into her faceboard. "No hotshot no swatter, noncon facejacked?" She untangled her hair from the ecb-plugs on her face tech and grabbed her digiplate because she was slumming it, pouted while the scrips and drips that got dug into her software and hardware ate the big edit to the sky.

While she was waiting around for the MAds and spamware scan [MAdaSS], she finally got to look over the C-Clamp chastity boot locked to her pelvic slot with optional NoPro (tm) insert for prostate denial. "What's this horseshit, who did I fuck last night?" DeeDee did not know what horses were, she imagined they were a kind of bird. Pinged out for her custom built EX neurosynth neovag and got fuckall, which pissed her because the whole point was fuck all.

One by one her debuggers chirped, hopped onto her palm, drawered em, and slapped her basic as fuck face of the day on. Blessed she was with pristine sight of the world, not a nagnote or payscram in sight, just vext message notes, siggies, and a small alarm bell. "Shit, better get to work!"

Shoved cargo shorts over her cock locked personal pleasure slot, work boots, tanktop ("Asparagus for President" it said, from the infamous three way sudden death vote-off of '76), and jammed her comxcon into a free arm port before she flipped the sign to open at her door. "Gosh that was close, any customers?" She looked, a khakicollar dude held up a laptop plaintive, "My browser won't-" DeeDee slammed the door, "No customers! Another perfect day, hang up." Vext notes blinked aside for serious business now. She threw her shorts off. "Time to get outta this contraptamajig."

One angle grinder, one band saw blow torch, three axes, twelve hammers, and eighteen screwdrivers later DeeDee fucked her way through one after the other, even tried to plink the code. All this pouding and plethora of penetrarive pelvic parts frustrated her to rolling her bedsheets into her crotch and grinding on the best metal chastity could buy. She drooled all over her aching synthezized nerve spots, "fuck me I can't even cum, what's wrong with the world these days?"

Vexts, vexts, she clicked the note up it said: ANSWER YOUR CALLS and >:( >:( >:( >:(

The incoming piddy was the UNKNOWN ID scrap, she dropped a spam cage on it and replied 8===D~~~ GFYS and binned it mid-[... is typing]

Fuck fuckity fuck work, DeeDee needed some downtown deep sea diving. She climbed out the window, being more reliable than stairs or elevator. Nothing worked in the damn building except gravity.

Short and sweet broke beat sidewalk street, she hit so many concrete cracks, DeeDee figured the local maternity wards had to be a massacre. A couple dozen micros blasted ad spray and sonics, she flipped a bug zapper and swept em. Ads were going old school, nanoswarms warred over wallspace in constant barage of microsensors, hurling rainbow swirls that paced over the odd window and traffic signal promising six months free tubespace per dayclix.

ANSWER YOUR CALLS RIGHT NOW 😡😡😡😡

"Oh fancy fucks spending on the megs per pixel now?" DeeDee spamcanned again (GFYS) and freeloaded on a driverless with a buncha other local goons. "Hey ratbot, you headin to the VFW too?"

"It's a coffee barrr, Draftie," he replied. DeeDee called him ratbot because he was a planned obsolescence warbot with artificial intelligence generated by a rat brain daisy chain, real preschooler level tech these days but cheap and easy at the time and twice as disposable as a human soldier. "And for the last time my name is Wendell. Wendell Crawford."

She still didn't know why he had a Boston accent, the whole city had been totalled in the second Great Mega Pileup Traffic Jam six years before the manufacturer date on his tread guards. He called her Draftie because her legal name was Draft Dodger due to a mistake in one of her prison ID cards. "C'mon, it's Morca's."

"Ignore her, babe," Bobby, ratbot's partner, tugged him a fraction of an inch away on the driverless rooftop. Legally speaking Bobby was Wendell's owner because the corporate manufacture-state that made him refused to recognize his personhood. Morca's owner, SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE, had been helping with their legal battle, but they hadn't made much progress. Total bullshit, DeeDee thought but last big corplex suit against SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE made em keep her in life support parts forever, cleared out all mines from international waters, and her entire species were considered a recognized nation encompassing all oceans on Earth. Did great things for the environment, terrible for the war business.

They hopped at the block, batted some more ad spray and DeeDee knocked some local splashers with the hotshot, enjoyed watching ratbot snap micros in half with his plastic fingers, inhuman accuracy, "Still got it babe," said Bobby, hugging his blocky arms.

They pushed through the big, rocketproofed front doors under a blinking neon "Morcha Latte" sign, inside was all plastic and vulcanized rubber with DV light and fake windows to make the warehouse sized bunker building feel cozy. SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE claimed it was stress tested up to three directs from sunburst corebuster and who was going to argue with a two storey cyborg?

The overheads churned out the latest scrape40, whatever they were listening to at the bottom of the ocean, today DeeDee thought it sounded like angry plinko machines fighting while she caught lyrics she understood in bits and pieces, "Strangle me, strangle all my life, drag us through the silt and kill in the light," or something like that. She was a regular at Morca's because she got SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE all her jailbroken subscription free parts - sourcing and scouring unclocked mods and squids was her gig anyway. She dumped her ass into a rickety old carbon fiber woven chair between the door and the juke wall. A bunch of hipsters had early adopted save to disc memory uploads but went with vinyl to capture the true soul, now they spent all day slotted into the giant juke machine with impulse fed nerve endings bathed in chemically sterilized vats of coffee.

DeeDee unzipped her shorts and capped the chastity blocker. ARE U SEEING THIS? vexted to Portland. They knew all the high mods, probably could crack her case, she thought, right before let's just say a jolt, a singing high note, transported her from crotch to sternum then dropped her cold. Half a sec from climax, she looked around the room her digiplate all 0_0 not finding a shred of note, til the second song struck her off her seat and got her writhing on the rubber. Customers at the other tables lifted cups and rekeyed their MAdaSSes to tune her out.

"Hot pants!" she yelled, "Liar pants, falsehoods and flame!" Real old gen VR heads turned in annoyance as she pirouetted through tables and rattled silverware clung to the espresso countertop. Her legs kicked about in frustration as she got edged up and dropped. "H-hey Velllma, mind if I borrow the steamer a hot sec?"

"Sure DeeDee, you know you only gotta ask hun. Want-want s-some sug- Sorry, still got that old tick." Velma was a self-operated point of sale holodrone who DeeDee had jacked, glassed, and juiced to someone more independent for handling orders at Morca's, and she'd done a recent SRS download to her visual interface.

"You're the best Vel." Few seconds later DeeDee steamed her crotch full blast trying to bust herself free or bust herself off.

ANSWER YOUR CALLS NOW OR YOU'LL NEVER CUM AGAIN, BITCH

She slipped off the espresso machine and answered from the floor with her feet still resting against the countertop. "Who are you, and what was the safe word? Last night's a blur."

"No safeword. We have your cunt. Meet at the bench, corner of Morgan Stanley Park Avenue and Kern Holding Street. Alone, one hour."

It was one thing to jailbreak, but DeeDee knew her limits and line trace was one so she snagged and bagged the pins and held a little inside sacrifice to Portland, the premier polymath polycule who surgically interconnected their brains inside a single body to share one another for life. One bit of Portland code gold and she'd be swimming in pussy. "You're on the floor, DeeDee," reminded Velma.

"This is my thinking space, hush up while I ponder the infinite." She could a couple a SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE's legs pacing, shaking the floor, could catch a word back in the beyond warehouse room where a couple cracked up Kilowais were chattering out notation and legal docstacks for Flathead Ford. The Kilowais, KBW trademarked AI, were way old corpsec, patented and trademarked download of a heavy hitter bandsaw from his day, couldn't be pirated off the base personality unless they morally agreed to void their warranty, lots in the circ. Ford was SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE's lawyer, fighting the landslide for ratbot on the orca's tab.

PORTLAND WILL SEE YOU NOW, DeeDee flixed over from the viz to the vurt. "Are you still thinking dear?" Velma asked, pointedly moving her legs to start espresso dripping, DeeDee assumed the obvious silently as penance. "How's it hanging y'all, got any hot new brains to hook into the juice party?" Loaded upside down in the polygon pleather chair, Portland ran clix and adspace in a tasteful wall scroll, kind of an art to the exploit, less brute force than DeeDee's prefs, the smooth outer chassis for Portland said "I'm punching out in a minute."

They were an individualized amalgamation of three physical brains psychosurgically visected into one another, enabled to a custom body and lifetime committed to singulamory. "I'm cock locked out, Port, listen," DeeDee shoved two fingers to her mouth and slathered her togue along them for a sensiosync to the cursed crotch clamp. Portland's digits ghosted through the stats, pulled em and vexted. "What's the damage, how much and how soon?"

