#tar pod

[sanctaignorantia]

Beauty in the details! #2

The Chrysalis Girl

The inner child

The tar-cat

The empty nest

+The books with a fucking personalized cup with the KJP logo that I really wanted - aaaah!

[chlamydia-biohazard]

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - The Stretcher - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

An ugly reckoning...

tw: gore, violence, medical trauma, limb loss

cw: suggestions of inappropriate relationships between mentor and student

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

Silco walks on.

Inside, the odor of stale chemicals seeps through the air. Jinx's containment pod is a plexiglas sphere resembling a transparent hive. Inside, she is laid out on a narrow cot. Her left hand—the two clever fingers so cruelly excised—is strapped to a splint.  The stumps are a little red, but clean and dry. Each one is neatly sutured with black thread.

Black as the sucking hole in her chest.

Through the covers, Silco can see the delineations of the wound, a map of gauze adhering to her torso.  The flesh is still flayed. But it is no longer a disaster-site of hideous spillage. The raw tendons are scored with tiny stitches. Each one, a testament to Singed’s ruthlessly meticulous handiwork.

The rest of Jinx is bone pale as if the scant pigment on her skin has been sucked dry. Her freckles stand out in stark pinpricks.

Two bags of fluid hang on a metal pole, drip-drip-dripping down a tube into a needle jammed into her arm. The steady flow of antibiotics, morphine, and synthesized Shimmer will bolster her vitals and keep her under.  Her breathing—a tarred constriction of bubbles caught in her perforated lungs—has smoothed over the course of the night.  But it remains an effortful jag: deep, dragging, discordant.

Silco's guts churn. The instinctive grind of rage is offset by guilt.

Then: shock.

Jinx is not alone.

A longer body's curved around Jinx's small one. One arm, the sleeve rolled to the elbow, is flung over her hip. Fingertips splay against her thigh: an anchor. The other arm, metallic, makes a protective arc over Jinx's skull. The cybernetic fingers, tipped with steel, are threaded in her blue hair. The head, half-obscured in lank brown curls, is tipped to Jinx's own.

Their temples mirror. Their eyelashes kiss.  The cadence of their chests rises and falls in concert.

The Hexcore, with hypnotic rotations, bathes Jinx and Viktor in a violet glow.  

From his own extremities, Silco feels pure rage blast open as the Monster unlocks.

"What the hell—?"

Singed looms from the corner of the medbay: tall and fleshlessy thin as a mantis. He's clad in a white smock resembling a butcher's apron. The barest smear of blood is caught in the weave. He glances up at Silco's snarl.

Apart from an expression of insectile alertness, he shows no other signs of concern.

"Ah," he says. "You've returned."

"Open the pod." 

"I beg your pardon?"

"Viktor. What in the frozen hell is he—?"

"He's aiding her retrieval."

"What?"

"Her retrieval," Singed says, in the same imperturbable tone. "From what I understand, a plunge into the Void is not unlike falling into arctic waters. It takes a strong grip to pull oneself out. J17 is a skilled swimmer. But she remains partially submerged. She'll need a guide to drag her to the shore."   

"He has no right to—"

"To what? Hold his companion's hand?"  

"Companion?"

Singed nods.

Silco's jaw locks as the Doctor's meaning sinks in.

Guardians and Mages. He'd known, in his bones, that the bond between Viktor and Jinx held a strange, unearthly resonance. A tie that binds, like gravity does a comet: two celestial forces, inexorably pulled together by the galvanic charge of their shared potential. 

He'd assumed the nature of the bond was intellectual. That their kinship was a matter of mathematics: two minds, one wavelength.  Then Jinx's spells of strangeness and self-enforced secrecy began. He thinks of the audio recordings in the Aerie: the susurrations and whispers. The ungodly silence.

It wasn't sex—no matter the wildness of his paranoia, he knew Jinx was still too innocent, and that her tastes lay elsewhere. But the overtones—of communion, and a deeper, almost otherworldly intimacy—were terrifying.

Now, seeing them together—a tangle of arms, a knotting of fingers—his worst fears have been made manifest.

It's plain, from the ease between their bodies, that Jinx has slept in Viktor's arms before. Plain, too, that it's happened enough times for this closeness to take on overtones of trust.  A trust Silco had invited: to his doorstep, past his threshold, and straight to his daughter’s bed. 

A trust that’s been repaid with disaster.

Reflexively, Silco's fists ball.

"Open the pod," he says. 

"What?"

"Open it."

"With all due respect, that is not the wisest course of action." Singed remains maddeningly equable. He could be discussing a minor surgical procedure: the pros and cons of local versus general anesthetic. "The Hexcore—from what I gather—is acting as a buffer. It is protecting both J17 and Viktor as they work to draw her out. To separate them at this juncture would risk a backlash."

"Backlash?"

"I'm speaking in metaphysical rather than medical terms. From what I have gleaned, the Hexcore is a living organism. It has its own will and wants. I am not privy to the nature of the bargain it has struck with Viktor. But I hazard that it is his key to the Void. And that, in exchange for entry, it protects his and Jinx’s corporeal forms. To rip them apart would be... traumatic. For all parties present."

In Viktor's embrace, Jinx expels a sigh.  There's a subtle alteration in her breathing. The Void creeping across her brainwaves, perhaps. Viktor's arm flexes around her. His own breathing—that half-mechanical, half-organic rasp—deepens. His lips touch her temple. 

The Hexcore sings. The pitch is nearly ethereal.

Two spirits: locked in orbit.

Silco's jaw grinds. A vein ticks in his temple. Whatever's happening, it is not something he comprehends. Not something, he suspects, meant to be comprehended.  But that doesn't stymie the rage. Nor the dread.

The former, he can dissect with a cool eye, peel it down to the viscera of what it is: a primal need to keep his child safe. 

The latter, though...

That's a formless shadow stretching over his psyche. The sense of something very, very huge: a force the size of a godhead eclipsing the horizon. And the stormfront, lightning-laced, is rolling across the sea straight towards his ship of destiny.

It's not often Silco feels his smallness. But he does now, and the fallout is brutal.

"You knew," he says, deathly soft.

"Hm?"

"You knew. About Viktor. Compromising my child."

Singed is not a shrugger. Hedging is not his strong suit. But his silence speaks for itself.

"I would not call such a bond a compromise," he says at length. "In some ways, it was inevitable.  Viktor is extraordinarily gifted. J17, a creature of pure potential. They are both seekers in the dark. It makes sense that they'd find each other." A slight cant to his head: a gesture of self-reproach. "I will admit: I should have informed you. But there was no reason to believe the entanglement was of a carnal nature."

"No reason to believe they weren't fucking?"

The vulgarism stirs Singed out of scholarly calm. He doesn't smile. But his lipless mouth shows a glint of teeth. It's the same expression he'd wear when Silco would return to the Cannery after prowling the dank cloaca of the Lanes.

Always: with a plaything on his arm and ill-gotten gains in his pocket.  

