#/loss of sanity

[stars-obsession-pit]

Babysitter for a Bat (but not those bats)

Living in Gotham City may be cheap, but it ain’t free, and Danny is a bit strapped for cash at the moment.

So when he hears the price that a woman named Francine Langstrom is offering for a babysitter for her two kids, he jumps at the chance.

Sure, the mention of a strict interview was a potential hurdle, and the caveats included were a bit odd, but hey, Gotham is a dangerous place. Making sure your babysitter is trustworthy and capable of defending themself feels entirely reasonable, even if some details feel a tad strange.

Then he saw the kids, and everything clicked together. He finally realized why that last name sounded familiar, and all the strange details in the job offer suddenly made sense.

This was the family of Kirk Langstrom, the scientist who became the Man-Bat.

And his son Aaron had inherited his bat-like mutations.

Oh and i’ve added a screenshot of a page with Aaron under the readmore

[cocsot]

Munchin an urchin

Anyway I saw @brainrotranchs what I remember to supposedly be a little mermaid au? I don’t care they had to right to make him look that gorgeous

So I ruined it :D

[unhappy-sometimes]

I̶̡̟͓̝̼͇͍͇͛̓̊̂͐͊͋͘ ̴͚͚̱̘͚̊̓͛D̶̫̫̥͎́̓̋̂̍O̴̢̩̩̥͎̅̑Ṇ̷̡̲̣̦͈̝̗̃̽̈́̇̓́T̶̲͖͇̳̰̟̹̈́̔̌͒͗̾̔͝ ̵͔̖̳͈̤͊̀͗̒̂͗͜͝K̷̛̭̬̘̩͑͒̉̓̐͘N̵͕̊̋͊̔O̸͖̫͍̬͋́̐̃͒̕W̶̘̪̦̻͖̃̀̀̉̉̚ ̶̱͎̰̬̙̮̥̲̓́̀̌̈́̔͌̕Ẃ̴͇H̴̛̦̙͍͈̑̂Ạ̵̅͋̓͌͐T̷̼̝̥̖͔̖͝ ̴͙̲͊̃̅Į̷̨̜͎̗̹̭̂͒̀́̆̿Š̷̛͕̤̟̜̍͒͘ ̴̨̧͉͖̣̥̦͜͝Ȓ̶͖̣̗̀̑̎͂E̸͚̗̬̦͑̋͠Á̴̖͚͎̆L̸̘̫̜̐̋̌͊̎́̉̊ ̵͇̝̃̑A̸̡̘̭̰̫͊N̷̹͔͓̤̻̝͒̕Ŷ̶̞̪̘̼̪͕̣́̃̆́M̷̹̍̀́́͐́͂͝Ở̷̭͚͖̬̇͐̌͗͒Ř̴̖̠͙̼̝͙̳̱͗͆̾̎͛̋Ȇ̸̛̫̠̫̘̹͑͆̑̽̉

.

seeing things is now available to read

happy halloween, everyone!

if you'll excuse me, it's time for me to have my annual playthrough of world of horror and drink apple cider

[fluffylord]

RANDALL BROWN THE HOUR | S2 E02

[julfr]

Do not panic

[cupophrogs]

I’m pretty sure that Drew and CatNap(Theo) are the same age

As kinda confirmed by one of the Devs on their Discord

Still funny tho that Drew will insult CatNap and everyone

That lanky no muscle over expired Raisin, aka The skeleton hand simp

“There’s no shot he’s my age.”

[giddlygoat]

wreck it Ralph prequel framed as one of those shitty adult sitcoms with no plot and an alcoholic asshole protagonist and turbo is the main character but in reality he has a complex internal life and everything culminates in his game jump and the second season is all about him hiding away and spiraling after his sins and being super depressed before slowly beginning to revel in the pain of himself and others -🤡

[heretyc]

ehehehe lois remember the time i became an insane variant inside of an insane asylum and mauled men after turning them into my wives

[rodibee]

MegaRod 2023 Day 6: { Sun } | Moon

<- Previous - Next ->

tw: referenced alcohol abuse, self harm

     Rodimus' relationship with his outlier ability was complicated. 'Complicated' in this context meaning 'something he didn't think about unless it was in his face and absolutely unavoidable', which ironically was what Megatron also tended to be at times.

     ...Okay, not true-- or at least infinitely less so recently, but sue him, Rodimus was in a mood and the other mech was NOT making things easier.