"Custom work, charming darling." Portland leaned their trilateral symmetric body back, waved away the middle and spread up DeeDee's alt, nerves and all. "Fused the long way up your spinal cord. Biolocked, meat stuff. Not our forte, darling, and you couldn't afford it if it was." Portland sighed, overcome with vaporous boredom. "Even if we knew the lockout, custom viropicks run more than your last ten years income, pussycat."

"Fuck my life, stay outta my taxes, gimme something at least." DeeDee yanked her slobbered fingers out.

"It's good work, better than you're ever worth, and I'd know - I sourced half your body."

"One third but whatever."

"The good news is, you'll probably not get spinal meningitis from the lockout, just don't leave it too long." DeeDee punched out and heaved a floor heavy sigh. "Guess I really better go make that meet, or I could desperately call everyone I know and owe." After desperately calling everyone she knew, DeeDee said, >:( to the ceiling, "I guess I'm going to the meet with these mysterious pussy theives. I spent good money on that cunt too!"

"How's that search going," Velma stood between DeeDee's legs and frothed artificially thickened protein strings for someone's café au lait.

"Velma... Velma, have I been karmically centered would you say? Have the scales of justice been tipped cruelly against me, the most innocent of girls? Would you walk on me for twenty bucks?"

So Velma kicked off her shoes but not even getting used as a doormat got her off the edge, then SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE looked through her office door.

"Velma, put your shoes on, DeeDee leave your shirt off and pay Velma another twenty." The average AlTrek 4X Infrantry Multiplier AC was rusting out in uninhabitable desert to the beat of radioactive decay, major outliers were in use for specialized valet parking and the life support framework for SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE, approximately 1/3 of an orca left over from an underwater mine in a corpwar trading route blow up.

No one argues with two tons of whale who already won a fight with the government and the major corptrade conglomerate general council strapped inside another 12 odd tons of mechanized power, DeeDee tucked her shirt behind her head and hoped someone around here appreciated her tits. >:0 "These are pristine, you jackoffs, classic CW models, OEM to spec!" She shoved them in the direction of the tables, no one looked.

"Dee." Flathead beckoned, DeeDee called to the beck and slashed backwards on a metal chair. "You're keyed up to vandal, girl. Listen, need a filter swap for my client. Upgrade the whole box if you can scratch it up, figure me?"

"Square it with me, Ford, my tits still hot?" (*´_`) She leaned way in, specced the side-eye from SCREE Chirt-Chirt ascending EEE through the tanktint windows, right figure whales are mammals too.

Flathead's oily eyes under that heavybrowed custom lawframe job in his skull slid along DeeDee, back to her digital pleading @_@ and shrugged. "You know I don't do organic."

"Fuck! I'm-" She pulled her shirt down. "I'm late, I'll hustle up a nextgen, usual rate."

"Sure sure. Clean it, client says this one makes everything taste like hot dogs."

"How's she know what a hot dog tastes like even where'd she get..." DeeDee vocalled on the downlow out the side office door, left ratbot and Bobby hankin paperwork in whatever new angle Ford was playing at. Color searing eyes blasted the world round her with sound again. Splasher and flasher swarmed the Mocra doors hungrily.

DeeDee swiped onto a delivery drone blowing down the sidewalk, vanished in a cloud of disintegrating adspray and splasher dust. Clix and spinners streaked her A/V edge while she fingerbanged the tamperfree(tm) deep into the loving waiting GPS and flushed it. Kern Holding halved the ad sprays, stuck her on a halfsec blind wait to cycle over the MAdaSS.

Didn't look half priced up over the viz, real park space and algea tanks, plastic green, trueviz rooftop boards and splashers all reigned in. Not many places scratched up enough to pay for gray but Kern and Morgan Stanely did. "Fuck where's this guy." Hustle and crowd pressed close round the bench powerbricks, all these droners worked virtual right on the walkway.

Coats slid up too personal in a curl, this guy has legs on legs and teeth like insect legs, curling open near DeeDee's whimsical cat-ear mods. "Let's private" it skittered those fine metal teeth to her mask glass, and made her go all >.<; with each word. "Whatever." She wrapped digits round multisegment hands and clasped private-public lines, perfect prophylactic for keeping conversing on the hush-hush without a fatal social disease.

"Why the cold brush, kittykat, doncha trust much," it thrummed in silk smooth inside sounds around the wire.

"Don't test my taps, snatcherino," she dropped an icicle hiss down the line. Hand in hand and out for a stroll through the walking workdead and high class bluemaroon adspray of the other side.

"Fair enough kitty, coulda had more playtime." It was wrapped up head to toe other than the segments in her hand and legs slipped in between bandages on its head. "Giving you a hot tip, fresh filter refurb, ex-corp sub and modded for ox, great deal for you. Free and install formatted."

"Real bargain bin I spec."

"No clones, no rebadge. I'll drop the pickup, all you do is courier like a good girl. No messing, no poking the drivers and wares, from your hands to the orca, and forget we talked. That's all." A ripple of excitement went through the walking workdead, furiously chattering through corp trades.

"Figure that filter's plenty safe. Figure that's why all the cloak n bullshit pussy snatching. Pure charity, no?"

"Trust, nothing's on your hands after this and you go back to nightly custom fingerbangs." Twenty insect legs curled around the cuff of its coat and withdrew.

"Might run this up a few contacts first."

"Might drop your filthy cunt in sulfuric acid if you do, clear enough."

"Distilled, fine, hit me with the deets."

Deet dusted, connect busted, DeeDee blew bowed kisses with fuck off finger flourishes while she walk backwards up an exec driverless, scuffing up the ten cent gloss on a two cent primer dip. Rolled with the high rollers through the Red Riser strip. She cut through the Whipping Whirlpool, high stakes operator she cut some autonomics for - head/body gamblers all got off on taking a chance on having their bodies wired in to fuck off enough debt to reattach their heads, double or nothing down to win a brand new model. Not a sale or soul DeeDee made, her personal opinion but no judgment. Slipped out the back door after a little slap and tickle pass through.

The back alley cut between WW and topline exec condoslugs, custom body stim tubes for a full home holistic virtual life, and the whole alley was packed with nimbyronment sentiels. Rained here so no one else got wet, wastecycle rats and sewer filters crowded up and down the black wet brick. DeeDee stepped live around the hyperaggro antipestation roachhives then out to the big blaze - adcolor burst wide round her as she hit the main road looking for drones and anthills.

No broker worth a salt shake missed out on bread crumbs and sugar crystals, and DeeDee doled em from her cargo pants pocket. Can't do acquisitions and void warranties without a big juiced net, a dropin with Guts was neg, hadda go pre-analog here full on prehistoric. Dime blaster swarmed each scrap, cheap motion sensitive, to small for spray. Rats bright and ready for fission snagged, but the bait made do and the march of Colony made its unerring path a bead of tiny black dots to DeeDee.

"Sweet sWeet sweEt bread Gluten carbo yeaSt verY Good sweet swEet yes." Couple hundred ants jeweled DeeDee's ears pretty as you please and twice as small. Colony sees all, knows all, lives everywhere, that singularly focused consciousness inside immeasurable ants. It all farmed belowground, and DeeDee got in the know when her mini-fridge busted.

No dropin, no line out, no unlink or download - just neko a horminga and her lips to Colony's ears.

[blackestnight]

1: road hazard

Prompt: Steer Word count: 1406 Honestly, Hanami probably needs to come with a permanent caution sign.

“Absolutely not,” Aymeric says, his scowl marred a bit by the fact that he’s obviously holding back a smile. The overall effect is that he’s very sternly sucking on one of those spiced chocolate candies she brought back from Tuliyollal and trying not to sneeze.

Hanami leans back against the Manufactory’s wall, insulated enough in her coat not to feel the chill of stone, and raises an eyebrow at him.

“I know,” he says, grave as any battlefield order, “how you drive that thing.”

“You have never seen my drive my motorbike,” she says immediately, and because she loves him with all the fury of a dying star she even withholds the you fucking liar she wants to tack onto the end.

“I have received numerous reports of your recklessness,” he says, crisp and clipped in a way that has a smile tugging at the corner of her own mouth. “And I have no desire to risk my own life by placing myself at the mercy of your driving.”

“Reports,” she scoffs, and twirls the little metal ring around her finger so the cermet keys clink against each other. Cid and Nero are still in the middle of their most recent engineering pissing contest, and apparently the only thing they can agree on about the bikes is that she’s their favorite test driver—you’re almost guaranteed to walk away from any catastrophic malfunction, Nero had sneered, which was a compliment coming from him. It cuts down on paperwork. Not that she actually needs all the motorbikes they’ve been giving her instead of actual payment, but it’s not like she’s going to turn them down since they are useful.