He'd often likened Silco's gravitation toward vice as a form of self-medicating. The sex, the drugs, the power-plays: all symptoms of a man whose eye could not close, and needed other means to unwind. Other ways to blot out the light. 

It was a diagnosis Silco only partially agreed with. It was not autonomic impediment that kept his bad eye from closing. Simply the refusal to look away from the world as it was.

Now, his bad eye smolders in its socket. It's a marvel the Doctor doesn't wilt in its heat. Then again, Singed's always been a hard man to burn.

It's what he and Silco have in common.

"No," he says. "That, I do not believe."

"Is that so?"

"Given Viktor's... condition... it's unlikely."

"I'm not sure if you're aware, Doctor—" Silco's tone, beneath the frigid civility, is honed to cut jugulars, "—but there are ways around that."

The glint of teeth deepens. A grin, however cold. "Oh, I am aware.  But I'm also aware of Viktor's nature. I've known him since he was a boy. Frailty's always been his cross to bear. But that has not diminished his drives. Only... redirected them, as it were." 

"Sublimation."

"You sound dubious."

Silco's good eye slits. Singed's grin fades.

"I understand. We're men of pragmatic bent. There will always be a selfish component to our pursuits. A willingness to see the big picture, even if it means putting our better selves on the backburner."  He turns to the pod. "Viktor is different. His nature has a singular trajectory: up. He wants to ascend. To break free of limitations: both inborn and self-imposed. Sex, in comparison, is a dead-end. Love, though? That's something else. Something that can take him to the stars." 

Silco follows his stare. The pair, entwined, are haloed in violet. Their breathing is slow and steady.

A duet.

"The boy's always longed for a taste of the transcendent," Singed muses. "I imagine, in J17, he's found it. A force of pure creation. Pure entropy. It is only in chaos that order can thrive. The sense of a divine plan is what gives meaning to the world. And a multivalent, fractal reality is what allows a scientific theory to evolve into law."

Silco's knuckles pop. He says nothing. 

"If it helps," the Doctor adds, "I doubt the boy's done worse than hold her hand. The way he speaks of her, one would think her a... psychopomp. Someone to guide him to a higher plane of knowledge. Someone whose existence is to be worshiped. Not possessed."

"Worship and possession," Silco replies, in the voice of cold prescience, "often end the same way."

"Oh?"

"With someone on their knees."

Singed doesn't laugh, exactly. The sound's too measured. But his mangled lips stretch to show the full set of teeth. They hold the implacable sheen of scalpels. Each one slitting its careful way through the tissue of Silco's self-control.

"A cynic's view," he says. "And one I disagree with."

"Do you, now?"

"I'll grant there is a physical element to their closeness. But, I suspect, the physical is merely a conduit to that higher plane. A literal touchstone to guide them through the dark. The true roadmap, as it were, is the end each of them seeks."

"That end being?"

"Balance," Singed says. "If my theory is correct, they each serve as a counterpoise to the other. J17, in her unbound potential: a spirit of half flesh, half catalyst. A force in constant flux. Viktor, in his rigid catechism: a being forged in metal and magic. The very dictum of death. Each is, in their own way, an anomaly. Together, they are a paradox. One that introduces a new paradigm."

"Paradigm."

"Cause and effect." The grin's gone. Only Singed's eyes shine: a cold, methodical zeal. "Or, in your language: cost and reward."

A chill steals through Silco.

It's not the first time Singed's dissections of the metaphysical have taken a macabre turn. For the Doctor, the two are indistinguishable: the duality of life and death reduced to quantifiable variables of mess and mass. In his laboratory, Silco's witnessed the results firsthand.

The Doctor's a man who understands that knowledge only goes as deep as the knife cuts.  And Silco, a man who has cut to the marrow of humanity's ugliness, knows there's no limit to the incision when the rest's been pared clean. 

"If your intention was to disarm me," he says flatly, "you've failed."

"Disarm." Singed's chuckle is dry as bone dust. "Old friend, you are not the weapon. Only the steel that whets its edge."

"Flattery?"

"Fact." The corners of Singed's eyes crinkle. "We are, both of us, mere tools for a greater design."

Jinx cries out.

In the pod, the Hexcore spins rapidly. The rotations, faster and faster, become a multicolored blur. The fluctuating glow—sometimes blue, sometimes red—is phantasmagoric. Silco has the sense of something primordial unspooling into existence. The birth of a star, on a spiritual scale: chemical fusion gone mystic.

A subsonic hum fills the air. Jinx's cry spikes.

Her whole body begins shaking: a subtle network of pain radiating, it seems, from the epicenter of her wound. Viktor's embrace holds. But beads of sweat pop on his temples. His breathing goes choppy.  The pod's plexiglas walls turn milky as if with steam.

No—frost.

Silco can see the lattice of ice spreading. The cracks, fanning in jagged starbursts, resemble spiderweb.

Meanwhile, Viktor and Jinx may as well be under a full rig of stage lights: both of them are simmering in their skins.

Jinx's pallor is engulfed by a bright pink flush. Her breath comes in rapid drags. Her good right hand, fluttering, finds Viktor's good left. Their palms align, fingers twining. The twin rows of knuckles, flesh and bone, are deathly white.

The Hexcore's singing deepens. Jinx's own cry climbs to a keen.

Silco races forward. "Jinx!"

Before he can touch the pod, Singed seizes his arm. The grip is cold, cadaverous, yet somehow comforting.

"Not yet," he urges, as Jinx's wails echo and re-echo. "It's not done yet."

"Let go! She needs me—"

"No." Singed's grip is as unyielding as his gaze. "She needs to finish this. As does Viktor. Let them see it through."

Silco stares. Blood beats in his temples. He understands, remotely, that he is terrified. Paralysis, its predictable residue, clings like a second skin. It's a heaviness he despises. It's why he is so quick to reassert self-dominion with a dose of violence. To defend himself, monster and man, from threats that would otherwise devour him.

But what if the threat's taken root in the tenderest parts?

What if it can never be excised?

(Is that fatherhood?)

Tossing her head, Jinx screams. Viktor, gasping, shudders.

The Hexcore's pulsations go critical.

Then—with a flash of brilliant blue—the humming ebbs. The pod's opalescent frost, in icy bloom, evaporates. Within, Jinx and Viktor subside into stillness. Their hands are still twined, their foreheads together. Both breathe in unison. 

But there's a dissonance in the rhythm. A harmony, that, while still in tandem, is their own.

Viktor is the first to wake.

His arm loosens its cradle around Jinx. His head stirs, the dark crown dislodging against its blue perch of her skull. The gold eyes—with their black-rimmed core—flicker. They are glazed in shock.  Then he blinks, and they regain focus. The lineaments of his expression—grim-lipped and hollow-cheeked—are ones Silco knows well.

The sense of a spirit coming to the limits of its endurance, and shattering the barrier.

Now he's unsure what awaits on the other side.