     It had all started with the end of a perfectly normal (i.e. BORING as all hell) bridge shift that had had Rodimus staring at the clock on her HUD and counting the nanoclicks until it was time to hand the reins over to her co-Captain. Not that he was eager to do so or anything, but it'd seriously been so boring and better Megs deal with that than him, but he'd barely made the handoff and gotten halfway to the door before Brainstorm - followed by an exasperated and apologetic looking Perceptor - had descended upon him to ask Rodimus to visit the lab and test his infamous flames against the genuis's latest-and-greatest invention (gun-shaped, of course). Rodimus could tell from a single glance that Perceptor wasn't there to convince him and had already expected the immediate and emphatic “No,” that he had clipped out, and had probably already told Brainstorm as much, but Brainstorm was never the type to give up, so of course he wheedled. And begged and cajoled and entreated and whatever else other words there were for 'being an unbearably annoying pain in the tailpipe who apparently was smart enough to make guns that could fold dimensions but not smart enough to know that NO MEANS NO,' while trailing after Rodimus, who just picked up his pace in response and in an attempt to get the hell away from the situation before he got anymore heated and said or did something stupid and un-Captainly. The silent weight of Megatron's gaze on his back as he basically fled the room? Cherry on top of the shit sundae.

     Thankfully Brainstorm wised up to how bad of an idea this was after steam starting curling up from Rodimus's plates, but the fact it had reached that point at all just left Rodimus feeling nauseous and unhappy. Something easily fixed by a trip to one of the emptier floors of the ship that he liked to use as a makeshift racetrack in a pinch. Perfect for letting off steam before he ended up doing something stupid and more reckless than usual. Like melting all the doors to Brainstorm's work areas shut. Unfortunately even just that stray thought was uncomfortable enough to send Rodimus' mood into a complete tailspin, and after another lap he gave up on racing entirely and instead headed towards Swerve's.

     Rodimus found he didn't even need to order upon entering the bar before Swerve was sliding one of his preferred drinks his way, and he was busy tossing back that first drink to notice the bar owner frantically waving his servos at the occupants lingering in the corner booth to scatter them before Rodimus descended upon his favorite sulking spot like a thundercloud. He didn't know how long he was there or how many drinks he'd had before a shadow fell over him, but a glance at the caster and the expression on his face told him that he'd be needing another one. So Rodimus turned back to his current drink to polish off the last of it and wave down Swerve for another, and the mech standing over him shifted. Barely anything, but for a mech that large, a little went a long way. Rodimus looked at him out of the corner of his optics, but didn't turn to face him again. “You gonna sit down or what?”

     Another shift and a sigh, and then Megatron was swimming across his vision to slide into the seat across from him with the sort of grace that Rodimus felt really shouldn't be possible for a mech his size, age, and general health. Ugh.

     “Rodimus,” ugh, “what are you doing?”

     “Enjoying a drink on my free time, duh, what else does it look like?” He smiled with all his teeth.

    Megatron made a clicking noise in his vocalizer and Rodimus had to look away before he saw whatever look of irritation or - Primus forbid - disappointment Megatron was likely levelling at him combined with the awful annoying obnoxious cocktail of anxiety and guilt and shame swirling in his fuel tank made his nausea escalate from 'tolerably ignorable' to 'urgently pressing'. The... however many cups of high grade he had were doing a fine enough job with that on their own, thanks.

     “What it looks like is you, sitting here in a dark corner all by yourself with a demeanor black enough to scare away half of the crew while you send yourself to an early grave.”

     Rodimus delivered a sarcastic little laugh into his empty cup and tried not to feel like a miserable piece of scrap. “You sure that's not you you're talking about? 'Cause it sounds like you.”

     Megatron remained silent for a moment, which could mean anything and nothing at all and Rodimus was great at holding his charge and getting better at reading Megatron every day, but at this point he was too far overcharged to be able to make out what the lack of expression on his company's faceplate meant. The comment landed, probably, as it was meant to do, but that just made Rodimus like a whole pile of scrap instead.

     Frag it all.

     Rodimus gave into the urge to shutter his optics and rub the bottom of his crest in a vain attempt to settle the emotions juddering around inside of him and making a mess of things. “Didn't mean that. I mean I did, but I don't-  S'was uncalled for.” Another moment of silence passed in which Rodimus kept his optics closed, hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose to desperately try and stop any processor ache before it could start forming. Which is of course when Swerve showed up to set Rodimus' next drink on the table. That got Rodimus to open his optics, but Swerve was already sliding back behind the bar somehow. God, he really was scaring the crew, wasn't he?