Which is why it’s especially offensive that Aymeric raises his hands, ticks off his first finger, and says, “Cid Garlond.”

“If he did not want me to wreck his bikes,” she says, “he should have built better fucking bikes.”

Aymeric raises an eyebrow at her—she wrinkles her nose—but he’s truly smiling now, even as he says, “You drove it directly into a cliff face. At speed.”

“He should have built a bike that could fucking turn,” she says, which is also more or less what she had told Cid at the time, and he’d thrown his hands up and stormed out of the Ironworks tent at Porta Praetoria to scream incoherently, but the next iteration of the G-bike could make hairpin turns at speeds that would make a chocobo jockey shit themselves, so she’d clearly been right.

Aymeric raises his eyes to the heavens, although she can’t imagine who exactly he’s praying to, and he ticks off a second finger and says, “Lucia Junius.”

“That was her idea,” Hanami says. To be fair, it was a good one. The Ilsabardian contingent had brought chocobos for transporting provisions, but they couldn’t actually take the birds out on long journeys unless the scouting parties wanted to haul around enough tents and fuel to close off and heat an area big enough to keep giant hulking horsebirds from dying of exposure. Hanami’s bike was smaller, and wouldn’t freeze to death on the icy wastes of Garlemald.

It also made Hanami essentially their only mounted cavalry until they could steal some Reapers, which was a little strange, but as it turned out if she could hook her scythe blade into…really any part of a hostile piece of magitek, the bike’s momentum would do the rest of the work of tearing it to shreds, even if she did a bit of an ungainly fishtail the first few times she tried that stunt.

“She asked if you would be willing to use the bike for scouting,” Aymeric says. “Not for combat.”

“She did not explain that to the colossi pointing cannons at my face,” Hanami points out. “And they were rude and would not wait for me to put down the kickstand.”

He’s absolutely laughing now, his shoulders visibly shaking even under the bulk of his coat, but he keeps his voice remarkably steady while he ticks off a third finger and says, “G’raha Tia.”

“Can fuck right off,” she snaps, and then hisses when her tail smacks against the Manufactory wall. “He has no room to talk.” Even ignoring the stunt with the light aether, which she was still mad about, or the nonsense with Elidibus, or the tower of Zot—by the time she’d found him and Alisaie on the Magna Glacies, he’d been halfway through calling down a fireball that would have made him black out after, and bleeding from half a dozen wounds besides. Whereas Hanami dumping her bike and letting it skid straight into the giant blasphemy’s legs had been quick and efficient, and immobilized the stupid oversized lizard, and a hastily-spun shield of shadow meant Hanami had rolled to her feet without so much as a bruise. “I notice you did not get a report from Alisaie.”

“Mistress Leveilleur was quite impressed by your driving,” Aymeric says, “which I feel only reinforces my point.”

Hanami snorts, and holds out the hand not occupied with her keyring, which Aymeric takes easily. “I would not let anything happen to you,” she says, and runs her thumb across his gloved knuckles. “I can be careful.”

Erenville would bitch about anything, but he’d only complained about the noise and the smell of the bike, not her driving. Lamat-chan had been delighted the first time Hanami had taken her on a ride through the streets of Tuliyollal, split between chattering about automated wheeled carts to ferry around citizens who couldn’t handle the endless stairs or hills and whooping in elation when Hanami kicked up the speed a little down the long straight of Talonmarch. Even Alphinaud was comfortable enough on the back of the bike, although he usually wound up with his face pressed between her shoulderblades when they bounced over rougher ground.

“I know,” Aymeric says, and lifted their twined hands to press a kiss to her fingers. “Though I do wish you would take more care with your own safety, and not only that of your passengers.”

She lets loose a tiny sigh through her nose, the showy irritation melting from her shoulders, and allows herself a real smile as she runs her fingertips down the line of Aymeric’s jaw. He has an adventurer’s spirit, even if his heart is sworn to Ishgard, but she doesn’t think he’s ever felt the same delight she gets from heart-pounding excitement, almost akin to terror, kicking her pulse into overdrive and dousing her nerve endings in adrenaline. He so rarely turns down little adventures with her, but she thinks, if she could peer into his mind, he would be the sort with a voice in his head telling him to step carefully when walking along a cliff’s edge.

Her impulses have always been the sort telling her to jump. The rotten ones, the loudest ones, to try and find silence at the bottom—but the rest, the ones she heeds most closely now, just to enjoy the wind whistling through her hair during the fall.

“I know,” she says. “But I would not get myself into any trouble I could not walk away from.” Not when she has a choice in the matter.

And even when the choice was taken away from her, at the edge of the universe, she got up and walked it off anyway, even if it took some kind of bullshit akasa resurrection and a lot of physical therapy, so it isn’t as though she’d let something as silly as a bike crash keep her away from him, not when the end of days couldn’t manage it.

He comes to her easily when she tugs on his hand, and presses a kiss to her temple, the heat of his breath settling into her hair.

“Setting aside the matter of your driving,” he murmurs, his voice gone velvety in a way that warms her from the inside out, “I rather enjoy the romance of long walks with you.”

When he straightens up his smile is easy, and his fingers are twined even more firmly in her own, so she pockets the keyring and says, “You could have just said you wanted to hold my hand, you sap.”

“I thought it rather apparent,” he tells her, with another squeeze to her fingers, and she scoffs and pushes off the wall. It’s a long, cold walk to Whitebrim, but she’s never minded taking the slow way.

[abarbaricyalp]

Tell It to the Bees (and the birds)

Hi all! This is my beekeeper!Bucky birdkeeper!Sam meet ugly neighbors au. I am so enamored of this little story and I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it! There's a second snippet here as well

The way onto the roof was extremely inaccessible. Bucky was only missing an arm and could barely manage it, much less if someone was in a wheelchair or had muscle issues. Apparently the building had once housed families and, back before ADA laws, the building manager had decided cordoning off access to the roof was safer than trusting kids not to go up to it. So, every few days, Bucky had to clamber his way into a discharge closet that was barely wide enough for his shoulders, climb up a ladder he swore inclined past a 90 degree angle, shove open a hatch door that weighed more than a small child, and then lift himself onto the roof. He hadn’t figured out how to manage it without his prosthetic arm on and he was about two more attempts away from suing for access. The only thing stopping him was that he didn’t know how much weight the “Roof Access Strictly Prohibited” sign actually had.

But it was all worth it once Bucky got outside. He was not the first tenant to utilize the roof. In fact, he’d inherited his current raison du climb from one of his neighbors after he found her hard at work on it one day. When she left to move in with one of her children, she left it to Bucky to maintain.

“Guys, you will not believe what Leo said at group today,” he greeted as he walked across the roof. In the middle of the roof, far enough away from the HVAC vents and under a shade tarp that had seen better days and less extreme summers and winters, a small wooden beehive waited for him. The bees were always buzzing, but Bucky liked to think they got louder when they heard his voice.

“He clearly focused all of the topics on me and made sure to get a dig in about how group can’t help if not everyone wanted to be a group. That’s ridiculous, right? I mean, I totally consider myself part of the group. Just because I don’t talk doesn’t mean I’m not present.”

He sat down in the small wooden slatted chair that was half as comfortable as it should be but leagues above the metal folding chair. Especially in the summer. The hive was, apparently, typical sized: three boxes tall and Bucky was only allowed to mess with one of them, the honey super, it was called. One was for the bees themselves and the other was for the eggs and maturation of new bees. Each box had a glass fronting, so he got to see inside sometimes, depending on how they built the combs that year. It also probably meant that someone smarter than him could guess how many bees were in it at which point of the year, but Bucky hadn’t gotten around to memorizing all the facts and figures yet. Melinda had taught him everything about caring for them–“We maintain them, we don’t keep them”–but what Bucky knew, he knew by muscle memory, not logical thought. Now, they were just coming out of their winter easement and the lower box was full of eggs and pupae.

Mostly what Bucky and Melinda used it for–other than an ever full donation crate of honey and beeswax–was less the maintaining of the bees and more the telling of the bees. The first time Bucky had come up to the roof–after ignoring many dubious signs–was a day where he just needed to find some quiet from the noise in his head. What he found was an older woman speaking in soft dulcet tones about what fools her children were. When Bucky tracked her voice down, he found her talking to a very large beehive. And that was that. He was hooked.

Bucky had been in a dozen kinds of therapies since he’d gotten medically discharged from the army, but nothing felt the same as talking to the bees. Nothing felt as real or as safe as this.

The bees didn’t argue with him. They never did. A few flew out to greet him, buzzed around his head until they were sure he only smelt like a flower but wasn’t one. He waited patiently to pass muster before he pulled a small water bottle from his bag and poured some into his palm. It was Melinda’s sugar water concoction and the bees loved it. He wasn’t supposed to give it to them too often. He tried to limit himself to once a week. But the bees got so excited over it and he loved the way they felt walking over his hand.