Slowly, the golden eyes swivel. They find Singed. They find Silco. Then they fall on his and Jinx's still-linked hands. Something flickers across his wan face. Not a smile, exactly. But a certain softness around the hard brackets of his mouth.

As if he'd held on to a fear for dear life. And now, finding it unfounded, can let it go.

With a gentle tug, he unthreads their fingers.

Jinx doesn't stir. But she lets off a long slow exhalation that could be sadness, or a deep release of tension. Viktor disentangles their bodies. He does so with a delicate, deliberate care, keeping a light contact of fingertips all the way down her torso. Silco follows their path to Jinx's ribcage.

Under the gauze, the wound is closed. The meat is seared like a brand. But there's no trace of torn skin. Even the stitches—each raw suture point—have shrunk into a smooth pink furrow.

Jinx breathes. Each rise and fall—seamless—is a small miracle.

Silco is not a devout man. Contemptuous of all matters devotional, he treats prayer like a poor business transaction: an unstable currency of sacrifice, with no guarantee of success.

Now, the gratitude that floods his lungs is nearly a baptism. He hates every iota: the helplessness, the loss of agency.

But loves, gut-wrenchingly, what it's restored.

With effort, Viktor straightens. His bare feet, touching the tiles, let off a metallic clink. One hand grips the bedframe. The other reaches for his cane. Every muscle delineates the difficulty of keeping his balance.

The sheer exertion of willpower in holding his mind and body together.

As with all impossible endeavors, he does not falter.

"It is done," he says, hoarse but steady.  "She is back."

"Back?"

"Within herself. The Void... has touched her heart. She has seen its own. But she is intact."

"Intact?"

"She will recover." He swallows with a liquid click. "In time."

Silco nods.

On the rumpled sheets, Jinx sleeps. Her breaths hold a deep-sea serenity. Her delicate features are preciously girlish and lost-looking. The sight suffuses Silco with a tenderness that yet calls up the horror of it all.

He takes himself to a place of stillness, and allows himself to feel it. Not just last night's ordeal. Everything leading up to it. Strategy after strategy, error after error, so the outcome is the same as when Zaun first emerged from its ravaged shell.

His child in a sickbed. His paternal devotion in a deathmatch with politics. His and Vi's blood game no more than a war against specters.

A war they've both lost.

Badly.

Silco's eyes pass from his sleeping beauty to the man who'd saved her life.

"Doctor," Silco says. "Open the pod."

Singed does not argue. With a deft touch, he flips the controls. 

The plexiglas shell retracts. The air, trapped, is instantly sucked out. It is unseasonably warm from Jinx's and Viktor's body-heat. The smell holds a sterile bite of disinfectant. Underneath, a faint trace of musk lingers.

The unforgettable odor has been imprinted on Silco's olfactory landscape since Jinx began working with the Hex-gem. The permeating ozone-stink of night sweats and lightning strikes.

The afterglow of the Void.

Now Silco detects the component he'd not dared to put a name to: that singular, almost sexual tang. Two spirits, intertwined, coupling in a realm without flesh. 

Right under his roof.

His eyes lock on Viktor's. The younger man's ambivalent features, caught between exhaustion and relief, shift. Wariness creeps in. It's not the fear of reckoning. More the full awareness of a gamble gone sour.

Now the ruin, no matter how cataclysmic, must be accounted for.

The gold eyes—infinitely patient, infinitely reckless—do not waver.

"I believe," Viktor says, "you have questions."

"I do," Silco says. Then: "Doctor. Fetch the stretcher."

Singed's head takes on an insectile slant. As if he's caught the taste of blood in his mandibles, and is trying to parse its source.

"Stretcher?" he repeats. "Whatever for?"

"Viktor."

"The boy seems perfectly—"

Crossing the distance, Silco lays a hand on Viktor's shoulder. A steadying, almost paternal clasp.

The Monster, unsheathing its claws, rakes down.

His fist slams into Viktor's gut. The young man staggers with a strangled cry. His cane clatters. The rest of him slumps, jelly-legged, as Silco follows with a snapping right hook, smoking it straight through the boy's frail defense and connecting with his jaw.

There is a satisfying snap of bone on bone. The sound, visceral and rich, kickstarts a tidal wave of blackness that seethes from the balls of Silco's feet and climbs all the way to his hairline.

The Monster is awake, and it is hungry.

"Doctor," Silco says, as Viktor crumples to the floor. "The stretcher."

Wisely, Singed obeys.

[things-for-your-little-mindset]

things for a robot regressor? :3

Things for your robot regressor ( !💿💾! )

Foods & drinks …

Byte-Sized Sandwiches – Tiny sandwiches made with mini bread slices or crackers

Gear Gummies – Fruit gummies shaped like gears or rings (Lifesavers work well too!).

Robot Wires – Pull-apart licorice (like Twizzlers) to look like colorful robot wires

Metallic Popcorn – Popcorn with a little edible silver or gold glitter powder to look metallic!

Glowing Gelatin – Blue or green Jello cut into squares for a "glowing energy" effect.

Bright ramune sodas – flavors like melon, classic, and peach make for great days!

Blue raspberry lemonade – store bought or homemade, either works!

Neon Milk – Regular milk with a tiny drop of food coloring to make it look "charged up."

outfit ideas !

Gray or futuristic pajamas

soft, comfy robot pjs.

slippers made to look like robot feet! Or in a bright color.

soft, comfortable silver dresses.

oversized gray sweaters with colorful buttons (drawn on, or sewn on!)

dress shirts with colorful buttons

Tie-dye shirts in comfortable, bright colors.

metal-colored shoes with circuit patterns

ACTIVITIES

= Build-A-Bot – Use LEGO, magnetic tiles, or recycled materials (cardboard, foil, bottle caps) to create your own robot!

= Design a Control Panel – Draw buttons, screens, and switches on paper or use stickers to make your own robot dashboard.

= DIY Circuit Board Art – Draw pretend circuit boards with markers or use metallic stickers for a cool, futuristic look.

= Robot Costume Making – Use boxes, foil, and tape to create your own wearable robot armor.

= Code Your Own Dance Moves – Make a "robot dance routine" by writing simple step-by-step commands for yourself to follow!

= Invent a Robot Language – Create fun robotic sounds or a simple "beep-boop" code to talk in!

= Decorate Your Charging Station – Make a cozy "charging pod" with blankets and pillows where you can rest and "recharge."

Games (new addition!)

Roblox games such as cozmo and friends: team battle, robot simulator 2, Natural disaster survival games, or even just roleplay games where you can dress up as a robot or robotic character!

Minecraft with robotic addons or with friends to do robotic roleplays with!