     Rodimus stared sightlessly through the soft glow of his drink, suddenly unable to summon the strength to grab the cup and raise it to his intake. Whether Megatron could sense this or because he couldn't, the larger mech's hand was suddenly covering his drink and moving it to-- oh, so that's how many he'd had-- line it up with the others. Rodimus gave a solid attempt to count how many there were, but the way the glasses glowed in the soft lighting of the bar made it harder than expected.

     “I was going to drink that, you know.”

     “Yes, 'was'. I'm cutting you off.”

     Everything about this sucked. So bad. On so many levels. Which obviously meant Rodimus had to dig his metsphorical pedes into the grounds.

     “You don't have any right to do that- and don't even try and pull the co-Captain card, I'm not nearly as overcharged as you think. Just let me--” stew in my own stupid selfish misery in peace. Just for one measily cycle. He was doing so much better about it lately, couldn't he have just one day? Just one?

    “What is this really about, Rodimus? Does it have to do with Brainstorm's request? Because I hardly--”

     His tank churned again and he must've made some sort of noise or expression or let some of it slip into his E.M. field, because the next thing he knew there was a large hand wrapped around his upper arm gently encouraging him out of his seat and towards the door. Rodimus whined out a high, pathetically static note in his vocalizer as he tried and failed to reach for his abandoned glass, but Megatron just kept marching. Maybe any other time this would be the moment where Rodimus really started pitching a fit, but the day had already worn him out enough even before. Instead he let  Megatron lead him for a moment before shaking him off and pointedly walking of his own accord without wobbling thankyouverymuch.

     It wasn't until they were halfway to Rodimus' room before either of them spoke.

     “I'm tired of burning things.”

     Despite being the one to open his mouth in the first place, Rodimus was still surprised at the words that tumbled out, and now that she'd opened her mouth, the words just kept spilling out.

     “I'm tired of the one thing I'm best at doing is destroying things. I'm tired of feeling like every day is an exercise in trying to-- to minimize the damage I cause just by existing; of every attempt I make to try and fix things just making things infinitely worse.”

     This was a can of worms that was never supposed to be opened, but high-grade was a pretty efficient metaphorical can opener, and now Rodimus was drowning in an awful wormy mess of words and emotions and he just would not stop talking.

     “And before you tell me-- I know it's arrogant to act like I'm responsible for every bad thing that happens around me, but we both know it'd be ignorant to pretend like I'm not a serious factor.”

     Systems already overactive from the excess charge in his system began flashing fragments of memories across his vision like some twisted parody of a highlight reel of all his greatest failures. And there was no shortage of material to pull from. Rodimus offlined his optics as the sensory memory of the smell of black energon ash and melting metal flooded his olfactory senses, but shutting that system off wasn't an option. The smell wasn't something he could hide from, not when it was embeded into his memory banks like it was. Rodimus knew he had no right to feel haunted over the way that Nyon burned. None whatsoever. Not when he was the one to set it alight in the first place. It didn't matter that it might have burned anyway-- the keyword was might. Maybe someone else could have found a way to save it, but not him. He took that possibility away, as impossible and improbable as it was, and that was his burden to bear. His crime to spend the rest of his life making up for.

     Somehow despite the excess fuel and charge in his system, he just felt tired instead, but then again, high-grade had never affected him the way it did others. He couldn't even manage to get drunk right.

     Lost in his own processor as he was, Rodimus didn't notice they'd reached his habsuite until the door registered his proximity and pinged him for his access code. Great. Time to get this over with so Roddy could get to the part of the night cycle where he laid face down on his berth and stop venting until his systems overheated.

     “Right, we're here. I'd say thanks for walking me, but I'm still mad about that drink I didn't get to finish-- which, I still have to pay for that, y'know.” Rodimus slapped a servo against the door as if that would make it open any faster and steadfastly did not look at Megatron so he didn't have to see whatever expression of judgement he was making in response to Rodimus' highly embarrassing meltdown. “Anyway, your work here is done, so if you could go ahead and do us both a favor and forget everything I just said and pretend like this never happened, that would be great.”

     “I'm not going to do that, Rodimus.”

     Perfect! Rodimus forcibly locked every joint in his body before he started doing something crazy like laughing hysterically until his optics started crackling or punching the wall next to the open doorway until his fingers broke. “If you're worried about me showing up to my next shift drunk, don't be, I'll have sobered up by then.”