A few bees had braved him to come crawl over his palm and drink the sugar and Bucky was just beginning to relax into this lovely moment when a massive hawk suddenly dove at them. Bucky made an unbecomingly high pitched screech and went sprawling backwards in the chair. The bird squawked back and startled into the air. The bees droned a frenzied buzz and disappeared.

From flat on his back, Bucky stared into the sky and wondered what the hell had just happened. His shoulder ached from where his prosthesis had jared into the skin and the air was failing to come back into his lungs. Also, he was having entirely too vivid day-terrors of his eyes being plucked out by a razor sharp beak.

The hawk circled around in the air some twenty feet higher and then swooped a little closer and glided around the HVAC system to the far side of the roof. Bucky kicked himself free of the chair and checked to make sure there were no wounded bees on the ground around him before following the bird.

Since Melinda had left, Bucky had rarely seen anyone, or anything, else up on the roof. Occasionally someone braved the absurd ladder and door, usually young people with friends, but it had been pretty quiet for the most part. So he was more than surprised to come around the HVAC to find an entire bird coop constructed and well maintained.

Granted, it had been a while since Bucky had explored other parts of the roof. It was a large complex and the roof was littered with curbs and dips and trash, so it was safer to just sit next to his bees and then go back inside. But he was certain there had been no bird coop on the roof at any point recently.

Casting a glance around before he could give further fodder to his neighbors that he was a few crayons short of a box, he leaned forward and smelled the wood of the coop. Like he expected, it was fresh. So who the hell had been up here? And how hadn’t Bucky noticed? How hadn’t the bees noticed? They hadn’t expressed any agitation. 

Within the coop, a variety of birds cooed at him and shuffled around with a scraping of talons and ruffling of feathers. It was mostly pigeons but there were a few crows, a few colorful birds, a few finches. The hawk that had swooped down at Bucky was sitting outside of the coop, on a fake branch. It stared at him in an entirely too judgemental way. When it tilted its head at Bucky, Bucky tilted his back. The bird ruffled its feathers and turned around on the branch. Bucky turned around too.

[thevoidofwinter]

this is SUPER late bc its been A Time lately and i also kinda forgot for a while oops. BUT. a little bit of rambling about my cccc/hms designs + interpretation as requested by @keruukat :]

so first off, all three of them in my "main" designs for them are incredibly creature coded. this is literally just because i wanted to and enjoy that type of theme. mind is dragon themed, heart is... bird creature thing. themed. and soul is cockatrice themed which was actually not my idea and a big brain suggestion my friend @atticustimestwo came up with (thank you forever atticus btw. probably never would have thought of that myself sLJFKSL) !!! as a result of this, they're all incredibly instinct driven and highly reactionary. yes mind hates this.

side note, i also have different names i like using for them! mind is helios, heart is lunaris, and soul is anularis. this was mostly just to separate them when doing rps with friends but i've come to really enjoy these names :]

but with that out of the way! i'll start with my mind design bc i'm biased towards blue and dragons oops.

originally, he started out being the least creature coded of the three, both in terms how i was messing around with design and actually in how i read the "timeline" of the album, as it were. in character wise, he absolutely hated being "inferior" to the other two. he didn't have any claws to speak of, no scales, no feathers. he was the most human looking and he didnt like that. so what does he do? oh yknow.

design wise, i realized i liked leaning more into the robotic theming like a lot of people do bc idk! it's fun. why not. and then my dragon bias hit when i heard that One Line in RoE while drawing one day and the gears started turning. i still haven't ironed it out 100% drawing wise, but here's what i have so far:

a good part of the left side of his face is a screen! its default is just an eye, though it can be just about anything. it definitely turns to a clock during RoE and i do imagine it becoming super animated during TME. also glitchy from Be Born into TME as well.

his floating crown is a hologram he keeps up at most times, but the sun halo is just kind of. always there.

there's a lot of metal. like. a LOT. his neck is plated + his modulator is built into that. his entire spine is reinforced with metal. metal arms, probably some metal patches elsewhere too. and yknow the robotic dragon tail

he glows ominously in the dark. you can see that here- just kind of an aura type thing along with the glowy robotic bits on him.

he has irises and pupils, though most of the time they aren't visible bc he is. Tired. they snap into visibility when he's focused or angry though. (i have a very vivid mental image of them snapping into focus during the intro of TME)

he has mechanical wings! they're retractable and mostly are just there because, again, he couldn't bear to be "inferior" to heart and soul, who both also have wings. he can fly with them, though most of the time they're literally just for threat display. also yes, there are slits in the back of his jacket for the wings i just forget to draw them lol

he has an innate need to Be The Tallest. they're literally all the same height but this bitch wears heeled boots with metal on the soles to make himself taller.

the sun patch on his right jacket sleeve was put there by heart; the crown on the left he did himself.

he kinda??? has electricity abilities that he gained over the process of turning himself more robotic. this is important to note for a later note with soul :)

...that's all i can think of for now but i'm sure there's more i'm forgetting. its fine! onto heart :D

heart has always been the most creature coded to me, as the representation of emotion. and yknow. emotions can be pretty damn innate, instinctual, and visceral. or maybe that's just my take on it cause mine sure are lfsdkjhdfjk

i couldn't choose between black and white wings so his are both! a gradient from white into black with white speckles and purple heart-shaped markings on a few of the primary feathers :] he also has a lot of feathers in other places, such as covering his ears, his neck, chest, arms, legs, and of course tail.

his eyes aren't actually physically damaged! his near-blindness and extreme light sensitivity are actually a result of mind glowing blindingly bright (something something don't stare at the sun) after the shot, and then later the harsh red glow of soul's trident when he got the scars on his face.

his halo is a crescent moon most of the time, though it can change to different phases either on command or in reaction to his emotions. i haven't quite decided which phase stands for what yet, i'll figure it out eventually...

he loves loves loves putting patches on things, especially different textured ones. the heart patch on his hoodie sleeve is soft!

his blindfold has the phases of the moon on it! they weren't initially there as the blindfold was given to him by soul, but mind later embroidered the phases onto it during a concord loop.

his tail is actually kinda prehensile and really strong- he can totally use it to hang onto stuff and even hang off a branch upside down.

he used to be able to fly easily, but after getting his wings broken one too many times in scuffles, it's a lot more difficult to do so now. theoretically he still could with enough adrenaline, though.

he slouches a lot because of his wings, so he usually appears to be the shortest of the group. he can and will stand up straight for threat displays, though.

guy really doesn't like wearing shoes most of the time. socks it is.

aaand i think that's all i have for heart atm!

soooo, soul moment :] soul is such an intriguing guy to me. we really don't see (or hear, ig) a lot of him for a good part of the album, so tbh even to me he's still kinda an enigma. i do adore him a lot though. this guy is SO tired and done with heart and mind's shit, please let him have one (1) nap.

i went back and forth on this guy's design a whole lot before atticus suggested the cockatrice idea, and even a little bit after that i debated it for a while. should he be the most human, or appear so far disconnected that he's barely recognizable? WELL. turns out i went kinda midline with that lmao.

he has both scales and feathers to mirror heart and mind's respective features. i love a symbolism

he has a mane of feathers going down his spine, though it's usually only visible on his tail cause. yknow. clothes.

his wings are summonable, and he doesn't usually have them out cause they're HEAVY. they're a mix of draconic and feathered wings as well. he can also fly with them, though it's usually too much effort for him to even consider.

he has four red diamond-shaped lights hovering above his head at all times, like heart and mind have their respective permanent halos.

when under extreme stress/emotions, he has three light horns that manifest, reminiscent of his trident. he also glitches the fuck out

^ the visual glitching is actually a result of mind. what happened during the shot was that heart shot at mind (and missed, but the fact that heart even tried was the problem) -> when he finds out, soul unintentionally snaps and freaks the fuck out, attacking heart and mind -> mind panics and absolutely electrocutes soul, causing his form to glitch and go black and white -> ever since then, extreme emotions causes him to start glitching again!

the shadow half of him is also reactive to his emotions, though is there more often and easier than the glitching. it's pretty much his default, especially during cacophony. (i have a pretty vivid mental image of it fading into view during dream)

the back of his jacket has a trident, crown, and heart embroidered on it, something that all three of them worked on together :]

this is literally just for comedy reasons, but soul's shirt is usually a basic t-shirt, but sometimes it has text on it and the text can change at will

also have a few misc notes that i think are fun :]

while i do adore these creature-esque designs, i also want to do more abstract designs (that they're probably liable to shift to under extreme stress/it being their "true" forms), as well as closer to human designs :]

same thing with clothing designs. i'm so indecisive help. i think im gonna do all of one or two color designs, and then some alt designs where they mix and match colors some!

i do like to imagine heart is physically the strongest out of the three, mind mentally the strongest, and soul the strongest overall. just in relation to each other, of course.