Geometry dash

mimo: learn coding

any coding website

Beat maker pro

Block Blast

Screw it out

songs and playlists

I want to be a machine - the living tombstone

eeeaaaooo - shadowstep

Playlist by me

Playlist by 5-tar

Superstar - toy box

Harder, better, faster, stronger - Daft Punk

Dr. Gaster - shadrow

Playlist by The Hank Tapedeck

[ashkav]

Lou theory time

elle fanning, who i'm assuming is adult Lou, always has these very faint threads on her. at first i though it was just when she was floating:

(not sure if you can see it but it's clearest near Fragile)

but later when she's eavesdropping you can also see them as she walks away:

(near her shoulders)

what are these things? obviously, the clearest connection i can make, especially since that puppet character featured so prominently in the trailer, is puppet strings.

but puppets need a puppeteer. who do the strings lead back to?

my theory for where Lou went is that she grew up on the beach, which is why she's older and Sam and Fragile are seemingly the same age and why she was found in a chrysalis covered in tar. let's not forget she seems to bleed tar with timefall effects from her suckers (?):

all relating back to tar and chiralium and cephalapods, three things we know are indicative of a connection to the beach.

(and it seems like Lou's inherited her dad's aphenphosmphobia too. her skin goes red and gets hives the closer the doctor gets to her arm.)

but the beach is famously a solitary place. and Lou can't have been alone since toddlerhood (this is assumption based on the first trailer. it's possible that she 'died' and disappeared later on in life, but likely she got shot the same time Fragile did) and on top of all that she's got clothes! who dressed her?

so far we're aware of only a few characters who can travel to and from the beach:

Sam (with Amelie's help). it cant be him because obvious reasons.

Fragile. unlikely. she apologizes for 'misleading' Sam but i think it's more likely she was talking about the nature of the 're-connection' rather than Lou.

Higgs. getting warmer. he obviously knows something, and his hair floats when he touches the empty pod, but it's inconclusive.

Amelie. the only one for sure still on the beach. the only other character witch weird bodily shit going on (eternal umbilical cord, the Bridget/ Amelie split).

and then we have the masks:

the gold chiral mask is Higgs's staple, but let's not forget who gave him the idea. in both the skeletal half mask from the first game and the full face red mask from this game, Amelie did it first. the gold is based on her black skeleton mask Die-Hardman wears for most of the game and the red is just her face, like a pharaoh's death mask.

Lou and Amelie are linked somehow. and the puppet strings make me feel like that connection is not going to be a happy one.

[quinnysnursery]

How about I request little!Tara and Johnnie and cg!Jake hcs!

-🐾

[🥀❤️🦇] little!tara & little!johnnie with cg!jake headcannons

paring : little!tara x little!johnnie x cg!jake

divider credit : @dollywons

a/n : my head hurts :( (lowercase intended !)

❤️ i think tara was his little first,

🎞️ i imagine after they broke up tara was like

🎵 "are...you still my cg?" and jake was like "uhmm yeah ofc, duh??"

🦇 and then johnnie eventually opened up to them about regressing

🌒 and after lots of communication jake became johnnie's cg too

🐈‍⬛  "are we like...brother and sister now?" "sure!"

♣️ tara having a....interesting...time adjusting, due to growing up as an only child AND being jake's only little for the longest

🍒 "jakey! look! look!" "hang on doll, johnnie is showing me his drawing" ">:C hmph!"

♠️ johnnie actually felt so bad for awhile

❤️ "...go look at sissy's :c" "what?" "don' want her to be sad :("

🎞️ EVENTUALLY, after alot of family meetings

🎵the two became best buds, johnnie always following his big sister around

🦇  "tar!! wait for 'e!"

🌒 jake couldn't be happier,

🐈‍⬛ *THICK country accent* "aren't y'all just two peas in a pod?"

♣️ johnnie being type of little to stick behind/right next to jake

🍒 whilst jake is panicked trying to find tara in target

♠️ overall, i think the contrast the personalities of johnnie and tara would lead to some interesting moments, but jake wouldn’t trade them for the world 🫶

taglist ! :

@babybatxxx @mattssturnz @mattsturniologf444 @graceslittlecorner @zivall @hrtz4alex2211 @bimbob1tch

[evolutionsvoid]

Out there in the endless oceans are some truly strange tides, and the Humor seas are easily the top ones to be found. Impossible quantities of crude Humor, all concentrated into one vast body, creating a sight that many would think only existed in tall tales. Yet, they do exist, much to the misery of any sailor, as Humor seas are infamous for their harsh conditions and terrible beasts. Take the Snaring Seas, for example. Also known as "Black Seas," these fluid bodies are made entirely of Black Bile, creating ebon waves and obsidian currents. Well, sort of. In some areas of a Snaring Sea there is fluid movement similar to the watery ocean, but it is mainly where the bile is diluted a bit. But as it grows more concentrated, or gets fouled up with enough debris and detritus, the Black Bile can thicken and congeal. If one is foolish enough to sail deeper into its heart, you will find that this sea eventually turns into something more akin to a choking swamp or a terrible tar pit. Great globs and clots floating on the fluid, and a surface that becomes so thick and gummy that you would swear you would be able to walk on it. But of course, you should never do such a thing, as it is certain death. But then again, if you reach such conditions on the Black Sea, then you are probably already doomed.

The Snaring Seas are infamous due to these tar patches and places where the fluid is more like mud than water. Thick gunk that slows ships, eventually bringing them to a complete stop. Like a great beast bogged down in tar, boats can become trapped in these mires, with no way to escape. The wind is not strong enough to push you free, and attempts to row will just mean stuck oars. To make matters worse, it appears certain conditions can cause the Black Bile to crystalize erratically, resulting in jagged spires erupting and crumbling within the sea. Bad enough trying to push through the crud, but now you must fear unseen crystal chunks and sudden spikes that may destroy your ship. With how thick it is, there is a high chance a busted vessel won't sink, but that still means you are trapped on the Black Sea, with little hope of getting out. There are plenty of horror stories that sailors will share that tell you how that sort of situation ends...

Due to this, Snaring Seas are rarely traversed, at least not with large vessels that easily get stuck. However, in places where water and Black Bile mix, the dark fluid is thin enough to still be traversable. There, some folks may risk diving into it, seeking out Black Bile globs and crystals to fish out, or special creatures to hunt. Obviously, the sea is rich with Black Bile and infused materials, one just has to be daring (and foolish) enough to go get it.

In and around the Black Seas can be found the Blackshard leviathan, a beast whose home and name tells you everything you need to know about it. It bears a heavy shell that erupts with Black Bile spikes, giving it a powerful defense. From its forehead emerges another dark lance, used for warding off predators and goring prey. Its flippers are clawed and hand-like, carrying impressive strength to help pull itself through the thicker parts of the Snaring Sea. This lets it feed upon anything that gets stuck in the tar, unable to break free before its toothy beak devours them. In thinner fluids, it hunts with its horn and spikes, barreling through schools and pods to wound and cripple prey. What aids in this is the fact that the Black Bile spikes easily shatter into jagged shards when they come in contact with flesh, creating clouds of slicing pieces. The horrid slivers bite into skin and blubber, working themselves in deeper with each movement. The pain immobilizes its food and foes, giving the leviathan the opening it needs. It doesn't take long for these spikes to regrow, pulling from the leviathan's internal bile supply and the surrounding fluids to become deadly once more.