     There was a sigh behind him that put a miserable little lump in Rodimus' throat before Megatron pressed a servo large enough to span the width of his back against him and said, “I'm not concerned about the shift, Rodimus, I'm concerned about you,” and the shock of that alone was enough to unlock his joints and move as directed when his co-Captain then proceeded to gently push him inside.

     Rodimus whirled around on unsteady pedes to blink up at Megatron in bemusement, but the light from the hallway haloed the gunmetal mech in a corona that cast a deep shadow over his face and made his expression inscrutable.

     “Fire is destruction, but that is only a facet of it. Without fire there would be no forges in which to create, no suns to hold planets in orbit and gift them with warmth and light. You are more than just a mindless destructive fire, Rodimus; you and your flames are a bright guiding star to every mech on this ship who follows you because they believe in your goal and what you're trying to accomplish, and more importantly, they believe in you.”

     There was a moment of profound stillness in which Rodimus struggled for words, but before he could piece together any sort of response, Megatron reached for the hand Rodimus hadn't even realize he'd raised, took it in his own, and smoothed his thumb over where numbers were once carved. Something rattled loose in Rodimus' chest and began to beat wildly against his spark chamber.

     “It would serve you to have more faith in yourself and in what you're capable of. I certainly do.”

     Rodimus' hand was released and suddenly she was left adrift as Megs took a step back into the hallway and the light finally illuminated his expression, a mix of something like grief and fondness scrawled across his faceplate.

     “Take care of yourself and get some rest. The ship needs you at your best for whatever next improbable disaster we find ourselves in,” was said without an ounce of judgement, and before Rodimus could pick his jaw up off of the floor, the door was sliding shut, leaving him dazed and confused in the dark. He didn't know how long he stood there, staring blankly at the door, but at some point he managed to haul his leaden frame onto his berth to continue to stare, this time at the ceiling. Grief was not erased, but placed carefully to the side as thoughts of his co-Captain swirled through his processor instead. Only one thing was certain in Rodimus' mind-- if anyone on this ship was a comparable to a sun, it was Megatron: who even at his lowest was still blindingly intense and cloaked with an undeniable gravitational pull. One Rodimus found he didn't mind so much being caught in.

[fandomfairyuniverse]

The way thame looks at po……… William I am in your walls

[johnslittlespoon]

hii tas ch11 beta-ing is complete :smile: posting todayyy

[loupy-mongoose]

You mentioned there was one pokemon Jamie wouldn't deal with does that mean there's a particular mon she'd had a bad experience with? Maybe scyther or another bug/rock type (since Kleavor 'is that turned up to 11')? Or is it just an issue with bugs in general like Misty?

The one Pokemon that's caused so much devastation in her life that it's become a symbol of loss to her....

[ghostieblotts]

The thing about making aus is that you end up with multiple different versions of your blorbo to rotate in your mind. Which is great and fun but also it may well just mean all you're doing is hopping between thinking about different versions of the same character. And you unlock new ways to make yourself emotional about them

[daydreaming-ace]

You ever think about how Joronia's corruption started? Sure, the mirror was there, but what influenced her?

... I think it was the image of her best friend, her advisor and confidant. After all, who else should she trust to guide her towards her best self?

---

Imagine your best friend, who you've spent centuries with, gets you a mirror because of your self-esteem issues. As he's giving it to you, he explains that the mirror is meant to show you how he sees you: an absolutely beautiful person, flaws and all.

And then he leaves you alone with the mirror.

As you're staring at yourself, it warps to look like your best friend but... Wrong. Your best friend is a klutz, a coward, but this man looks too refined for either of those things.

And then he starts talking.

He's judging you, telling you what you should be wearing. Telling you how to style your hair, your make-up, everything to emphasize your best features.

You follow his directions, of course. Your best friend surely knows what's best.

And you're right– he is right.

You're beautiful.

Your best friend—your normal, clumsy and nervous, best friend—agrees! He's always said you looked beautiful, but you feel more confident in him this time.

So you trust the reflection of your best friend more, wanting to make yourself even more beautiful. No, not just beautiful, absolutely divine!

So, with a grin, he does.

.

.

.

Time flashes by, and your reflection changes. You're further from your mortal self, turning yourself into a goddess.

Your best friends begin to blur together, but that's alright. They both think you're beautiful, they want you to become your best self.

You're not there yet, you need more resources.

Looking between the clouds, you know how to get it.

[sugar-on-fries]

more uhhhhh pinkbows bc i can

[fruitbythefoot7]

ok so the girls are PISSED tonight. got it.