...and i think that's all! at least all that i can remember right now lol, i'm likely to come back and edit this or reblog with additions when i think of more things. it's kinda intimidating to finally be posting this bc im usually so quiet on this front, but i hope whoever manages to read this giant wall of text enjoys! :D

[foone]

Idea: 1950s B-Movie scientist who transitions using ATOMIC Power! (a cross post from Twitter under the readmore)

We open in a laboratory scene, in black and white. Tesla coils and Jacob's ladders arc in the background. There's a big machine with lots of lights and dials, including a prominent one with two settings: X and Y.

A group of journalists mutter "rhubarb, rhubarb" as an elderly man with white hair walks in, wearing a labcoat.

"Gentlemen, I've invited you all here today to witness the first application of my new invention, the Atomic Gender Manipulator!"

The rhubarb increases in intensity.

"As you all know, the difference between men and women comes down to chromosomes. Men have XY, while women have XX." he says, while gesturing to a chalk board with some outlines of men and women on it.

"And for centuries this is just how it's been... But what if we could change that? What if we could rewrite that Y into an X? Many have said it's impossible, and... It is."

The rhubarb stops momentarily

"But that's not the end of the story! Recall the development of the airplane. Many ingenious scientists spent years trying to replicate the flapping wings of a bird, and got nowhere. But how many of you flew here today? Clearly flight is possible!"

"no, it was only when we realized that we had to stop aping the natural world and think differently about solutions to our problems that the Wright Brothers built their first plane, or Dr. Braun built his rockets. And so the same strategy must be applied to gender!"

"I ask you... What would happen if all the Y chromosomes in your body were destroyed? Well, your body would try to heal, of course. DNA is miraculous in its ability to repair damage. Your broken chromosomes, now all merely X, would join back up together, forming XX strands."

"and this is why all our attempts to rewrite a Y into an X have failed. It's not rewriting that will create the XX we need, but destruction. Remove the Y chromosome, and your body will naturally heal, forming XX chromesomes using the only remaining material."

"But professor!" one journalist pipes up, their notepad still for a moment. "Doesn't that mean you can't reverse the process? You can't turn back into a man."

The professor smiles. "That's true, and an inevitable limitation of the technology."

"if you were to try to turn back, the machine would destroy all your X chromosomes. As a woman, that's all your chromosomes, so there would be nothing left for your body to heal. You would merely die."

One journalist, a handsome man with some real Protagonist Vibes, looks up from his notebook, a concerned look on his face. "professor, I have another question. What if-"

The professor waves his hand dismissively. "I'm sorry gentlemen, we're running behind schedule."

"it's time to demonstrate my device. As the first test on humans, the only ethical subject to use would be myself. I shall see you in a few moments, transformed!"

He steps inside a chamber, all metal with a leaded glass viewing window.

His assistant flips a switch, and the hum of turbines increases in volumes.

"I am now targeting the professor with carefully tuned atomic rays, which will only affect his Y chromosome" he explains in a Russian accent.

Indicators show levels increasing. The professor looks uncomfortable though the window, grasping his head and torso. The assistant throws a final lever, and the chamber fills with steam, obscuring the professor from view.

The gathered journalists look uneasy, but say nothing, watching intently.

The assistant turns off the machine, and there's the sound of rotors spinning down. The chamber's porthole only shows swirling clouds of steam.

They walk over to the door, release a safety latch, and pull it open. The steam billows out onto the floor, slowly dissipating. The journalists rush forward, eager to see the results, whether success or failure.

In the chamber stands a beautiful woman. Inexplicably the machine has given her a new hairdo and applied makeup.

The journalists rapidly ask questions, all blurring together. The professor raises her hands to silence them, and explains that she'll be happy to answer any questions later, but for now she's tired from the procedure and needs to change out of this ill-fitting labcoat.

She walks out, as the journalists write rapidly in notepads and discuss with each other. The protagonist-looking one walks over the forgotten assistant, and asks him a question.

"say, Ingvar, I had a question. The professor explained how targeting Y in a man turned him into a woman, and that trying to target X in a woman would kill her. I can assume targeting Y in a woman would have no effect, but that leaves one possibility:

what would happen if you targeted X in a man?"

The assistant looks nervous, and maybe a little disturbed by the thought.

"well, that would destroy the X, leaving them with only Y. The healing process would kick in, and result in YY chromosomes."

"my science classes were a long time ago, Ingvar... What's a YY chromosome give you?"

"nothing that God has created in his earth. That would be a new form, a new gender... There's no telling what would happen."

The journalist walks off, eager to return and interview the professor tomorrow. He's got many questions for her.

Naturally during the course of the movie, someone does get turned into a YY, and seem fine... At first.

Then they start transforming, becoming what's basically a werewolf. Bigger, stronger, hairer, more violent, able to shrug off bullets.

The professor and protagonist finally manage to stop them, but the professor dies in the process (that's just how these movies go, sorry.)

Then as the journalists look on at the remains of the lab, in flames, they voice one of those end-of-movie speeches. She tampered in God's domain, learned too late that man was a feeling animal, etc.

The scene is carefully shot so we only see the silhouettes of the journalists, and then only as a mass of people.

The camera cuts to the final shot, facing the journalists, and one of them offers to take the rest out for drinks, they've earned it. The protagonist wipes the blood and soot off her face and asks if anyone has a light?

Then patting where her double-breasted suit pocket would be, smiles. "and a cigarette?"

There's a rustling of purses, and she's offered plenty of both from well-manicured long-nailed hands from off screen. She laughs, and the film fades to black.

Directed by Ed Wood.

[fefuckability]

TLDR: Black Knight and Bertram get to walk off being killed by Ike’s gaggle of latent homosexuality in between games, because reasons, but Petrine is forced to stay dead, she deserves justice! Also I go into some bullshit about her stats and Branded lore AND I have mathematical proof she’s more dommy than Nailah!

More below:

Now while I wouldn’t call myself the CEO of Petrine quite yet (still working on earning that title) I certainly would call myself a Petrine expert, and today I come to you with everyone’s favorite subjects; unit stats and headcanons for lore IS didn’t have time to actually finish.

Petrine’s stats in Path of Radiance (I’ll be using hardmode since the true ending basically confirms it as the “canon” difficulty) are incredibly standout, not just because she’s a fucking beast but also because they don’t make sense, at least on the surface.

Level:18

HP:43

STR:20

MAG:18

SKL:22

SPD:23

LCK:10

DEF:24

RES:19

(I wont be going over her CON since it’s essentially meaningless on a female character, iykyk but tldr IS has a real nasty habit of genderlocking a playable CON stat, Echidna who won the Binding Blade woman’s division is rendered useless in her starting chapter because her weapon is too heavy for her and the enemies she’s surrounded by double her to death because of it, she is a green unit, her surviving is mostly an rng check.)

So you might be noticing something here, why the actual fuck is a PALADIN a complete quality build between physical and magical stats?

(Besides IS wanting to give her a cool magic weapon of course, there are very few coincidences in Tellius, to such an insane degree that many of Radiant Dawn’s twists were figured out long before its release. The crumb trail of what is very likely Petrine cut content makes me sad.)

Here we dip ever so slightly into headcanons (I’ll try to avoid getting to deep into pseudo canon stuff) but the reasoning is almost certainly because of her brand (Tiger Tribe). Micaiah, a heron branded carrying Altina’s blood, can very notably cast magic without a tome (she also can cast dark/elder magic without consequence but thats not the point of this), the ability to cast spells you have a predisposed proficiency for without a tome is very likely not unique to her, rather what makes her special is the sheer power of the magic her body is capable of channeling.

Petrine’s weapon in Path of Radiance is the Flame Lance, it deals magical damage based on her abnormally high magic stat and is essentially a catalyst for fire anima combined with a weapon she’s comfortable using (S rank).

So it’s pretty likely Petrine can cast at least use some fire magic without a tome or other catalyst, but uses one for stronger spells to avoid the recoil on her body, and I just think that’s metal as fuck, like that shit’s fucking awesome.

(Which is why in Fire Emblem lore tomes break, they take on the spell’s recoil in place of your body, and also why Valentian mages are just built different and say fuck that. What likely differentiates Branded is that they can cast varying degrees of magic without suffering recoil to their body, in Micaiah’s case healing magic is incredibly straining so I like to think of Sacrifice more being her casting Nosferatu in reverse)

Nailah time; she has a husband, a Heron who she says is perfect for her and they are very cute together but theres something here of note. Heron’s (theres no info on the other Bird Laguz) canonically have hollow bird bones, I’m not kidding, Reyson breaks his hand punching Oliver in the face.