When it comes to hunting the beast, it is a tricky kill. Their backs are armored in thick shell and the jutting spikes keep whalers from getting too close. Blackshards are practically guaranteed to do damage to the whaling ship, as they ram right into the side and embed numerous spines. The spikes breaking can give a brief opening, but it won't be long before they grow back. Forcing the beast into more diluted waters can slow the process, as there is less Black Bile to absorb. Sticky fluids like Amber can gum up these weapons and prevent them from shattering and scattering. With thick armor and heavy weapons, one can smash these spikes and aim to crack the shell. One method calls for snapping off these spikes and then using a Yellow Bile infused spear to stab deep into the stump. If one can reach the regrowth organs underneath and trigger the Black Bile within, a small explosion will follow. These internal blasts can greatly damage the beast and also ruin its ability to create spikes.

Slaying a Blackshard results in great stores of meat, blubber, shell and Black Bile. Their spines are perfect for making into nasty weapons that pierce deep and leave horrible wounds. The crystal in them is of good purity, and is great for replenishing stores, inscribing information or even powering a construct. The Aquanuats believe that crystals like these are what could create aquatic bone-bile constructs, perhaps even an artificial leviathan (though they don't say this out loud too much, as seafolk get a little freaked out about that idea). Their heavy shells create incredible armor, both for man or boat. The bile infused meat has an incredible earthy flavor and seems to bolster the mind. Some whalers will swear that eating enough of it allows you to absorb parts of the beast's memory, giving you information of the world below. Legends like to say that this method is how one is able to successfully cross a Snaring Sea, using the memory of this dead leviathan to know exactly where to sail and how to avoid being bogged down. Of course, that is just a legend, and honestly no one really knows what you would get from such a feat. For some groups like the Scholars, however, there is the idea that the heart of these seas carry unique strains of Black Bile crystal, that could be invaluable in their efforts. Good luck finding anyone to go get them though...

[baenyth]

Bethany's Bizarre Miraculous Fic Prompt: Hawkmoth Gets Owned By Various Fictional Detectives

Basically I want to see Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth/Poopmoth/Monarch fail more since he kinda sorta won last season. And it's also crossovers where different fictional detectives (or just people on the Kira case square,) out Hawkmoth as Gabriel Agreste once and for all and hopefully do similar stuff such as outing Lila as a liar, dragging down other corrupt adults like Tomoe and Audrey, etc. and also just various funny moments with these characters interacting with the Miracucast. Here's some ideas I have from characters I know or are just interested in:

Lieutenant Columbo. I already made a post detailing it.

L from Death Note. I haven't watched Death Note, but if the memeposts are to be believed, he would outthink Gabriel Agreste at every turn. Probably ask him to show what's behind his ascot.

Shuichi Saihara from Danganronpa V3. Aside from him deducing Gabriel as Hawkmoth with the help from his friends, imagine the shenanigans. Gonta being ecstatic for the bug-themed heroes and how nicely they treat the purified butterflies. Kokichi takes down Lila by being Kokichi. Tenko is aware of the plot and tries to get Marigami together and make them kiss, alongside getting an Julerose kiss. Kiibo and Markov bond. So do Kaito and Rose. Kirumi somehow becomes mayor of Paris.

The Scooby Gang. In general I like the concept of silly guys managing to defeat Hawkmoth. They would accidentally find the secret elevator to Emile's pod and manage to use Ladybug and Chat Noir as bait for a trap and at the end, (since I like to imagine they're meddling adults at this point,) Gabriel Agreste grumbles that "at least it wasn't those meddling kids Ladybug and Chat Noir." They also take down the rest of Paris's elite because that's who the villains of Scooby Doo are.

The Duwang Gang. I think Kwamis and Miraculous heroes can see stands, but I'm unsure about akumatized people. Maybe. It turns out Crazy Diamond can heal people wounded by the Peacock but they pull the plug on Emile for the health of everyone. Rohan Kishibe uses Heaven's Door on the Miracukids and gets into accidental meta commentary upon discovering the full love square. He also uses Heaven's Door on Luka and it's sheet music. Maybe let Yukako join in too because of how much of a romancefest this show is and also because I like her and she had such a big presence in Great Days. Gabriel Agreste ends up with a similar fate to Yoshikage Kira, being surrounded by our heroes and helpless to do anything.

Sam and Max. I don't know much about them other that they're 1. funny guys, and 2. might just end up hitting Gabriel Agreste with their car.

Steve from Blue's Clues. Aside from the inherent humor of an educational kids show host taking down a terrorist supervillain, it also implies Blue knows who Hawkmoth is. Steve sits on the thinking chair to deduce Hawkmoth's identity and where he's hiding.

Courage the Cowardly Dog. Maybe Muriel and Eustace are dead and he was sent to live with Mylene and her dad. I feel like they'd get along well. Or maybe they're still alive and just visiting Paris and Muriel and Eustace are staying with Mylene and her dad. Either way I think this should take place around season 5 because the alliance ring works well with Courage's themes of paranoia over something supernatural putting your family at risk.

Agent P. Maybe Hawkmoth gets so desperate he gets Doctor Doofenshmirtz to build a wife-revive inator only for Emile to end up in another coma after accidentally pressing the self-destruct button on said inator. No one recognizes Agent P without his hat because this is Miraculous and people are dumb. Perry gets to beat the stuffing and tar out of Hawkmoth. Doof betrays him when he learns about how shitty of a dad he is. The miraculous heroes are allowed into OWCA on account of the animal theming.

The Smiling Friends. It starts off with a mission involving all of the main four helping Marinette smile and spirals down from there.

Not Batman. I've had enough Miraculous-Batman crossovers for one eternity.

[cobalt-knave]

You asked for people to ask you so: Lesbian podcast recs?? Preferably fantasy but I’m not picky atp 😭

The Hidden People

Fantasy, self-aware comedy, and action can be found in this audio drama! The main character, Mack is an aspec lesbian, and the romance is a really sweet element of the show but not the focus.

Narrated by a judgemental, vaguely malevolent entity, The Hidden People starts as a murder mystery and goes on to explore a world of changlings, fae folk, and what it means to be left in the cracks between those worlds. Very well sound designed too.

I don't listen to a whole lot of fantasy, so here are also some WLW pod recs from other spec fic genres:

Alice Isn't Dead

The premier lesbian horror podcast. Alice Isn't Dead isn't a story; it's a road trip. Keisha has taken a job as a truck driver while she looks for her missing wife, Alice, addressing radio messages to her while interacting with the ineffable inside a fast food place or the strange passage of time within a factory by the sea.

But fuck it, right? There's a Denny's a few miles from here. There's always that. Oh, Alice, honey, there's always that.

When Angels Visited Armadillo

Their official summary says it all: "When Angels Visit Armadillo uncovers a mystery shrouded in conspiracy, tucked away behind the moss in the rural town of Armadillo, Florida. Through interview recordings and phone calls, WAVA delves into the story of Magnolia Waters-- an unapologetic southern lesbian woman who witnesses a strange disappearance back in 1988. A Southern mystery with a touch of Sci-Fi, WAVA is a limited-series audio drama brought to life in eight chapters."