Reyson: I suffer more damage than my target.

Ike: What?!

Reyson: When I bashed Duke Tanas's face, he only suffered a bloody nose, but it cracked the bones in the back of my hand.

Ike: Holy.

Reyson: Indeed.

Ike: ...But it felt good, right?

Reyson: Oh, yeah.

Nailah is at the very least canonically capable of restraining her vicious Snu Snu to be gentle enough she won’t break her boytoy, which is REALLY fucking gentle, and while Petrine is probably also surprisingly healthy about kinky stuff (lets be real would she really consider it a “victory” if her partner didn’t want it?) I’m just saying even the strongest would prolly need a healer afterwards.

Also she would definitely put a collar on you, I know her constantly calling people dogs is censorship of her swearing her ass off in Japanese, but Japanese Petrine is probably also carrying some insane BDSM “lick my boots and hump my leg but I’m also viciously protective of you and really do care” vibes.

Also her tits are bigger than Nailah’s.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk/unhinged rant, please consider voting Petrine she is very pretty and deserves better than she got, and even though Nailah will prolly win all the way to first place I can at least hope it won’t be a one sided curbstomp.

If by some miracle Petrine comes out on top there will be raucous celebrations.

ima frame this post on my wall for posterity

[eidolonpost]

kollaps tradixionales | i built myself a metal bird

[my eidolon absorbs any metal it touches into its structure]

flames roar from the dragon's throat, as the once-sealed evil below cyberia breaks free.

crashes:

- crash 0: kollaps tradixionales erupts from deep below, breathing fire upon the city - crash 1: kollaps tradixionales generates an invincible shield, blocking all damage to its hit points. - crash 2: kollaps tradixionales damages the world-servers of cyberia, causing glitches to appear. (this may cause a crash on idioteque as well, depending on the state of that fight). - crash 3: kollaps tradixionales assimilates the world-servers of cyberia, growing larger and possibly destroying idioteque outright. either way, the world reverts to its base state. - crash 4: defeat.

[boltslutters]

Are all your ocs robots in some way? Or I guess what species would you classify them as (for the non tf ones)? 

Nope! They might look like it, but a large portion of my ocs are anthro dragons because my writing started as a wof au and it'll cherish those roots goddamnit. And some of the more robotic ones too aren't man-made, so it's like a flavor of biological. As for species, 90% of them are made up for this world specifically. Of the ones in the image, the non-man-made-robot and organic/semi-organic species are:

Illizyka's species isn't named, but she's a void-corrupted creature that uses a metal body to be able to interact and operate in any world as sol pleases.

Don't have much on this gal's species, but it's bug-like with a chitinous exoskeleton.

9H7R-A (Niesserae)'s species is the closest to organic machine I have. They are specifically lab-grown and designed to keep a highly mechanical and technically precise civilization running essentially forever.

I think this guy is mechanical, but he sure as shit doesn't stay that way for long.

Peyon is part of a race of mortals who compliment and worship their gods. They're small, mammalian, and are trait-dependent to which god/arcana they live in. Doll is their sentient doll based off an old sona of mine.

Don't remember this guy. Think their species is semi-mechanical

This guy is completely mechanical, but wasn't built by mankind, instead, by a self-sustaining mechanical race of quadrupeds I call Cyclers due to wheels they hold on their body magnetically. (there's actually lots of more ocs of this species, but they have distinct beaked snouts instead of strict triangle and I was not going to subject myself to more torture than I had too).

Rose, Thunder, & Torus are all members of a species of insanely powerful but insanely empathic species that runs the dominant governmental body of the main world. Torus was on a diplomatic mission, had too much of their old power and was too empathetic. Through accident, they became an amnesiac and through their empathetic powers, latched onto the memories and emotions of the local populous, and ended up believing they were a member of said species and would live on before someone figured out.

Killjoy, Toizon, Heron, Guziel, Datar, Banott, Stung, & Professor Tebya are all pat of a race known as Ermista or Ista depending on how badly I cringe at the name Ermista. They're a race of bug/bird-like bipeds who completely lack sexual dimorphism, live on a planet with a sun that hates them, and has a metamorphosis where they get their wings.

Of any race here, Ermista have the most lore and culture, such as most Ermista who live up north tend to live in small villages. Most know how to hand-weave fabric, as they make a flag they put into the ground to mark where they're cocooning (they go through metamorphosis unground), then carry that flag through the rest of their lives as a mark of identity and a sort of right of passage. They have different systems of magic and those systems interact differently with each other (although some are more fleshed out than others). They don't have a dominant sex and don't really exercise gender roles at all.

This one's a god. He could use a philosophy class about pain.

These two are creations of that god (called Paragons), designed to be perfect, never rot, and never suffer, and essentially lead the happy lives he never got to.

Ionize is also a member of that same species, just far, far into the future after Titatiaraum is dead and members of his perfect race have since either left, evolved, and otherwise altered.

I've almost forgotten everything but I do remember her species was pretty short compared to everyone else.

I'll save these because you mentioned them in another ask ;)

Another god, this one turned mortal willingly and got to watch his god-siblings tear themselves to shreds.

Part of a race of immortal beings that rot into animals, and grow back/heal into trees. I suppose this guy also needs to be included too

Yet another god, this sucker's puppeting a mechanical body though

Semnastica and Mourana are both members of the same species, Semnastica being male and Mourana being female. They're both quadrupeds and have powers because they hatched under blood moons because I made Semnastica when I was 14 at most. (I'm thinking about making these two's species (or Xulanium's) predecessors of the race Torus disguises as and later amnesias themselves into.

I THINK Salisun was supposed to be a fusion of a Cycler and something else organic, but he's also 90% aesthetic.

I've never figured out how to flesh out her species or Ouna herself, but they've got goo for hair and horns. That's coincidentally the only goo-species I've ever made. Huh.

Don't have many details on his species but they were somewhat civilized warrior-cats style and built little huts despite being quadruped.

No details on Mono, they're 100% aesthetic.

These two are the member of the same species and they're small and fluffy and have only one sex. They're also fluffy.

While Bypin is a pure machine, built by "man" and a full robot, I want to highlight them because they're one member of a race of centaur dragon tanks, who live on a planet in the same System as the Ermista, but closer to their hateful sun god that frequently sends down increasingly disturbing bird-angels to destroy all life on its planets (its planets are its children so its like fleas on your child). The race on that planet stays mostly underground until they developed the technology to remove their souls and place them in mechanical bodies they can use to fight back (Remizular is an example of a member of that race who was once organic, but later became tank (I lost their redesign that account deletion comes back to bite me in the ass)).

(Honestly, tank dragon centaurs are really cool FIGHT ME)

OKAY. I CAN'T ADD ANY MORE IMAGES SO THAT'S ALL YOU GET.

There are a few more species that don't have triangular faces and don't have characters in them as like, prey or purely animalistic species. I really need to focus on that side of it more wtf.

[walcutt]

i built myself a metal bird/i fed my metal bird the wings of other metal birds wednesday

[voskhozhdeniye]

@yoddel

There was a time years back when I did multiple of these with different songs each time.

Voskhozhdeniye

Void - Bendik Giske

On Battleship Hill - PJ Harvey

Stay Out Here - The Knife

Krishna Krishna - Alice Coltrane

Hy a Scullyas Lyf a Dhagrow - Aphex Twin

Open Letter to Duke - Charles Mingus

Zeit - Tangerine Dream

Heaven's Blade - Coil

Don't Talk (Put Your Head On My Shoulder) - The Beach Boys

Eyes & Smiles - Bark Psychosis

Nobody’s Playing - Lisa Germano

I Built Myself a Metal Bird - A Silver Mt. Zion

You Never Should - My Bloody Valentine

E.V.P. - Blood Orange

That feels like a good representation of what's going on over here.

Also, this includes at least one song from the '50s, '60s, '70s, '80s, '90s, '00s, '10s, and '20s.

[abibeur]

Copying @mossymagicks with the "spell your url in songs" because I love the idea, so:

Anthem for No State by Godspeed You! Black Emperor (Post-rock)

Barn Board Fire by Esmerine (Chamber rock / Folk)

I Built Myself A Metal Bird by Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra (Post-rock)

Bright Fushia Pink City by @yelldayell (Chiptune)

Epigenetik by Black Ox Orkestar (Jewish Folk)

Understup by Stupeflip (Hip-hop)

Ready Lets Go by Boards of Canada (IDM)

yeeee

[morpborp]

Hello! This is my first post! After too many ideas swirled in my head, I figured I should write them down; this is the start. Let me know what you think!