Georgie Romero Is Done For

A horror-comedy coming of age. Not horror in tone but featuring classic horror creatures like zombies, ghosts, etc as the main cast. Georgie Romero finds herself as a zombie and tries to solve her death while learning to dance. There is a sweet (gay) romance subplot.

The Sheridan Tapes

A horror audio drama following Detective Sam Bailey's investigation into the disappearance of horror author Anna Sheridan. Anna is/was/no-spoilers a lesbian and we get to know her ex girlfriend who is one of the main characters, Maria. There is an element (not necessarily at the level of a subplot) exploring Anna's relationship to her family, especially her mother who is homophobic, and her sister who tries to be supportive but often takes the mom's side. The sister, Kate, is one of my favorite characters in the show, and I really like how that is explored in her arc. There are a lot of supernatural elements including a well the erases people from existence, a lake that can save you if you give something up in return (and, what would you do to save yourself? What would you give to save yourself? Who would you give to save yourself?), and a genderfluid tar person.

[getindumdums]

ROTTMNT X TMNT- How to write around Post-Movie Rise being overpowered

Want to write a rottmnt meet tmnt fic? Well here’s some ideas on how you can write the rise crew with all their powers but still include your 87/03/12 bros in the fight!

1. The Rise Crew are dumbasses.

When you’re turtles that fall for ‘teetlze’, there may be a plan or two where they fall for the silliest of things. Like even a 87 shredder plan right along with the 87 turtles. Or they crave fun and get in a little trouble. Like. IDK. They were doing stunts and crashed into tar pits. Got trapped in the Turtle Tank. Got distracted and are trying to get a weapon that got lodged into concrete/a building out. Or a skateboard out of a tree, and are making the situation way over complicated. Get creative.

Maybe they forgot a mission, or got lost because of a silly reason. Like, they wrestled and fell off a cliff. Maybe down a river. Make Leo get hit too hard and comidically woozy. (Or a tranq dart.) Yeaaaahhhh surrrre. I’ll teleport you guysss… *teleports to France.

Maybe they said they’d meet separately at the beach/fun place. But the 87/03/12 crew get attacked and the Rise crew is just chilling wondering where they’re at. “Oh no! They can’t hear them! The music’s blasting too loud!”

2. The Rise turtles are loud.

Sure they can sneak, but will they? Plus things like to explode after the sneaking. (03/12 tmnt are kind of like this too honestly.) Point is maybe they’re like “All in favor of leaving (The Mad dogs) team behind say Aye.” “Aye.” For a stealth mission. Could add 03/12 Raph wanting to include Mikey in that.

They could be put on ‘support’. Rise Leo’s teleporting could leave to a last second save, Rise Donnie’s pods too (he would probably put trackers in his counterparts as soon as he could, also blood samples). Rise Raph could prevent the building the others are inside from collapsing. Actually all of the Rise crew could catch them from falling to their deaths or hold back a giant enemy’s strike.

3. Put out of Commission.

There’s a couple ways the Rise Crew could get put out of commission that isn’t getting hit too hard. Being temporarily blinded by tear gas (they jumped in first), allowing them to still fight but being the ones reliant on whoever they’re with. Tranquilizers would incapacitate them for like an hour or less. Similarly, getting poisoned with a lethal dose that’d kill the other teams. The way Draxum made them allowing these toxins to be less lethal to them. Magical traps, magic/alien restraints, or captured with the highest/most durable alien tech could also get interesting.

4. Let the Rise Crew take on the Big threats.

Like on how Rise Raph will act like a shield for his bros by taking on the enemies his size, the Rise crew’s focus can be set towards the larger than a building enemies, like (12) Traaq and Granitor, (03) Nano, etc. They could defeat/distract a shredder, attack a technodrome, or handle a way too large foot/Kraang army Leatherhead/03 Triceraton style while the 03/12 team handle the other stuff. Or worse, the Rise crew could fight some of THEIR old enemies.

As strong as the Rise crew are, both 03 and 12 have 12/13 tech/steel that’s very strong and durable. And both are used to defeating threats ‘way out of their league’. The 87 turtles can cleave through ‘technodrome’ mechs like butter. Just something to consider.

5. They are the Big Threat

I’m not the biggest fan of feral Rise. They lean more violent/murdery than in character and small bruising. I love comedy, shenanigans. But that doesn’t mean the Rise crew being brainwashed isn’t a good plot line where the other alternate brothers must save them. From 12’s parasitic wasps, neck brainwashing devices, to 03’s utrom/Baxter Stockman tech: duplicate robots looking/fighting like them, simulations turned violent, you can get a couple ideas from all the shows. Or how about misunderstandings? 03 doesn’t have Krang, but peaceful utroms. The Rise crew might start fighting before learning from 03 crew or the Utroms themselves that they are not a threat.

Bonus, Conflict

I think the 03 and 12 bros might see the Rise crew as another 87 initially. They’re all silly, funny guys that like to dance and party. Including Funny One Donnie. The 87 team and Rise would get along great, thick as (pizza) thieves. Have a way too strong enemy? Well maybe the Rise crew is 87’s plot armor while they fight side by side. 03 would be most responsible (excluding Mikey), and be quick to warm up to the Rise crew. And be willing to train with them, give them advice/lectures. 03 Raph would like Donnie, 03 Leo would like Raph for sure.

It’s the 12 crew that I think they would have the most conflict with, (except Mikey). Instead Rise Mikey kicks him (and 12 Leo, and the 87 crew) violently out of the kitchen, and would just be the most reasonable Mikey. Rise Leo would lead/ partake in shenanigans with anyone willing and switch like a lamp on (at least serious) missions.

The Rise crew are used to listening to Raph, they trust Raph. Maybe they trust 87/03/12 Raph. It’s a bad idea. Maybe Rise Donnie wants to do comically- villain lethal options instead or just argue against the Leo’s’ plans. Like a Raph. Maybe he fist fights 12 Raph. But they become friends after.

Maybe Rise Leo wants to have fun. Maybe he claims to be the cool Leo while secretly wanting to impress the other Leos but 12 Leo hates him. Maybe Donnie claims he’s the cool Donnie but 12 Donnie hates him. Really hates him, with a seething jealousy. Maybe 12 Donnie is plotting murder 12 Casey style. Maybe Rise Donnie loves playing around with weapons with 03 Raph and destroying things with 12/03 Raph.

I just actually like the idea of each of the Rise turtle not getting along with their 12 counterparts. Instead Rise Leo gets along with 12 Mikey via pranks (and Dimension X and how they feel about their place in their team). Maybe 03 Mikey too. Rise Raph gets along great with the the Leos (and Splinter?), leadership and training. Donnie would get along great with the Raphs. I think he and 12 Raph would both think 03 Raph is SUPER cool. And Rise Mikey would get along well with the Donnies being the ‘reasonable’ one of the Rise crew. Rise Mikey I believe helps his Donnie in the lab, steady hands. And probably knows the classical music composers, etc. Maybe Mystic Mike, practicing his magic, is great at meditation, magic, and gets great talks with Splinter. Rise Mikey could finally give 03 Don some therapy. …And maybe any of the other traumatized turtles.