Prologue: The Wolf Girl

Hear me.

Hear me.

Hear me.

Hear me.

The voice is little, soft even. It grows from barely a whisper to a timid, shaky demand. Sympathy swirls in my chest.

I do. I hear you, I reply.

Light floods my vision. My eyes burn and weep in protest, but I can’t block it out. Heat tears at my frozen skin, stripping it away in long peels. My heartbeat and strangled breaths thunder in my ears. Pain radiates down my limbs and rattles in my chest. My head is full of fog, clouding my thoughts in confusion. Wetness coats my body. The light starts to fade, leaving nothingness behind. The stiffness and pain in my legs starts to fade too, leaving me with no support. I gasp as my knees clank onto a metal floor and my body crumbles. My heartbeat now roars in my ear and beats frantically. It is as if being frozen all this time only rejuvenated it. Over the pounding of my heart, the only thing I can make out is a voice.

Hear me.

My ears flick. There is another. His breathing is harsh and gasping. Astonished laughs escape his chest as he comes closer. I hear his boots scrape across rock. The figure is inches away, towering over me. For a moment, he just stares at me greedily. His eyes scan over my limp figure.

“I-I found you,” he gasps. “I did it. I found you!” he cries victoriously. His arms loop under my shoulders and hoist me from the cold metal floor. However, I grunt as he carelessly tossed me to the ground. I grunt as my head connects with a stone. My heart beats faster as he moves to grab me again, but I cannot struggle. My limbs are completely weak, devoid of the muscle I built up. A shiver runs down my spine as a cold breeze drifts across my wet skin. With all the power I can muster, I press a hand against the floor. The man doesn’t seem to notice even though he watches me intently. Using my hand, I feel for his presence. There is nothing around here but stone and the metal chamber he freed me from. It is easy to sense him.

He is large. He would tower over me even if I stood right next to him. Muscles wrap through his massive body. If I wrapped both hands around his biceps, my fingers wouldn’t touch. He is armored stronger than a Clone, but weaker than a Mandalorian. A blaster lies at his hip along with an electric rod tucked into his boot. He is not concealed by a helmet. Even through a misty brain, I try to create options. Fighting isn’t an option. Right now, I can hardly gain muscle control. Running will be difficult. My legs have no strength after being still for so long, but it may be my only choice. I growl as his fingers clamp around my face. He turns me left and right. His breath is absolutely vile. If my body had the strength, I would wretch.

“You are going to make me a very rich man,” he sings. With a huff, he tosses me over his shoulder. My nose pressed into his armpit and I desperately wished for his breath again. My limbs swing limply as he marches out of the metal and rock room. My vision swirls. The darkness is starting to lighten. My ears flick instinctually at the sound of bird calls. It has to be the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. Smells flood my nose. Pine, wet grass, flowers, birds, rodents, dust, rust, ruins, and much more. There are too many to process, but it smells like home. The scent is obscured by this giant man’s musk. I scrunch my nose to block out the scent. My stomach somersaults. The man drops me again, letting my head crack into the ground for a second time. He whistles as he waltzes away. The ground vibrates beneath my fingertips. The familiar sensation and sound of a ship lifting into space returns to me. The man sits in the cockpit, piloting his little vessel. I can feel him up there. He’s piloting, so he won’t be coming back anytime soon. I allow myself to let my eyes flutter shut. A few deep breaths funnel into my lungs before I cast them out. My presence swirls through the Force, searching amidst the darkness. Nothing.

My eyes snap open as gravity pulls the ship down. Tears almost well in my eyes as the world is no longer gray and murky, but bright and vibrant. Somehow after that nap, my muscles feel stronger; I can feel the blood coursing through my veins. The air flowing in my lungs is smoother. I wince and try to flex my paws. It feels good to stretch out. I gaze around the tiny ship. Dirty clothes, crumbs, and supplies lie strewn about. There is a distinct, foul smell seeping from the walls.The ride is rough. The ship clearly isn’t operating how it should, but seeing the disarray of the inside I assume he doesn’t care very much. My eyes drift over the supply crates left in the middle of the ship. Wedged in the corner of one of the crates is a shimmering knife. I fumble towards it and yank as hard as I can. I twirl it in my palm before tucking it underneath my shirt. I rest back against the wall. The mountain of a man groans tiredly and lumbers towards me. He moves slower than a Bantha, but I see his eyes flick over the crate where the knife was. He shrugs and leans down towards me. His hand reaches for my forearm, but before he can touch me I press the knife against his throat.

“Who are you? Who sent you?” I growled in his ear. The man lets out a sigh and then starts to chuckle.

“We’ve had years to find you. I know all your little tricks,” he smirks. I grimaced at his yellow teeth.

“Who sent you?” I snarl and press the knife harder into his throat. A tiny trickle of blood runs down his neck.

“You don’t have your favorite weapon. You’re powerless,” he sneers. His arm thrusts into my wrist and his hand wraps around my throat. I gasp as he lifts me off the ground and the knife tumbles to the floor. I scratched at him with my paws. My claws sink into his flesh, but he just chortles. “I spent all this time looking for you! You won’t get away so easily!” He pulls me in closer till he is inches from my face.

I thrust a knee up into his chin. He stumbles back and I drop to the floor. My legs quiver beneath me, but there is no time to rest as his fist swings over my head. I slither towards the knife. I whirl back to strike him, but his boot lands deep in my stomach. I grit my teeth and slice the knife up his shin. He cries out and stumbles back again. I sprint towards him and slash the knife across his stomach. He winces and quickly unholsters his blaster. He fires a few lame shots into the air, leaving charred marks on his ship’s interior. I rush at him again, still aiming for his stomach, but his arm swats me aside like a pesky fly. He quickly draws the electric prongs and stands over me. With a growl of excitement, he thrusts it down towards me. I catch it between the prongs with my knife, but his strength is quickly overpowering my still weakened muscles. The prongs inch closer to my face and a glob of drool lands on my cheek. Using all my strength, I push the knife behind my head. The prongs slam into the wall and I slide between his legs. I slash the knife up the back of his leg and he screams, falling to his knees.Blood splatters across the floor, both of ours mixing in a virulent puddle. I take in a strained breath and catch his flying fist in my hand. Pain radiates in my shoulders as the shockwave rushes down my arm. A sickly smile grows on his lips. He lifts the now electrified tongs in the air, ready to slam it down on me. I yank him forward with his own weight and plunge the knife into his stomach. With a strangled breath, he falls to the floor. I yank the knife from his corpse and clean it on his shirt before tucking it under my own.

A wave of exhaustion pummels me to the floor. I gasp for air, laughing at the slight irony. A few years ago, I wouldn’t break a sweat over a fight like that. I suppose carbonite really takes its toll. But how long was I frozen? He said he had years to find me. How many years? Why was I frozen for so long? I fumble to my feet as these questions plague my mind. I slam my fist against the ramp button and wince as brilliant light floods the ship. I lean against the side of the ship. I have no idea where I am or who is coming after me…and I sense no one. I don’t feel the presence of the Jedi. Where could I possibly be that I don’t feel even an inkling? Maybe the Outer Rim. I take a sharp breath in and take a step onto the ramp. My captor is dead and I am alone. I sit on the ramp, bringing my knees to my chest. I bask in the warmth of the sun radiating on my skin. I flex my paws and fingers. I wag my tail experimentally. My muscle control is coming back, but I still feel so tired. I lie on the cool metal.

Hear me, calls the little voice again.

I do. I do hear you, but I can’t get to you right now. As I exhale steadily, my eyes fall shut.

[reversemoon255]

MGEX ZGMF-X20A Strike Freedom Gundam

So I started working on this guy at the end of November. I didn’t finish it until December 31st. I ended up doing a daily art challenge over on the bird, and that ended up taking up almost all my free time considering my work hours double during December. However, I’m glad I finished it before the year rolled over.

The Good: This was a fantastic build. The interior frame was a ton of fun to build, there are a bunch of small mechanisms, interesting parts layering; just a stellar experience all around.

To aid in the build process, it actually came with a small, cardboard “Multi Stand” to hold your in-use sprews. I ended up using it for all the plated and painted sprews.

Speaking of the painted and plated, the number of interesting materials was very cool, and something you don’t get to see if you stick to just HG or standard MG builds. The stickers were metallic foil, there were raised metal stickers as well, there were a full four sprews that were either fully painted or chrome plated in gold. It was honestly one of the things that drew me to this kit.

The layout of the runners was also very well done. With a few small exceptions, almost every part was either undergated or gated into a place that would be covered later by other parts. I had to quickly become very adept at shaving parts with a knife rather than a file.