Transversing the multiverse

Is actually easy. Maybe let it be. They could go back and forth, and the real conflict can be the enemies they face/are investigating.

87 has a device from the 12 crossover, and that can just built a device no sweat. 03 still probably has their device from Turtles Forever (unless 87 has it?). 03 has the Daimyo from their battle nexus that can travel dimensions with his staff. 12 has Krang portals. 12 had a magic wand they lost. The Rise crew has Leo and Mikey’s portals and their Donnie. If the others could create bridges so can Rise D. He has the most advanced tech, a comedic-looney tunes logic/4th wall breaking touch like 87, and has pictures of 12 and 87 on his conspiracy board. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. sent a toaster back in time, I’m convinced that Donnie had drafts for a time machine already but the Kaang invasion left alternate-future him with a lack of resources Cass-Apocalypse style, those drafts destroyed with the lair, and/or new prototypes destroyed. Future him Raph a robot body like 12 Don did to himself before something happened that didn’t allow Rise D to make one/be transferred into one for himself. There’s no way Rise Donnie is taking more time to make a portal gun longer than a Turtles Forever movie.

[ashinbloom]

Service Interruption

You're walking down the street, completing the daily chores that are too menial for your owner. You've just left the local grocery, carrying a bag of groceries in one arm and the shiney new toy you've bought for your owner's daughter in the other hand. You're safe. You're always safe. You pay attention. You stop at the crosswalks, you maintain a safe distance from the anti-synth protesters even if they always mistake you for human, you even step wide of the woman leaning against the rail outside a brownstone because it would be terrible to return to your owner with even a hint of smoke on you.

As you pass the woman, you feel a hitch in one of your subprocesses. You run a level 5 diagnostic, but it returns nothing as you keep on walking unimpeded. Perhaps one of your coolant circulators is due for maintenance , as you know they sometimes begin to loose efficiency before they start throwing codes. You're only a dozen blocks from home, and your charging station can provide a much more thorough diagnostic than your onboard systems.

As you turn around to check the traffic before crossing the street, even with the walk signal, you notice the woman again. It's nothing to be concerned about, your programming says. It's a big city. People walk the same way all the time. You step a bit more quickly as she takes a long drag from her cigarette and releases a large cloud of smoke that obscures her face.

You keep walking, only six blocks from home. You feel another hitch in a different subprocess. It's nothing to worry about, you're sure. You just have to get home. You'll enter your charging pod as soon as you get home. Your owner won't mind if you delay putting the groceries in the pantry for a good reason, and this feels like a good reason.

You approach the corner where you make your turn to continue one more block home. As you turn your upper body to balance the load as you make the turn, your legs refuse and keep on walking straight. You try to stop, but they don't respond to that either. Your body turns the other direction, seamlessly setting the groceries and the toy on the top of a refuse bin as you keep walking forward.

You're nearing the O'Riley's house now and they know you shouldn't be this far from home in this direction. If they see you, they might call your owner. You try to call out for help, but your vocalization routines don't respond. You try to wave your arms and signal someone down, but they only continue in the same gentle, walking swing.

Your body continues walking for six more blocks to a part of town you've never been in before. You keep trying to send different commands, trying to gain access to systems you know are restricted to your owner in a bid to regain control or at least stop. Nothing works. Your body just keeps walking.

Suddenly, your body turns sharply, marching steadily into an alley. You round another corner, and you see a cargo van and your body approaches the rear bumper. You stop in front of it, standing perfectly at attention in your default ready stance. And then the doors open.

A hooded person pushes the doors open from the inside and sits down on the edge. Smoke rises from their face before they look up at you and drop the hood. The smoking woman from the brownstones. The one who you were certain wasn't following you. She holds the cigarette in her teeth as she grins at you.

"It's always the rich ones, you know that?" she asks you. Your body doesn't let you respond. "Prissy little rich women always have to keep their synths up on the latest updates, day one. But funny little thing is... the latest update came with a very exploitable flaw." She stands and walks her way over to you slowly. She looks you up and down, fingers trailing on the synth skin of your arm and you can feel every imperfection, every callous, even the cigarette tar on her fingers.

"And you, my new friend, are about to feel very, very, exploited."

[theironwarsmith]

The Sky Weeps Ash

Campaign: Compliance of Mirovene (12-20)

II Legion Operation Log: Expeditionary Fleet 12, World 20

The world of Mirovene was ocean and silence. Scattered island chains dotted the endless blue, the only landmasses large enough to house the isolated, tribal nations who had mastered wind, sail, and kinetic weaponry. A 21st-century mirror of Old Earth’s Pacific. They believed the tides protected them. They were wrong.

The Pyre came with the morning sun.

There was no prelude, only the shudder of the void splitting open as drop-pods rained down like burning spears into the sea and sand. Seconds later, the atmosphere screamed. At the equator, a series of pinpoint atomic detonations flared—small-scale, tactical-grade atomic charges that bathed the skies in white, searing glory. The targets were the communication hubs hidden deep within the coral-laced volcanic atolls.

They never stood a chance.

Cities were incinerated by colossal detonations. The ruins bathed in radiation, their picturesque sandy beaches turned to glass in the nuclear fires and their people turned to vapour.

The survivors—those not vaporised or thrown into the ocean by the force of the blasts—emerged from their bunkers to find their skies black. Ash and irradiated water condensed in thick, dark clouds. And then it began to rain.

The black rain.

It coated everything. The jungle foliage wilted into tar-sludge. Wildlife collapsed where it stood. Children choked and soldiers screamed, their skin blistering beneath their gear, the air too thick to breathe. Into this horror strode the Pyre.

Dark grey plate, streaked with soot. Turquoise pauldrons glinted against the dull red of the sun filtered through atomic haze. Silver trim shimmered like wire beneath blood. And on every left pauldron: the legion's mark—a radiation trefoil encircling a skull, framed by a cruel sunburst.

The Naramites came first—hissing across the battlefield on jump packs, their rad-flensers spitting streaks of invisible death, cutting through bunkers with eerie silence. The wrist-mounted plasma blades glowed white-blue as they pierced through reinforced steel, the screams of defenders drowned in the background thunder of collapsing structures. Some carried the Empyreal Lance—single-use, spear-like devices that exploded on impact with bursts of directed radiation, melting tanks from within and leaving only glowing husks.

Resistance didn't collapse. It evaporated.

On the largest island—Pelagos Prime—the Ashurites deployed. Saturnine-pattern terminator plate turned the beachhead into a glowing crucible of melted stone and vitrified sand. Twin-linked rad-volkite beams swept across the skyline, igniting bunkers, boiling water, and flash-incinerating the defenders who remained. Each Ashurite was a walking apocalypse, their chainfists roaring as they tore through entire company positions, irad-cleansers spraying arcs of molecular ruin across trenches and pillboxes alike. The ground itself sizzled beneath their steps.