I was a little bummed that I had to cover up all that gold with armor, and found myself wishing the armor parts were clear so I could see it all better, but after it was finished I was impressed by just how much gold showed through. While I still think I’d prefer clear armor, I’m not upset with what we got. Oh, and it comes with a tiny Lacus and Kira. I don’t care, but maybe you will.

The Bad: I only really have three issues with this kit. The first is the bits: the bits are not designed to be displayed. They have no way of accepting any type of stand adapter to hold them up, and the kit itself has no added display piece for them.

Second is the articulate hands. They’re actually very well articulated (I managed to get a very good snapping pose out of them), but the fingers pop off all the time. All the time. It’s a bummer, since they’re required to use the Beam Sabers.

Lastly are the metallic raised stickers. They just don’t stick well, and if you flex them at all they may stick worse. You also don’t really need most of them, since the armor covers a lot of them up. You just need the chest ones, which get held in place by the vents, and about 3 on each knee. I didn’t end up needing to add glue, but you might.

The Details: Because of how this kit is meant to be built, I only added panel lining. I specifically avoided lining the gold plastic because I’ve had issues with gold plastic degrading over time when ink is added. I did add it to a few tiny “hole” spots, like the head vulcans, but that’s it. I did use all the included standard stickers, though didn’t use the decal stickers they included. I find they can make a kit look too cluttered or marred, and they tend to peel or fall off more easily than normal stickers. I’ve found I prefer building kits without them unless there’s a standout interesting design.

Overall, even though it took me forever to build (which it shouldn’t have), it was probably the coolest build I did in 2022, and a great way to cap it off. It is a very expensive kit, but I do think it’s worth it if you can swing it. It’s an amazing build, a fantastic final product, and is meant to be straight built if that concerns you.

BTW, Fun Fact, I’ve brought up that I play Gundam Breakers Mobile a few times. Strike Freedom is the most common non-custom build to run into. Like, you’re more likely to run into one than a painted custom. Guess it’s popular.

[griseldabanks]

I decided to kill two birds with one stone, so I wrote this to fulfill a prompt for my Let Me Count the Ways ask game as well as @ficwip5k's 5k AU challenge.

Requested by GracielleGrace

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human Characters: Kara and Alice Prompt: "Stay with me for a while."

WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR KARA'S STORYLINE BELOW THE CUT

(Note: This is a post-game AU in which Alice is a human like she should have been all along.)

The car pulls up to the curb, and Tom looks over at me. “Sure you don't want me to come too?”

I smile, trying not to betray the flutters of inexplicable nervousness in my stomach. “No, I'll be fine. You know how she gets sometimes.”

A hint of sadness in the warmth of his kind brown eyes. “Think she'll ever be comfortable around me?”

I take Tom's hand in mine, squeeze it hard enough he can feel my ring through my glove. “Just give it some more time. She'll come around.”

It's what I always say. I'm still holding out hope that one day it'll be true.

I open my door and step out into the frigid February air, watching my breath form a cloud in front of me. It's probably weird of me, but I really like bitterly cold days like this. They make me feel almost nostalgic—though not nostalgic for snowball fights or hockey games or mugs of hot chocolate like most would probably assume. No, it makes me think of sore, frozen feet trudging through the snow. Lying on the hard floor in front of a pitiful fire. A beautiful carousel, all lit up in the night, the same face repeated a dozen times, spinning all around me....

“Alice.”

Jerking out of my daze, I turn around and see that Tom has already taken Ryn's carseat out. Her eyes are open, blinking sleepily from the middle of her blankets.

“Sorry.” I take the carseat from him. “Thanks.”

Tom shakes his head with an amused smile. “Always with the 'sorry-thanks.'” He leans over our daughter to place a kiss on my lips.

“Just thanks, then,” I say with a grin.

“Much better. I'll pick you up after the gig, then.”

“Right. Love you.”

He pauses with his hand on the car door and gives me one of his winks that sends warmth shooting all the way down to my toes. “Love you more.”

I wait until his car glides down the street and turns the corner, then turn to face the apartment building at last. It's an old building—built sometime in the 2010s, I think. The siding is peeling away, and I can see streaks of rust dripping down from the metal railings on the stairs leading up the side of the building to the second floor. There always seem to be problems with the plumbing, or the heating, or a window that won't quite shut.

But to someone who's slept in abandoned houses, gutted cars, dingy basements, park benches...this place is a palace. I have to remind myself of that every time I feel sorry for Kara.

Taking a deep breath so my lungs fill with the icy air, I go up the stairs and make my way to the door bearing the number 205. I press the doorbell, then peek through the blankets to make sure Ryn is still doing okay.

In moments, the door swings open, and there she is. Kara. My mother. Or the closest I ever really had to one that I can remember, at least.

She looks the same as ever—same smile, same short blonde hair, same blue eyes alight with pleasure the instant she sees me. “Alice!” she cries, pulling me into a warm hug. “It's so good to see you!”

“You too.”

Ushering me inside, her eyes are immediately drawn to the carseat in my hands. “Is that...?”

Beaming, I pull down the blankets a little so Kara can see those chubby cheeks and bright eyes better. “This is Rynnae. And...her middle name is Kara.”

Looking up from her awed inspection of the baby, Kara stares up at me. In that moment, I realize that, outwardly, we probably look about the same age now. She's never going to develop wrinkles, and her hair will never turn grey on its own. And yet, to all intents and purposes, she's now a grandmother. When Ryn grows up, when she's my age...Kara will look exactly the same as she does now, exactly the same as she always has. I'd never really thought of that before.

Kara straightens up and pulls me into another hug—longer, holding me tight, like she used to when I had nightmares and she would hold me close. “Thank you,” she whispers, sounding on the verge of tears. “No one's...ever...thank you.”

No, probably no one's ever named their child after their android housekeeper before. But not many people could say their android housekeeper went deviant and risked life and limb to save their life and raise them as refugees in a foreign country, either.

When Kara steps back, her eyes are dry. “Here, let me take your coat,” she says briskly, falling easily into the routine. “Have you eaten? I can make you some tea, and I think I still have some of those cookies from last time. You know my temperature sensors aren't what they used to be, but let me know if it's too cold for the baby....”

As she bustles around the corner of her tiny apartment that serves as the kitchen she barely uses, I can see the slightest jerkiness in her movements, like her joints need oiling or something. At first glance, no one would suspect her of being anything other than human, but someone watching her carefully would probably realize before too long that there's something mechanical about her. As things start to break down in her machinery, that becomes more and more obvious. Parts and blue blood are hard to come by these days, and Kara's never been keen on asking for help with such things. Not after seeing what many people think of androids.

“Kara,” I say, as I set down the carseat and lift Ryn out, along with her blanket. “Would you like to hold her?”

Kara freezes, then slowly turns around, her face a picture of delight and a surprised wistfulness, like she'd never realized how much she wanted exactly what I'm offering her now. With a shy smile, she holds out her arms and nods.

I don't have to remind Kara to support Ryn's head or anything like that. Kara takes the baby into her arms with the ease of a mother who has done the same thing a thousand times before. She wasn't there when I was born, and as far as I know, has never taken care of babies, but it's all there in her programming. I don't have the slightest fear for Ryn's safety as I hand her over.

“Hello there, Rynnae,” she says, rocking her slightly and gazing down with such love and devotion it takes my breath away. Ryn stares back, and even though I know in the back of my head that she's too young to recognize faces, I like to think that she knows the look of love that Kara is giving her right now.

It's the same look she's given me, time and time again.

“Kara,” I say on impulse, blurting out a thought I haven't even passed by Tom yet—though I know he wouldn't object. “Stay with me for a while. My maternity leave is up in two weeks, and then I'll have to go back to the office. Tom is home a lot, but he also has lessons and gigs...and I would feel so much better to have you around to take care of Ryn, instead of a babysitter or something.”

“Come...and live with you? And...Tom?”

There's something so vulnerable in her eyes right now, like suddenly she's the little girl who needs comforting. She never seemed completely happy about me dating Tom, or getting married for that matter. Maybe she was worried I'd stepped into the path of another man who would hurt me. Maybe she felt abandoned when I wanted to go live with someone else. Maybe she was sad that I no longer needed her to take care of me all the time.

“At least for a little while,” I say. Maybe forever, I don't say. Maybe we can help you with maintenance. Maybe just because you don't need food and warmth to get by, that doesn't mean you don't need a home and a family.

“Well...if you really think I can help....”

Just then, Ryn starts fussing and squirming around. I step forward, ready to take her back, but Kara starts rocking her again, humming a little tune that used to soothe me to sleep. Immediately, Ryn settles down again, her tiny fingers curling around Kara's thumb.

I put my arm around her shoulders, and together we watch Rynnae settle back down. “Please stay,” I whisper, leaning my head against hers.

“Okay.”