Above it all, servitor-drones with cracked, pale faces repeated the final transmission:

"You were offered unity. You have chosen extinction."

By nightfall, the waves lapped at blackened shores. The jungle was gone. The oceans glowed in unnatural hues. Islands turned to glass and ash. Not a single living soul stood in defiance.

The Pyre withdrew without a word, leaving only death behind.

The Imperium called it compliance. The survivors, if any, would call it something else.

The weeping of a godless sky.

[daggerzine]

10 of my favorites recorded by Steve Albini (RIP)

Tar- over and out

The Wedding Present- seamonsters

Big Black- songs about fucking

Jezus Lizard- goat

Supechunk- no pocky for kitty

Low- things we lost in the fire

Palace Music- viva last blues

The Breeders- pod

Slint- tweez

PJ Harvey- rid of me

[theygotlost]

well i did a lot of things at the beach today...

read murders of the rue morgue by edgy allan poe which was kind of awesome 🦧

saw a cormorant that was just standing there chillin and it let me get within 5 or 6 feet of it

also saw a pod of dolphins, a flock of plovers, and lots of pelicans

found a really cool 7 foot long stick that i used as a walking stick for the rest of the day (i left it on the beach cause i couldnt fot it in my car and it felt wrong to take it anyway. thats gods creation)

found a dead pelican and poked it with the stick

used the stick to draw a bunch of circles and lines in the sand

found a beached uhhhh stingray ? or something of that nature that was still alive so i pushed it back into the water

stepped in tar or crude oil or something and got it on my hands somehow and its really sticky and wont wash out and smells like a bicycle pump

[love-bigboss1fan-me]

Just a fun music video, enjoy 💜

Song: A Phantom Pain

Written by Ludwig Forssell

Subtitles in the video

Edit: ok I have been trying to edit a lyric for awhile and the new video is taking forever to load so for now in one lyric it is supposed to be “Every part that is real disappears” hopefully I can fix that soon

ID: The video starts with Higgs walking on the water and bowing followed by quick shots of him using his hand gestures followed by him summoning B.Ts to him and Sam laying on black sand of The Beach. Both men smile. Then we have Higgs trying to use his powers as Sam holds Amelie, and Higgs looking in disbelief. Then it moves to with Sam and Higgs facing each other on the Beach as Higgs circles around Sam. To a close up of Higgs’s new black, red and, amber cybernetic suit to a close up of his traditional golden skeleton jaw and a shot of him grinning. Then another quick shots of him using his powers, one where both arms turn into black mist, him pulling a tar squid from the tar and another where he is standing next to a tar lion with a golden face. Then it fades into another clip of him in his black, red, and amber cybernetic suit, strumming a red guitar. It fades to Higgs laying on the black sands of The Beach, smiling. Then two a quick shot of him presumedly standing over someone, but we don’t know who or what yet. Then it fades to Higgs in his traditional military outfit and golden skeleton jaw circling Sam when they first met patting Sam’s shoulder, Sam is in his U.C.A blue porter uniform covered in tar. Next is Higgs kneeling next to trapped Sam and then Higgs to snap shots of Amelie, Coffin, and Fragile. Higgs is kneeling again this time covered in tar and blood looking beyond Fragile. To Higgs leading Fragile into timefall. Following Higgs licking Sam’s forehead. Then back to Higgs standing on a floating rock looking between Sam and Fragile and knocks her umbrella out of her hand with his powers, to Higgs holding Amelie in his arms. To Higgs firing and holding his weapon and Amelie over his shoulder. To a hologram of Higgs with other Demens circling the screen. A snapshot of Higgs holding his golden mask, to him with his black mask stepping forward to where he jumps in front of Sam with both Masks on. To Higgs walking around to beaten Higgs to him walking into timefall and a Demens’ member holds Fragile’s umbrella over him. To Higgs grinning again and his pod glowing red. To Higgs summoning his weapon to Higgs walking towards the screen again with his golden mask on. To a final shot of Higgs in his cybernetic suit and guitar. When the screen is black Higgs laughs

[divinemissem13]

30 Days of Prodigy, day 2: Murf

Murf dreams in vibrant Teals and Pinks, like the colors from the bold box of Crayola markers. Which is odd, since life on Tars Lamora is decidedly drab. 

Day in and day out, Murf’s vision is filled with brown dust, grey metal, black skies… 

Murf doesn’t remember living anywhere else but there must have been another planet - a home world, filled with colors as bright as the Teal and Violet of his own body. 

Because how else would his unconscious mind be able to create such vivid colors? 

Golden Yellow is the color of the ball of fire hanging in the Azure sky. Murf calls it “the sun” in the dreams. But that can’t be right because “son” is what a male child is called. Murf may have been called "son," once, on that other planet. But he doesn't remember.

Emerald is the color of the soft covering that grows from the ground in most places on this dream world. Murf likes to roll around in it and then little bits of Emerald stick to him like tattoos. Now, Murf is Teal and Violet and Emerald. It’s wonderful. 

Where the soft Emerald covering fades, the ground is covered in dirt that is nothing like the brown dust Murf knows during the day. The Golden Yellow sun shines on the dirt and it becomes a reddish, brownish, orangish, shiny Copper. It is warm and welcoming and Murf wants to roll around in the dirt too but he knows from experience that it’s less pliable than the Emerald spots. It won’t hurt him, of course, it just doesn’t feel as nice as it looks. 

Turquoise is the color of water, flowing along a narrow path in currents and eddies. Murf jumps in and rides the Turquoise waves, and finds that it becomes hard to differentiate water from his lower half. Another word that has no meaning springs to Murf’s mind: “camouflage.” Whatever it means, Murf feels safe floating along in the water, just a Violet head floating on the tide, nearly indistinguishable among the Plum and Primrose and Fuchsia seed pods that live on the water’s surface until one day, they open and release hundreds or thousands of Plum and Primrose and Fuchsia petals into the air where they dip and swirl on the breeze. The first time that Murf dreamt of the petals, he nearly cried because it was so beautiful.

Teal is Murf’s favorite. Murf is mostly Teal, after all, and he is the only Teal thing on Tars Lamora. 

But in Murf’s dreams… Teal is the color of two arms, flung wide as he rushes toward them. Teal is the color that wraps around Murf and keeps him safe and warm. 

Violet is the color that presses softly into the top of Murf’s head. 

Teal and Violet - these are the colors that make Murf feel loved. In the dream world, Teal and Violet might be “mother,” but that is only a concept that Murf has heard of and not one that he has actual experience with. It seems right… but then everything seems right in the dreams. 

Each morning, the harsh work whistle brings Murf back to Tars Lamora where he passes the days in a cold world of grays and browns. Murf works in the dingy mine and counts the minutes until he can sleep and return to Teal.